Chapter 4 It's Complicated

Chase was running late. He rushed into the office on Monday morning, his Bluetooth earphone clipped skew to one ear.

"I'll be right there, Mrs. Martinez." He paused, listening to the person on the other side. "Yes, yes, as soon as I can. Tell him not to speak to anyone without me. No problem." He disconnected the call, clicking his fingers at Christine. "Morrison, get your notebook and come. We've a client waiting."

"Client?" Christine asked dumbfounded. He'd never before taken her along on a consult.

"Did I stutter? Hurry up." Chase urged her on, watching her scramble to her feet to get her tablet and purse. Then he noticed a vaguely familiar jacket hanging over the back of her chair. His eyes narrowed.

He pointed at it. "Whose is that?"

Christine felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "Oh, it's Ma – Mr. Pritchard's. He forgot it at my apartment..."

"Spare me the details, Morrison," he snapped at her. What the fuck! He hoped she wouldn't fall for the slimy bastard so easily. He reminded himself of his resolve not to get involved.

His clenched jaw and his thinly pursed lips showed his unmistakable anger, but Christine thought he couldn't possibly be angry that she has Mason's jacket. Could he?

Then it dawned on her – perhaps he thought they'd spent the night. Which they did not. Her cheeks heat up even more. He couldn't be jealous? Shaking off that preposterous idea, she followed Chase out of the office, almost running to keep up with his forceful stride.

"You said you wanted to be a paralegal? Consider this your first lesson." He spoke for the first time at his flashy red Ferrari. He got in the car without opening the passenger door for her.

For a moment Christine stood next to the sportscar uncertain whether she heard him correctly. Was he going to train her?

"Do you need an invitation, Morrison?" he asked, lifting one dark eyebrow at her, his long, elegant fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel.

***

The client waiting for them at the charge office was a middle-aged Latino woman. She grabbed Chase's hands in desperation.

"Mr. Ward, thank God!" she made the sign of the cross. "He didn't mean to kill him." She was in tears. "Angelo is a good boy."

Chase took the tiny woman to one side, his arm around her shoulders.

"Mrs. Martinez, I want you to stay calm for your son." He handed her a handkerchief which she took and blew her nose softly. "This is Ms. Morrison she will be my assistant." His eyes clashed with Christine's; they held a warning which Christine couldn't mistake for what it was. "She will be present in our consult with Angelo taking notes and staying silent. Is that alright with you, Mrs. Martinez."

The older woman nodded, and they proceeded to the interrogation room where the teenager was being held.

Christine felt sorry for the young boy, he couldn't have been more than fourteen years old. But his eyes seemed like those of an old man. What could he possibly have done to end up here, she thought.

After introducing himself and Christine to the young boy, Chase went on to look at the charge sheet. His face was a mask as he went through the photos. He passed it to Christine who caught herself in time, not to show how the crime scene photos affected her. The boy shot his father seven times. She realized that this was going to the Supreme Court where the fourteen-year-old would be charged as an adult.

***

They left the charge office heading back to Ward and Associates during the lunch hour. Neither of them spoke as the red Ferrari sped down the interstate. Christine took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to relax. She was still not comfortable with travelling by car. It took years of therapy and medication for her to get where she was now. After the car accident that took her sister's life and left her broken, she battled with those demons for years.

"You look pale," Chase observed. "I'm stopping for lunch." He took a turnoff and headed for the pier.

"I..." Christine wanted to say she wasn't hungry, but her treacherous stomach growled, and she snapped her mouth shut.

She noticed a dimple appearing in Chase's cheek when he smiled without looking at her. How could he even think of eating after seeing those gory photo's, she wondered.

"You get used to it," he said, as if he could read her mind. He brought the car to a stop in front of a restaurant at the river side. This time he opened the door for her and ushered her inside.

This place was so very different from the place she frequented with her friends. They usually went to bars where the food was affordable, not anywhere near as classy as this place.

The server placed them at a table looking out at the East River. Chase ordered for them without asking what she would like. Christine didn't know whether to be offended or just thankful she wouldn't need to decide.

The aroma of the strip steak made her mouth water when the plates were served. Chase ordered a bottle of Merlot, making Christine look at him wide-eyed.

"What? We can't have steak without wine. It's just not done." Chase poured a generous amount of wine in her glass.

"But..."

"Shut up and eat. We have a busy day ahead." He said, smiling over the rim of his glass.

The steak melted in her mouth. "Oh my God, this is so good," she groaned, feeling her face heating up. It somehow felt inappropriate to make those kinds of sounds in front of her boss.

"I know, right?" he chuckled low. He looked almost approachable. Not to mention so sexy, his dark hair falling devil-may-care across his brow and those grey eyes shining like they did at this moment.

Christine mentally kicked herself for having such bad thoughts about her boss. The look he gave her had her wondering if he could actually read her thoughts.

The Chase Ward at the office and the Chase Ward listening attentively to his client with empathy, they were two completely different people.

"So, Morrison," he called her down to earth, "what do you make of our client? Was he telling the truth?"

Christine almost chocked on the wine. Was he asking her opinion for real? She sputtered. "Sorry." Christine wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I don't think I believe him entirely. I believe he is protecting someone. His mother maybe?"

Chase smiled a wolfish grin at her. "You might have something there, Morrison. But our job is not to find another suspect, but just to cast enough reasonable doubt to have him acquitted. Do you think we would be able to do that?"

"Yes, I think so." She nodded

"Good. Finish up, we have work to do."

***

Back at the office Christine checked Chase's schedule for appointments, doing her usual work and typing out her observation report for Chase to review, when she saw Mason in the foyer.

Grabbing his jacket, she quickly rushed out to hand it back to him. At that moment, Chase stepping out of the elevator on his way back from Alexander's office saw them together and froze in his steps.

"Mr. Pritchard, you forgot your jacket at my place on Friday." Christine held out the jacket to him.

Mason smiled, moving intimately closer to Christine when he noticed Chase in his peripheral vision watching them. His forehead was almost touching Christine's when he bent down to speak.

"Thank you, I didn't even miss it." he smiled down into her azure eyes. He hoped this little scene looked as personal as he wanted it to. Mason wanted to rile Chase up as much as he wanted to get into Christine's headspace. But he would take it slow, he was a patient man, after all.

"Didn't I tell you not to call me by my last name?" he asked, his voice low and husky, drawing lazy circles on her upper arm.

Christine tried to take a step backwards, but her back was against the wall. There was no getting away from Mason.

"Umm... Look, I enjoyed the night out, but let's keep it professional at the office, Mr. Pritchard." She managed to say before trying to sidestep away from him.

She noticed Chase standing at the elevator, staring daggers at her. Mason followed her gaze, smirking at Chase.

"See you soon... Miss Morrison." He lifted his hand in a salute to Chase and strutted away to his office.

Christine's legs couldn't take her back to the office fast enough. Chase watched her hurry back, fighting the urge to run after Mason and punch him in his goddamn face. What the hell was she thinking, anyway? Of all people, sleeping with Mason fucking Pritchard. He didn't figure her for that kind of woman. Not that he was the perfect judge of character where women were concerned. Amanda was the perfect example of that.