Their Summer Heat Read Free

but that scream come-do-me. You work in pairs—you for the ladies and her for the men.”
    Mr. Preston opened his mouth and then closed it. Was he perplexed that she’d figured him out?
    “Seems she’s got him pegged,” said someone behind her.
    Summer was on fire, the adrenaline pumping through her like a runaway freight train. “Your Honor, this mornin’ I stated that I currently was in class and had a job to get to in the afternoon. My normal day consists of class in the mornin’, job one at a deli in the afternoon and job two in the evenin’ from 8 p.m. to 2 a.m. cleanin’ offices. Job two is replaced by my engagement tonight—have to be there at 5:30—for which I’m dressed. Job three has flexible hours, and I only work at job four when I’m not in school, mostly weekends and holidays, so if Mr. Preston is tryin’ to catch me in fabrication, he’ll have to try a little harder.”
    Baiting the Shark. Probably not a good idea.
    “Okay, I stand corrected.”
    The judge stared wide-eyed at the Shark, and a few people behind Summer shifted in their seats. She couldn’t hide her smile; she knew exactly how much it took for the Shark’s admission. Probably a first for him.
    “Do you have a problem with the letter G?”
    Heat infused her face so badly she thought her nose hairs would catch on fire. Summer turned and spoke directly to him. “I do not apologize for my southern accent. Most people find it endearin’, and those who associate it with ignorance find out they are badly mistaken.”
    It was true. She dropped her Gs and said ain’t all the time. The habits were engrained and changing them would gain her nothin’ .
    Mr. Preston picked up a piece of paper. “According to Miss Heat’s bank account statements, there is a consistent cash deposit for $1500 every month. Would you like to explain this money?”
    “No, Your Honor, I would not like to explain that. As Mr. Preston can see from my private bank account, there’s far more month than money, even with the $1500. If anything, he should note that I can’t afford payments of $700 at 29.5 percent interest.”
    “But, Miss Heat, perhaps you have more cash where this came from, and you can afford $700 at 29.5 percent interest.”
    “No, Mr. Preston. I don’t have any cash stashed under my mattress.”
    “Perhaps you’re a kept woman who has a sugar daddy you could ask to pay off your loan.”
    Summer’s eyes drifted closed before they snapped open. “Tell me, Mr. Preston, what is the goin’ rate for a kept woman? $1500 sounds low, but you should know.”
    A dark brow cocked upward. “I wouldn’t know. Just tell us where you get that money, and I’ll leave you alone.” Circling, Circling .
    Yep, this was his game. Muddy the water with extraneous information, sink the truth. But backing down wasn’t an option. “Your Honor, it’s not in my best interest to reveal where the money comes from. He has my W-2s, which I still think is a gross invasion of my privacy, and the taxes I’ve paid were bailout money to Bunkum Bank.”
    “I agree with Miss Heat. Unless you can prove she’s rolling in money we don’t know about, stop fishing.”
    Summer couldn’t see, but she had no doubt Mr. Preston had arched an eyebrow in an I-can’t-believe-you-just-did-that move. Being slapped on the hand by a woman… that’s gotta sting his pride .
    His little puppy tugged on his coattail, and he bent his large frame to stare at his laptop screen. A slow smile played on his face. “Your Honor, I would like to know what DG Enterprises does, and is that where she gets the cash?”
    Her belly bypassed the chair and hit the floor as dread clawed along her skin with long raking talons. No more circling. This was the grab and devour.
    Summer cleared her throat, forcing down the bile. “Your Honor, why should I reply to a question Mr. Shark already knows the answer to? He wants to smear my name, which still has nothing to do with this case.”
    “Well, Mr.