Blindfolded Innocence (8 page)

I fled to the safety of her side, taking my buttery fingers with me and leaving my plate and knife behind.
 

"I need Julia," Sheila said.
 
"Are you all through with whatever it was you were needing her for?" Her expression painted her opinion clearer than any billboard sign could.
 

De Luca nodded a goodbye to me and strode out of the kitchen, winking at me, and patting Sheila on the shoulder as he passed.
 
I could suddenly breathe a lot easier.
 
Sheila turned and affixed me with a steely stare, all evidence of grandmotherly goodness gone.
 
"Is this going to be a problem?" she demanded.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Good."

CHAPTER
11

11:45am.

I didn't know what I had been doing the last two and a half hours, but it hadn't been anything productive.
 
I twirled a pencil around my hand and debating asking someone for an Advil.
 
My phone rang, a shrill sound that poked at my headache with a sharp stick.

"Julia Campbell."

"It's Beverly."
 
Beverly was Broward's #2 Secretary - a redheaded, plump woman who thought that stripes and polka dots matched and had an extreme habit of over-sharing everything.
 
I mean everything.
 
The second day I met her she "confided" in me that she caught genital herpes from a gas station restroom toilet.
 
Need I say anything more?
 
She would.

"Hi Beverly."

"We need you to run over to Office Max.
 
Rick in IT just called, and apparently they are having some kind of technical crisis that can only be solved by a…. TI44 Firewire Cable Port.
 
Whatever that is.
 
We would go, but De Luca's office is having us run a gabillion copies for some last minute filing and the-"

"No problem Beverly.
 
I'll do it now."
And stop by CVS and grab every hangover remedy they got.

"Are you sure?
 
I hate to ask you but if we don't get-"

"Yes.
 
I am sure.
 
I'll do it now."

"Great!
 
Thanks Julia.
 
Just run it to IT when you get back.
 
It's on the second floor, next to the-"

"I know where it is."

"O-KAY!
 
Thanks Julia."

"Your welcome."

I hung up the phone and rose, glad for a chance to get out of the office.
 
I slid my heels on, grabbed my purse, and practically skipped to the elevator, purposely avoiding even looking in the direction of the East Wing doors.
 
Take that Brad De Luca!

I took the elevator directly to the parking garage floor and exited, looking to the right for my car.
 
One of the firm’s black town cars was idling near my Camry, and the driver's tinted window rolled down as I approached.
 
A 20s-something white kid in a chauffeur's uniform was seated in the driver’s seat, and spoke to me as I passed.

"Ms. Campbell."

"Yes?"
 
I stopped in surprise, staring at him.

"I've been instructed to drive you to the store."

"What?"

"I'll drive you to the store."

"No, I'm fine.
 
Thank you."

He ignored me and got out, walked around to the back seat door, and opened it.
 
I glared at him.

"I can drive myself.
 
I'm a big girl."

"Get in the car."
 
The order came, not from the pimple-faced driver, but from inside the car.
 
It only took a second for me to figure out that voice, and I shoved aside Pushy Driver and leaned over, looking into the car.

"You listen to me, " I hissed, pulling out my finger and pointing it in De Luca's face.
 
"I am not one of your strippers you can order around! I am BUSY at work and-" My tirade and conviction was interrupted by De Luca's burst into laughter, him grabbing his side, his entire torso shaking.
 
My finger sagged a bit but remained pointed at him, and I fought the ridiculous urge to laugh myself.
 

"Strippers! Jeff - did you hear that?"
 
Jeff started to smile and I turned with a snap and shot him the stoniest glare I could.
 
His smile faded but stayed in his eyes.
 
They were laughing at me.
 
Dammit. I don't care if he is a partner in the law firm that my future is riding on, I-

"I don't know what you've heard about me, but I take all the new interns out.
 
Ask Todd.
 
We went out as a group last week, but Broward had you stuck in preparation for that boring as hell mediation that he flopped at.
 
I've taken that Asian intern out three times for Christ's sake - what's his name - Anton Woo or Wu?
 
Something like that.
 
So, despite what you think of me, I am just trying to give you the same courtesy I give all of the interns - the pleasure of my company and infinite knowledge."
 
