Chapter 23
Loch
The sun has barely touched the morning sky, but it provides enough light to see Tuesday sleeping. I used to dread this hour—already drained by what was ahead, knowing every hour had already been scheduled weeks in advance. But with Tuesday, it’s become one of my favorite times of day.
I don’t even need an alarm to wake me.
My body stirs instinctively, but I lie here and hold her, soaking in every minute I have with her. I might be taking advantage of the situation, but I kiss her twice on the cheek and then on her forehead, selfishly wanting her to wake with me so I can have more of her.
She has her arm draped over my middle, her head resting as her body curls around me. A smile graces her face, but her closed lids hide her blue eyes. She whispers, “Is it already morning?”
“It is.” I grin when her arm tightens around me, followed by a soft sigh.
“I want you to stay in bed with me.”
“I wish I could. I have court.”
Finally leaning back to look up at me, she says, “And there’s nothing I have that you might be interested in more than court?” I know she’s teasing, but my brain is fully awake now.
“I’m interested in so much about you that I almost don’t know where to start.” Holding her under the chin, I kiss her lips but then reluctantly slip out of her embrace. “And unfortunately, I wasted too much time watching you sleep. I won’t make that mistake again.”
She laughs but then pushes up as I walk away. “Two things, Mr. Westcott.”
When I turn back, I catch her eyes lifting to meet mine. So busted.
“First, the weekend went by too fast.” I couldn’t agree more. “Second, nice ass.” She waggles her eyebrows unabashedly.
“First, it always does.” I chuckle and walk into the bathroom. “Second,” I call out, “Those five a.m. workouts are paying off.” I start the shower.
A few minutes pass while I’m waiting for hot water when I hear, “Loch?” panic striking her voice.
Dipping my head back into the bedroom, I ask, “What?”
She holds up my phone. “Leisa just called, but it only rang once. I didn’t answer it.”
I walk back out to grab my phone and text: Good morning. You called?
As if she had it loaded and ready to go, I receive her reply text: Update listed for the Reinhold case. 8:30. I’ll go by the office, get the team to bring the boxes, and meet you at the courthouse. 8:15.
What is Judge Judy up to this time? This has got to end. I’m putting a stop to it today. I know the plaintiff is as fed up as I am. As for the earlier time, I’m lucky to have an assistant who’s always on the ball. I respond to her text: Thank you.
Tuesday lies back on the bed, her brow furrowed. “Everything okay?”
“My case got bumped up on the docket.” The good to the start of our day has vanished. I set my phone down on the nightstand, feeling the day already getting away from me. It’s been different with Tuesday, but this, me . . . feels a lot like I used to—cranky. “Happy Monday.”
I walk through the courthouse doors, stopping to check the large brass clock hanging on a marble column. 8:10 a.m. Time to spare. I grin, getting a taste of the victory I intend to claim.
Turning to look behind me, I see Leisa pushing the boxes through the security scanner and two assistants she’s directing to carry them once they reach the other side. I start toward her, ready to help.
She puts her hand up. “We’re good.”
The guys stack the boxes and are lifting them by the time I reach them with my briefcase in hand. They greet me and then head toward the doors to the courtroom.
As soon as Leisa makes it through the checkpoint, she shakes her head. “She’s out of hand.”
“I agree.”
“Besides the sneak change for the trial this morning,” she says as we walk together. Her heels clack against the stone floor, her own crankiness revealed through her voice and the heavy steps she’s taking. “You ready for this?”
“Am I?”
“No,” she says, “trust me, you’re not.”
“Hit me with it anyway.” We stop, and she holds up her phone to show me an email.
I read the first two lines, which is enough. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“I wish I were. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
“It’s Monday fucking morning, and she wants to pull this shit?”
“I honestly didn’t know if I should laugh or cry for you. Judge Judy is persistent. I’ll give her that.”
“I can handle her.” Though I thought I had already made my personal views on dating her clear.
I raise my hand to run it through my hair, but I gelled it today, so I shove it in my pocket out of frustration.
“This is not only highly irregular and disruptive to my client, but this is the last stand. We can’t get a fair trial with her acting like a loose cannon. ”
Leisa laughs. “You’re more polite than I am about this sexual harassment. I was about to call her a lot worse than a loose cannon.”
We start walking toward the courtroom. “Just another reason we work so well together.”
