Page 27 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)

LEIGH

W aking up alone in my bed, reaching for Murphy, had only been the start to my Monday. Texting him had been a whim, the disappointment setting in when he told me he might have to work late.

Was he trying to distance himself? Or did he really have to work late? A notification buzzes on my phone, bringing me out of an internal debate, and my eyes drift to the clock in the bedroom.

“Shit!”

It’s later than I realize and I rush through getting ready for work, making it out the door thirty minutes later than normal.

“Sorry, running late. Be there as soon as I can.” I send the voice text to Lindsay, throwing my phone in the cupholder and trying to maintain the speed limit through the neighborhood at least.

But the main roads are a slow crawl after two accidents, and it’s almost an hour past my normal start time when I rush into my cubicle to find my phone ringing.

“Hello?” I try to catch my breath quietly, my nerves a wreck between rushing out the door and the traffic.

“Leigh? It’s JoAnna. Kenneth would like to see you.”

Fuck. Am I in trouble for being late? I never heard back from Lindsay and her office is dark. Did I miss a court appearance?

“Now?” I ask.

“Yes. He’s waiting for you.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Dropping my bag on my desk, I spin on my heel and walk quickly to Kenneth’s office. The stiffness in my muscles reminds me what I’ve been doing all weekend.

Focus. Now isn’t the time to relive your steamy weekend.

JoAnna isn’t at her desk, so I knock on the partially open door behind it.

“Come in.” Kenneth’s tone is more clipped than normal.

Wiping my sweaty palms on the back of my skirt, I swallow, taking a deep breath before opening the door.

“You wanted to see me?”

His head shoots up at the sound of my voice, his eyes lighting up while his mouth compresses to a line. This Kenneth is not one I’ve experienced before, and the fine hair on my arms stands in warning.

“Ms. Whittaker. Please close the door.”

Ms. Whittaker. Not Leigh.

I should listen to the way my body screams at me to leave, but I don’t. I need this job for the experience on my application. So, instead, I do as I’m told, suddenly wishing JoAnna were at her desk.

When I turn back around, Kenneth is standing, still behind his desk, and I take a small step into the office.

“Have a seat,” he says, and motions to one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

I move forward on leaden legs until I’m able to take a seat, smoothing my skirt as I sit in the hard chair.

“Ms. Whittaker, what time do we start work every day?” He clasps his arms behind his back and moves casually from behind the desk to stand in front of it.

But the question is anything but casual. His tone of voice, the sharp way he moves, reminds me of the principal at Mistletoe Creek High School. But even when I was in the office, I was never in trouble, and this very much feels like a lecture in the making.

“Ms. Whittaker. Do I need to repeat my question?” Kenneth sneers.

Startled, I look up and find him hovering next to me.

“No, sir.” I squeeze against the opposite edge of my chair.

“What time?” he asks.

“8:30,” I say quietly, dropping my gaze back to the floor at my feet.

Kenneth leans against the desk directly in front of me, his fingers gripping the wood so tightly his knuckles are white from the effort.

“What time is it now?”

Fuck.

“A-almost 9:45. I texted Lindsay I was running late and then there were two accidents and?—”

“If I wanted your excuses, Ms. Whittaker, I would have asked for them. I don’t know what Ms. Carter allows, but I will not tolerate tardiness from an intern,” he snaps and the words of my explanation die on my lips.

No matter any trouble I’ve managed to get myself into, I’ve never been spoken to with the amount of derision Kenneth exhibits right now. Tears burn the back of my nose, and I blink rapidly, trying to clear the moisture in my eyes before it can fall.

“I…I’m sorry.”

“It’s hard to believe a week ago I was thinking how much promise you had. Do you think I’m an idiot? That you could take advantage of me? Now I’m wondering if we shouldn’t end your internship early.”

“You’re firing me?” I ask, glancing up at him, wishing I hadn’t.

His expression morphs from anger to a leer and my stomach nose-dives.

Suddenly, I understand what this is about.

I declined his advances last week, then showed up at the same place the happy hour was with Murphy. This isn’t about me. It’s about my rejection of him.

“That depends entirely on you,” he says and confirms my suspicion. His voice drops to a murmur and he takes a step, caging me into the chair by placing a hand on either side of me.

But regardless of knowing what his behavior is about, it doesn’t change the fact that I need him. Or at least the experience on my resume when I apply for Project Justice in September.

Who cares about the experience? Get the fuck out of here!

