Her eyes were a deep ocean blue that matched the sapphire necklace hanging around her neck. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail—the loose strands slightly grazed her breasts, and her lips—her bright pink, fuck-able lips, seemed to be mouthing words of some kind.
I have no idea what you’re saying...
As I was noticing the pink bra strap that had slipped from underneath her dress and onto her bare shoulder, her stunning eyes met mine. I raised my eyebrow and she blushed. Then she immediately turned away, looking at my partners.
“Welcome to GBH, Miss Everhart,” George said. “We’re happy that you’re here for an interview, but as you know we can only select one undergraduate intern for our program at this time.”
“I understand, sir.” Her eyes met mine again, and my cock twitched.
I tried to stop the images that were flooding my brain, images of me bending this woman over the table, fucking her against my office wall, and tying her hands above her head and torturing her with my tongue all night, but they wouldn’t stop. Each image dissolved into another one, and before I knew it, I’d visually undressed her and there was no one in this room but the two of us.
What the hell is wrong with me? Attracted to a prospective intern? An UNDERGRADUATE intern?
“Well, let’s get started then.” George interrupted my thoughts. “Mr. Hamilton, would you care to start with the first question?”
“Not particularly,” I said, trying to ignore the fact that Miss Everhart was smoothing her dress over her thighs.
He nudged me under the table and whispered under his breath, “Family, Andrew...Family.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why do you want to be a lawyer, Miss Everhart?”
“I enjoy screwing people over,” she said. “I figure I might as well get paid for it.”
My lips curved into a smile, and George and Will laughed.
“In all seriousness, gentlemen,” she continued, “I come from a large family of lawyers and judges; it’s what I’ve known my whole life. I know the justice system is far from perfect, but nothing makes me happier than seeing it at its best. There’s no greater feeling than working for the good of society.”
“Good answer,” Will said. “Now, we’re going to ask you a series of questions regarding the real-world case study packets that we mailed you. Were you able to complete everything?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Great. Question number one: Your client walks into a federal bank with a loaded gun in his pocket. Upon being brushed by a stranger, the gun fires—shooting him in the leg. Regarding the charges that the prosecution filed, how would you have your client plead?”
“What?” I looked over at him. “Could you repeat that question, Will?”
“The prompt?”
“Whatever you just asked.”
He nodded and happily repeated it, putting extra emphasis on the crime of walking into a bank with a loaded firearm.
My mind immediately flashed back to the conversation I’d had with Alyssa last night.
I smiled, thinking that maybe Alyssa’s “friend” was a headline story in the local news, that maybe I could figure out who she was without her telling me. I pulled out my phone and held it underneath the conference table, googling “Man shoots himself in federal bank. North Carolina.”
Nothing relevant appeared.
Hmmm...
“How would you make him plead, Miss Everhart?” Will asked again.
“No contest,” she said quickly.
“No contest?” He sounded slightly impressed. “Why so?”
“He doesn’t have a license to carry, so I’m sure the prosecution will try to make it seem like he carried that gun into the bank for a reason. Regardless of if he only hurt himself, he’s looking at a prison sentence, so we could bypass the trial and try to limit it to the lowest terms possible.”
I blinked, refusing to believe that her answer was anything more than a coincidence. As a matter of fact, as soon as she started to further explain her logic, I knew that it was; only a student would start talking about “emotional appeal” right after a no contest plea.
As Will and George continued to pepper her with questions, I googled variations of that federal gun case. “Man fires gun in bank.” “No contest plea in federal bank case.” “Man injures himself in bank shooting.”
Still, nothing.
“Miss Everhart, are there any lawyers that you wish to model your own career after?” Greg asked.
“Yes, actually,” she said. “I’ve always admired the career of Liam Henderson.”
“Liam Henderson?” I raised my eyebrow. “Who is that?” Usually, interviewees named a federal judge, a well-known prosecutor, or a familiar district attorney. But an unknown? Never.