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“Maybe not at that moment, but I prefer she stay away from the criminal who spends all his money in court. Don’t get me wrong, it’s for your client’s safety too, because trust me, Lina, if what happened to Natalie Brower happened to Gemma, not even Christ himself could save Alex from me.”
“Easy…” Lina lulled. “There are strict rules about that name, and about saying it out loud.”
“Strict is my dedication to Gemma’s safety. Don’t think that a judge won’t find it suspicious that your client is stalking by proxy.” I knew Alex couldn’t be using Gemma to get to me but spat it out regardless.
“I’m not convinced. If my client wants to file harassment charges, then I will be in full support of them doing so.”
“Harassment? On what grounds?”
“On your misuse of a missing persons report on her, of course.” Lina smiled wide, my face shifting into a scowl. A report onher?Gemma? What the fuck was she even saying?
Three timid knocks came at my door as Scarlett poked her head in. “Mr. Jones,” she announced quietly. “Miss Camilla Martinez is here for you.”
Fuck.
Of all the times for Mila to show up, it had to be now. Lina could easily find out who Mila was—hell, Mila herself was usually dying to tell others about what she did for a living. Dating the gossip columnist of New York’s biggest social magazine certainly put me in a compromising position, especially with Alex on the case. I couldn’t risk this.
“Please advise Miss Martinez that I’ll be finished shortly.” The look I gave Scarlett sent a message far clearer than my words.Not fucking now.
“Camilla Martinez?” Lina asked, lifting the single framed photo that sat on my desk.
Of course she had to look at it, the one image of me hugging Gemma at an arcade in Soho. We posed in front of aFrankensteinpinball machine; having finally placed third on the leader board for highest score. In it, my arm reached around her small shoulder, pulling her close to my chest as we both leaned towards our glowing initials.
We looked so happy in the photo, and in fact we were, but even then I was miserable at a distance, feeling like the potential bomb that could ruin her life. My thumb physically throbbed from the memory of Claire’s words and scolding match.
“Is she your girlfriend?” Lina looked at the picture, but I assumed she was referring to Mila.
“What an odd question,” I scoffed. “She’s a client. Unlike what you just assumed Gemma was to you. She has no legal ties to your firm. She would never file a harassment suit.”
Lina shook her head. “Actually, you’re wrong. Mr. Rivers has me on retainer, and in turn I have been hired to do the same for Miss Harrison.” She placed the photo back onto my desk. “And I take that very seriously. If she wishes to press harassment charges against you, I’d fully support that.”
My eye twitched at the audacity; the blatant ownership she placed over Gemma. Alex was using my own profession against me, attempting to take my spot even as legal counsel to the woman I loved.
“I want you to beverycareful with your next words.” The deepness of my voice seemed to startle her, as her hand suddenly recoiled from her knee to her lap. I was Gemma’s Rattlesnake for a reason. “Any cross moves will be met with serious legal ramifications.”
“In the form of what, exactly?”
“Test me and find out,” I growled.
“You don’t have the resources or funds my client does.” Her rebuttal was weak, almost laughable, as if she had any idea of what I was capable of.
“What I have is far more exceeding thanAlex Rivers. And if you don’t believe me, I challenge you to try. Because trust me, Lina, I’ll gladly take you down with him. People will see you, and all they’ll think of is me—thebig,red, fuckingXon your tepid legal career.”
“Go ahead and try,” her earlier confidence stammered itself, she was too eager to rebut.
“Oh, I will, in court. And once your head is spinning, once you realize how little it is you know about law, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“All you do is talk.”
“And soon, all you’ll do is listen, which is what you should be doing right now. Threaten me again, and you’ll have nothing…not eventhatyesterday’s-laundry-of-a-suit you’re wearing,” I attacked, a more viscous critique than what she was prepared for.
Her competitive spark fizzled out, her otherwise dimpled cheeks smoothed by a quick but painful frown. She looked down at my desk again, observing the Belmont Hills brochure sitting by my side. She studied it, absorbing its connection to me, and to the case at large.
“Belmont?” she questioned quietly.
“It’s not about Natalie Brower,” I responded, assuring her that even though Belmont Hills and Natalie were related, they weren’t in this particular instance.
“What else could it possibly be about?” she asked, not believing me, fearing any potential strategies I had in the case against Alex Rivers.
