he really mad?”
“Hard to tell.”
“Wish me luck.”
Picking up the phone, she buzzed Cook’s office and announced Paul’s arrival, stood and then opened the door for him. The suite was huge, with a primary office, and an annexed room Paul had never been in but was told it held a bathroom and bed and mini kitchen. All private to Cook, of course. He was looking down at papers and when the doors closed, he glanced up. “Well, Mr. Covington. Come sit.”
Paul took a chair in front of the older man, who had a full head of white hair, crisp brown eyes and patrician features. He’d inherited the business from his father and was truly old school. Cook had never suggested they use first names and Paul followed his lead.
“Let me get right to the point. To my knowledge, none of our lawyers has ever spent the night in jail. Except one.”
“Me.”
“No, me.” A snicker of amusement. “I was young once. Bursting with passion and bravado. It was for contempt, too. But I was only held for a few hours.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Cook nodded. “Say nothing. Keep what I told you private.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I tell you this story so you’ll know I understand how this could happen. It is, however, unacceptable.”
“I agree, it’s unacceptable.”
When Cook didn’t say more immediately, Paul figured he’d go for broke. “What consequences did you suffer?”
“The head partner in the firm told me if I did it again, I was gone. No severance, no references.”
“Is that what I’m getting?”
“Yes.”
Oh, thank God.
“But you won’t be arguing against ADA Casella anymore.”
“It was the district attorney who assigned her to every case I argued.”
“And I agreed you’d be well-matched. However, that won’t be the practice now.”
“No?”
“I spoke with her superior.”
Well, he’d miss the challenge Hayley Casella posed. At the thought, he felt a twist in his heart that he didn’t understand. But at least he still had a job.
“And if your verve for argument gets the better of you with another lawyer, which interestingly hasn’t, the same dismissal occurs.”
“Thank you.”
“You can go now.”
Paul got to the door and he heard, “Paul?”
Mmm. First name. He turned back.
“How was your night in jail with your nemesis?”
“Very interesting.”
Amusement filled Cook’s knowing eyes. “I thought it might be.”
Paul left the suite. He walked down the hall to the associates’ wing and to his own office. The door was open and his secretary was nowhere in sight. John Cramer, a partner for ten years, sat behind Paul’s desk. Just as he thought, the weaselly little guy with a combover was here today to taunt him. “You made the papers.”
Paul kept his tone light. “Which ones?”
“These right here.” He rapped his knuckles on newspapers that were delivered every day. “Getting charged with contempt is unusual, but more so, unbecoming. For this firm, jail is unconscionable.”
“I apologize for my conduct.”
“I voted to have you dismissed from the office.”
Paul held his tongue. There must have been a meeting with the partners this morning.
“But I was overruled.” Cramer stood and circled the desk. “Know, Covington, I’m watching you.”
“Yes, Mr. Cramer.”
The man walked out. Paul breathed a sigh of relief, closed his door and sat down at his desk.
He wondered if Hayley was getting grief. Man, he hoped she didn’t get fired. Despite their past, spending that time together had softened him toward her. She was young, was going to shoot to the top of the District Attorney’s office and he didn’t want to get in the way of that.
* * *
Maria Blackburn, the Chief Assistant District Attorney, who oversaw five hundred lawyers and seven hundred staff, and supervised 50,000 cases a year, stood in her office staring out the window. Not all of the Assistant District Attorneys were housed on this floor, of course, or even in this building. Hayley admired Maria’s work ethic and fairness. She lifted her head from the papers she was reading when Hayley knocked on the open door. “You wanted to see me, Maria?”
The woman had short dark hair, dark eyes and dressed impeccably in designer suits and Louboutin shoes. Hayley favored the latter, too. “Yes, Hayley, come in.”
They sat at a conference table off to the right of a large, sparsely furnished room, making Hayley feel less like she’d been called before the principal.
“So, I was wrong?” Maria asked.
Oh, dear. “About me?” Her own voice was horrified.
“No, of course not. I was wrong about assigning you to Paul Covington’s cases. It seemed like the right thing to do then.”
She sighed. “We went