Ramsey: A Military Bad Boy Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance (The Bradford Brothers Book 3) (22 page)

Although I
do
need the relevant military representation experience for my firm, and so far no other organization has called me back. And
maybe
I might get to see Jensen again, even though he already has Dylan as the lawyer assigned to his case. 

“Take all the time you need to think about it,” Tim continues, not letting me speak. “I understand that right now you just want to volunteer a few hours a week to meet your firm’s
pro bono
requirements. But if you find that you enjoy this type of work— which many lawyers who try it out surprisingly do— then there might be room for a new staff attorney, at least part-time, and that’s a position you could be paid for. Granted it’s not nearly as much money as you’re used to but it might be a bit more fulfilling than…”

He trails off, obviously not wanting to offend me, but I know where he was heading.
More fulfilling than representing rich old dudes and helping them fight with other rich old dudes about who screwed over whom financially
? I want to say.

Instead, I just smile at him, because he’s a nice guy, although a bit misguided. He looks like a hippy from California or Vermont. He doesn’t have fire-breathing dragons for parents, always standing over his shoulder harping on him about his career choices and salary and opportunities for professional advancement. He can afford to follow his dreams. Heck, he can afford to
have
dreams.

“I’ll think about it, Mr. McDonald,” I say, standing up to shake his hand. “I do appreciate you meeting with me today.”

“I need to meet with a few of the men here now,” he says. “But I’ve arranged for a guard to escort you out.”

I start to think about how crazy it is that I’m in a place where I need a guard to escort me out. But as I begin to make my way back towards life as I know it, I can’t help having a little bit of a fantasy of being locked
in
with Jensen. I bet he’d know how to rough me up in ways that Brian’s never thought of. And I bet I’d enjoy every second of the new and different experience.

What am I doing here
?

That was my first question upon my arrival to jail, and it still plays over and over again in my head. I can’t believe I’m in jail, for the first time in my life, over some stupid fist fight. I’ve had so many in the past, but I’ve never been ratted out by my opponent like this loser ratted me out.

Then again, I’ve never fought such a loser. And the fight certainly wasn’t voluntary.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m a Bradford, and we’re known for causing trouble. There were things I did in high school that were less than okay, and even more things I did in the military, but luckily I’ve always gotten away with them.

I’ll add this experience to my long list of WTF moments, and I shouldn’t be surprised that my actions have finally caught up with me. It makes no difference though. I would gladly beat up that bastard all over again if given the chance, no matter the punishment. I just hope this doesn’t affect my career too negatively.

On that note, I glance around, wondering where Dylan is. He’s my lawyer from the Veterans’ Legal Alliance, and I’m waiting in the holding area for him to finally show up. My arraignment and bond hearing is quickly approaching, and this dude’s nowhere to be found.

I sigh, trying to hide my disgust that my lawyer is MIA. But then I see that Tim McDonald, the director of the organization, is here, and I have hope that he’ll know where Dylan is. He seems to be the only guy in this place who has a clue about what’s going on.

And then I notice the chick sitting across from him at the table. When I say notice, I mean that it would be impossible to miss her. She’s all decked out in a fancy suit, her hair meticulously curled into blonde waves that cascade down her shoulders.

Damn
. Blondes are my type. And I love long hair. I just want to reach out and grab it, and not in a friendly way either. In a “let me show you who’s boss” type of way.

And that ass. I can see part of it from this angle and it’s full and curvy, just like I like them.
My cock needs your curvy ass
, I want to tell her.

But that’s ridiculous. I’m in jail, and she’s likely in the legal field, since she’s meeting with Tim and since she’s dressed like she’s auditioning for an episode of
Law & Order: SVU
.

Besides, even if she weren’t completely out of my league, she’s not my type. I mean, yeah, sure, her
looks
are my type— I’d hit that, in a second, and then throw her out of bed and never talk to her again— but her personality clearly isn’t.

I’m into laid-back girls that I can easily talk to, and do a lot of other things with as well. Such as smoke a blunt with. Share a beer or whiskey with. Have a threesome with.

And this chick looks like the total opposite of all of that. Stuck-up and snobby, with a stick up her ass and something to prove all the time, to somebody, for some reason. I know the type, and I stay away from them.

But still. Out of nowhere she surveys the room and locks eyes with me. She has gorgeous blue eyes, like she just got off a plane from some Nordic country as ice cold and steely blue as those eyes of hers. I look back and hold her gaze. Of course I do. I’m no pussy, and even though I wouldn’t date her doesn’t mean I won’t try to fuck her. I don’t “date” anyone, anyway.

She looks like the type with a boring boyfriend or husband at home, but I don’t care. I don’t want a relationship, just some hot sex. She’s probably never had hot sex but there’s always a first time for everything. Just like me winding up in jail for some stupid fight no different than the ones I’ve gotten into since I was a boy, without such humiliating repercussions. No one knows what the future holds.

