Shame on Him by Tara Sivec
CHAPTER 1
Your Honor, my client would like to—”
Bzzzzzzzzz.
The vibration of my cell phone forces the device to bounce across the wooden table in front of me. I pause for a moment to glance at the screen and see that it’s Paige calling. She knows I’m in court. She also knows I’m not to be interrupted unless someone is dying. With everything that has happened lately—drug lords trying to kill Kennedy, the mob going after Paige—my heart skips a beat.
While opposing counsel is busy stating his case to the court and the judge is looking away, I quickly grab my phone, hunch down in my seat, and bring it to my ear.
“Paige, what’s wrong? Is Kennedy okay?” I whisper as softly as I can.
I hear giggling on the other end of the line and then a squeal.
“Paige!” I whisper again, glancing up at Judge Robertson to make sure he’s still occupied with the defense.
Another burst of laughter comes through the phone and then Paige finally speaks. “Matt, seriously, that tickles!”
Oh, my God.
“Paige, I’m hanging up now. I’m in court.”
“Lorelei! Oh, my gosh, I’m sorry! I totally forgot. I was just calling to remind you that you need to pick up the subpoena today and deliver it to Richard Covington.”
“Counselor, are we interrupting something?”
My head whips up and I jerk the phone away from my ear when Judge Robertson bellows across the courtroom at me.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor. There was an emergency with my mother,” I lie. Quickly ending the call, I place my phone back on the table.
I realize my mistake as soon as his angry expression turns to one of concern.
“If you need to take a recess, Counselor, speak up now.”
How did it completely slip my mind that Judge Robertson knows my parents? My father plays golf with Judge Robertson once a week. I don’t make mistakes like this. Ever. The only explanation for my carelessness is that there’s been a lot going on. My brain is being forced into a hundred different directions.
“It’s fine, Your Honor. We can proceed.”
While the defense continues with their arguments, I jot myself a note at the top of my yellow legal pad to pick up the subpoena and to let my father know that if Judge Robertson asks how mother is, he should just go along with it.
The likeliness of that happening is zero to none, though. My father is an Indiana Supreme Court judge and my mother teaches advanced criminal law at Notre Dame. They have no tolerance for frivolity and would never understand if I told them I was interrupted in court by a phone call from one of my friends.
Bzzzzzzzzz.
The sound of my cell phone bouncing across the table again forces me out of my depressing thoughts.
I swear to God I’m going to kill Paige.
With a quick smack of my hand on top of it, I silence the noise. I glance nervously up at Judge Robertson to see if he heard it. Luckily, he’s called the defense up to his bench and they are deep in conversation.
“Paige, I swear, someone better be dead.” I give an apologetic smile to my client seated next to me.
“Yes! Yes! Oh, God! Oh, Matt! Harder!”
My eyes widen in horror and I quickly end the call.
Did she really just call me while she was having sex?
This time, I remember to power my cell phone down and shove it quickly into my purse on the floor. No wonder I’m so distracted. I’ve had to deal with my two best friends falling in love right in front of my eyes after we all swore off men for the rest of our lives.
My parents don’t know this yet, but I’m part owner of the company we opened together—Fool Me Once Investigations. It was the first time in my life I was actually excited about something. I’ve been putting off sharing this news with them for months. Since my sham of a marriage to Doug ended, I’ve felt lost. Felt as if I’m floundering around from day to day trying to figure out my life and what makes me happy. Doug certainly found his happiness—with another man.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been slow to inform my parents. Once they know what I’ve been doing in my spare time, it will no longer be all mine. The choices I’ve made and the work I’ve been doing for Fool Me Once will be theirs to pick apart and criticize.
The remainder of the preliminary hearing goes off without a hitch. Judge Robertson decides that there is no probable cause for the complaint against my client and, thankfully, we won’t be going to trial.
Rushing out of the courtroom, I pull my cell phone out of my purse, power it back up, and call Paige.
She answers on the first ring. “Please don’t kill me. I’m so sorry for calling you during court. I swear it won’t happen again.”
I sigh as I pull my rolling leather briefcase behind me and push through the double doors at the front of the courthouse, exiting into the sunshine.
“I’d rather you apologize for calling me when you and Matt were having sex,” I deadpan.