Conflicted

“Okay. Lucas? I love you.”

“Love you too, Lace.”

Chapter Eleven

Lacey

I knock lightly on his office door and step back. My hands shake as I attempt to smooth out a nonexistent wrinkle on the front of my skirt. I spent ages choosing my outfit—a cotton pencil skirt that falls just below the knee and a cream-coloured silk shirt. Normally it’s not something I would’ve worried that much about, but being my first day, and after how he saw me the other day, I felt like I needed to prove I’m capable of handling myself. I’m yet to make a decent impression, so I have no idea why I’m still here.

“Come in.” His voice is imposing and I immediately feel intimidated—even through the closed door.

Taking a deep breath, I push open the door and walk inside, closing it behind me. He looks up from his computer and smiles at me. I’m surprised by the shiver of excitement that smile makes me release, as if I’d forgotten how attractive he was in person.

He motions to the empty chair opposite his desk. “Sit down. I’ll just be a minute. Coffee? Tea? A hard shot?”

The last one is tempting, but I shake my head and sit down. God, I’m so nervous. Not only because of what this internship will do for me, but also because it’s with him. We sit in silence for what feels like hours. In reality, it’s little more than a few minutes. Finally, he snaps shut his laptop and turns his attention to me.

“I’ve put a file together for you, outlining the basics on the case we will be working on. I thought for the first couple of days you can just watch me and we’ll assess from there how our relationship will work. How does that sound?”

Relief surges through me as I begin to relax. I thought for sure he’d say something about Saturday, and I’m glad we’re not addressing it. Besides, the thought of watching him sounds very appealing, as does “assessing our relationship.” He stares at me and raises his eyebrows. I’m confused, and wonder what he’s waiting for, but then I remember I haven’t replied.

“That sounds great,” I say, forcing the answer out. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton wool and I know I’m blushing. Snap out of it, Lace. I have no idea what’s wrong with me, but it stops now. I’m here to learn, dammit, not swoon over someone who is way out of my league.

I breathe out and sit forward in my seat, determined to pull myself together. Taking hold of the crisp white folder, I flick it open. The information whore inside me is in heaven. The folder is full to the brim of newspaper clippings, handwritten notes and interview transcripts, and every other snippet of information on the case you could imagine—most of which has never been released to the public. This will keep my mind on track.

“I have a meeting now with the prosecutor on the case. You can use my office to familiarize yourself with the case. I shouldn’t be longer than an hour.”

“Great,” I say, getting to my feet. The mention of the prosecutor has me thinking of my father. I know he’s not on team for this case—I looked it up—but I wonder how long it will take to get back to him that I’m working with the defence. I shudder, putting it out of my mind. I’ll deal with that if and when it happens.

I look around awkwardly. Every tiny bit of the office is utilized and covered with papers. “Where do you want me to set myself up?”

“Use my desk for now, and I’ll find somewhere for you later,” he says. He stands up, presenting me with his chair, and then leaves.

I glance around, my stomach full of nerves. I sit down, the chair still warm, and clear myself a small space to work.

I try and concentrate on reading through the case notes, but I’m struggling to focus. I’m sitting in Aaron Wilmot’s office, looking through one of his cases. This is just way too surreal. Sitting back in his chair, I sigh, my fingers playing with a small black button on my shirt. His bookcase catches my eye. It’s crammed with every kind of book on crime and criminal law that you can think of. I walk over and run my finger along the titles before choosing one on the psychology of criminal law. The name on the bottom of the book jumps out at me: Aaron Wilmot. Holy shit, he wrote this. I carry it back over to his desk and flick through it. As if I needed any more reasons to be impressed b

y him.

“Lacey?”

I look up as the door opens. A girl not much older than I am peers inside. I’m immediately put at ease by her wide smile and warm eyes.

“Mr. Wilmot asked me to let you know he’s been held up. He said to help yourself to anything. Would you like me to show you to the staffroom?”

“That would be great,” I say, returning her smile. I return the book and follow her out of the office, in the direction of the reception. “What did you say your name was?”

“Rebecca.”

“Your Aaron’s—Mr. Wilmot’s,” I correct myself, “assistant?” She’s not the one who I spoke to on the phone, or the one I met before the interview.

“I am,” she says. “I’ve just returned today from maternity leave, which is why we didn’t get to meet the other day.”

“Really?” I say, my eyebrows shooting up. I feel my face heat. “I’m sorry, it’s just you don’t look much older than me.”

She laughs, her pretty blue eyes sparkling. “I’m twenty-eight. I’m sure one day I’ll be thanking my lucky stars I look so young, but for the moment it’s a curse. I get asked for ID all the time when I buy wine. So, you’re studying forensics? Is that something you’ve always wanted to do? I think it’s really nice of Mr. Wilmot to extend his knowledge beyond law students. This case is perfect for someone like you.”

“It is,” I agree, feeling a little bit uneasy. This case is just a taste of what I’ll be doing for the rest of my life. What if I can’t handle it? What if all those years were wasted? What if my father was right?