Attractive Nuisance (Legally in Love Book 1) Page 2

  Suddenly, Sheldon was at her side. “Your honor, my colleague was saying—” He rested his hand on her shoulder, grabbed her eyes with his own and turned her back around to face Judge Harper. Camilla’s eyes met the judge’s. The bear could pounce at any moment and tear her limb from limb—but instead, laughter danced in his eyes. Oh, now he was a circus bear. And Camilla was the clown.

  “Uh, yeah. Like, totally. I think I’ve made my case.” Like, totally? What? Did she just fly in from California in the 1980s in a time machine airplane? Guh! She stumbled to her chair and grabbed the water bottle on the table. She should splash this thing in her own face, wake herself up. But her blouse was white. The last thing she needed was to augment her disgrace with a wet t-shirt contest.

  “Thank you. And the defense?”

  The attorney for Mr. Tipton shot Camilla a sorry glance. Great. She’d rather have his ridicule than his pity. If she could slide down in her chair and disappear right now under the table—why didn’t they make trap doors beneath these things? Surely she wasn’t the first prosecutor to wish for one.

  That was it. She could go into courthouse renovation construction—in her next career, after she lost this job.

  “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.” Judge Harper rose, and the courtroom followed suit.

  The bailiff hollered, “The judge will take a recess and return with the verdict.”

  Camilla exhaled heavily. Sheldon leaned in close.

  “What the junk just happened to you?” He wrenched his head around and peered at the back of the courtroom. “It was like an invisible alien ship swooped in, attacked and left you lobotomized. Oh, I see.” He held out the ee on see, nodding knowingly. “So, it seems Camilla Sweeten can be charmed by a man after all. Ha! I wonder who he is. You should bring him to dinner to meet Lydia when you come on Sunday. Lydia will cross examine him, get the goods.”

  “Shut up, Sheldon. I am dying here. Did you see how fast I went into the death spiral? Now old Tilton is going to get off, free to attack someone with his granddaddy’s blow gun or samurai sword or something.”

  “You mean Tipton?”

  “Oh. Right. Whatever. I am so dead.” With her already being on Falcon’s bad side and the staffing changes in the wind, Camilla might have just signed her own career death warrant. She’d be staying home, rereading her worn copy of The Compleat Angler for the next five years and tying fishing flies before some firm took pity on her and hired her to make their coffee.

  Sheldon just laughed his usual way—much like a trained seal. She expected him to start clapping his flippers along to the rhythm of the barking. “No, Sweeten. You’ll be fine. Closing arguments aren’t everything. Yeah, they’re a lot.”

  Camilla crossed her arms on the table and threw her head onto them. “If Torres were here, he’d tell me to pack it in.”

  “Well, he is here. Didn’t you see him? He’s at the back with that person who is clearly the kryptonite of your logical thinking ability.”

  What? Falcon was here? She swung around. Sure enough. Jiminy Crickets, she wished Sheldon’s invisible aliens who took her brain would swoop in and take the rest of her right now. She’d be better off on their alien planet or even in their spaceship as some biological experiment.

  Falcon stood at the back, beside the guy who caused all this mess—who, incidentally, looked a little less perfect now that the moment had passed. Sure, he still had the broad shoulders and the impeccable suit, and the swagger of his demeanor steamed off him like dew in the morning sun. Yeah, he still looked good. But maybe not quite as good. One percent less incredible, at least.

  “You’re drooling again, Sweeten. Get a hold of yourself.” Sheldon elbowed her. “Besides, he’s your competition.”

  She snapped out of it. “What? How so?” As far as Camilla was concerned, he could win and win and win. Unless—

  “For the deputy county attorney job. They just brought him in from Coconino County.”

  Yeah, he’d have to be from out of town. Camilla would have remembered him. She’d been in Prescott, with the exception of college and law school, her whole life. If he’d even breezed through and stopped at the Tastee Freeze, she would’ve had radar for that magnetism.

  Not that she was exactly thrilled to know he was horning in on her promotion.

