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Reese
Idon’t invite women to my house.
When I’d said those words to Cat, I’d meant them, and yet here Cat is, sitting on my floor in front of my couch, in my house. Here I am, sitting on the floor next to her after setting our food on the table in front of us, damn glad she is. Though I’m not sure she’s actually aware that I’m here anymore, considering I stood up, walked to the door to grab our food, and rejoined her, and she hasn’t looked up from the screen of her MacBook. Her focus and intensity over her work, paired with her educated and thoughtful written words, tell me what I already know without the research I could do: She was a killer attorney, just as she’s a phenomenal writer. The truth is that, despite my momentary frustration during our coffee shop encounter, Cat had me at “hello,” or perhaps “asshole.”
I smile and turn back to my computer, remembering the way she’d tugged on my sleeve at the coffee shop and then scowled at me: beautiful and fierce. My obsession for this woman had started then, when my only obsession has ever been my work. I answer a few e-mails and absently reach for one of the homemade potato chips that had been delivered right along with the sandwiches. Apparently, Cat has the same idea at the same moment, and our hands collide. Cat laughs this feminine, sweet laugh and gives me a sweet, green-eyed stare, both of which are as good as foreplay. I’m there. I’m hard. I want to fuck her all over again. “Oops,” she says. “You first.”
“Ladies first,” I say. “Manners are important, after all.” I smile and add, “Especially the word please.”
Her cheeks flush a pretty pink, but she still answers without missing a beat. “Please is very important.”
I give her a wink and we both return our attention to our computers. I answer a few more messages and we both munch on sandwiches and chips as we work. An hour later, Cat sighs and says, “Done.” She glances over at me. “Can I help with trial research? I’m good at it. I still do it for my work now.”
“Right now,” I say, shutting my MacBook, “I’m done.” I face her, my elbow on the table. “I’ve just been answering emails that are mostly a gaggle of press requests.”
“I’m not one of them,” she says, facing me as well. “You know that, right? I don’t chase a scoop or even a story. I know I’ve said that but—”
“I know that, Cat.” I reach over and trail my fingers down her cheeks. “There is a way you can actually can help me, though.”
“Okay. Great. I want to help. How?”
“Read me your closing statement. I need some outside perspective for mine.”
“Of course. I wanted you to read it before it publishes anyway.” She moves from the floor to the couch and sets her MacBook in her lap. “Just the close, right?”
I nod and join her, claiming the cushion next to her. “Yes. Right now, I want to home in on where you landed by the end of the week, good or bad. That will tell me where the jury might have landed as well.”
“The jury should be with me on this,” she says, and shakes her hands. “Okay. I know it’s silly but I always get nervous when I read my own words and when I know it’s too late to change them. And it is. I sent this in to my editorial team last minute.”
“I get it. I get nervous during opening and closing statements, especially in these televised trials.”
“But not in the middle of the trial?”
“Once I clear the opening statement, I’m in a comfort zone right up until closing.”
“Your opening was brilliant, by the way.”
“As much as I appreciate that, we both know the only thing that matters is the outcome. And nothing you do in a trial is brilliant enough unless you get the outcome you want.” I tap her MacBook. “I want to hear your closing.”
“Right. Okay.” She starts to read:
This trial has highlighted the tragic end to a woman and child. What it has not highlighted is evidence. Not once have I been given a reason to give my own personal verdict of “guilty.” And yes, I know it’s easy to hate a man who is good looking, rich, and seems to have it all, which sums up the defendant. That is what the prosecution seems to be counting on. That you will hate him for having it all. But I certainly hope the jurors remember that among the many reasons America is the greatest country on the earth is our court system. We are innocent until proven guilty, and we can’t take that for granted. That is not how the system works around the world. And we must all think that if somehow, some way, you or your loved one was charged with a crime, would you want yourself, or them, to be convicted based on the court of public opinion? If there is no evidence, the jury must acquit. Don’t be appalled and horrified when they do what is right. Be appalled and horrified that we wasted time and money, and that the killer, whoever it might be, is still free to live and enjoy life. There is one woman and unborn child that cannot say the same. Too often prosecutors lack the courage to wait for the evidence they need to convict a suspect, and rush to charge too soon. When they do, they fail us all. Until then, —Cat.
She sets her computer on the coffee table. “That’s it for tomorrow, which you know, but I have until Sunday night to submit a follow-up that prints on Monday.”
I sit there a minute, digesting her closing and scrub my jaw. “You might not need a drink, but I do believe I could use another.”
“I thought you’d be pleased with my closing. It favors you.”
“It drives home every failure I’ve had in this trial.”
“Failure?” she asks. “What failure, Reese? You’re the one who’s nailed this trial.”
“If I had nailed it, we’d have gotten that dismissal I asked for today.”
“That’s the judge caving to the court of public opinion. And between you and I, I got the impression from my agent that both your competing counsel and the potential publisher of his book believe he will lose this case.”
“And yet they want the person who has hit him at every turn, journalistically speaking, to help him write his book?”
