I pour a splash for myself, then answer: “Because I was there.”
She inhales sharply, those big tits rising. “Yes, I know, but explain please.”
I set my glass down and stare at the city below, at the endless web of lights and moving cars. For the first time in years, I feel the old acid at the back of my throat.
“I was assigned second chair on your father’s defense,” I say. “Hoffman was lead. He hated me, but the partners forced him to take me on because I was supposed to “learn” from him. Instead, he froze me out of every strategy session, every pretrial meeting. Gave me busywork and ignored every question I asked. I watched as they railroaded your dad, Marnie. Watched the evidence get torched. I tried to flag it, but they shut me down—said it wasn’t my place to question a senior partner. So I didn’t.”
She says nothing, just watches me, the muscles in her jaw twitching.
“I was young,” I say, hating the way it sounds, the excuse in it. “I wanted to keep my job. I wanted to make partner. So I shut my fucking mouth and let it happen.”
The words hang in the air, ugly and sharp.
“I’ve never forgiven myself for it,” I admit in a low voice as heat crawls up my neck. “Not once.”
Marnie sits very still. Then, “So you did nothing?”
I shake my head. “I tried, later. I compiled everything I had, sent it to the Innocence Project. Never heard back. Years passed. I told myself it was out of my hands. Then I made partner, and the first case I closed was a wrongful conviction. But it didn’t fix anything because I still see your dad’s file every time I walk into the records room.”
Marnie lets out a breath. Her face is pale but controlled. “Okay, but why are you telling me this?”
I meet her gaze. “Because you deserve to know. And because I can’t stop thinking about you, and the fact that every time you walk into a room, I feel like I’m watching someone who could wreck me with a single word.”
For a second, the curvy girl says nothing. Then she stands, the chair skidding slightly on the floor. She crosses to the windows, presses her forehead to the glass. Her reflection merges with the city, and I can see her lips moving, counting or chanting or just reminding herself to breathe.
After a minute, she turns.
“You think this makes you a good person?” Marnie’s voice is ragged, but she holds my eyes.
“Hell no,” I say, crossing to her. “I would never think of myself as a good person, sweetheart. But this admission makes me honest for once in my life, and I want that with you. Icraveit.”
She sighs a bit, looking downcast. “I don’t know what to say.”
I step closer, careful. “I’m not looking for forgiveness, Marnie. But if you want the rest of the file—if you want every scrap of evidence they hid—I can get it. I can give you more than James can. He doesn’t even know half of what I saw.”
She’s so close now I can smell her shampoo, the trace of wine on her breath. She looks at me, face open and incredibly beautiful with her tip-tilted nose and plush pout. “And if I say yes?”
“Then I help you. For real this time. No strings.”
She lifts her chin, and for a second, I think she’s going to slap me. Instead, she leans in and kisses me.
It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s raw, desperate, her lips rough on mine, her hands in my hair. I kiss the curvy girl back, arms around her waist, lifting her up so her feet leave the floor. She gasps, her nails biting my shoulders, and we stagger backward until her spine hits the glass. For a minute, it’s like drowning, and I want nothing more than to lose myself in this sexy, vivacious young woman.
But then Marnie pulls back, breathless, and looks at me with eyes that are suddenly, impossibly sad.
“I can’t,” she says, barely above a whisper.
“You can,” I say, but she shakes her head, frantic.
“No. Not tonight. Not—” She bites her lip, hard enough to leave a mark. “I’m sorry.”
Marnie slips past me, grabs her jacket, and heads for the door. I follow, but she’s already in the elevator vestibule, hair askew and cheeks flushed.
She presses the button, then turns and stares at me.
“Thank you for dinner, Brent,” she says. “And for telling me of the truth.”
Before I can answer, the doors close and she’s gone.
