“Well, these are going in the incinerator,” I said absently.
I got dressed sans hose, returned my ridiculous jumpsuit and entered the lobby. Repulsive, dirty men sat waiting for whatever jailed fool they bothered to bail. They eyed me with bawdy stares and I could only glare back, too tired to give them a piece of my mind.
Near the glass entry doors, the sun was just cresting the horizon and I made out the silhouette of the only person I would have expected to come to my rescue.
Standing over six foot tall, so thin his bones protruded from his face, but with stylish, somewhat long hair, reminiscent of the nineteen-thirties, clad in a fitted Italian suit, stood Pembrook.
“Hello, Pembrook,” I greeted him with acid. “I see my father was too busy to come himself.”
“Ah, so lovely to see you too, Sophie.”
“Stop with the condescension,” I sneered.
“Oh, but I’m not. It is the highlight of my week bailing you from this godforsaken pit of bacteria.” He eyed me up and down with regret. “I suppose I needed to get the interior of my car cleaned anyway.”
“You’re so clever, Pembrook.”
“I know,” he said simply. “To comment on your earlier observation, your father was too busy to get you. He does want you to know that he is severely disappointed.”
“Ah, I see. Well, I shall try harder next time not to get caught.”
Pembrook stopped and gritted his teeth at me before opening the passenger door for me. “You, young lady, are sorely unaware of the gravity of this charge.”
“You’re a brilliant attorney, Pembrook, with millions at your disposal,” I said, settling into his Mercedes.
He walked the front of the car and sat in the driver’s seat.
“Sophie,” he said softly, before turning the ignition. “There’s not enough money in the world that can help you if Judge Reinhold is presiding over your case again.”
“Drive, Pembrook,” I demanded, ignoring his warning. He’ll get me off, I thought.
My house, or I should say, my father’s house, was built a year before I was born but it had since been newly renovated on the outside as well as the inside so although I may have grown up in the home, it barely resembled anything like it did when I had been small.
It was grotesquely large, sitting on three acres in Beverly Hills, California, it was French Chateau inspired and over twenty-eight thousand square feet. I was in the left wing, my parents’ were in the right. I could go days without seeing them, the only correspondence was out of necessity, usually to inform me that I was required to make a dinner appearance, and that was usually by note delivered by one of the staff. I had a nanny until fourteen when I fired her for attempting to discipline me. My parents didn’t realize for months and decided I was capable of caring for myself after and never bothered to replace the position.
Freedom is just that. Absolutely no restrictions. I abandoned myself to every whim I felt. Every want I fulfilled and every desire was quenched. I wanted for nothing.