Shame on Him

“All rise!”


I immediately stand and Dallas scrambles to get up, still in shock, I’m sure, from my showing up.

“The Honorable Judge Anderson, presiding.”

Dallas leans over and puts his mouth close to my ear, whispering in irritation, “When I told Ted I needed a lawyer, I meant someone good.”

For once, I don’t let his words bother me. He’s in hot water and he needs me. And believe me, I already decided on the way over here how he’s going to pay.

“Be seated,” Judge Anderson announces. “Case number 479862, the State versus Dallas Osborne. Are all parties present?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” I answer.

While the judge makes a few notes on the court documents in front of him, I open up the file I got from Judge Anderson’s paralegal on the way in.

“Seriously? Seventy-five in a twenty-five?” I scold Dallas in a whisper as I look over the ticket he got eight months ago.

“Some of us have important jobs where we need to rush to catch bad people,” he whispers back sarcastically.

It takes everything in me not to stand up, waltz right out of the courtroom, and let them throw him in jail.

“Counselor, how does your client plead?” Judge Anderson asks.

Dallas starts to speak and I reach over and clutch his arm to get him to shut up.

I stand. “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

Judge Anderson looks out over the top of his glasses at me. “Counselor, you do realize your client was going fifty miles an hour over the speed limit and never appeared in court to pay his fine, correct?”

“I should have just locked myself up,” Dallas mutters to himself.

Kicking his ankle under the table, I address the judge. “Yes, Your Honor. I’m perfectly aware of the charges being brought against my client. What the court fails to understand though is that my client works closely with the South Bend police force to help them solve cases. He also owns an extremely busy private investigation firm on the side. One, if not both, of these jobs requires him to rush to crime scenes to get crucial evidence to put murderers, kidnappers, and other extremely harmful individuals in this county behind bars. If I’m not mistaken, Your Honor, you yourself have recommended Osborne Investigations to several of your coworkers and other government employees because you were aware my client would do whatever it took to find justice. I realize, though, this doesn’t excuse his failure to pay the fines, Your Honor. My client takes these charges very seriously and would be happy to pay those fines today to avoid jail time.”

Judge Anderson taps his pen against the legal pad in front of him for several long minutes before he finally speaks. “Counselor, please approach the bench.”

“Son of a bitch. Thanks for nothing,” Dallas whispers angrily.

I ignore him, walking out from behind the table and up to the front of the courtroom. Judge Anderson and I debate for several minutes and finally come to a conclusion. He writes a few notes down on the papers in front of him, signs them, and hands them off to the paralegal sitting next to him.

I make my way back to the table and flip my legal pad closed, paying no attention to the imploring look Dallas is giving me that I see out of the corner of my eye.

“Mr. Osborne, please stand. In the case of the State versus Dallas Osborne, you have been found not guilty. You can pay your fines with the cashier on the way out. Case dismissed.”

Sliding my legal pad and pen into my bag, I turn and begin walking down the aisle of the courtroom.

“Lorelei, wait!”

I wipe the smile off of my face and turn to Dallas.

He stands there looking at me for several long minutes as defendants for the next case start filing in around us.

Really, is it that hard for him to say thank you?

“I just . . . um, well . . .”

Rolling my eyes at him, I start to turn around and walk away again, but he stops me with a hand on my arm.

“Look, I just . . . what’s with the outfit?”

He nods at my black Armani pencil skirt and white button-down.

“Seriously? I just prevented you from spending time in jail and you’re asking me about my clothing?”

He runs his hand through his hair and shrugs. “I thought maybe with that sexy getup the other night you were turning over a new leaf. Trying to break out of the boring lawyer mold.”

I swear to God this man’s mood swings are going to be the death of me.

“This boring lawyer just saved your rear end,” I remind him.

He laughs and shakes his head at me. “You know, you can actually say the word ‘ass’ out loud. You had no problem telling me—what was it again? That I’d be sitting there with my dick in my hand?”

My cheeks flush in embarrassment. I still can’t believe I actually said that to him.