  “What’s going on? Did they already give him the position? I thought they planned to hire internally.” It wasn’t fair, changing the rules of the game on her like that. Sure, she wasn’t the only candidate for the job or the most experienced, and maybe not even the most qualified—as evidenced today—but everyone knew she worked hardest for it.

  “No and yes. I mean, from what I heard, Falcon brought him in from Flagstaff because he’s some kind of courtroom genius. The Jury Whisperer or something.”

  “That’s corny.” Absolutely. In fact, he probably conjured it up himself and spread the rumor. She suppressed a snort as she rolled her eyes.

  “Whatever. I don’t care. He’s got a gift. Lazy as a walrus sunning itself on a rock, but no jury can resist him.”

  “Not with women on it.” Camilla stifled a sigh. Yeah, she could see herself falling prey to that charm as a juror. “But he hasn’t been hired. It’s not official or anything, right?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. He’s just part of the lawyer pool for now. But my money is on what Billingsley said—that Falcon is grooming him for the deputy county attorney position.” Sheldon frowned. “Listen, chica. If you are serious about wanting that job, you’d better get yourself together. No more of this drifting off mid-sentence garbage. And you’d better march your sweet little legs in and tell Falcon what you want and why you deserve it. Otherwise, you can kiss your promotion and your raise good-bye.”

  Raise. Oh, yeah. And that was the other reason she needed the promotion. Exactly two days after she signed the loan papers on her dream car, boom! Her landlady raised the rent on her apartment, and now every rent payment bit into the small amount of extra she had been paying on her student loan. She’d gone from sitting pretty to car poor, a close cousin to house poor, in less than a week’s time.

  Logically, she’d simply move to a smaller place, somewhere cheaper, but she and all her houseplants and law school books already occupied the smallest, cheapest dive in the whole of Prescott. The only way she could go cheaper was if she found a freeway underpass, and unfortunately the freeway didn’t run through Prescott.

  Dang. Her love of that car was coming back to bite her already. Shiny, imperial blue metallic 3-Series, just five years old. It was the BMW 335i with the twin power turbo engine, moon roof, head-up display, lane departure warning—it was luxury and elegance and pure driving joy. And it cost the lion’s share of her monthly salary. Her mother would have frowned and told her, with a raise of the eyebrow, that it was an investment that didn’t increase in value.

  But oh, how Camilla loved it. The BMW looked almost as good as that fine young attorney over there. Sigh. What was his name?

  “All rise.” The bailiff demanded she come back to earth. In walked the bear, lumbering and slavering. Okay, not slavering, but it wasn’t hard to envision. Go ahead. Pour a bunch of honey on her and let him eat her alive. She might as well be a meal, the way things looked right now. Stupid of her to even think she’d be considered for the deputy job after that last performance.

  It took all her residual pride to keep herself upright while the judge arranged things on his desk, a move likely calculated to torture the attorneys and the defendant, like an animal that toyed with its prey before devouring it. Camilla bated her breath.

  “The prosecution and the defense have both made their arguments,” Judge Harper began with a growl. “And while there were some inadequacies in the closing arguments presented by the County Attorney’s office, I believe they ultimately proved that the evidence weighs heavily against the accused. Mr. Tipton, my ruling is guilty of assault with a deadly weapon and criminal damage. This has a mandatory sentence of six months in j
ail.” He banged his gavel and turned Mr. Tipton over to the custody of the jailers.

  Camilla plopped back in her chair. What just happened? She’d botched it beyond recognition but still won? Holy cannoli.

  “Way to go.” Sheldon patted her shoulder. “You just pulled off a miracle. In fact, that might have saved your shot at the deputy position. Now, take that to Falcon and tell him what you deserve.”

  Camilla, still too stunned to speak, collected her files like a robot and walked with glazed-over eyes to the back of the courtroom.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that—er, Miss Sweeten, is it?” A man’s deep voice poured over her like warm Hollandaise sauce, her favorite.

  She turned and saw its owner—the guy who’d ruined her whole mojo. Oh, and he was even better up close. And smiling. Wow, the teeth. How much had his parents forked over for that orthodontia?

  He got a little grin. “No wonder they call you The Judge Whisperer.”