I decide to make a move. I’ve never been known for my patience.

I approach the table and make up a dumbass excuse to talk to Tim. Of course I do have a valid reason— I’m waiting on my perpetually late attorney— but I know Tim can’t make him appear any faster than I can. I just want an excuse to be closer to this mystery woman.

Tim’s in the middle of telling her that even though she doesn’t have criminal law experience, he can quickly train her.

Great
, I think.
She’s a lawyer. And a newbie at that. I hope they’re not wanting to assign her to my case. I’ll just stick with Dylan— as awful as I’m starting to think he is— or pay some private attorney out of pocket. Money talks, and a new attorney will have to do what I want, not what the VLA has trained him to do.

But damn is she hot
, I think, as Tim introduces us and I shake her hand firmly, the same way I’d like to grab her ass if I weren’t impeded by this orange jumpsuit and my temporary lack of freedom.

I return to the table to continue waiting for Dylan, all the while thinking,
What is
she
doing here?
, instead of only
What am
I
doing here?
I clearly bashed a guy’s skull in to end up here. But she’s like a fish out of water. Why would she want to represent someone like me?

When Dylan finally arrives and I jump to the front of the line to meet him, he takes me back to the attorney/ client conference room and I can’t help but look back at Riley one more time. My curiosity gets the better of me and I wink at her. She looks pleased.

If I weren’t in jail I’d have her in bed by tonight
, I think, as I reluctantly enter the room with Dylan and kiss all hopes of fucking Fancy Lawyer Lady goodbye.

“It’s nice to see you again, Jensen,” says Dylan, as he sits down at the small wooden table in the conference room.

“You too,” I tell him, although I want to add,
I was beginning to think you’d never show up
.

Instead, I say, “I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”

“I know you’re nervous about your arraignment. Everyone always is,” Dylan says. “But don’t worry. I have full faith that you’ll be out of here as soon as that hearing is over.”

“It’s not that. I’ve been needing to talk to you about my case.”

Again, I let unspoken thoughts remain unspoken. Unspoken thoughts like:
You’ve said some things I’m not too fond of, and I want to set you straight.

Even though Dylan has been assigned to represent me for free, I know that doesn’t mean I have to go along with everything he says. I’m free to fire him and have another lawyer assigned, or to hire one out of my own pocket.

Which is fine because it’s not like I’m hurting for money. I just want to make sure my lawyer listens to me and defends my case the way
I
want it to be defended.

“Jensen, we don’t have a lot of time. We need to go out there and tell the judge we’re ready for your arraignment hearing to be called…”

“I understand,” I tell him, and stop there instead of finishing with
that you’re in a rush and you’re shuffling through my case as one of many
. “But this is important to me. When we first met you mentioned using a PTSD defense and I said I wasn’t that into it.”

“Uh huh,” Dylan says absent- mindedly as he flips through my file, highlighting something.

“But what I should have said is that I really do not want you to use that defense. The more I’ve had time to think about it— and thinking is about the only thing I get to do in here— the more certain I am. I don’t have PTSD. I’m not crazy.”

“Jensen,” Dylan says, looking straight into my eyes. “A PTSD diagnosis does not mean ‘crazy.’”

“I know, I’m sorry,” I sigh, frustrated.

Crazy is burning everything my dad ever owned in front of me, simply because I mentioned his name. Simply because I was mad at her for leaving him— for leaving us. My mom is crazy. I’m not crazy. But any kind of official diagnosis is too close for comfort for me. I’m not anything like my mom, and I never will be.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” I try to explain to Dylan. “I just mean that everyone thinks that anyone who has been to war has PTSD, and that’s just not always the case—”

“Jensen, you haven’t only been to war. You’ve seen traumatic and life- altering things there. You’ve experienced very bad things.”

“So has everyone who has been to war,” I say, exacerbated beyond belief at this point. “But it doesn’t mean I have PTSD.”

“It’s the best defense anyway,” Dylan says, perplexed. “If it helps you, you should use it. Not resist it.”

“Dylan. I’m serious. I want you to just defend the case and please don’t give me some PTSD diagnosis along with a potential criminal record.”

“Fine. Okay Jensen.” But he doesn’t say it very convincingly. “But today’s hearing has nothing to do with any of that. You’re just pleading guilty and bail is being set, or not. In your case, as I’ve said, I highly suspect it won’t be. You’ll walk out free until your next hearing date. And then we’ll have plenty of time to talk defense strategy.”

He signals the guard to let the judge know we’re ready.

“All right.”
Just like we had plenty of time to talk today.
“I just wanted to make sure I clarified my position with you.”

“Understood.”

We enter the small courtroom where the judge holds arraignment and bail hearings in the jail. She reads my charges and Dylan introduces himself, as does an assistant district attorney.

“How does the defendant plead?” asks the judge.