Page 47
Luckily, I stop short just in time, but when I glance up to glare at the fucker… I'm taken aback by the man standing before me.
He’s tall and lean with a sharp jaw. Bronzed skin glows beneath the dangling lights, beautifully contrasting the dark curls pulled into a low knot at the back of his head. And he's… wearing a suit. Not the cheap kind, either—tailored to fit his broad shoulders, matching the leather briefcase in his hand.
The guy looks so wildly out of place in this dive bar that it takes my brain a second to compute his words. “Uh…” I shift the tub to my other hip. “Depends who’s asking.”
He smiles warmly. “My name is Kingston Blake, from the public defender’s office. I’ve been trying to get in contact with you.”
He extends his hand, which I don’t take. I’m too busy trying to pull my stomach out of my ass. Public defender. The guy’s a fucking lawyer. “Yeah, sorry. Phone’s been… disconnected. What's this about?”
He nods politely, eyes raking over me in assessment. “It’s okay. I figured I’d track you down in person. We need to talk about your upcoming court date.”
Fuck. I forgot about that shit. “Right now?”
“I tried calling earlier, but…” His gaze drops to the dirty dishes before lifting back to my face. “We can talk here, if you have a moment.”
Glancing around self-consciously, I catch Juanita's attention at the bar, where she’s watching us curiously. Heat crawls up the back of my neck. “Yeah. Okay. Just… give me a sec.”
He nods once, stepping to the side, and I bring my tub over to my boss. She lifts a brow in question.
“Public defender,” I shrug. “For… my court thing. He needs to talk to me.”
Her mouth forms a perfect O before flattening into a line. “Ay, Dios mío. Okay. Go. I’ll get one of the servers to cover you.”
My shoulders sag with gratitude. “Thanks, Nita. I appreciate it.”
“Mmhmm. Don’t make it a habit. If he’s single, ask if he likes older women.”
I choke out a laugh as I turn around, finding Kingston exactly where I left him. “Come on,” I say, jerking my chin toward the back of the bar.
He follows with a smile, past the booths filled with dudes in oil-stained work shirts and couples sharing cheap margaritas, until we reach a high-top away from the pool tables. I slide onto a stool first, feeling oddly exposed as he sits opposite me and places his briefcase neatly on the table between us.
“Alright,” he starts, pulling out a folder. “I want to go over your charges and talk through what our options are.”
“Okay. Sure. Hit me.”
“You got picked up for selling cocaine.”
It takes all of my strength not to roll my eyes. “It was one bag.”
“One bag,” he confirms patiently. “Three-point-five grams, plus a scale and a text thread with someone asking for ‘the usual.’” He arches a neatly manicured brow. “That’s enough for the DA to put you away for fifteen years.”
I swear my soul leaves my fucking body. “Fifteen years? Jesus Christ, it's not like I’m some drug lord. I was just trying to make rent.”
“And I believe you. That’s why I wanted to speak in person. I think we can get this dropped down to simple possession.”
“Dropped? Like… gone?”
“Not gone,” he clarifies. “Reduced. Possession is a misdemeanor. You could get community service or pay a fine. Probably some drug classes. Your driver's license will be suspended and you won't be able to own a firearm, but you'll stay out of prison.”
My throat tightens at that. “No prison?”
“If we play our cards right, yes. No prison.”
Emotion burns inside my throat—panic, relief and shame, all tangled up with exhaustion. I look down at the folder so he doesn’t have to watch my face fall apart. “Look, man… I don’t have the money to pay you. I’m barely keeping my head on straight right now.”
“You don’t need money,” Kingston says quietly, tapping his knuckles on the table. “You just need to show up. And let me help you.”
“But… why? Seriously. I’m not worth the trouble.”
