“Did you say something?” My gaze flew back up to his eyes. Shit!
“Month. It’s been a busy month,” I mumbled and bit down on my bottom lip to prevent myself from saying anything else out loud. His eyes dropped to my mouth again and they actually seemed to get a little darker. I was starting to sweat and feel a great deal of tension in the room that had nothing to do with Mr. O’Neal’s poor aim. I had to get the hell out of there. I went to grab lunch before I grabbed Mr. Pierce and found out if he tasted as good as he smelled. Jesus! I felt like I needed a cold shower.
Commonwealth v. Kaminsky
At one o'clock we were back in front of the judge. “Okay, Ms. Ginsberg. Can't wait to hear what you're going to come up with this time,” Judge Channing said. Nothing like a vote of confidence from the judiciary.
“Your Honor, we all know that retail establishments sometimes discard unwanted or defective merchandise. It was perfectly reasonable for Mr. Kaminsky to have mistakenly believed that the merchandise in question here had been abandoned.”
“Uh huh. Mr. Pierce, what do you have to say?” the judge asked.
“Your Honor, nobody discards twenty-seven HD flat screen TVs.”
“You know, Mr. Pierce, I'm inclined to agree. All charges held for trial.” Judge Channing banged his gavel and Tiny was escorted away by two rather wary-looking deputies. I was fairly sure Tiny wasn't anybody's bitch in the jail. I headed back to the defense table again.
“You were right. That was pretty good,” Mr. Pierce said, handing me the order again. His hand brushed against mine this time and I jumped like I had just stuck my finger in a socket. He looked at me like I might be really be dangerous after all. Nice, Gabrielle – very subtle.
“I predict that I'll be breaking out the 'right to a trial defense’ again,” I said, trying to not act any weirder than I already was.
“You don't think he'll be willing to plead guilty?”
“Probably not. He firmly believes that claiming to be a complete idiot will get him off.”
“You're very funny,” he said, leaning against the defense table right next to me again.
“Mr. Pierce, in my line of work, one either laughs or cries and I would rather laugh.” Oh Jesus H. Christ! I sounded like a country western song.
“You can call me Braden.” He was looking at me kind of intently like he was curious to see how I would react. I felt my cheeks getting warmer and my heart started pounding like a drummer on speed. I was starting to wonder if I had high blood pressure or something. This couldn't be normal.
“You can call me Gabrielle then,” I said, staring directly into those incredible blue eyes and hoping that my face didn't look as pink as it felt. We were only inches away from each other and I could feel the heat from his body. I was looking up at him and he was looking down at me and I felt that tension there again, but just then the judge called out.
“Mr. Pierce, I hate to break up your conversation with Ms. Ginsberg but we need a prosecutor to be involved in this prosecution.” I looked over at the bench and saw that there was already another case waiting.
“Goodbye, Gabrielle,” he said with a smile. Why did my name sound so damned sexy when he said it? I placed my wheeling briefcase full of files on the floor. My toned muscles didn't just come from walking everywhere. I could probably bench-press a Buick.
“Goodbye, Braden,” I muttered and made my escape.
* * *
It was Friday and I wouldn't get to see him again for at least two days. I headed back to my office, probably the only one of the two hundred plus attorneys who worked there who wasn't thrilled that the weekend had finally arrived. I contemplated my plans for the next day. I could rearrange the kitchen cupboards, maybe catch a matinee, slit my wrists. The possibilities were endless. Jess was already at her desk when I got back and I unpacked my files as I thought more about my little exchange with Mr. Pierce — Braden.
“Mr. Pierce told me to call him by his first name and he also told me that I was funny.”
“Oh really?” she asked, spinning around in her chair and sounding diabolically intrigued like some evil genius in a James Bond movie. “So admit it, maybe I was right.” She had the “I told you so” look written all over her face.
“I don't want to hear it until I have some proof. Thanks to you planting your dubious theories in my head, I've gone from just lusting for him to pining for him too. I'm like Pepe Le Pew on Acid every time he gets near me now,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“We could go out to O'Malley's with the other public defenders later,” she suggested. “A lot of prosecutors go too on Fridays. Maybe he'll be there.”