Seconds - Freya Barker Page 0,1

my desk, her coat on, and her purse slung over her shoulder. Beyond her I notice at some point night has fallen outside while I’ve been slaving over my closing argument.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was this late.” I have a tendency to lose myself in what I’m doing and block out the rest of the world.

“Not to worry,” she assures me. “Matt is at a sleepover and I didn’t have any plans.” Matt is her ten-year-old son and the only man in her life. “Nothing but half a bottle of wine and leftover pizza waiting for me tonight.”

I stretch my arms over my head and lean back in my chair to loosen the tension in my muscles.

“God, that sounds good. Go home. I won’t be far behind you, I’m almost finished here.”

“Want me to come in a little early Monday so you can practice on me?” She indicates the yellow legal pad I’ve been scribbling on for the past hours.

“No need. I won’t have to be in court until ten, so just come in at eight. That should give us enough time.”

“Sure thing. Have a good weekend.”

“You too.”

She slips out the door and I watch her through the large window as she makes her way across the parking lot to her car.

I’m not surprised she stayed. Sally is one of the most loyal people I know. She’s been my legal assistant for five years and when I left Thatcher, Cleaver, and Associates six months ago, followed me without question. She simply turned in her resignation right after I handed in mine and asked me where we were going next. For months that meant her showing up at my place at eight in the morning, setting up shop in my dining room, until we finally found this small office.

Technically it was my brother, Jackson, who had found it for me. It’s a serious step down from my seventeenth floor office with a view of downtown in Norfolk, but the old real estate office in a nondescript one-story building on the edge of town is all mine. Well, at least for the remainder of my two-year lease.

McGregor Bail Bonds owns the building and occupies the office beside mine. I’d been hesitant at first, but the close proximity has already been mutually profitable. They’ve bounced a few clients my way and I’ve handed out their number more than once as well. It’s turned out to be a surprisingly symbiotic relationship.

I’ve only really had contact with Pooja, their office manager, but I know that aside from the owner, they have three bondsmen working there. I’ve seen a couple of guys go in and out of the office at times, but haven’t had the pleasure.

When I no longer can ignore the gnawing in my stomach, I pack up my notes and laptop, and shrug into my coat. Whatever needs to be tweaked I can do at home; not like I have big plans anyway. Flicking off lights, I palm my keys and step outside, locking the door behind me before turning toward the parking lot.

And slam face first into a large solid wall.

The deep grunt and large hand landing on my shoulder kick my instincts into high gear. I immediately take a step back and haul up my knee.

Cal

“Christ, woman,” I grumble, barely managing to twist enough to have her solid knee land in my thigh muscle instead of where it was aimed.

But the next moment I’m jabbed in my lower ribs and I take a fast step back, letting go of her shoulder. Looking down, I see her fisted hand—keys poking out from between her fingers—coming at me again, and I quickly grab hold of her wrist. She’s clearly had some self-defense training.

“Let go!” she yells, her eyes widening when she finally looks up at me.

Fuck. I’m well aware my appearance won’t help this situation, since I haven’t trimmed my hair—both on my head and on my face—since I left on a skip a month ago.

“Name’s Callum McGregor,” I quickly inform her when she opens her mouth again, I presume to scream bloody murder. It snaps shut. I carefully let go of her wrist, holding my hands up in case she decides to swing at me again. “I’m getting some identification out of my pocket.”

I realize I have her at a disadvantage—blocked in the small alcove housing the entrance to each of our offices—so I quickly pull my driver’s license from my wallet and hand it to her.

Her relief is immediate when