24. Jace #8
“Ryder Vohrees,” The judge’s voice echoes through the high ceilings of the courtroom. “You’ve been charged with one count of driving under the influence. How do you plea?”
My lawyer’s face is expressionless as he gives me a curt nod, and I parrot the words he drilled into my head during our last meeting. “No contest, Your Honor.”
I’m guilty as fuck–we all know it, thanks to the breathalyzer they gave me.
Apparently, pleading no contest is like accepting punishment without admitting guilt.
I think it’s supposed to look better on my record or something, as if I give a shit what my record says.
If I gave a shit about anything these days, I wouldn't be in a court, awaiting the inevitable clink of handcuffs being locked around my wrists.
“Very well. I hereby sentence you to one hundred hours of community service. You will report…”
“If I may, Your Honor,” my attorney interrupts.
Based on the deep lines between the judge’s eyes, I get the impression he may not , but that doesn’t stop the guy on my left from plowing ahead.
“Carter Quinn would like to propose Ryder perform his community service at the Katah Vista resort.” My attorney waves a hand in Carter’s direction. “They have an adaptive program for disabled riders, and they are in need of instructors.”
What the fuck? This was not part of the plan. I did not plead no contest to get stuck back in the absolute last place I want to be.
I glance over my shoulder to the only other guy wearing a suit here, besides my lawyer.
In a manner of speaking, Carter’s sort of my boss.
His resort is my biggest sponsor, and without him I wouldn’t be able to compete on the snowboard circuit.
But he already bailed me out of jail when my parents called him in a panic after my arrest, so it’d make more sense for him to drop me than to do it again with this community service gig. What is he playing at?
“Is that correct, Mr. Quinn?” The judge arches a thick brow in Carter’s direction.
“Yes, Your Honor. Our program is just getting off the ground, and I’m sure you’re aware of Ryder’s expertise on a snowboard. His experience would be invaluable.”
“What experience?” My attorney shoots me a warning glare–I’m not supposed to talk unless I’m asked a question or I risk being out of order or in contempt or something–but speaking up is the only way I can see to stop this train wreck, even if it gets me in more trouble.
“I don’t know how to teach disabled riders. ”
“You will once you complete the training program,” Carter replies without missing a beat.
I open my mouth again but can’t get any words out before my attorney clasps my forearm in his iron grip. He’s stronger than I expected for a suit.
“Your mission would seem to meet the requirements for community service, but as it’s not yet recognized by this court, I’m reluctant to grant this request, even in light of Mr. Vohrees’s reputation on the snow.
” I breathe a sigh of relief as the judge puts an end to my nightmare.
My celebrity isn’t going to get me any special favors. Good. It’s short lived.
“I could really use Ryder’s help, Your Honor,” Carter appeals. “I’ll personally oversee his hours to ensure compliance with any instructions you have, and perhaps with the successful completion of our program, will be recognized by the court going forward.”
My jaw is locked so tight I think my teeth might crack. I’d rather go to jail than strap on a snowboard. As it is, I get fucking chest palpitations when it snows.
“Seeing as how Mr. Vohrees is a very capable rider, and this is his first offense, your idea has merit. Very well, Mr. Quinn, Mr. Vohrees is in your charge.” The judge bangs his gavel, and the courtroom starts to clear out.
“Stay out of trouble.” My attorney pats me on the back and stuffs a bunch of papers in his briefcase before heading out the door, leaving me alone in the room with Carter. Great.
“You didn’t have to do that.” I ask him what his deal is without asking outright.
“No, I didn’t.” The asshole doesn’t elaborate.
“Is this how you want me to pay you back for the bail money? Indentured servitude?”
“You don’t owe me bail money. ”
I ball my fists at my sides, seething. “Then why the hell put me on the mountain with a bunch of people I have no business working with?”
“Because you have more business on the mountain than anyone I know.” He casually picks his jacket up off the bench, his voice way too calm for my liking.
“I doubt that considering I need special training for whatever you have in mind,” I snort.
“The training isn’t for what to do on the mountain, it’s for what to do with your mouth. Ideally, it will prevent you from saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, like you did with the judge earlier.” His brows disappear underneath his hair, daring me to object.
“I know what you’re doing. And it won’t work.” Court order or no, I’m not getting back on that mountain. He should know by now I’m a bad investment.
Carter’s eyes roam over me, calculating. “We’ll see.” He spins toward the door, pausing before he pushes it open. “Be at my office by nine a.m. tomorrow for training. You have two days to complete it before you report to Hayden on Thursday, and trust me when I say you don’t want to piss him off.”
“Who the fuck is Hayden?”
“Your new manager.”
If I wasn’t shooting daggers at him I might've missed the wicked gleam in his eye as he saunters out the door. He thinks he’s won? That a ballsy dude will make a difference? Bring it on, boss.