Hardass (Bad Bitch)(3)

“Nothing.” My voice came out louder than I’d intended. Nerves.

The corners of his mouth quirked the slightest bit before he returned to his usual stony self. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” I continued, somehow breathless, as if I’d forgotten the overwhelming importance of respiration in the space of two seconds. “I would let the State try their case and I wouldn’t do a thing.”

Yvonne giggled. I wanted to cunt-punt her. Instead, I just kept my eyes on the prize. The prize was canting his head at me, seemingly intrigued.

“You wouldn’t cross the State’s star witness even though he’s implicated your client in a Class A felony that will most certainly result in a hefty sentence?”

“I sure wouldn’t.” I leaned forward and put my elbows on the table, returning Mr. Granade’s stare.

His dark brows rose, as if he were surprised by my boldness. You ain’t seen nothing yet.

“And why is that, Ms. Montreat?”

Was that color rising over the impeccable collar of his dress shirt? A delightful pink hue on his tan skin? A thrill went through me at the thought of him reacting to me. It was highly inappropriate to have such a thought about my boss, so it fit me perfectly. “Because I wouldn’t have to. There would be no need.”

Yvonne laughed louder and stage-whispered to the associate at her elbow, “Now I see why she couldn’t get into a first-tier law school.”

The Yvonne cunt-punt went from being a “want” to gaining a spot on my mental to-do list. But Mr. Granade didn’t seem to hear her. His gaze was still focused on me. “So, as I understand it, you would let the co-defendant destroy your client on the stand and you wouldn’t do a thing about it. Then what?”

Exhilaration rushed through me and mixed with the fear that maybe I was wrong. Shit, what if I’m wrong? I shook the doubt away and continued, still holding Mr. Granade’s eyes with my own. “I would do nothing until the State rested its case. Then I would move for a dismissal via judgment as a matter of law.”

Yes, there it was. I definitely saw it this time—the hint of a smile. “And would that work, Ms. Montreat?”

“Yes.” I was leaning so far forward that I knew the girls were on display. All the better to lure you with, my dear.

“Why?” He was leaning forward, too.

There was no one else in the room, no Terrell, and certainly no skinny bitch Yvonne. It was just me and Mr. Granade. The way I wanted it.

“Because the testimony of a co-conspirator can never be used as the sole basis for a conviction. The State failed to prove its case. I win by default.” I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. I just had that feeling, the one where you know you nailed it—like that kid in that meme doing the fist pump. I was that kid right then in all his ecstatic glory.

Mr. Granade blinked, as if remembering himself, and sat back. He scrubbed a hand along his perfectly smooth jaw and broke our eye contact. “Looks like the class clown wins it.”



I strutted out of the conference room, no shame in my game, after the meeting adjourned. I’d beaten the other associates and was riding a victory high.

“I expect you in my office in five minutes.” Mr. Granade strode past, his long legs making easy work of the hallway leading to his office. His confident steps were quicker than usual, and his head was cocked slightly to the side, in my direction.

Terrell was at my elbow. “You sure pulled that out of your ass.”

“Don’t be jealous. Or do. I like when people are jealous. It means I’m doing something right.”

Terrell snorted and took my arm in his. “You are in it now, Caroline. Mr. Granade doesn’t suffer fools—”

“Mama didn’t raise no fool.” I elbowed him in the ribs.

“I know. I’m just saying maybe you should tone it down a bit if you’re going to be in close quarters with him. I kind of like having you around.” He peered down at me, the dark brown skin around his eyes crinkling with worry.

He led me to my office and waited in the doorway as I grabbed a legal pad and pen. I hated to admit it, but he was right. Mr. Granade was a tough nut to crack, and I needed to keep my head in the game. The game wouldn’t be as much fun without a slew of dirty jokes, but I needed to make an effort at professionalism if I was going to have any chance at actually sitting second chair in a murder trial.

“Be you. You know there’s nothing I love more than you being you. Just be smart about how much you let him see.”

I bent over and dug around for my Rules of Evidence book. Snagging it, I turned back to Terrell. He had put his manicured hand to his face, as if shielding his eyes from the sun—but it was just my ass.