A paralegal with experience and good instincts should be able to pick this case apart. Motions that were supposed to be filed aren’t mentioned, the suspect hearing is unacceptable, there are no witnesses listed, and the guy's alibi was never checked out. The guy was on CCTV footage at a ball game, for Christ's sake. If someone asked me, I would say it was prepared by a freshman at college, not a professional lawyer or paralegal. This amount of oversight from the cops and the guy's representatives is outrageous. It could mean an innocent man goes to prison and the guilty party walks free.
My mom always told me that it’s better for one guilty to walk free than one innocent to be convicted. She is the reason I am in this career; she was so passionate about seeking justice for the innocent. I remember watching her while she worked. Preparing case files and prepping for court hearings. She was always so focused and never left a stone unturned. She would pace the living room asking questions out loud, playing out potential scenarios that could happen during trial. It was fascinating. I already knew before she passed that I wanted to do what she did; to feel what she must have felt when she won and her client was found innocent.
I could just as easily go to the DA’s office and work for the prosecution, but I have never been one to be ruled by politics. I would rather fight for the little guy. Which means my case selection is always tougher. Some would say I only take cases I know I can win. That I go for low-hanging fruit. Those people are idiots. It has never been about me winning anything. This isn't a game. This could be life or death for somebody. I decide my cases based on my first interview with a client. I have spent a long time fine tuning my bullshit detector. I have studied body language and sat through seminars on microexpression and profiling. I want to help those who are innocent, or those who made a terrible mistake and regret it with every ounce of their being.
When I find that person and they hire me, I become a dog with a bone. I will not leave any stone unturned and I will pace my apartment talking it out just like my mom did. But behind every great attorney is an even greater paralegal that they can trust to be as invested as they are.
Which is why I haven’t hired any of the candidates that have applied for the position so far. In the interim, I’ve just been borrowing help from the junior attorneys in the office. Dammit—I take it back. I really dohaveto find that purple unicorn. One with experience and confidence that shares my values and work ethic. Easier said than done, clearly. Perhaps this next candidate will be the one. Maybe he will pick up the file in front of me and point out every terrible mistake, then just take himself to a desk to fix it. Is that too much to ask for?
I’m pulled from my thoughts by a knock on my door. Guess it's showtime. I get up and button my suit jacket, then move to stand at the side of my desk before calling for them to come in.
Drew greets me with his bright smile. “Good morning, Eric, I have somebody I would like you to meet. Hopefully you have already had your morning coffee—you might need it with this one.”
The lilt in his voice makes me frown. Is he up to something? Am I being pranked?
Drew receives a well-deserved and clearly jovial back-handed smack to the bicep for that little comment, but I can't actually see past Drew to who his assailant is.
“See what I mean?” Drew laughs and steps to the side. “Eric, this is Jordan Bell, the incredible paralegal I told you about.”
His words register somewhere in my mind, but my brain is currently in a blender as I spiral at the man in front of me. He’s wearing loud-yet-fashionable checked pants, a black shirt, and a large brown belt cinching his waist—all topped off by black boots that add at least four much-needed inches to his small frame. My mouth goes instantly dry when I reach his face and spot the subtle hints of make up he’s wearing, includingfucking lashes.
CHAPTER 4
Jordan
I woke up this morning with a really good feeling about today. I'd like to think last night had nothing to do with my excited mood, but that white-hot bathroom fuck with Dimples was definitely a good omen for a great day. With music blaring from my speaker, I danced under the shower, singing off-key without a care in the world. I wonder if anyone else thrives after a big load of cum down their throat? No? Maybe that’s just me. It’s like my version of an energy drink. Orgasms bring great vibes. It’s a good thing I have a ‘one and done’ rule, because I could easily get addicted to this feeling.
I bet that’s how Pete feels when he's with Gavin and why he wants to be with him every second of every day. I can’t imagine working and living with my partner. Pete’s still technically living with me. In reality, he lives in Gavin’s house and his stuff lives here. They should just move in together and be done with it—I want the extra closet space. I’ll miss him of course, we’ve been roommates since sophomore year. As much as it feels like I have a limb missing when I get home from work to an empty apartment, I am happy for him. Pete hasn’t always found it easy to fit in. That’s actually how we met, during one of Pete's attempts to fit in at college.
