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Eight
Christa
Annoyed, I turn aroundto my boss. “What, Melinda? I’m busy.”
I immediately regret my snap, but I can’t care. She can fire me if she wants. Nothing matters.
“I’ll come back later, it can wait,” she replies, looking hurt as she turns to leave my office.
I immediately get up, cringing at how loose my pencil skirt is. It was skintight before Eric left, my curves filling it all in. Twenty pounds are gone in the past two months, all from my ass and hips. “I’m sorry, Mel. Please, stay. What do you need me to do?”
“I know I keep asking, but are you okay?” The sympathy and kindness in her eyes kills me.
“I’m fine. It’s just a breakup, I’ll live. I don’t mean to snap. I just need to get more sleep.” It’s partly true. I don’t sleep worth a shit but I’m also horribly lonely and sad while awake, and nothing makes it better. Not food, not alcohol, not girls’ night with my friends, not keeping busy. Nothing. All I can do is exist and hope this heartbreak mends soon or I might not survive.
“Have you talked to anyone, honey?” she asks in her motherly way. She’s in her fifties with thick brown hair, a kind smile, a husband of decades, older, unruly teens, and talks nonstop about retiring on a boat somewhere. Maybe she’ll take me with her.
“I’ll live. I just need to keep busy. Please tell me you have a project for me,” I reply in deflection.
She eyes me warily, wets her lips, then says, “Yes, we just took on a criminal case. It’s a home invasion robbery, but the client insists he’s not guilty. A case of mistaken identity.”
That sounds intriguing.
A lot of clients say they’re innocent. Well, most of them do. When they hire us they think by being charming and manipulative, they will win us over and it’ll cause us to work harder for them if we believe them as well. However, it just doesn’t work like that. We’re paid to defend them to the best of our ability and we’re not supposed to care if they did it or not. I open the file and start browsing through the evidence.
“The client’s in my office if you want to meet him.”
I shrug and close the folder. “Sure, let me do that before I dive too deep into this.”
Normally, I’m just the ‘clerk’—paralegals aren’t attorneys—but Melinda pays me well to do a little extra. I’ve studied law and am thinking about going to law school because this shit intrigues me, but I haven’t taken the plunge yet. I really should look into it again. It’s not like I have a husband and kids who need me. Might as well be a career woman at this point.
“This is Lance Johnson,” she introduces, then looks at him. “And this is our best paralegal, Christa Alvarez.”
I’m greeted by an attractive Black man in a sharp suit. He’s got a clean haircut, warm-colored skin, and a perfectly white smile that he dazzles me with. I’m taken aback by how handsome he is, but I keep my professional mask in place. I don’t miss how his gaze travels the length of my body then back up to my eyes, flirtation dancing in his.
“Hello, Ms. Alvarez. Nice to meet you.” He shakes my hand and then sits only after I do in the chair next to his.
A gentleman.
Get your head in the game, Christa. He’s a client.
Also, he’s not Eric.
“So, I’ve read your file. Tell me your version of events, please,” Melinda starts.
“Absolutely,” he replies. “I was at my job at the bank two weeks ago when three Denver cops came in and immediately put me under arrest. I was so confused. Not to mention embarrassed. I had no idea what was going on.
“They took me to the Jefferson County jail and booked me, fingerprinted me, stripped me out of my clothes, and put me in an orange jumpsuit, all without explaining how I’d been arrested for robbery when I’d never stolen a thing in my life.”
Typical arrest and booking process, I think to myself. “Go on, Mr. Johnson.”
“I sat there for two days, because it was a Friday when they arrested me, and some lawyer I never heard of or met before comes in and explains that a violent home invasion took place in Lakewood. I’ve never even been to Lakewood! I guess the victim picked me out of a photo lineup.”
Confused, I ask, “How did he do that? Do you have a criminal history?” They only use people who’ve been arrested and/or have been in jail and prisons for lineup photos.
“A DUI three years ago. I beat that charge too. I was a hair below the legal limit when I blew, so I got an attorney and got out of it. I didn’t hurt anyone.”
