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IHAD TO hand it to her, the bitch had balls. Wearing some tight-ass navy blue business blazer that put her perky tits on display, a skirt that made her round ass pop, and high heels that begged to be draped over my shoulders, renowned Seattle criminal defense attorney, Emily Stafford, controlled the courtroom. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a bun, accentuating high cheekbones, big blue eyes, and pouty, kissable lips. The photo from her firm’s website—the one I’d spent the past two nights jacking off to—didn’t do her justice. She wore a golden band on her left ring finger, but she wasn’t married. I’d checked. Most likely she wore it to dissuade creeps like me from stalking her fine ass.
The witness she was currently cross-examining had to be in his mid-thirties with lots of muscle, but no actual strength. Seemed like the kind of pussy who spent half his life in the gym but would piss himself if someone threw so much as an insult his way. He had no clue how to handle the calculated look Emily leveled at him as she asked him to repeat his testimony.
His eyes flickered around the courtroom like he was waiting for someone to step in and rescue him from her. “On January thirteenth, I dropped my wife off at seven-twenty a.m. for her shift. That’s when I saw Mr. James, the defendant, loitering in front of the Quick Mart.”
“Loitering?” Emily asked.
She looked up from the paper in her hands and lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose, like some librarian who’d just caught a loud-mouthed trouble maker tearing shit up in her library. Her no-nonsense demeanor was sexy as fuck, causing my jeans to tighten uncomfortably. I shifted and reminded myself why I was here. The thought of my best friend behind bars had the desired effect, calming my member down immediately.
“That’s a strange word to use. Very legal sounding. What makes you think Mr. James wasloitering?”
“He didn’t have a shopping bag, so he wasn’t buying anything. Just standing there, leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed. Looking threatening.”
Her eyebrows rose as she looked over the witness’s physique before glancing at her much smaller, younger, black client. “Youfelt threatened by Michael James?”
“Well, not me, personally.” The witness leaned forward, hands on his knees. No doubt the dumbass realized the corner she’d backed him into and was trying to figure out how to defend his manhood without sounding like a liar. “But I could see where others would find him threatening.”
Emily nodded, a faint smile ghosting her lips. “You said you dropped your wife off at seven-twenty, but Mrs. Watts’ shift doesn’t begin until eight. Why’d you drop her off so early?”
“I don’t remember. Probably had to be to work early. Maybe a meeting or something.”
“You don’t remember the reason, but you remember the exact time you dropped her off? That seems strange, don’t you think?”
“Not really. I looked at the clock as I dropped her off. I usually do.”
One perfect eyebrow arched, Emily froze so the jury could see her reaction. “You looked at the clock on January thirteenth and made sure it was exactly seven-twenty a.m.? Are you absolutely certain?”
“Yes.”
He was lying. The entire courtroom had to know it, and apparently Emily had the documentation to prove it. She presented some signed statements to the judge that showed he’d clocked in late for work that day.
“I probably ran errands after I dropped her off,” he protested. “Sometimes I do that. I stop for coffee or a breakfast sandwich. Those drive-thru lines can take a lot longer than they look.” He smiled at the jury. “I’m sure you all know what I mean.”
Emily broke up his attempt at connection when she approached the bench to provide documents from Mrs. Watts’ boss, claiming that she was also late to work that day.
“Are you positive you dropped your wife off at seven-twenty, Mr. Watts?”
His eyes darted to the defendant before landing on the prosecuting attorney. “I-I-I thought I was, but now I realize I could be mistaken. That was more than a month ago. But I know that one of the mornings I dropped her off early and he… the defendant… was loitering.”
“You’re not sure. Why are you so willing to risk my client’s freedom on something you’re not sure of?”
The prosecuting attorney jumped to his feet. “Objection!”
“Withdrawn. But I will remind the court that this is a criminal trial and since we still live in the USA, the law requires proof beyond reasonable doubt. Regardless of the witness’s disdain for the defendant’s race. Isn’t that right, Mr. Watts?”
“Objection, your honor,” the prosecutor repeated. “Badgering the witness.”
According to rumors, Emily Stafford didn’t just badger witnesses, she fucking ate them for breakfast, which was exactly what I’d come to see for myself. Enjoying the show, I leaned back, kicking my steel-toed boots onto the pew in front of me to get comfortable.
I needed a sit-down with Emily, and had no intention of leaving until I said my piece. I’d tried going through the appropriate channels—namely, calling her office to make an appointment—but the dickwad screening her calls wouldn’t patch me through. Time to go over that little piss ant’s head and straight to the top.
And fuck, I’d love to see Emily on top. Especially wearing those heels. The glasses, too.
Court ended a little past four p.m. Ass asleep from sitting so long, I moseyed out the door, wandered toward the entrance, leaned against the wall, and waited. A steady stream of suits passed by, giving me a wide berth and sideways glances as they went. The crowd died down and there was still no sign of Emily, so I pushed off the wall and headed back the way I’d come.
Turning the corner, I caught sight of her sweet ass stepping into the elevator. I kicked up my heels and hustled down the hall, arriving barely in time to shove my hand between the doors before they closed. They sprang open and I hurried in, coming face-to-face with one sexy attorney.