Walking into Freshman Orientation’s LGBTQ+ mixer, I take a big deep breath and look around at my people. Just by showing up here, everyone in this room is being their true self, open and brave and ready to create a community in a new place. There is no other room a boy like me can walk into with my makeup and femme clothes and feel completely relaxed. A safe no-judgment zone. It’s awesome.
I take a step back and let a guy with a zebra-patterned scarf around his neck pass by. His scarf absolutely clashes with the cheetah print shirt he's wearing, yet we high five as he passes, calling “Nice shirt” over his shoulder and making me smile even wider. A bright personality and a kind soul can wear all of the mismatched patterns it likes and I'm here for it.
The whole room seems to be alive with conversation. Turning around, I spot a short, petite guy with a full head of curly hair and glasses balanced on his pixie nose carrying three cups of water. He seems to be muttering something to himself, and with his eyes fixed on the cups, he is on a collision course with me. I try to step back, but something—I have no idea what, maybe his own two feet—trips him, and the next second he’s falling. Attempting to reach him in time but failing, I wince when he lands on his knees and elbows. Full doggy style in the middle of the room. Water splashes all over the floor and his clothes, and it’s dripping from his face. A few feet away, a group of people burst into laughter, and when I glare at them, they at least try to look remorseful. I guess even in a no-judgment zone, people falling is kinda funny. With optimism I could only dream of manifesting, the curly-haired guy manages to lift his torso straight, look at the mess he made and laugh right along with them.
“At least I haven’t spilled it all,” he says with a smile on his face and a shrug of his shoulders, like this incident wasn’t utterly embarrassing. This guy is actually a legit ray of fucking sunshine.
“Why were you carrying all these cups?” I ask, hooking my arm under his to help him get up.
“Well, I was grabbing drinks for my new friends. I was thirsty and they asked if I could bring them some too.” He shrugs again nonchalantly and waves in the direction of the group of people that were laughing at his fall just seconds ago. I look over at them and notice they’re looking at us, but they don’t return his wave.
“Hey, assholes,” I call over to them, making sure each and every one of them turns my way. “Next time, fetch your own drinks and do better, this is meant to be a community.” I take one of the cups he’s still holding and link my arm with his, turning us in another direction “Come on, Sunshine, let’s go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up.”
From there it was as if we were joined at the hip. The first time I went home to visit my needy folks, I took him with me, and he was instantly adopted into the Bell family clan. My parents treated him better than me half the time and sent him back with lots of goodies.When he took me to visit his family, I became friends with his mom in an instant, and we spent a lot of time going through her closet. His parents say that I’m the lost son they never knew they needed. Mine say that Pete is the son they always dreamed about, but got me instead. So technically, Pete's brother Drew is like my pseudo-older brother, and therefore he is obligated to look out for me and get me job interviews with reputable firms. Otherwise, I’m telling Mama Cliffer.
Speaking of parents, I need to tell my dad about the interview before he hears it through the grapevine. Grabbing my phone from the bathroom vanity, I hit speed dial.
“What’s wrong?” Dad answers my calls this way. Every. Single. Time. There is never anything wrong, so obviously he does it to piss me off.
“Really? No 'Hello', 'Good morning' or 'How are you'?” I'm not even trying to hide the disdain in my tone. Who raised this man? A gangster?Sorry, Grandpa.
“Well, you usually call your mother. Apparently, I’m just a side piece to your conversations.” He doesn't sound bitter about it, so I don’t bother acknowledging his words.
“You’re in luck today, then,” I chirp. “I’m callingyouthis time to say that I have an interview for a paralegal job at Drew’s law firm.”
“Huh. You’ve finally decided to leave that bastard Capshaw, and you pick someone else besides me? Why on earth don't you want to work for my firm? Isn't it fancy enough for you?”
I take a deep breath, expelling it in a long sigh. “We’ve been through this already, Dad. I’m not taking any handouts. I don’t want to be the talk of the water cooler. ‘Oh, look. It's the boss's son. Nepotism at its finest.’”
