Page 104 of Forgotten Prejudice

Cleaning the lenses, I then put my glasses on and looked at him. “Those are some serious accusations, Ashton.”

Without any warning, he slammed his hands on my desk and leaned in close, his face an inch from mine. “Stop playing games, and don’t call me that anymore.” He pulled back at once, which was a shame because he still smelled like an afternoon breeze in Santorini. Who knew what that even meant, but it was what his scent had reminded me of ever since he’d first entered my proximity years ago.

Ashton Sage might have had the same addicting scent from when he was seventeen, but he’d definitely developed a feisty side he’d never had before. I’d encountered this new aspect of him when I first arrived here almost seven months ago. Desperate to save this kid, Camilo, Ashton went as far as to allow me back in his life. It might not be as sweet as I hoped it would be, considering the fact we were a few months in, and the only places he ever agreed to meet me were either in my office or at the courthouse, but it was something nonetheless. I left behind a boy and came back to find a man. A magnificent one, at that. A man who clearly wanted nothing to do with me, telling by the annoyance on his face.

“Fine.” I lifted my hands in mock surrender. “I’ll stop playing games.”

Ashton studied me with a raised brow before he huffed and sat back in the chair he’d evacuated earlier.

“You said you had something important to tell me.”

“How about we do it over dinner? I’m starving.” I nudged my glasses to sit higher on my nose. I didn’t really need to wear them, but I still did sometimes.

“No.” His voice was sharp and cold, showing no evidence of the little Sparrow who was once mine. “I have plans with Kai. So hurry up and tell me what you have to say so I can get out of here.”

My original plan was to tease him a bit, but now that he’d brought up the moron’s name, I had a change of plans.

Taking out a pile of files from my briefcase, I slammed them on the table between us. “We need to go over these tonight, so if I were you, I wouldn’t count on getting home anytime soon. So better call the boyfriend—”

“Fine,” he cut in, already taking a handful of papers in hand. “What do I need to do?”

“Help me go over them to find something I might have missed,” I lied because there was no way I’d missed a thing. Over the past few months, I’d gone through every paper, letter, text, or file that could have been useful for us. I went so far as to read letters that Camilo’s teacher had written about him in kindergarten, all in an attempt to build a case that had almost no chance of winning. But that was the thrill. To do what others couldn’t. To win despite all odds. So no, I didn’t need his help, but having Ashton here for company was just a treat I spoiled myself with after months of hard work.

It was already 10:00 p.m., the trash can filled with boxes of the takeout I had ordered, and black circles had formed around Ashton’s eyes—probably from reading endless testimonies for the past few hours.

“I think it’s about time we wrap it up for today,” I said after I decided I’d kept him there for long enough.

“But we still have about half to go.” He reached for the folder I tried picking from the table. “What if we find something new? Tomorrow’s the start of the trial and—”

“And we are more than prepared.” I attempted to calm down the anxiety that burned in his eyes to no avail.

Ashton bit on his bottom lip and looked down at his shoes as silence erupted between us. I wanted to reach forward and brush the pad of my thumb over those plump lips. To press them hard before leaning close and licking into his mouth to enjoy the taste of him—but I didn’t and instead took off my glasses and put them aside.

With a sigh, I got up from my chair and walked over to the bar cart in my office to pour myself a glass. Resisting the urge to touch him became infuriatingly difficult, to the point I was in need of scotch to ease my burning desires. Ashton not letting me waltz back into his life didn’t make it any easier, and I found myself caught between the hammer and the anvil. Or, in this case, between my ex and my job. The worst part was seeing him still hanging around that monkey-man he referred to as his best friend. It would be a lie to admit I didn’t hope, more than once, for the guy to get hit by a truck.

“Do you believe we can win?” Ashton asked, breaking into my sweet fantasies.

“I wouldn’t be here if not.”

“I mean it.”

The chair moved, and I heard footsteps. When I turned around, he was already standing behind me. The fearful expression on his face reminded me of the Ashton from the past, the one I’d left behind.

“It’s not going to be easy, and you’ll have to gather all the strength you can find, but I’m sure we’ll make it.” We’d already been through this conversation before, but because I knew how gentle Ashton’s heart was, I needed to make sure he understood what was about to happen in a few hours.

This wasn’t just a trial. It was the trial.

“You need to understand, darling, that it’s going to be ugly. Camilo is being charged with the double murder of two allegedly innocent people and the attempted murder of a kid in his class. With his record and appearance, he’s already guilty in the eyes of most people.” I placed my glass on the desk and walked closer to him so we stood face-to-face. “That’s why I worked my ass off for weeks to have the right jurors for this trial, but the prosecution did the same.” Those fuckers knew who to pick and who to dismiss.

So close to him, I wanted to place my hands on his hips. Instead, I shoved them in my pockets and continued. “Perception is everything in this trial. If Camilo looks guilty, then he is, and my job is to put the blame on someone else.”

“What’s the game plan?” my co-counsel asked. This was our first group meeting after being assigned to the case. I’d already gone through most of the details and gathered enough information to come up with a strategy. The only one that could work in order for us to win this son of a bitch. Pulling a picture from my folder, I pinned it to the wall in the conference room.

“That’s the victim,” said our private investigator, Eiv.

“Correct. Starting now, this angel-face is the star of this horror show.” I tapped on the image. “In case I wasn’t clear—we make this case all about Shay-Lee Christian Rogers.” I looked at the rest of the confused room. “I don’t care that this kid is in a freaking coma as we speak; you guys are going to dig every bit of dirt you can manage on him and bring it back to me. Am I clear?”

Of course, when I repeated my overall plan to Ashton, I reserved some of the details, but he needed to understand that this was going to be one ugly fight. Nothing about my job was pretty—nothing but the man standing in front of me.