Hayley - Kathryn Shay Page 0,2
court for misconduct. Bailiff, you can take them away as soon as we finish with Mr. Jenkins.”
“But…”
“The next one of you to speak will get two nights.”
“Overnight?” Hayley asked.
“Yes. Proceed, Ms. Casella.”
Upset at the prospect of jail time, Hayley was off-kilter now. “W-what did Callahan do to make you label him a bully?”
“He picked on weak classmates. Backed them into corners, stuffed them in lockers. I tried to punish him so nothing worse would happen. But his parents…had sway with the board.”
“Ah. Did he ever hurt anybody?”
“Yes, a young student fell flat on the floor when he tripped the boy. Broke several of his teeth.”
“And how was Jamie punished?”
Mr. Jenkins pressed the glasses at the bridge of his nose. “He wasn’t. Again, his parents intervened.” Turning his head, his gaze narrowed on Mr. and Mrs. Callahan. “I quit the school at that point because I couldn’t tolerate the politics.”
“Do you have another job?”
“I’m afraid I was blackballed in all private schools.”
“Hmm.” She turned to the jury and said, “Another victim on Jamie Callahan.”
“I object,” Covington said.
“Of course, you do.”
* * *
Paul took it as long as he could, but he finally spoke. “I can’t stand this silence,” he admitted to the woman beside him. They’d been sitting in here in this dank, dreary and odorous cell for two hours and the only word spoken was supper when the guard brought them food. Which neither of them touched.
“I was about to say that.” She gave a small smile. In the light from the hallway—there were no windows in this tiny cave—he could see she’d bitten off her lipstick and more hair had come out of her bun. “Probably isolation is the worst thing about being in jail.”
“Not the worst, Hayley.”
She raised her auburn brows, the same color as her hair. “You’ve never called me that before.”
“It’s a nice name. Mine’s Paul, by the way.”
“I’ve known that for a year, Paul.” Since he’d joined the high-powered law firm of Cook, Cramer and Cromwell in New York after he left California and started arguing cases against her. “I heard through the legal grapevine that you want to add another C to the partner collective.”
He chuckled. “How long have you been an ADA?”
“I joined right after I passed the bar. So, five years.”
“Hmm. That makes you, thirty?”
“Not quite yet. Soon.”
“A baby.”
“What made you leave California?”
“I was born in New York. I got homesick for the glitz and glitter of the streets of New York.” He shrugged a shoulder. “It was time, I guess.”
“I’ve lived here all my life.”
“Where?”
“First on Long Island, then in lower Manhattan.” She didn’t want to tell him she’d grown up in the Hamptons, on the tip of Long Island. “You?”
“I live in Brooklyn.”
Silence.
He broke it. “What are we going to do about us?”
“You mean why we were put in here?”
“Among other things.”
“I don’t know. We shoot sparks off each other.”
That made him wonder what other kind of sparks they could shoot off. “You know, I read a study where suppressed attraction makes people fight with each other.”
Her fake shock was comical. “Why, Mr. Covington, are you saying you lust for me?”
“Maybe when you wear that little pinkish suit with a tank top.” He let out a wolf whistle. “It makes all the men in the room sweat.”
“That is so sexist.”
Now he threw up his hands and slapped them on his thighs. “I don’t get it. When a man compliments a woman on her appearance, she calls him names for noticing her when she’s probably spent an hour that morning trying to look good.”
“An hour? Give me a break.” She had to know that, so she was pretending again. Or…
“You don’t do that?”
“I spend the half hour after I get up on my elliptical or if the weather permits, I go out for a brusque walk, then eat a nourishing breakfast. Whatever time’s left, like maybe ten minutes, I shower, get dressed and put on lipstick. Some rouge.”
“Yeah, I like you better without a lot of goop on your face.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how to take that. But in any case, Counselor, it’s your turn. What’s your morning routine?”
“I get up a couple of hours before work starts.”
“Your workday begins a lot later than mine does.”
Ignoring what she meant to be a criticism of the life he’d chosen, he continued, “I go for a run or do my treadmill, catch the news, check my email. I eat, of course, then spend about the same time you do getting