Appealed Read Free Page B

any which way I want. And Jessica’s not your average-looking minion—tall, redheaded, with hips every man would imagine holding onto doggie style. She’s hot.
    She’s also twenty-four.
    I don’t know when twenty-four became too young—I just know it is.
    â€œThank you, Jessica.”
    I walk up the stairs to the top floor. Dark-wood floors, original crown moldings, and bold-toned window dressings give the area a professional, historical elegance. Two desks—one occupied by our secretary, Mrs. Higgens, and one for our paralegal—are stationed along opposite walls, with two long, brown leather sofas facing each other on the remaining ones.
    I nod to Mrs. Higgens and head into my office to work the rest of the afternoon.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    At four o’clock I stick my head outside my office door to collect my client, Justin Longhorn. He’s a typical millennial slacker—brown messy hair, beat-up skinny jeans, a retro Nirvana T-shirt over a lanky form, his thumb busily sliding over the latest iPhone.
    Before I can greet him, sixteen-year-old Riley McQuaid walks down the hallway. She’s been working here a couple of hours a week this summer. Riley is the oldest of the six McQuaid kids.
    Jake’s McQuaid kids.
    If you don’t understand the significance of that, you will in a second. Because what happens next feels just like watching a car crash in slow motion.
    Or the mating dance of pubescent ostriches. There’s some really weird stuff on YouTube.
    Their eyes drag over each other, head to matching-Converse-sneaker-covered toes.
    Justin lifts his chin. “Hey.”
    Riley pushes her curly brown hair behind her ear. “Hey.”
    No good can come of this. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.
    â€œHeeey,” Jake says—in a low growl from his office doorway—where he looms large with crossed arms and quicksilver gray eyes.
    Jake Becker is a hell of a guy, one of my closest friends. He can also be a scary overprotective motherfucker when he wants to be. The scowl he’s sending my client’s way has reduced older, larger men to tears.
    But Justin doesn’t see it—because he’s too busy checking Riley out.
    â€œI have some filing for you to do, Riley.” Jake jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “In my office.”
    â€œOkay. Coming.” But she doesn’t—at least not right away. Not until after she bites her lip Justin’s way and utters the classic, “Later.”
    Justin nods. “Definitely.”
    Huh. Never would’ve pegged Justin as the suicidal type. But I guess you just never know.
    After Riley slips past Jake into his office, he continues to hold Justin in the grip of his icy glare. And the kid has shit self-preservation instinct, because he nods his chin with a clueless, “S’up man.”
    Jake’s face is as friendly as a rock.
    I feel some responsibility for Justin. He’s my client; it’s my job to keep him out of jail and—you know— alive .
    â€œJake, I got this. I’ll . . . explain things.”
    â€œI’d appreciate that,” he tells me darkly. Then, without another glance at Justin he disappears into his office.
    I usher the teenager through my door and shut it behind him.
    â€œWho was—” he starts to ask.
    â€œDon’t,” I warn. Then I point to the chair. “Sit.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œStop.” My voice rumbles—grabbing his attention. Because I’m a happy guy. Carefree. Easygoing. Until I’m not. When those moments come, it gets a reaction. Justin sits.
    I face him from across my desk. “Do you watch Game of Thrones , Justin?”
    â€œYeah, sure.” He answers, brows drawing together.
    â€œDo you remember the episode where the one guy crushed the other guy’s head with his bare hands?”
    â€œYeah . . . ?”
    I point toward