“Yet you persevere.”
“Part of the job requirements, I guess. If I didn’t want tough cases, I’d have chosen corporate law as a specialty. Right now I’m working on a proposal for Nueces County to handle pro bono cases for family court. If I land the contract, my time will be mainly focused on custody hearings, helping disadvantaged parents reunite with their children. I believe in second chances, Vincent.” In every way. Hopefully he understood—that it translated into them having another opportunity to connect. “In the United States, the courts are often willing to restore parental rights or grant custody to parents who have successfully completed mandated rehabilitation programs and demonstrated the ability to join society again.”
She gazed at him. The issue remained close to her heart—she was baring an intimate side she’d never revealed to another man. “A long time ago a beloved great-uncle lost custody of his three children. As he often did on Friday nights, he stopped for a couple of beers in the local bar after working a twelve-hour shift at the refinery. Instead of staying for the usual hour, he downed a shot and hurried home to surprise his wife. He caught her in bed with his best friend.”
Vincent grimaced. “Fuck.”
“He had his lunch box and revolver in his hands. He always kept his firearm in his truck, and would lock it up in the house at night. He shot his friend in the stomach. The guy died three weeks later in the hospital from a secondary infection. The police charged him with manslaughter and the case went to trial. Although the jury acquitted him of any criminal wrongdoing, the divorce judge stripped his parental rights. Whether or not you agree with the jury, what he did had nothing to do with his abilities as a parent. Uncle Christian committed suicide a year later.” Tears stung her eyes.
He gripped her hand. “So now you want to make sure defendants get quality representation in a system that favors certain kinds of people.”
She nodded. “I’m not condoning his choice, but he had plenty to live for.”
“I’m sorry he felt so helpless. I respect your tenacity, Tina. If you win the contract, your clients will be lucky to have you. How long have you been practicing law?”
She sniffled before she answered. “Officially? Two and a half years. I completed my undergrad in three years, then attended Georgetown University Law Center. I interned at a couple of D.C. firms and landed a lucrative offer after graduation. But I wanted to get away from the East Coast. The arrogance and competition didn’t feel right; I ended up stressed out every night and battled insomnia. I’d spent nearly every summer of my childhood on Padre Island. We still have a condo here. Let’s just say I had Texas on my mind. Within a month of applying to James and Bronte, I had an offer.”
“Brilliant and beautiful,” he said admiringly. “I remember Lily saying something about you graduating as salutatorian.”
“Yeah.” Tina licked her lips. “I’m kind of an overachiever who detests giving speeches.”
Vincent nodded. “It makes sense now. Your toast at the wedding was pretty lame—Lily’s mother nearly passed out when you mentioned riding into the sunset on Lang’s Harley.”
“I can’t believe you remembered that. Anything else?”
“You shoot darts like a pro.”
“And?” she pressed.
“Fishing for compliments?”
“On occasion.”
He leaned close. “I love the way you taste,” he rumbled behind a flawless smile.
The man knew how to take her breath away. Should she respond? “High praise coming from a monk.”
The color in his face rose. “You couldn’t be more wrong.” He pointed at her vehicle. “Satisfied with the paint on the door?”
Vincent had perfected the abrupt subject change technique. In order to keep the peace, she checked out the paint. “Looks great. Thanks again, Vincent. Not sure I’d want to drive around with that word on my door.”
“You’re welcome. Which brings us to the next topic of conversation…”
She arched a brow.
“Security.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said, trying to appear unconcerned. “I live in a gated community. As for work—until I have proof Kline did this, I’m stuck.”
“J.T. documented the damage. I’ll forward copies of the photos via email. If I were you, I’d start keeping a daily journal describing any encounters you have with him. Even insignificant conversations.”
“That’s a great idea,” she said, grateful for his advice.
“Imagine me counseling you. But I’ve dealt with his kind before. Several of the old ladies are dancers or bartenders; they attract crazies sometimes.”