His mouth curves. “I’m aware, Ms. Devereux.” He steps forward. Not enough to breach propriety, but enough to make his presence felt.
“I’m here as a family friend to chat.”
We aren’t friends.
He gives a soft laugh, hands slipping into his pockets. “It’s been a while. You’ve made quite a name for yourself since the last time I saw you. Sharpest reputation in the DA’s office, they say.”
I meet his gaze, cool and unblinking. “I’m sure they say all kinds of things.”
But none of it matters here.
Julian Lemaire’s smile sharpens.
“Your father and I played golf this morning. He sends his regards.”
A cold ripple slides down my spine, tightening low in my gut before it coils up into my throat.
My father.
Of course.
Of. Fucking. Course.
“I’m aware of your friendship.”
His eyes glint for a second. Pleased. He believes I’ve played into his hand by acknowledging it.
He shifts his weight, easy and unbothered.
“You know, Evan’s always admired the Devereux family. Bright boy, that one. National Honor Society. Captain of the swim team. Full scholarship. Not that he needs it. Hardworking and promising. He aspires to be a judge, like your father. Henri has been guiding him through what a judicial career demands.”
Judge Lemaire. That’s the last thing New Orleans needs.
His smile fades enough to look sincere. “It’s tragic, really. To see a young man’s future threatened over a misunderstanding.”
My molars grind.
No, the tragedy happened to Emily Westbrook.
He goes on, voice velvety smooth and practiced. “I’m sure you know how girls can be at these college parties. Drinking. Flirting. Following the wrong crowd. It’s so easy for something innocent to get twisted.”
My heart slams, but I hold my ground. No flicker, no crack, no outward sign he’s landed anything close to a blow.
“My position prohibits me from discussing the case with you, Mr. Lemaire.”
His voice softens, dipping into something smoother. “Of course, Ms. Devereux. I’d never ask you to.”
He flicks his hand in a casual, dismissive wave. “Surely, there’s a way to make this go away quietly.”
This girl is nothing more than an inconvenience to him. A bump in the road. He believes he can erase this case with a whispered deal behind closed doors.
I wonder how many times this has worked before. How many girls like Emily Westbrook have been brushed aside to protect boys like Evan? How many times silence was bought and justice folded under a father’s name.
I meet his gaze. “That’s not a conversation I’m able to entertain.”
He sighs. “It’s just that these things can ruin lives, Ms. Devereux. Good families. Good names. And we both understand the importance of protecting who matters.”
“I think it’s time for you to go, Mr. Lemaire.”
