Conflicted

I press Send and shake my head. At least she has me smiling. I have no idea why the girl has attached herself to me, but for the moment I don’t mind. If annoying me gives her something to do, then good for her.

My stomach growls at me. I get up and walk over to the fridge, surprised to find it’s full of food. Chuckling, I pull out a yoghurt and peel the top off. I knew he’d give in and shop. He always does.

The rest of my evening plays out pretty low key. I do some laundry and study for my last exam—not that I’ll ever admit it to Lacey. I wouldn’t want to damage the “I couldn’t care less” approach to school she thinks I have. Regardless of what she thinks, I do give a shit about passing my course. I want to make something of myself; it’s just I find it hard to focus on that when the rest of my life is such a mess. Rather than have Lacey pity me, I pretend I don’t care.

Because it’s easier that way, and it’s the only thing in my life right now that’s easy.

Chapter Six

Lacey

I step inside the elevator, my hands shaking. I wipe a layer of sweat onto the side of my skirt and try to steady my breathing. Just as the doors begin to close, they swing open again. I look up and into the eyes of Aaron Wilmot. My eyes widen as my hands begin to shake harder. I grip one in the other to cover the fact that I’m losing the plot. If I wasn’t nervous enough before, now all I can think about is how good he smells, standing less than a metre away from me. The photos I found when stalking his Facebook page don’t do him justice. He looks incredible in his expensive-looking suit. His dark hair is perfectly styled, and a light shadow covers his strong jawline. My daydream is interrupted by the abrupt halt of the cart. The doors swing open and Aaron marches out. I follow, trying to focus on anything but his arse.

He disappears into an office and the spell is broken. I swallow the lump in my throat and approach the receptionist’s desk. I introduce myself, shocked when she directs me straight down to his office. I was counting on having the waiting time to compose myself.

Taking a deep breath, I knock gently on his open door. He calls for me to come in. My legs feel like jelly as I walk inside. He watches me from his desk, his dark eyes narrowed as if he’s taking in every inch of me. I blush as my nipples harden under his intense gaze. If he recognises me from the elevator moments ago, he doesn’t show it.

The edge of his mouth creeps up into a smirk as I approach his desk. God, I’m shaking. How can he have this effect on me? It’s like I’m walking towards a movie star I’ve been waiting to meet all my life.

“Ms. Anderson, I presume?” he says, sitting back in his chair. He raises an eyebrow and peers at me, his stare intense.

I nod, my cheeks growing warmer as I sit down. I extend my hand out over his desk and almost sigh as he places his against it. Soft and warm, his touch lingers before I quickly retreat, resting both hands awkwardly in my lap. He grins, as if he’s enjoying my reaction. I wonder what he’s thinking. Am I like this around him because I find him attractive or because of who he is in the world of criminal law?

“Yes. I’m one of the applicants for the internship,” I mumble, the words sticking in my throat. I cringe. Why else would I be sitting at his desk at 4 p.m., my allotted interview time slot? “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wilmot,” I add. “I can’t tell you how much I admire you.”

“Thank you,” he says graciously, as though he hears those words every day. “Let me start by telling you a bit about what I’m offering. You’re probably wondering why I’ve decided to direct this internship at psychology students, considering it is not my main area of expertise.”

“Sort of,” I admit, my voice squeaking. Relief washes over me. I’m glad I’m not the one who had to bring that up, because if it were left to me, I probably wouldn’t have asked. “I mean I don’t doubt I could learn a lot from you, but I was shocked when my professor told me what you were offering.”

“Are you familiar with Duane Fairgone?” he asks, studying my expression intently.

“Of course,” I nervously reply, wondering what he has to do with anything.

Duane had been charged with the alleged murder of fourteen-year-old Amanda Parkenson the previous year. I’d been following the case in some of my classes. What he did to that girl makes me feel sick—especially because it hits so close to home.

Nearly fifteen years ago, my cousin Allie disappeared on the way to school when she was thirteen, ten miles from where Amanda had last been seen. I was only seven when Allie went missing. I don’t remember much about her, other than thinking she was incredibly pretty. I remember wishing I would grow up and be as pretty as she was. Only she never got to grow up. Her body was found nine months later in a shallow grave in a reserve a few hundred metres from her home.

“What does he have to do with this internship?” I ask, pressing my lips together. Thinking about Allie makes me upset, and I’m struggling to contain my emotions. As much as I admire Aaron, Allie is a big reason why I could never do what he does.

“I’ll be representing him,” he responds. “If you’re successful, you will be assisting me with the preparation for his trial.”

“You’re representing him?” I repeat, my mouth dry. My heart begins to pound as anxiety starts to set in.

“Yes,” Aaron confirms. “Is there something you’d like to say?” He raises his eyebrows in a way that makes me feel unprofessional.

“No,” I say hastily. “I’m just…” My voice trails off. I wish I could start this whole thing over. He probably thinks I’m an idiot who can barely string a sentence together. I close my eyes and try to put my thoughts together. I want

to say something, to try and explain why I’m acting this way, but what’s the point? There is no way I’m getting this role.

Sighing, Aaron sits forward, his eyes locking on mine. “If you are going to have an issue with this, I need to know now, Ms. Anderson. Everyone, including those suspected of raping and murdering young girls, has the right to a fair trial.”

“I realise that. I wasn’t suggesting otherwise,” I reply, my tone harsher than I’d intended. I run my hand over my clammy arm, horrified by what his impression of me must be. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give the impression that I wasn’t capable of being impartial. I promise you I am.”

“Good,” he replies before I can continue. “Because in this field you need to be. You’re going to come across many people over the course of your career who have done things that will make your stomach turn. You think this is bad?” He laughs. “You have no idea. Your job is to push past that and ensure they’re treated fairly. You’re either able to handle that or you’re not.”

“I can handle it, I assure you,” I say, with more confidence than I feel.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replies. “Why don’t you tell me why you think you deserve this internship.”