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Charles shrugs. “Sorry.”
I twist my mouth, thinking back to what I learned in school. Specifically, a class called Journalism and the Justice System. “Do you think maybe there’s some roundabout way I could get my hands on it? Like, some motion or deposition that might at least refer to it or summarize it?”
Charles considers my question for a long beat before his face lights up. “Hold on. I’ve got an idea.” He clacks on his computer keyboard, and then smiles like a Cheshire cat. “Bingo. I searched for any case involving Eleanor Rivers, even if she was the plaintiff, and hit pay dirt. A year after the dissolution and custody dispute, Eleanor sued her divorce attorney for malpractice.”
I look at Charles blankly, not understanding how this information helps my cause.
Charles smirks. “It means you’re in luck. Apparently, Eleanor didn’t like the result of her divorce and custody battle, and thought her attorney in that case botched the job. So she sued her for malpractice. It’s not guaranteed you’ll get all the details of the underlying divorce and custody dispute by reading the malpractice lawsuit that came a year later, but I’m guessing you’ll at least get the gist.”
“Oh,” I say, a lightbulb going off. “Because, in order to explain how her attorney messed up in the divorce case, Eleanor would have had to summarize that underlying case?”
“Exactly.” He clacks on his keyboard for a moment. “Okay, the malpractice lawsuit is something I can get for you. It’s general civil litigation, not family law. But it was filed twenty-two years ago, so you’ll have to fill out a form for that one, so it can be retrieved from the archives or microfiche, or whatever. You’ll probably have the documents in about a week or so.”
I’m giddy. “Thank you so much, Charles. Oh my gosh. You’re a rock star.”
I fill out the form he gives me, listing the address for delivery of the documents as the offices of Rock ‘n’ Roll—not River Records—even though Owen has kindly set me up with a cubicle down the hallway from him. I don’t know what, of interest, I’m going to find in Eleanor Rivers’ twenty-two-year-old malpractice lawsuit, if anything. But, whatever is in that file, I sure as hell don’t want Reed walking in on me in my cubicle and discovering that I’m reading it.
“Thank you again for all your help, Charles. You’re the best.”
“No problem. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
When Charles leaves, I take a rickety chair in a corner, pull out my laptop, and make furious notes. But a few minutes into my note-taking, I get a phone call from Reed.
“Why, hello there, Mr. Rivers,” I say.
“Hello there, Miss Ricci. My meeting just ended. Where are you?”
My stomach tightens. “At a coffee place.”
“Which one? I’ll pick you up.”
I glance at the empty spot at the counter, where there’s still no sign of Charles. “Actually, um, the writer assigned as my mentor at Rock ‘n’ Roll—this woman named Zasu—happens to be downtown, so I’m going to hook up with her for a bit. I’ll grab an Uber after that and meet you at your house.”
“I can hang around and do some work in a conference room at Leonard’s, if you won’t be too long. I know you’re excited to sit in on my weekly team meeting.”
“Oh, I am. Will you be having another weekly meeting next Monday?”
“Yes. But won’t that fall outside the week you’ve earmarked for shadowing me? Are you sure you want to keep following me around after your obligatory week is up?”
Reed’s tone is flirty and fun, so I throw back more of the same.
“Hey, whatever it takes to write the best possible article about you, I’m willing to make the sacrifice. Although, to be clear, an extra day of following you around will be a huge sacrifice.”
I can hear his smile across the phone line. “The Intrepid Reporter strikes again.”
My stomach somersaults. I look around the clerk’s office, feeling guilty as hell. But why? I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m only doing exactly what I was hired to do: dig a little deeper. Exactly what Reed knows I was hired to do. I mean, come on, as fun as this surprising romance with Reed is, it’s not like it will lead to anything serious. It’s fun, yes. So fun, it should be illegal. But I can’t let it sidetrack me from my higher purpose, which is writing the most kickass article I can, and getting myself my dream job.
“I think I’ll catch the weekly meeting next week,” I say. “And meet you back at your house later, after I’m done with my work.”
“Okay. Work hard. Play hard. And I’ll do the same.” He chuckles. “Although, I must admit, I’m gonna have a bitch of a time trying to get you off my mind during my weekly meeting. I could barely do it during my meeting with Leonard and the expert witness.”
