This Love Hurts (This Love Hurts 1)

I shouldn’t have said it and I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed. Tension twists my gut. It’s bad; today is a really, really bad day.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I do everything I can to calm myself down. To pretend like my boss isn’t going to walk in here and chew my ass out any minute now.

The parking garage is just across the street. Our building lies between an office complex and small commercial strip. The coffee shop is all the way on the other side, which is a six-minute walk, tried and true. So when I parked with fifteen minutes to spare and a hand that was throbbing just as hard as the headache my mother gave me, I knew I needed coffee.

What I didn’t need was the press waiting for anyone from the Assistant Attorney General’s department so they could ask questions about a case that slipped through my fingers.

Microphones and camera crews first thing in the morning get my adrenaline going in a way I used to crave. I can even admit that back when I first moved here, I loved the sight of them. The high of knowing information and having a voice that mattered meant so much to me. The fact that I worked on cases that were worthy of press was enough to keep a soft professional smile on my lips and a confident gleam in my eye as I strode along confidently with my simple black leather purse kept tight to my side. I paired a power walk with red lipstick and a skirt suit worth more than my first car.

I thought I had it all back then. This morning though, and lately with the way the press has turned, it was hard enough to keep my lips pressed into a thin red line. Lipstick courage or not, I sure as hell had better things to do with my time than be battered with questions about a conviction that’s been overruled.

I barely had a hand in the case. I gave my opinion and that was all.

“Anyone who helps a man do that to children, to little girls who were dead the moment he set their sights on them… a man who helps and does nothing to stop them deserves to rot in hell.”

Needless to say, I didn’t get my coffee. So I’m stuck here with Aaron’s choice of brew. Which is too hot to drink still and every second that passes, the headache gets worse.

My statement plays back in my head followed by the ticking of the incessant clock.

And then suddenly there’s a loud bang at my door. The knock, knock, knock hardly registers before the door is swung open.

“You said, ‘rot in hell.’” Claire Eastings mocks my tone as she swings the door closed behind her with a hard thump from the bottom of one of her flats. She stands taller than me without heels, and that’s saying something. Six feet tall and sixty years old, she towers over my desk with a scowl. Another thing Auntie Lindie used to say, your face will get stuck like that. … Yeah, well, Claire’s face is in a constant scowl. Despite her resting bitch face and all, she’s damn good at what she does. So when she repeats, “rot in hell,” drawing out the words with her dark brown eyes wide and full of disbelief, one hand on her wide hip with the other gripping a piece of paper so tight that she’s creased and crinkled it, my stomach drops.

My fingers nervously pick at the edge of the case file as I meet her gaze. I have a lot to learn. I’ll be the first to admit it. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said it.”

“No,” she agrees then throws her head back and when she does I close my eyes, wishing the ground would swallow me up. I don’t react well to being scolded and especially not by someone I admire. Claire paved the way for women in this career, simply by being the best of the best. Today isn’t just a bad day, I think as I swallow the knot in my throat, it’s an awful day.

I know what I did. I know I messed up. Just tell me whether or not I’m going to have to sit out on cases and file paperwork as punishment. I have shit to do.

With my jaw clenched tight, I keep the words there at the back of my throat and give Claire’s rant the full attention she wants.

Her pencil skirt isn’t fitted and it rides up, bunching around her hips as she paces. “Are you kidding me?” she questions, her head tilted and her eyes narrowed at me. When she does that, the wrinkles around her eyes and her pursed lips deepen.

“First the mess that happened two days ago and now this? Are you—” She continues her tyrannical rage and I cut her off.