I bounced my knee as I sat in Mr. Davenport’s office, waiting on him to finish reading my résumé. He was poised behind his desk, pen in hand, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled three quarters of the way up his arm. Every now and then he traced a chunky finger over his bushy gray eyebrow.
I started to bounce my other knee as I fixated on Boston’s cloudy skyline. My nerves had been doing a number on me since Sunday. I hadn’t been able to think about much or focus, mainly because my old man had asked me to contact Lizzie. My mom had asked to see Gracie Reardon. My dad was elated. He’d been trying for years to bring up the Reardons with Mom. According to him, this was a huge step in the right direction for her, maybe for all of us. I wasn’t so sure about me. The more I saw Lizzie, the more her presence would tug at my heart, pulling and reeling a little at a time as though she was wrestling with a king mackerel. I was afraid I’d flop in the boat and confess my undying love, only for her to disappear.
Mr. Davenport cleared his throat. “Why do you want to be a lawyer, Mr. Maxwell?” He sat back in his leather chair, pen still in hand.
I squeezed my kneecaps to steady them. “To defend the innocent.” Ever since I’d begun watching the legal series Perry Mason with my mom, I’d wanted to be a lawyer.
He cocked an eyebrow. “And what if your client isn’t innocent?”
“I don’t plan on representing those who are not. If they’re guilty, they can find another attorney. Here at your law firm, don’t you choose who you represent?” The last sentence came out a little cockier than I wanted.
He harrumphed as he studied me over his reading glasses. “Sometimes clients lie.”
I lifted a shoulder. “If they do, then I drop them. I believe in the law. It’s there to protect people and to reprimand those who disobey it. Why would I want to defend someone who committed a murder? I’m not about making a name for myself like some attorneys who just want to be on television. I’m about protecting people, and since I don’t want to be a cop, I can at least protect their rights.” I didn’t exactly need to get a job at this law firm. However, I did want to make my old man proud.
“I see you worked at Brady, Schlenk, and Schiel last summer, and you’re now working as a model for an art class. Elaborate on the modeling job.”
“It pays well.” Mr. Brewer paid me a hundred dollars an hour to pose. He’d said I kept his classes full of students, which in turn was job security for him. “And it’s only two hours a week, which gives me time to concentrate on school.” My old man had said my modeling job might raise questions with Mr. Davenport.
“My daughter Trudy tells me you pose naked?” His dark eyes were appraising.
“With all due respect, Mr. Davenport, what does me posing naked have to do with a job in your law firm?” He probably didn’t like his not-so-innocent daughter ogling naked men in a prestigious learning institution.
He sat forward, propping his elbows on the desk. “Mainly that I run a tight ship around here, and a clean one. I don’t need naked pictures of the summer intern floating around the office. Neither myself nor Human Resources would be pleased when complaints started rolling in.”
“I can assure you, I won’t be passing them around.” I didn’t need the hassle—or women groping me. “And the pictures of me are tastefully done paintings. Mr. Brewer is also very strict about his rules regarding no camera or cell phone use during class.” Brew had caught one student snapping a picture with her cell phone, and he kicked her out, but not before he’d deleted the picture.
He fiddled with the expensive pen, the pressure building between us. “Have you ever been in trouble with the law? A police record?”
A background check had been part of the application process, and as I’d stated then, I said, “No, sir.” Sure, I’d been in fights, but Kade had taken the blame. Or I’d gotten lucky. Like the time Kade, Hunt, and I had gotten into a brawl with Greg Sullivan and Aaron Seever. Thanks to Pitt’s relationship with BPD, we hadn’t been thrown in jail that night.
“Good. We don’t hire anyone who’s on the wrong side of the law.”
He went on to explain what he expected out of me if I were selected. Thirty minutes later I left, undoing my tie. I’d answered the questions truthfully, and I’d been polite and professional. From there it was a waiting game. Three candidates sat in the reception area. One was whiter than the handkerchief poking out of his suit pocket. I did want the job, but at that moment, my mind was elsewhere. My future was important, but not as important as my family.
It was time to hunt down Lizzie, as my father had asked. I just had to restrain the feelings I had when I was around her.
10
Lizzie