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“That was weeks ago, Damien.”
“I’m aware,” I said. “Where are we on the McDaniel case?”
She walked over to her bag and pulled out a manila folder; then she handed it to me.
“Here’s a copy,” she said. It’s time-sensitive, and Mr. Hamilton said you need to get at least one done.”
“Mr. Hamilton is not my boss, Elizabeth.” I tossed the file into my mail stack for later. “And a pro bono case will never be a high priority for me.”
She suddenly swiped everything off my desk, shattering all the glasses and sending files everywhere.
What the hell?
“You really think you’re too good to give someone a few hours of your time every week?”
“I think you’re suffering from a mental lapse,” I said. “Go home, Elizabeth.”
“No.” She shook her head, glaring at me. “You’re nothing but a corrupt and evil shill under that Armani suit.”
“It’s Valentino.”
“No matter how many times I try to convince myself that there’s a layer of good in you, that maybe, just maybe, you’re not as awful as you seem, you really are the worst type of lawyer that exists.” Her voice cracked. “This isn’t about justice or doing what’s right. It’s about your ego and how much money you can make.”
I pushed a drawer shut.
“You’re the reason why no one trusts the system,” she said. “You tamper with the scales, so that they’ll weigh on your side no matter what.”
“Elizabeth...” I stood up as she paced my floor. “I’m going to give you one last chance to get the hell out of my condo. Preferably in silence.”
“That’s the real reason why you have so much trouble sleeping.” She stepped forward. “You’ve screwed so many people over in your lifetime that it keeps you up at night.”
“Get out.”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” She moved even closer, her eyes on mine.
“Get. Out.”
“You deserve every sleepless night and every nightmare that gives you hell.” Her voice is terse. “I hope you suffer with that condition for the rest of your life because you clearly deserve it.”
“You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” I damn near roared. “You’ve been a lawyer—an average one at that—for all of six months, and you still don’t know how to write a half decent closing argument.”
“I know what’s right and what’s wrong.”
“You don’t know how to shut the hell up.” I moved closer. “If I were on the jury for any of your clients, I’d find them guilty the second you opened your mouth.”
“I got this job because—”
“You got this job because youlied.” I cut her off. “Not because you’re the best at anything because you’re not. It’s because you lied.”
She picked up her bag and tossed my floor lamp to the floor on her way out.
Against my better judgment, I rushed after her, catching her in the hallway.
“What the hell is your problem?” I asked. “Everything was fine and you just snapped out of nowhere.”
“You can’t be this dense, Damien.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re the smartest man I know.”
“That’s obvious.” I shrugged. “What’s the problem?”
