Love the One You Hate

“It’s really pretty, but so…fancy.”

She laughs lightly. “Most of the furniture are heirlooms, yes. That writing desk belonged to Cornelia’s mother. It was brought over from France.”

I make a mental note to stay far away from it.

“To the left is your ensuite bathroom. Feel free to use it to freshen up. I’ll be back at six o’clock to help you get ready for dinner.”

I frown.

“I don’t think I need help.”

My rebuff doesn’t seem to sit well with her, so I quickly amend my words. “That is, I can probably get ready for dinner on my own.”

The tension between her brows lessens. “I think you’ll find it easier if I help with your hair and dress. Besides, I enjoy doing it.”

Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I nod.

“Right, okay. Maybe it’ll be beneficial to see how it’s done. I’ll be working here soon…I think.”

Rita smiles. “Yes. Cornelia told us you’d be arriving today.”

Oh really?

“Can I ask what she said about me?”

Enlighten me, please.

“Oh, she didn’t go into too much detail. She mentioned that she was expecting a young guest, said you would be her new charge.”

Charge?

“But that’s not right. I’m not a guest—I’m working here.”

She smiles, humoring me. “I’m sure you two will hammer out the details soon enough. For now, you’ll have to excuse me for treating you as she instructed. Cornelia is formal and likes things done a certain way, so I’ll be back promptly at six to help you get ready.”5NicholasI have four young associates and two interns in my office. It’s six PM and none of us could leave even if we wanted to. There’s no clear path to the door. Papers litter every available surface. Empty coffee cups and food wrappers haven’t quite made it into the trash can, and I stand at a whiteboard writing down a potential lead for our defendant, Antonio Owens.

This is just another day in the office for me. In law school, I thought I’d go into public defense and dabble in some pro bono work here and there. In reality, it’s all I do. I founded the Innocence Group upon graduating five years ago, heavily influenced by one of my professors at Yale. He lectured us time and time again on the number of wrongly convicted innocent people who remain incarcerated with no representation, and rather than lamenting the injustice, I decided to do something about it.

“Has anyone found the cell records for July 8, 2014 yet?” I ask, turning to look at the group scattered behind me.

“I’m at June 2014,” one of the interns says, whipping through papers. “I’m getting there.”

The phone rings on my desk, and someone leaps to answer it.

“Innocence Group. Alex speaking.” There’s a pause, and then Alex looks up at me. “Yes, he’s right here.”

I reach for my phone over the tangled mess of people, the cord barely reaching where I stand. Alex has to hold the base up and over someone’s head so I don’t rip the thing out of the wall.

“Nicholas,” I say, wedging the phone between my head and shoulder so I can continue to write on the whiteboard.

“What a wonderful greeting from my grandson.”

I smile. “You should know better than to call me at the office. What’d you expect?”

“Oh, yes yes. I know you’re busy. I was just bragging about your work at the club today, in fact.”

“Is that why you called?”

“No, though I can see you’re trying to rush me off the phone, so I’ll be brief. I just wanted to inform you that I have a new employee. I know you like to know about these things, so here I am, telling you.”

I immediately stop writing and wave my hand to shoo everyone out of the room. They all jump to their feet, leaping and hopping over tiny mountains of paper. Trash crunches under their feet as someone trips and nearly goes down. In a few seconds, the door shuts behind them and I’m alone.

“Employee?” I ask. “I thought you already hired a new driver. Is Frank not working out?”

“Frank is wonderful. No, I hired someone else.”

“To do what exactly?”

“Handle my personal affairs. Nothing you’d be interested in.”

I pinch my eyes shut. “I prefer conducting your employee interviews myself. Especially after what happened last week, I think it’d be prudent to vet anyone you invite into our lives.”

“This was a unique case.”

“Did you check references? Ask for a resume?”

“I don’t think I quite like your tone right now.”

I send a silent groan skyward. “At least tell me where you met the person?”

“At Holly Home. You know that’s where Annette is staying, and I go to visit her from time to time.”

“Is your new employee a resident there?”

My grandmother laughs at the suggestion. “No. She worked there. She’s quite young actually.”

“What’s her name?”

“Maren Mitchell.”

“The moment we hang up the phone, I’m looking into her. Background check, references, the works. We haven’t even surfaced from the news articles that were published last week—you realize that, don’t you?”