After getting our boxes settled beside the table, the bailiff leads me out of the courtroom and down a short hall. Judge Wexham is on the plaque next to the door. I’m given a dirty look when I laugh. If he only knew she was using her appointed position as a dating service for herself.
He knocks and then turns the knob.
“Your honor,” I say, sick of this shit but smart enough to handle the situation with kid gloves. “What’s the meaning of this?”
She’s tucked behind her desk, looking like she might want to actually conduct business. Oh. This is unexpected, but I’m relieved to see her acting like a professional. “Sit down, Mr. Westcott.”
I remain standing.
She appears ready for a standoff with her arms firmly planted in front of her on the desk and not a hint of smile on her face. “How are you?” Leaning forward, she adds, “Friend to friend.”
“Better than ever.”
“Good.” Sitting back, she lets her hair flow from the elastic she had it tied back with and shakes it free. “I’ve been thinking that you and I got off track somehow.”
Track? I jumped from the train traveling that track and heading for a disaster the night she showed up at my apartment. But I keep my mouth shut.
She continues, unzipping her robe, “Have you reconsidered my offer? We could make such a powerful legal team.” She better have on some fucking clothes underneath.
A royal-blue suit covers her to the neck. Thank God. “I haven’t, your honor.”
“Please, call me Judge Judy in my private quarters.”
I stare at her, not sitting but rocking back on my heels with my hands in my pockets to keep myself from filing at least four ethics and code of conduct violations against her.
“You know all the evidence supports my clients, but you continue with this onslaught of indecency in the courtroom, making a mockery of this courthouse. Let’s end this now and wrap up this trial. ”
“And what are you going to do for me?”
Pressing my hands firmly to the desktop, I say, “Let you continue to sit in that chair and preside over cases.”
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Westcott?”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head and standing back up. “There’s enough evidence to convict yourself. So you tell me how we end this amicably and get this done.”
She huffs, her eyes sliding to the window and staring out. There’s no tension between us, which surprises me. I don’t feel impatient with anger or even the layers of annoyance I was suffering from earlier.
I’m calm.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this content before. It’s the Tuesday effect. My body’s makeup is rearranging all because of her.
As for Judy, I just feel sorry for her now. But I’ll work with her to find a solution that will satisfy both parties.
“It’s lonely at the top, Loch.” It’s good to hear her tone based on trust instead of being on the hunt. “I thought I’d be married by now, but here I am, taking the little bit of attention you gave me during our date and turning it into a circus.”
There’s an inclination to reassure her or make her feel better regarding her actions. But I do understand her craving to be loved. Until I met the right person, I didn’t realize I needed the same. Now, I’ve changed for the better. Even Harbor, Lark, and my dad see it, so I can sympathize.
“You’re looking in the wrong places.”
“What do you mean?”
Signaling behind me with my head, I say, “You’re not going to find something real in your courtroom. There’s no real opportunity to get to know someone. And this, summoning attorneys to your office, won’t make them stick it out in the long term.”
“What do you suggest?” Preying on her courtroom doesn’t seem to cross her mind as unethical.
I sigh.
He will kill me, but I feel like they might get along. “I know someone you might find interesting. Great guy. Steady job. Up for a good time.”
Sitting forward, she smiles, revealing her intrigue. “Do tell.”
I’m not an idiot. I’m willing to win this trial fair and square, but I have to get her to announce the verdict. “First, there’s a matter of this trial.”
“Right.” She stands and starts on the zipper of the robe, tugging it up. “Let’s get this case closed.”
Forty-five minutes later, I push out the courthouse doors and start walking back to the office. With the phone to my ear, I hear my dad answer, “Hello?”
“We won.”
“Way to get it done, son. How did it wrap?”
“The other side offered a settlement behind closed doors to cut the losses and not spend the next year battling over money they know they’ll lose anyway. The Reinhold Group accepted.”
“Fantastic news. A hard-fought battle you can be proud of winning. But promise me something.”
“What?” I stop off to the side in the doorway of a building to hear him better.
“When the competition comes around to offer some ludicrous amount of money at another firm, stick with family.”
“Guess it depends on the offer.” I’m joking. I have more money than I know how to spend now. It stopped being about that a few years ago. I’m building a firm and a legacy of my own. I can do that with Westcott Law. “Joking, Dad. Why go anywhere else when the firm already bears my name.”
