Page 6 of Dial L for Lawyer
"Bennett, don't?—"
He's already typing. Ten seconds later, his phone buzzes. His eyebrows shoot up.
"What?" I demand.
"He says he can see you tomorrow morning. Eight AM sharp. His office." Bennett looks up.
"You texted him literally fifteen seconds ago," Layla points out, waggling her eyebrows.
“Don’t start,” I warn and she mimes zipping her lips.
Bennett’s cell buzzes with another text. "He also says to tell you to bring everything you have. Documents, emails, timestamps. Everything."
"Everything," I echo, my voice barely a whisper. My 'everything' is currently sitting in a sad cardboard box on the passenger seat of my car. My entire professional life, reduced to a few personal trinkets, a framed photo, and a wilted desk plant. The humiliation washes over me again, and I bury my face in my hands. "God. I can't do this."
"Yes, you can," Audrey says firmly. "You're going to walk into his office tomorrow morning looking absolutely devastating—I'm talking power suit, killer heels, the whole kit and kaboodle. You're going to be professional, composed, and completely unbothered by your history."
"And if he brings it up?"
"He won't," Bennett says with surprising certainty. "Not during business hours. Caleb's too professional for that."
"After business hours, though..." Layla trails off suggestively.
"There won't be an after business hours. This is strictly professional. I won’t be going down that road again."
They all exchange another look.
"Stop doing that!"
"We're not doing anything," Audrey says innocently.
"You're all thinking something."
"Just that tomorrow morning, you're going to walk into the office of the man you've been avoiding for six months," Layla says. "You're going to ask for his help. And he's going to give it. Without question. Without hesitation. Because whatever you think about yourself, whatever reason you had for running, Caleb Kingsley is a good man, and he’ll fight for you."
The truth of it sits heavy in the room.
"I need more wine," I announce.
"You need to go home and get ready for tomorrow," Audrey says. "Power suit, remember? Full face of makeup. All the armor."
"Right. Armor." I stand on shaky legs. "I can do this. It's just a legal consultation. It’ll be fine. We’ll be…professional."
"Absolutely," Layla agrees, not even trying to hide her smile. "Totally professional."
CHAPTER 3
Serena
Call me chicken shit if you need to, but I spent all of last night on my laptop, frantically searching for any other option besides Caleb Kingsley.
Eleven calls to different law firms. Three said, "we don't handle this kind of thing." Four gave the, "conflict of interest with existing clients," line. Two, who actually listened to my story, told me to agree to whatever settlement Luminous offers because fighting would be career suicide. The rest simply said they weren’t taking on new clients. But there was one who added, "Have you tried Caleb Kingsley? He's really the only one in Chicago who could win this."
Even the legal universe is conspiring against me.
Now I'm standing outside the gleaming tower that houses the law offices ofWhitman Kingsley & Peck, wearing my sharpest black power suit and trying not to throw up on my Jimmy Choos.
The building lobby is all marble and intimidation. My heels click too loudly as I cross to the security desk.
