Reasonable Doubt: Volume 1 (Reasonable Doubt, #1)(14)

I glared at ‘Alyssa’. I was confused, pissed, and unfortunately aroused all at once.

“Andrew?”

“No,” I said, noticing that she was blushing again. “I have absolutely nothing to say.”

Will and Greg both stood up and smiled, reaching out to shake her hand, but I remained seated.

I couldn’t believe this shit.

She wasn’t a green-eyed redhead like she’d said over the phone, far from being a licensed lawyer, and she was a f*cking liar...

“Mr. Hamilton?” She was standing in front of me with her hand outstretched. “Thank you for interviewing me today. It was an absolute pleasure meeting you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.” I shook her hand, trying my best to ignore the smooth softness of her touch. “Good luck.”

She nodded, said goodbye to the three of us once more, and then she left the room.

As Will and George discussed how impressed they were with her interview, I forced myself to look through her file.

Double major student at Duke: Pre-law and Ballet. Perfect 4.0 GPA. Recently cast as the lead of Swan Lake, recently listed in the top ten percent of her class. There were ten letters of recommendation in her folder—all from impeccable lawyers; there was even one from the newly appointed assistant district attorney.

As amazing as her personal accomplishments were, it was her birthdate that stood out to me the most. She was twenty two.

Twenty f*cking two.

And, even though she was the most accomplished out of all the undergraduates, she wasn’t even a senior.

She was a junior...

***

I ignored Alyssa’s text tonight, the one that read, “If you haven’t found another unfortunate date for tonight, call me when you see this.”

I was too angry to say anything to her. After all the hours we’d spent on the phone, all the times that I’d told her that I hated liars, she’d lied to me. Repeatedly.

I’d wanted to vote no for her employment, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Once we’d finished with the last interview of the day, the decision on the top pick was unanimous: Aubrey Everhart.

Yet, while they frenziedly weighed the pros and cons of the other applicants, I sat there in a daze—angry with myself for not seeing through all of Aubrey’s lies earlier.

In the six months that we’d spoken, she’d always asked questions that were a little too simple, questions that sometimes made me wonder, but I never thought twice about it. She’d mentioned Duke University a few times, but she never talked about it for long and she always made it seem as if she’d graduated from there. But her constant talk of how she wanted her parents’ approval and had conflicted feelings between choosing dance and the law should have been a dead ass giveaway.

At this point, I wasn’t sure which lie to be more upset about: The fact that she wasn’t a lawyer, the fact that she was still in college, or the fact that she’d lied about her physical appearance.

Pouring my sixth shot of the night, I realized that that last lie—although irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, was the one that hit me the hardest. She was definitely my ‘type,’ and the second she walked into that interview I wanted her, before I found out who she really was, before I found out her age.

Tossing back a shot, I heard my phone ringing. Her.

I rolled my eyes and let it sit on the table. I grabbed one of my last Cuban cigars and stepped out onto my balcony. I needed to think.

The sky was starless tonight—nearly pitch black, and the moon was hiding underneath a curtain of dark clouds. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, tonight’s sky bore a horrid resemblance to a certain night that occurred six years ago.

It was the night my life changed forever, the night that left me broken, shattered, and numb. All because of lies—a series of heartbreaking and inconceivable lies.

I tried hard to prevent myself from picturing the memories, but I could still hear that strained, ragged voice in my head: “Andrew...You have to help me...You have to get me out of here...Please... Save me, Andrew...”

I shook my head and blocked out the rest of that memory. Unlike six years ago, I was in control of this situation, and “Alyssa” lying to me meant that our friendship was over, done.

There was no justification for what she’d done, but before I cut her off, I needed to make her pay for lying to me, and I needed to figure out how.





Conviction (n.):


A judgment of guilt against a criminal defendant.

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Andrew

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“Mr. Hamilton?” Aubrey set my coffee down on my desk two weeks later. I’d personally insisted that she work as my intern, even though looking at her made me angry.

I’d made a point not to say too much around her, to refrain from staring at her too long, and I couldn’t help being crueler than ever—dismissive even. I made her responsible for my daily coffee, demanded that she re-do every assignment at least three times, and whenever she asked for my help, I answered her with a detached “Figure it out yourself.”

She never seemed upset or offended by my harshness, which made me even angrier. I’d thought that by having her work for me and seeing her crack under pressure that my attraction to her would fade, but it only intensified each time I saw her face.