  “Excuse me?” Camilla coughed. What in the heck? No. No one was saying that. Except this guy, which confirmed he made up the “Jury Whisperer” thing about himself too. In fact, he probably threw it at her to get her off kilter. It worked. Snap. But only momentarily. She steeled her nerve and turned to greet his sparring with a barb of her own. “Have we met?”

  “Zane Holyoake.” He extended a hand. Dang it. It wasn’t one of those lily soft hands that had never done a day’s work outside the office. No. It had calluses and crusty edges and a truly firm grip. Curse him. Well, Camilla could return a good grip, herself.

  “Wow, nice handshake. I’m new in the county attorney’s office. Just came over from Flagstaff, and your boss told me, I mean our boss told me I had to come down and watch you work. Seriously. You had that judge eating out of your hand.”

  This guy was either a bold flatterer or else he lived in an alternate reality. “Oh, is that how you saw it?” She knew he hadn’t, and he had to be laughing behind those eyes at her. If only she could explain away her erratic behavior—but certainly not with the truth, that he threw her out of her groove.

  Zane Holyoake’s left eye squinted a little, and the left side of his mouth went taut. See? He was making fun of her. “I’d like to tell you what I saw. Over lunch.”

  “No, thank you.” I already ate. No, it was 11:00. He’d never believe her. I don’t eat lunch. No, then she’d sound like she spent every lunch hour at Crossfit or something. I have plans. Sheldon would swoop in and expose her lie. I have another case. Yeah, that would work. “I have another appearance I have to get to right now.”

  “Where, in magistrate court? Because I’m heading over there right now.”

  Her mind flew. “No, in justice court.” There were three levels of courts: superior, where she’d been today; justice, which was lower than superior court; and magistrate, which was the town court. “I’ve got to file some paperwork there. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Did I say magistrate court? I misspoke. I meant justice court. You going to see Judge Gilson or Judge Maryvale? I need to go meet both of them.”

  Oooh, curse him and his incredible brown eyes. He was covering his bases faster than she could outmaneuver him. But why was she wanting to? She had to ask herself that. Well, because. Because…because she didn’t want to go out with someone from work. And if she went to lunch with this guy today, she would probably want to go tomorrow, and then the next day, and out for dinner and a show on Friday night, and—it was a downward spiral. And it wouldn’t end in a proposal of marriage. Relationships never did end that way for Camilla Sweeten. Time had proven it with the loudest clack of a gavel it could.

  So she shouldn’t do lunch.

  “Look, I appreciate the invitation.” But you’re not going to ask me to marry you, so I shouldn’t even eat a burrito with you today. How could she say that? It sounded insanely desperate and insanely illogical and, well, just plain insane.

  But there was more to it, thank goodness, because if she said yes, who was to say he wouldn’t pump her for information about the office? Sure, it would sound like small talk. But she’d done that herself to witnesses hundreds of times. It starts out as idle chit-chat, but what’s really going on is mining for ammo to use against the person—even if that was a mixed metaphor. Zane Holyoake was the enemy. He wanted the job she wanted. Ahem, needed. And Camilla had spent long hours for five years toiling away to learn the ins and outs of the place. She had no intention of tipping her hand to him, the interloper, at just the moment of her potential victory. No way.

  She fell back on the old reliable answer. “You’re so kind to ask. I wish I could, but I can’t possibly. Have a nice day.”

  Clutching her pile of manila envelopes to her chest, she turned on the spike of her heel and clicked away down the marble hallway of the Yavapai County Courthouse and left Zane Holyoake in her wake of crazy exhaust fumes.

  Sorry, Zane. You look marvelous, but we will not be going to lunch today. Or tomorrow. Or ever—until I am Yavapai County, Arizona’s official Deputy County Attorney. And then I’ll pay for your meal as my staff assistant.

  So there. Determination gave a bounce to her step.

  Ha. Who was she kidding? Falcon had seen her performance in there. No way would he give her a second chance after that debacle.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Order to Appear

  “What have you done to deserve this again?” Sheldon tossed an orange slip of paper onto Camilla’s desk as he passed. “Falcon keeps asking to see you in his office.”

