SAVANNAH
Ipeer around as Emma grabs my hand and tows me down the hallway toward the supply closet. When we’re safe inside and she shuts and locks the door behind us, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and give her a baffled look.
“What in the world are we doing?” I ask.
“I’ve been waiting for you to get here! Youcannotgo to your desk.”
“It doesn’t matter, Emma. I’m going to get fired. I literally got arrested yesterday.”
“Well, I think you might be in more trouble than you thought. I’m sure they heard you made it home last night and would be showing up here today so they called the cops for security. Do you want to be escorted out of a building like that again?”
I twist my face and pull one brow down. That doesn’t make any sense. Other than what happened at the courthouse, which I was already reprimanded for, I haven’t done anything that would elicit them having the police here waiting for me. Nothing that I can think of anyway.
“Give me your keys. I’ll pull your car around, you can slip out the back door, and be gone before they see you!”
“I don’t have my keys,” I sigh.
I contemplate an escape plan I’m not entirely sure I even need when feet shuffle accompanied by muffled voices down the hallway. As they get closer to the storage closet, their conversation becomes more clear and we press our ears to the door to try and catch what they’re saying.
“That’s great news. Thanks for stopping by.”
That sounded like Mrs. Powell’s voice. I press the shell of my ear closer to the wooden door until the side of my face is squished up against the flat surface.
“Sure thing. I’m headed out. Holler if you need anything,” another voice says, this one deeper, more gruff, and a lot like the Chief of Police who I’ve had a few professional conversations with in the past.
My eyes widen and lock with Emma’s.
“Don’t chance it,” she whispers. “You should go home.”
This is silly. I’m not a coward and I’m no stranger to getting my ass chewed. I’ll be damned if I’m going to tuck my tail between my legs and leave without showing my face. In one swift motion, I open the door and step out into the hall.
“You need to chill out. I’m dreading this, but I’m not going to leave and it sounds like the police you saw earlier are gone now. It’ll be fine,” I say.
Emma scrunches her nose and shrugs, taking off in the direction of her office near the staff lounge. I hate when this happens. I’m face to face with a potential relationship whether it be a friend or coworker or otherwise, and then proceed to say the wrong thing or act a certain way that makes them walk away.
I don’t know why I’m so hell-bent on marching to the beat of my own drum. But those traits have done a number on my job experiences, friendships, and other relationships. I’ve learned that most people prefer someone who goes along with whatever they have to say. Someone agreeable and bendable.
That fact is part of why I was so shocked that Warren not only agreed to come help me last night, but he hugged me too. Actually hugged me when I was crying and in the middle of a breakdown. I don’t know why he didn’t leave me alone after the second time I bit his head off, and I didn’t know how to react to that either.
Maybe he’s the type of person to show his disgust behind a person’s back instead of to their face. He probably laughed at me on his way home and made fun of me to his friends for being a walking catastrophe.
A small twinge of anxiety floods my insides, making me grab the sleeve of my blazer and tug it down over my wrist. It helps to keep myself busy and occupied when feelings like this arise, so I lift my gaze and walk to my desk.
I don’t have my own private office yet, being at the bottom of the food chain here so to speak. But my side of the cubicle is right next to the window so I still call that a win. It looks like they weren’t angry enough to throw my things out the door yet. My mini fridge still sits under the left side of the desk. My millions of sticky notes are still scattered along the edges of the computer monitor. And even my stacks of case files remain next to the keyboard.
My desk phone rings, and I lean over to see that the caller ID is coming from the main conference room. I clear my throat and scramble to pick it up.
“Hello?”
“Answer the phone by stating your name so that the person calling knows they’ve reached the correct line of communication, dear.”
Mariana. She owns half of this law firm technically but runs the whole damn thing literally. I’ve never met anyone as sharp as she is. It’s part of the reason I all but begged for this job. I wasdesperate to work with her and soak up every bit of knowledge she was willing to give.
Lucky for me, not a lot of big-shot lawyers are jumping at the chance to move out of the city and to the town of Westridge. After researching Mariana’s stellar track record of mentoring young attorneys, I went for the opportunity.
“Right. Yes ma’am,” I say back to her.
“Meet us in the conference room, please.”