He raised both hands in a "trust me I'm innocent" gesture.
 
His cocky smile infuriated me but my balloon of propriety had deflated.

 
I stared at him, thinking.
My ego, brain, and mouth were all totally confused.
 
My headache screamed at me - making it even harder to reason.
 
My shoulders finally slumped.
 

"Okay." I said glumly, getting into the car.
 

Jeff closed the door once my legs were safely inside.
 
He hummed a little tune as he returned to his rightful place in the front seat.
 
I wanted to smack him.
 
I dreaded doing so, but turned and tried, rather unsuccessfully, to smile at De Luca and convince him to forget the little hissy fit that had just occurred.
 
He didn't bite.

He relaxed in the car beside me - such a large man that he took up a seat and a half without really meaning to.
 
He looked at me with interest, studying me.
 
I tried to sit as close to the other door as possible without making it obvious.
 
I could feel myself begin have trouble breathing again.
 
Damn this man.
 
I couldn't think of anything to say, and the silence was starting to get uncomfortable, at least for me.
 
He didn't seem anything other than totally at ease.
 

"Are we going to Office Max?" I finally said.

"No."

"What about the… cable port thingy?"

"We are going to Centaur.
 
For lunch."

"Do you just take everything you want?"
 
As soon as the words popped out, I tried to take them back.
 
Firm partner, Julia.
 
Remember that for God's sake!

He seemed amused by the question.
 
"Yes, normally.
 
I've found it is more fun to ask for forgiveness than permission.
 
Plus, I already asked, and you said no."

Oh, okay.
 
So he's daft.
 
I nodded politely and tried to put a respectful look on my face.
 
I don't think I succeeded.

"Do you like Centaur?"

"I've never been.
 
It's a little out of my budget."

"You'll like it.
 
You do eat meat?

My dirty mind chuckled to itself, but I kept my tone mild.
 
"Yes, I eat meat."
 
Keep laughing De Luca.
 
I plan on putting a Porterhouse on this bill.
 

The town car pulled through big gates and freshly cut lawns up to a huge white southern-style farmhouse with deep porches and thick columns.
 
The entrance steps were flanked on either side by Centaur statues.
 
The well-manicured lawn, impressive structure, and white-gloved valets screamed "expensive."
 
An attendant sprang to action when the car stopped, and pulled open my door.
 
I accepted his outstretched hand, swung a leg out and stood up, squinting in the bright sun.
 
My headache was drumming its fingers on my cerebral cortex.
 

I walked around the car and met De Luca at the base of the steps.
 
He gestured for me to go ahead, and I stepped forward.
 
As I climbed the stairs, he placed a gentle hand on the base of my back.
 
A delicious shiver ran through me and my subconscious smacked it down like it was a wandering fly.

The maitre'd instantly recognized De Luca and beamed.
 
"Mr. De Luca!
 
Come, come, I will put you at your favorite table!"
 
He grabbed two leather-bound menus and led us through the restaurant.
 
It was packed, and as we traversed through the tables, we were stopped several times by different men standing up to shake De Luca's hand and say a sentence or two in greeting.
 
When we finally arrived at the table - a large four top in the back corner, I sank into the seat in relief.
 
Before I had a chance to open my menu, a tuxedo-clad waiter appeared.

"Mr. De Luca, how are you?"

"Very good, Mimo."

"The usual?"

"Yes please."

Mimo turned and disappeared.
 
I glanced at De Luca over the menu.
 

"Is he going to ask me what I want to drink?"

"No.
 
Is wine acceptable?"

My headache raised both her hands and waved them around.
 
"I'd prefer just water."

He nodded without responding.
 
He ignored the menu and leaned forward on the table, crossing his arms and gazing at me.
 
His biceps stretched the arms of his dress shirt and I raised the menu a bit higher, hiding behind it.

"How are you enjoying the internship?"

I lowered the menu slightly and spoke over it.
 
"It's been quite informative.
 
I feel like I am learning a lot and getting a great base that I will be able to build a strong legal education around."

He reached over and gently pushed the menu down, so that he could look at me.
 
"Is that what you have prepared as your interview spiel?