Charlotte
The law isn’tabout the truth. Before I went to law school, I thought it was. Now that I’ve been practicing a few years, I see it through different eyes. Pretty and persuasive words are what it’s all about.
Still, I keep at it. I still care. Still want to help kids, even within a system designed to fail.
A pair of tasseled loafers enters my vision as I clear the table of my exhibits, pens, and folders. I don’t bother to look up.
“Nice going, Clark.” David sounds like he’s gargling with lemon juice. We’ve known each other since law school. I might not have graduated near the top of the class like he did, but out here in the jungle, grades don’t really matter.
I continue tucking things into my briefcase. “I had the law and the facts on my side.” And your client is a dick.
“Eh, agree to disagree.”
I swing my briefcase over my shoulder and face him. “Well, the judge agreed, and that’s all that really matters, right?” I paste on a sweet smile that is fake as fuck.
One corner of his mouth slides up. “Can I buy you lunch? We haven’t sat down to catch up in ages.”
Before Marcel and I were together, David and I maintained a sort of friendship left over from law school. Lunches weren’t uncommon. But I started to see a smug, cruel side of him I didn’t like and stopped accepting the invitations. Today doesn’t feel like the day to start that up again.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my briefcase.
Ol’ Man: How’d it go?
Me: I won.
Ol’ Man: That’s my girl.
The corners of my mouth tug up.
“Charlotte?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry.” I tuck my phone away.
“Lunch?”
“I can’t—”
“Come on, there’s a cafe right next door. You have to be starving after that closing argument.”
I am starving and the cafe next door was exactly where I planned to go to grab a sandwich before heading back to my office. Change my plans or get this over with?
My stomach growls as if it would like to weigh in on my dilemma.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Great.” He strides down the aisle leading out of the now empty courtroom, leaving me to follow. He pushes open the wide swinging doors and holds one side open for me.
My heels clack over the marble floor as I hurry to match his long strides. We pass the guarded entrance. One of the officers shouts a greeting to me and I wave.
“They seem to know you well here,” David says once we’re outside.
“I practice in this courthouse a lot.”
“I noticed.” He lets out a wry laugh.
Not my fault he didn’t ask about the local rules before agreeing to take this case.
There’s a line at the cafe but we’re eventually directed to a booth in the back.