“My name,” he corrects with a lot less humor than seconds earlier. “But maybe it’s time to talk about your future when you’re here for Thanksgiving. You’re still coming to Beacon, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“And you’re bringing Tuesday?”
“I’ll ask her tonight.”
“Good, and job well done on this case, Lochlan.”
“Thanks, Dad. Talk soon.”
When we hang up, I start walking again. I’ve traveled this way a million times, but it feels different this time.
I stop when I near the coffee shop where the attack on Tuesday happened, seeing the wall and the concrete with a stained blood spot.
And I know what needs to happen. It’s time to get Tuesday some answers.
I call Leisa and have her contact a few private investigators our law firm uses on occasion while I stop into a local restaurant to place a catering order for our office party. And as I make my way back into my workplace, moods are high and victory evident.
I stand in the corner of the conference room and stare out at this incredible view, a view that I took for granted before Tuesday taught me to take a minute to appreciate our surroundings, when I hear Leisa call me.
“You have a call, Loch.” Turning to her tapping her phone, she adds, “Line one in your office.”
“Thanks.” Here we go.
“Loch Westcott.”
After a productive call that lasted more than twenty minutes, I hang up the phone, justified in my actions. I had to do it.
For Tuesday.
The call with the investigator doesn’t make me feel better even though it should. She deserves answers. But what will happen to us once she finds out who she is? My gut fills with dread that any moment she could be taken away from me or, worse, willingly leave me.
I set my selfish needs aside and look at it through the long-range lens. She needs to know. She deserves to know who she is and make decisions based on what is best for her in life.
Her happiness is all that matters.
“I owe you one, Brady.”
“You owe me more than one and a raise for this.” He straightens his tie, then asks, “How did I get talked into this?” The shaking of his head counters the amusement in his voice.
“Because I distinctly remember you asking me if I knew any women to set you up on a date with. Voilà.”
“That was like three years ago.”
“Better late than never.”
“She better be hot.”
Hot. Check. Also slightly stalkerish. Check. But equally sexually explorative. Check.
“The Kitty Kat Club over on Staten Island.”
“Nice place. High end.”
Resting against the back of the couch, I say, “Leave it for the Yelp review. Remember, she’s wearing a mask so no one will recognize her.” I try to hide my laughter behind my hand but fail miserably and burst out.
“Sounds like the judge has a wild side.”
“She does, and a penchant for the gavel.”
He looks at me; his eyes set harder than usual. “What does she do with the gavel?”
“You’ll find out.” I pat him on the back. “Just go with it.”
He laughs. “What have I gotten myself into?”
I hand him cash. Flipping through the bills, he says, “Two K?”
“She loves a big spender.” I pat his shoulder. “You clean up good, Brady.”
“Wish me luck.”
“Trust me, you don’t need any with Judge Judy. Go get ’em, tiger.”
He opens the door but glances back. “Thanks for the cash.” He shuts the door, leaving me just enough time to pull plates from the cabinet before Tuesday walks in.
“Where’s Brady going all spiffed up like that?”
“He has a date.” I’m still chuckling under my breath. He’s definitely getting a raise. “How’d it go down at the station?”
She hangs her coat by the door. “I filled out more paperwork and listed your address as a way to reach me. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course, I don’t mind.”
For someone who’s spent time in a police station most of the day, you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. She comes around to kiss me, a glow penetrating her smile and eyes just as bright as when she rolls on top of me in the morning and wants to have sex. Fucking gorgeous.
“How can they not have any leads?” she asks.
“Seems impossible.” Frustrating, actually.
“I don’t think they’re in a rush to solve my case.”
“By the way, I’m so proud of you.” Though I called my dad after we won the case since I knew he was waiting for it, she was the person I most wanted to share the news with. Her genuine joy for me extended through the connection.
“Thank you.” I kiss her, my body pressing to hers. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Home.
This is her home.
I still don’t understand how she came into my life and flipped it around so fast. Maybe it’s the suddenness of us having to adapt quickly after what happened.
Or perhaps she lit a match, shining light into the parts of my heart that had never been revealed before.
Either way, it’s impossible to explain the change she’s caused in me, this alternate version of who I used to be, but I welcome it, like her, wholeheartedly.
I need her.
I want her to be a part of my life, every part I have to offer. “Will you spend Thanksgiving with my family and me?”
Sinking against me, she says, “I’d love to.”