"Page?" my father's commanding voice interrupts my perusal, that has gone on far too long and much further south than is professional.
He is a monster, not a sexy man you should be wanting a life size poster of for your bedroom! My inner sanity finally surfaces and reminds me of the rape and strangling he's charged with. Yes, that's exactly what I need! A reminder of why he's here and the horrible things he did.
"Nice to meet you," I lie again, intentionally not offering him my hand to shake. It would've been a serious stretch to reach him across the table anyway.
The dangerous man's dark, seemingly soulless elevator eyes assess every single inch of my body. And, unlike his father, his gaze is definitely sensual, lingering on the buttons and fabric of my dress shirt that is stretched tautly over my breasts. He runs his tongue over his full bottom lip like I'm a brand new flavor of Ben & Jerry's. One that he can't wait to dip his…spoon into the cream, gorge himself on until he scrapes the very bottom of the carton, and then lick the sticky container completely clean with his tongue.
Even if I had looked at him the same way, his sensual stare helps cool my overheating hormones, seeing him for the pig that he is. I retake my seat, using the table in front of me as a shield from his intensity.
There isn't even a hint of a polite smile on his perfectly sculpted face, and he doesn't speak a word to me or my father. When he realizes that everyone else is already sitting down, he finally lowers himself into the chair beside his father.
"We're really sorry you're having to deal with this media circus, Jackson. We appreciate Don's referral, and you can be assured that our firm will do whatever it takes to clear your name," my dad begins his ass kissing spill right away.
"Do you think I'm guilty?" Jackson’s voice is a deep and gravely rumble, causing the goose bumps on my arms to stand up and take notice.
"It doesn’t matter whether or not you did it," my dad responds coolly, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. "We're going to make sure your case is ready for trial, and do whatever it takes to defend you. Page is licensed in New Jersey as well as Maryland, and Pennsylvania. She'll be first chair, since we believe having her leading the defense team will go far in how the public and media views this case."
"Do you think I did this shit?" Jackson asks again intently, directing his question toward me.
My heart stops, and my mouth and mind are suddenly paralyzed. I'm unable to form a single thought. How the heck do I answer that? If I'm honest I'll piss him off and he might not hire us, which will make my dad furious. If I lie, well, he'll probably see through my bullshit and call me on it.
He continues staring black daggers at me, waiting for my response, along with the other two men in the room.
"I haven't heard your side of the story, seen any of the reports, or evidence yet." I force my mouth to respond with a politically correct response.
"Are you going to ask me?"
"Well, of course we'll need to get your statement," I respond, annoyed when my shaky voice makes me sound like an uncertain little girl.
"Mr. Malone, why don't you and I head to my office to discuss the general procedures and timeline we're looking at while Page and Jackson get to work. The attorney-client privilege is severed whenever there's someone other than the client and attorney present during confidential communications," my dad explains, narrowing his gaze at me in warning when he stands up as if to leave.
My heart is suddenly racing in my chest with the onset of my panic. He's leaving me in here? Alone with an angry rapist? I'm so surprised that he's abandoning me in this situation that I'm too paralyzed to react. Without a backward glance, the two men leave the room before I can think of an excuse to ask them to stay. The door clicking shut makes me jump, instantly putting me on edge. The room falls silent and I can't yet find any words for several awkward seconds.
"So," I finally say, and have to pause to clear the fear from my throat. "Let's start at the beginning." I poise my shaking fingers over the laptop home row keys in front of me, the cursor sitting on a blank Word document on the screen, ready to take notes.
"The beginning of what?" the delinquent asks, leaning back casually in his chair like he's posing for a photo shoot.
My father just threw the file in front of me when I was ambushed, so I haven't had a chance to see what information it contains. I grab the folder and quickly thumb through the pages, but the only thing inside is a few emails about setting up this appointment, and a stack of the articles printed from various media outlets.
"Well, what are you officially charged with?” I ask.