CHAPTER THREE
Fama
“Where do the good girls in this town go to drink?” (@deisebloombastic)
The snow seemed determined to trap me at home completely, but I still accepted Natalie and Tang’s invitation to go to Palo Alto, a comfort food restaurant right in the center of Heritage.
I’d driven to the restaurant carefully—the roads were slippery. Heritage was a city of extremes. In the heat, it felt like a furnace, and in the cold, penguins would need coats.
After we settled into our seats, Natalie and Tang filled me in on married life.
They’d met during a summer in Italy on an exchange program.
Tang was a butch lesbian, and Natalie had thought she was straight until she got to Europe and let herself have an adventure with Tang.
They got married a few months later, as soon as they returned home.
Tang had agreed to hide out in Heritage for a while until Natalie finished writing her book.
“Have you guys seen this edit?” Natalie showed me her phone screen, where an edit of Dante training shirtless in college played to some sexy viral song.
“I can’t believe you’re watching that again,” Tang grumbled. “Ever since this case came out, Natalie’s been obsessed with this Dante guy.”
“Me and every other girl,” Natalie laughed. “No need to be jealous, babe. I only have eyes for you.”
“Helena, help me out here,” Tang said, pulling me back to the table after I’d spent two minutes watching the edit on repeat. “You too, Helena?”
“What? Of course not.” I took a sip of my whisky. “That kid could be my son.”
“If you’d been a mother at ten,” Natalie retorted.
“I prefer older men.”
“Like William.” Natalie was sharp today.
“No way. William is too... basic white guy,” I countered. “A little boring.”
“You should try a young guy eager to prove himself,” Nat insisted, and Tang pinched her. “Or a girl, who knows?!”
I laughed out loud. I was hopelessly straight. I even considered it borderline pathological. I loved broad shoulders, a beard grazing my face, and cocks... organic and synthetic.
“Men aren’t on my radar right now. I need to get my career back on track.”
“Is it that bad?” Nat asked.
“I think it’s worse.”
We soon changed the subject and amused ourselves watching some guy hit on Tang, even though she was way more masculine than him.
Maybe that was the point. Anyway, after two hours I decided to head home and get some sleep, since I had a client visit at Alta prison early in the morning and would need to drive about an hour and a half to get there.
After getting home, I shed my uncomfortable clothes and went to bed, determined to get a full night’s sleep.
But shortly after nine, my phone started ringing insistently.
The penitentiary number showed up as a missed call.
The worry that my client might be in trouble wasn’t strong enough to overcome the drowsiness from all those drinks, and I ended up falling asleep with the phone in my hand, waiting for him to call back.
When I opened my eyes again, it was already daylight, and I was running late.
I rushed to the bathroom and took a quick shower that managed to wake me up.
I chose navy blue wide-leg tailored pants, nude pumps, and a white button-down shirt.
I pulled my hair into a high ponytail and grabbed my makeup bag for the car—I’d do my makeup while driving.
The drive to Alta was tense, with plenty of cars stuck in the mountains. My car wasn’t made for this weather, but I loved it too much to ever get rid of it.
At Braxton Penitentiary, I went through security before heading to the visiting rooms where my client would be waiting. They’d requested my presence after some changes had caused supposed discrepancies I wasn’t aware of.
I was checking the file for Leonard Ottis—my client, in for fraud—when the door opened. The sound of chains clinking made me look up at the man entering the room. This couldn’t be real.
“Hey, that’s not Ottis.” I stood up. They must have gotten the wrong room.
“No, ma’am. It wasn’t Ottis who requested your presence.” The guard settled Dante into the chair across from me, securing him to the table.
I was confused. What the hell was happening here?
“I called you,” Dante said.
“I didn’t...”
“Sorry. I think the guards got confused when they called you.” His eyes locked onto mine, and I sat down, unable to react.
The guard left and closed the door, taking his position beside it.
“What’s your problem?”
“You, Helena Torres,” Dante said, his expression impassive. “You said you were my lawyer.”
“Look, Mr. Marino. I’m sure you already have excellent representation, and”
“I want you.”
His words hit me like a blow, leaving me dizzy.
“Mr. Marino, I”
“Dante.”
“Mr. Marino... I can’t take your case. And you shouldn’t have brought me here.”
“I didn’t bring you,” he replied. “I asked the guards to send my lawyer.”
“They must have forgotten to switch.” I stood up. “I can ask them to—”
“Sit down, Helena.”
“Dr. Torres,” I emphasized, still standing.
“Sit down, Dr. Helena Torres,” he hissed, and I sat even though I hadn’t told my legs to move.
“I don’t know why you keep insisting I be your lawyer. If you think you owe me something, don’t worry. I did what I did voluntarily. Pro bono.”
“Money isn’t a problem for me, Helena.”
“I imagine not,” I said, feeling a flicker of irritation at the way he kept saying my name so... intensely.
“But I’ve already decided I want you,” he said calmly. As if he got to decide whether I danced to his tune.
My immediate reaction was to laugh.
“I’m not interested,” I emphasized.
“Why?”
“I don’t need to justify myself to you, Mr. Marino.”
“You think I’m guilty,” he smiled. “You’re the type who only takes cases you believe you can win, aren’t you?”
I stood up again and leaned toward him.
“I’m the type who doesn’t get intimidated by a spoiled brat who thinks he can buy everyone around him.”
His smile turned mischievous. As if he were extremely satisfied with my response.
“I’m not for sale, Dante.”
I gathered my things and walked to the door. I heard his chains shift.
“Helena?” His heavy voice seemed to grip me by the wrists. “I haven’t made my best offer yet.”
Then he glanced at me over his shoulder for a second before facing forward again.
“Good luck,” I shot back.
Taking the job could keep the office afloat for months, but what peace would I have if I sold my soul to the devil?