The voice sounds suspiciously like Sydney.

Is that what she would do?

Probably, but only after kneeing Kenneth in the groin first. But before either of us can do anything, there’s a knock on the office door and Chief Bailey pokes his head inside.

“Ah, Kenneth, sorry to interrupt. JoAnna said you were free, and I wanted to talk to you about the Oliver case.”

Kenneth straightens, dropping his arms. I stand as well and shift as far away from him as possible without drawing attention to myself.

“William, have you met Leigh Whittaker? She’s one of our interns for the summer,” Kenneth says, catching my eye—the for now is a silent part of his statement meant only for me.

William smiles and extends a hand as he gets closer to Kenneth.

“Ms. Whittaker, a pleasure. I hear great things about you from Lindsay.”

“Sir.” I shake his hand and head toward the door, my escape route clear. “It’s nice to meet you as well. I’ll…umm…I’ll let the two of you talk.”

Chief Bailey turns back to Kenneth while Kenneth’s gaze continues to burn a hole between my shoulder blades until I close the door behind me. JoAnna, back in her seat, looks at me. Her bright blue eyes hold a sympathy and the burn of tears returns.

“Are you okay, Leigh?” JoAnna asks, her voice kind.

But it’s the expression on her face—a mix of understanding and determination—that makes me do a double take. Did she have anything to do with Chief Bailey coming in when he did?

I nod. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

The last words are meant for more than just her question. Without her, who knows what Kenneth would have done.

Would you have let him?

It’s the fact I don’t know that has me questioning what I’m willing to do for an opportunity with Project Justice.

“I’m sure you’ll want to get back to your desk. I heard that Ms. Carter is out sick today, so Kenneth said he’ll be reviewing your work during her absence.”

Her absence?

“Will she be out for longer than today?”

“I don’t think so.”

Thank God I only have to work with him today. But even that horror must show more than I think it does because she makes a compassionate noise.

“It’s okay, hon. Just email me whatever you’re working on. I’ll get it to him.”

Sighing with relief, I offer JoAnna a shaky smile.

“Thank you, JoAnna.”

“Call me Jo. And you’re welcome. Anytime.”

My legs feel wobbly as I make my way back to my desk, the adrenaline flagging from my body as I boot up my computer.

Sure enough, Lindsay is out sick for the day and sent me an email early this morning.

But her email says she’ll review everything when she gets back.

There are no directions to work with Kenneth.

With a sigh, I respond back, hoping she feels better.

At the tail end, I ask to set up a time for the two of us to talk when she’s back.

I had promised Murphy I was going to report Kenneth, and while I haven’t had the chance yet, I don’t like that I questioned what I would do simply because I need the experience this job will give me.

What would I be willing to do next? I’m not going to find out.

If I get fired for reporting Kenneth, I will figure it out.

Email response sent, I start to tackle the list of tasks she sent me.

There are several case files to organize for her and two memos she wants me to draft for her review.

She’s also asked me to start reviewing potential cases where we can apply funding for the Wrongful Conviction Fund but no clear indications on whether I’ll be working on it full-time or not.

I’m nearly ready to start looking through potential cases when my phone rings again.

“Public Defender’s Office, this is Leigh. How may I help you?”

“I’m emailing you notes on memos I need drafted. I want it done in two hours,” Kenneth says into the phone before the click tells me he’s hung up.

My inbox pings and there are ten different attachments of lackluster notes not at all helpful for crafting the documents he’s asked for in the email. I spend the next two hours working through three of the cases—doing the majority of the research myself—when my phone rings.

I eye it cautiously and pick it up, dreading what’s on the other end of the call this time.

“Leigh Whittaker. How may I help you?”

“Leigh?” The voice is familiar, but not one I can pinpoint exactly.

“Yes?”

“It’s Charlie. Vanderweel.”

Some of the nerves in my stomach relax, and the knot of tension between my shoulder blades releases.

“Hey, Charlie. How can I help you? Did you need Lindsay? She’s out of the office today.”

“No, actually, I was calling to talk to you. I didn’t have your personal cell, so figured I could call you here.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Would you be my date for a charity event my dad is hosting on Saturday?” He rushes the request out.

How would Murphy feel about this?

The fact that that’s my first question shows me how much Murphy has come to mean to me in a short time.

I already know he wouldn’t like it. He’s made his feelings about Charlie clear.

But how do you feel about the invitation?