Risk (Brothers of Ink and Steel #4) - Allie Juliette Mousseau Page 0,1

The Law Offices of Harrison and Smith.

I imagine what I do every time I approach this plaque: Harrison, Smith and Callahan. Like my dad teaches: Believe it, apply yourself, and you can make it happen.

“Good morning, Connor.” Mr. Harrison’s secretary smiles. “Mr. Harrison is ready for you.”

“Thank you.”

I straighten my blazer. I’m not your typical-looking lawyer. Most people’s initial reactions to me are shock and disbelief. At first sight, they’re positive I’m on the other side of the law, playing dress up to stand before the judge.

The tattoos I sport peek out from under my suit collar and cuffs as they climb my neck and cover both of my hands. Then there are the piercings: a barbell over my right eyebrow and gauges in the lobes of my ears. I quite enjoy making people rethink their stereotypes. The courthouse judges—and maybe more importantly, security—here in the district know me. I’ve worked hard to make a name for myself and earn respect. I’ve won and settled a record number of cases for someone so young.

“Connor.” Mr. Harrison stands up from behind his desk, reaches over the top of it and grips my hand in a firm shake. “Good to see you. You’re looking well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harrison.” Harrison recently crested his sixties. He has a head of gray hair and a serious demeaner that forces him to work harder at being friendly with his clients and colleagues. He keeps trim by playing golf regularly and has a sharp mind. His is one of the most successful law firms in the city.

“Come on, call me Bill.”

“Bill,” I repeat. We go through this every time. He and I both know it won’t stick. Someday, maybe. “What have you got for me today?”

“I need you to ask for an extension and reschedule for eight weeks from now, client’s request. Plus, it’ll give you plenty of time to review the case and make a defense. This is a personal favor for a close friend. I need your A game.”

“I’d never give you anything less, sir.” I’m itching to open the case file. “Do you think it’ll get settled or go to trial?”

“Doesn’t matter. Either way, Connor, win this and the firm will begin grooming you for a partnership.”

I do a double-take. Did I hear him correctly?

Then he says it. “Harrison, Smith and Callahan has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir.” I try to remain professional, despite my shock and awe.

“You’re the best man for the job, Connor. Now get it done,” he implores.

“I appreciate the chance.”

I walk out of the office on clouds. I’m so fucking excited I can hardly hold it in! I force my body to be still in the elevator. I can’t wait to tell Cade and my brothers! Every late night and early morning. All the sacrifice, the fucking poring over law books while everyone else’s lives went on around me, has brought me to this moment!

It’s mine! I’m going to fucking own this!

I sidle up to my car and do a victory dance. This is everything I’ve waited for.

On the drive, I envision it. Today I’ll be granted the extension. I’ll prepare the case and win for the firm.

For my life.

My brothers win MMA titles, have their own television shows, win football scholarships and professional league games; this is mine!

My moment of glory.

I reach into the briefcase just to feel the thick file between my fingers.

My future!

After I straighten my tie in the rearview mirror, I step out of my car, briefcase in hand, and click the lock button on my key from over my shoulder. Feeling fucking invincible, I stride through the parking lot and into the Ramsey County Courthouse like I own the place. Moving past the information desk and the Vision of Peace statue towering in the lobby, I reach the docket on the wall and eye it over.

Room number nineteen, family court case 112, Prescott Vs. Prescott.

Too fueled up to sit, I pace across the stone floor to the end of the hall, where a couple of dark antique wooden desks sit in an otherwise nearly empty hallway—save for the benches that line the walls. The desks are reserved for legal reps to speak with their clients.

As I reach them, a woman sitting at one abruptly pushes her chair back and stands up. She straightens a pile of papers by smacking them angrily onto the desk. Muttering a curse, she shoves them into the soft attaché at her hip—the shoulder strap snug across