“Little Bit....” I began, using the nickname I’d given her on that night almost ten years ago, “I don’t want to push you away, but just think about what I’m trying to say, okay?”
Matteo continued to glare at me, but Tibby peeked around his shoulder. She didn’t look angry anymore, more thoughtful than anything. Her multicolored eyes took in my face and expression, and her own expression softened a little bit, “I’m still going to explore things at my own pace....”
I held my hands up, “That’s fair.”
“But it’s really hard when your scents just kind of wrap around me, I’ve never felt anything like it,” she admitted.
I pushed down the giddy feeling I got when she included me in her statement. “I understand,” I said with a nod of my own, glad that we’d somehow navigated a really awkward conversation.
The bacon popped wildly behind Tibby and Matteo and the omega gasped, “My bacon!” Before whipping around and looking down at the pan that contained the blackened remains of the bacon.
“Shit,” Tibby cursed and turned off the burner, putting the pan in the nearby sink and turning on the water, and letting it run onto the charred pan.
I felt like I needed to do something to make the situation better, I felt guilty that I had distracted her so much from her cooking.
“Why don’t we order in for lunch instead and I swear I’ll help you cut things for dinner tonight, deal?” I held my pinky out to her, and she eyed me with trepidation before finally linking her pinky with mine.
“Deal.”
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My heeled foot tappedwildly underneath the conference table as I listened to the prosecutors argue in front of me. After my phone call, I’d reluctantly gotten dressed in a black sheath dress, green blazer, and a pair of what I liked to call ‘ass kicking’ heels. I ignored Theo’s grumpy looks as I chugged a cup of coffee and left the house, making my way to the San Francisco Prosecutor’s office which was located in a historic building downtown. Oliver Richins, the head of the prosecutor’s office, had been the one on the phone when I answered. He had worked as a prosecutor for years and had actually been my senior when I started my career as a lawyer. He had called both Marcus and me this afternoon...for what reason I still couldn’t quite figure out.
Marcus and I had met downstairs thirty minutes ago and realized that neither of us had been told the reason why we were actually here. It wasn’t normal to call private lawyers into a public office unless it had to do with one of our cases—but our caseload was purposely light right now so I could deal with Tibby.
We were quickly ushered into a large conference room full of lawyers of varying ages and experience...and they were currently pointing fingers at each other and shouting accusations. It was absolute pandemonium and not at all reminiscent of the organized, if not a little bit cutthroat, prosecutor’s office that I had started my career at.
“What the fuck?” Marcus leaned over and whispered to me, the brit hated disorganized chaos. This is the primary reason why he’d gone straight into corporate law after finishing law school. Corporate law was very cut and dry and usually had to do with financials and as long as Marcus Whitlock could pour over financial records, he was a happy man. I, however, was used to the passion that being a part of the prosecutor’s office brought with it. However, even for me, this was getting ridiculous.
I heaved a huge breath before bellowing over the din of arguing voices, “CAN EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP FOR FIVE MINUTES?”
It took a few seconds but soon everyone that was standing sat down, looking like a group of schoolchildren who had been scolded rather than adult professionals. I glanced down the table to where Richins had, up to this point, been sitting silently while his staff had bickered like children.
“Now,” I began, now that it was quiet, “Will someone please tell me why you’ve called Marcus and me in? Because we can leave and come back if you’d all like to continue arguing.” I swept my hand out in front of me as if saying, ‘be my guest.’ Everyone looked down at their hands, not brave enough to speak up.
“Of course, Aria.” Richins stood and placed the tips of his fingers on the shiny surface of the conference table, “And thank you to both of you for coming in on such short notice.”
Richins began to address the entire room, “Ever since news broke yesterday of the Jordan retrial, this office has been a mess of fighting, accusations, and the exposing of secrets that were probably best kept as secrets. Those of you who still remain, are the only ones who are still employed by the San Francisco Prosecutor’s office.”
I looked around, seriously? There were maybe thirty lawyers gathered around the table and the office usually had around seventy at any given time.
“You have all passed the critical sweep that occurred yesterday after we learned that the prosecutor of the case was not only sleeping with the juror in the Jordan case...but also several other jurors in other cases.” Richins looked beyond exhausted, as he looked around the room. The alpha had probably been up all night going over each lawyer’s employment file with a fine-toothed comb.
“Not only have we fired this prosecutor, but also a plethora of others for various infractions like taking bribes, having affairs with their clients, and more. Needless to say that the state will very probably be a presence at this office for the foreseeable future.”
Holy shit. This was way bigger than just Hezekiah Jordan’s retrial. This was a scandal of the highest level. They were going to have to take a fine-toothed comb and clear out all of the rot from this office. It was so similar to the situation that Matteo walked into three years ago at SF General that I was reeling. This was going to have more repercussions for the city of San Francisco, meaning that any and every case for the last fifty years was going to be under review.
“As this is looking to be an ongoing issue, we are currently going to be spread pretty thin with our caseloads,” Cue the groan from the lawyers sitting at the table. “But our main focus is making sure that the Jordan retrial goes off without a hitch...but there’s just one problem. Which is where our friends Mr. Whitlock and Ms. Simmons come in.”
I held up a hand, “You’re not asking us to take over as prosecutors on this case, are you?” Because there were about five hundred problems with that, number one being that I was now sexually involved with the star witness.
“No, we aren’t asking that of you,” Richins quickly assured me. “But the judge on the case has tasked me with finding a lawyer who is so squeaky clean, that they are above reproach.”
Did such a person exist? It kind of came with the territory of being a lawyer that we are, at very least a little bit slimy. I know I shouldn’t stereotype an entire group of people like this...but looking at the current situation, I think it was a warranted assessment.