  Camilla picked up the paper and read, in Falcon’s own scrawl: Sweeten. My office. Pronto. He didn’t have a personal secretary, and he didn’t believe in technology—not even old tech, like an intercom system. Orange slips of paper were his way. Camilla crumpled it and tossed it in the trash can with a sinking heart. Her shameful performance in Judge Harper’s court still hung around her neck like one of those oversized metal clocks rappers used to wear on chains when she was in college.

  Such were her wayward thoughts when she set a trepidatious foot into Falcon’s office. He was going to bounce her back to the minor leagues. She’d be out of the courtroom forever. She’d be on copy room duty. Worse, she’d be on janitorial duty until further notice. The scent of imaginary Pine Sol scathed her lungs. Oh, that could be her life—working nights, scrubbing tile. She deserved it.

  “Miss Sweeten.” Yep, he was mad. In the last month he’d started calling her Camilla, but now—after her rejection of his friend’s son and the disgrace in front of Judge Harper—she’d been demoted to Miss Sweeten. It stung, about a hundred bees strong.

  “Mr. Torres. About yesterday.” Her hands pressed together, the palms’ friction causing heat that rolled up her arms.

  Was that only yesterday? It might as well have been a hundred years ago, since time slowed to a grind while she relived all its gory details in her bed last night, which became a bed of nails, her floor hot coals when she walked it to get away from the shame. Worst of all was seeing that crinkle at the side of the eye of the handsomest guy she’d seen in years, maybe ever, having fun at her expense.

  “Yes, yesterday. I believe you met Zane Holyoake.”

  “I did, sir,” she managed at the unexpected name dropping. It was like Falcon had seen Zane’s image flashing in her eyes. Oh, no. She’d better stay on point in here. Keeping Mr. Torres unaware of the cause of her mental glitching had to be top priority. “We had a chance to talk for a moment after sentencing.”

  “After your, er, performance in court—” Falcon frowned. He could really put on a long frown when he tried. It went all the way past his chin bone.

  “Right. No need to expound.” She was getting kicked off as lead attorney on all her cases. Newbie from Flagstaff, which was a bigger city with fancier lawyers who wore fancier suits, would be taking over for her. She’d be stepping down. “I can hand over any files you deem necessary.”

  Falcon shook his head. “Holyoake’s got his own case load.”


  Her lungs deflated with relief at the same time as her chest expanded with hope. “Oh, does he?” She tried to contain her glee. “I mean, that’s, of course.”

  “Camilla, you’re acting off your game.” He frowned again. “I’d like you to head down to magistrate court. Mr. Holyoake is filling in for Billingsley down there today on a trial, and I’d like you to observe his speaking style.”

  She’d almost rather Falcon asked her to turn in her office key. “Observe?”

  “Yes. He’s been noted as a strong orator, and he gives his all even in the minor cases. It’s not your way, I am aware.”

  “Oh, I give my all, sir.” She had to at least defend herself on this point. “Every time.”

  “I know, I know, Sweeten. I mean the dramatics. You’re more…down to earth. But I need you to observe. And then report back to me.”

  Oh, not observe. Spy. Well, that she could do. And she’d probably be available to give a negative report, should he so desire. Or even if he didn’t. “Gotcha. What time is the appearance?”

  “At nine-thirty. You’ll have to hoof it. Can you? Hoof it, I mean? In those shoes?” He glanced down at Camilla’s shoes. She’d worn her highest platform sandals today. Tall people got more respect, and at five-foot-three-and-a-bad-court-performance, Camilla could use any height she could get after yesterday.

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  Fifteen minutes later, she wedged her way into the small courtroom in the basement of Prescott City Hall. It smelled like 1946 had aired its dirty socks in here and no one had bothered to open a window since. Poor Judge Overby. Stuck here every day in this stench. Maybe he got used to it. And to the bad indoor-outdoor carpet on both the floor and the walls.

  Court was already in progress, and Camilla sat as quietly as possible in a folding chair at the back. It gave a metallic clunk when her big shoe whacked its leg. Nice. Inconspicuous. She pulled a face, the one she knew looked most like a wombat in labor from a few bad photos at friends’ bridal showers, just as the orating attorney glanced her way due to the sound.