Page 26

Jazzy looked up from her phone at Priest. "I'll try not to." She smirked. "You make sure you give them a hard time, though," she jested, knowing that Priest's ability to handle himself so well during trial always got under the prosecutor’s skin.

"You got my word." He placed his right hand on his heart. The elevator door glided open behind him, revealing his head of security, Cyro. "Mr. Justice, we're ready for you," his deep voice bellowed.

Priest nodded before entering the elevator alongside him. Jazzy sent him a final wave goodbye just as the doors were shutting. Leaning against the steel wall of the elevator, Priest kept his eyes glued to the doors that would be revealing him to the lobby soon.

Once the doors parted from each other, Cyro took his position standing before Priest, leading him into the engulfing crowd of invasive reporters. Unlike anyone else who didn’t enjoy the attention or cameras, Priest kept his head held high, his front cover-worthy smile gracing his face. He was New York's very own poster boy.

Ignoring the various questions from different reporters, Priest thanked Cyro for successfully getting him into his car at the center of the extensive line of darkly tinted SUVs. "Need me to ride with you, Mr. Justice?" Cyro asked before he shut the door. Priest politely declined his offer before thanking him.

Enclosed in the back seat of the SUV by himself, Priest took in a deep breath. Although he was getting chauffeured around, the partition separating him and the driver gave him the illusion of being alone, and that was all he needed at the moment: some time for himself. Usually, J'Ru and his mother would be riding right beside him. However, he couldn't bear to listen to his mother's voice and J'Ru's sneer remarks to her here and there.

Silence filled the vehicle as he busied himself with his phone. With a light smile on his face, he opted to call Britain. She didn't let the call ring for long before her soothing voice answered. "Hey. Is everything okay?" she asked with a hint of concern lacing her voice.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just was calling to say thank you again."

"Stop thanking me," she insisted, a smile audible in her voice. Britain thought he was great in so many ways, and he believed the same about her."It's all in a day's work of beingGioia." Chuckles filtered out of them in unison.

"What are you getting into today?" Priest asked her since he was in desperate need of taking his mind off things.

Britain sighed as she plopped down on her couch. "Keeping my eyes on you."

In the background, Priest could hear the news broadcasting from the television. He was being talked about, and the anchor was giving a full detailed review of all the trial dates prior to this one. The media was making the most out of this specific court date simply because it was the first one after Tony and the entire safe house got lit up by the dummies Priest had taken care of. Priest knew he was going to be under the eye of scrutiny and placed in the hot seat since everyone wanted to know how the fuck he orchestrated the move so quickly— if he even had, of course. Priest stood firm on the fact that he was innocent until proven guilty. Right now, he was looking real fucking innocent. Evidence was getting tossed out and extracted out of the prosecutor’s case left and right. His attorney, Abraham, was a beast, and that eased Priest’s mind a bit, but not so much that he felt like he was going to get a slap on the wrist and an apology afterward.

Priest let out a laugh. Britain had still managed to be hands-on without going against his orders of not showing up. "They're live at the courthouse?" Priest asked.

Britain nodded as if he could see her. "They're waiting for your grand entrance, Mr. Justice." Although he was entering the court just to be slandered by the prosecution, he always caused chaos with his entrances. He looked the sharpest, and his smile was always the brightest. Many women fawned over him while men were left to question how he happened to be so fucking relaxed when his fate was in the hands of the court.

Glancing out of the dark tinted window, Priest noticed he had arrived. The car eased into a smooth stop right in front of the courthouse that was littered with news reporters. "Show time." He smirked in an arrogant manner as Cyro made his way around to open the door for him. Priest exited his SUV while staying on the phone with Britain.

From her couch at home, she watched as the camera zoomed in on him while he ran his free hand down his well put together suit. "You look handsome," Britain complimented as a smile graced her face at the sight of Priest grinning for the slew of cameras as they attempted to bombard him to no avail. They didn't get the chance to do so because his security detail was tight and worked together as a force. A well-dressed J'Ru and Sylvia sauntered behind him with sunglasses shading their eyes to protect them from the cameras.

"I wore your favorite." Priest smirked at the camera as he spoke into the phone to Britain.

She bit down on her bottom lip gently as she eyed the television screen showcasing his expensive ensemble. "Giorgio Armani," she gawked in complete awe at the sight of him.

Priest licked his lips slowly before sending a quick wink to the camera. Britain knew the wink was for her own fulfillment as she grinned stupidly at the screen. "You're dangerous," Britain told him with a shake of her head.

The news caught Priest in the action of laughing at what was said over his private phone call. "It's not fun if it's not dangerous," he jested.

"I can definitely agree with that." Britain nodded as her eyes followed Priest's every move on the television screen.

With a smirk in his face, Priest continued straight toward the courthouse, ignoring the screeching reporters who wanted an inside scoop from the number one source himself. "I'll prove more of my point later, if I'm allowed to see you, of course."

Britain scoffed jokingly as if he were stupid to even question whether he was free to come over. "I'll leave the door unlocked."

"Don't. I know where the spare key is." He chuckled before his tongue swiped over his soft lips. Priest was continuing his conversation despite the cameras and multiple microphones being shoved into his grill.

"Feel free to use it whenever." Britain smirked.

Priest nodded. "I will." He smiled. "I gotta give the people what they want. I'll see you later. Cool?"

Britain released a chortle that came with a swarm of butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. "Cool," she agreed before they both said their goodbyes to one another and ended the call.

Britain continued to watch how effortless it was for Priest to charm the crowd. He stood tall, head held high with that contagious smile gracing his handsome face. He was a debonair man in every aspect, and no one could deny it, whether they thought he was guilty or not. Britain furrowed her brows at the sight of Priest standing tall on the stone steps in front of the courthouse. This was the first time he'd done such a thing, so everyone was at the edge of their seats waiting to see what he was going to announce to the world.

"Priest, how have you been dealing with the new allegations that State Prosecutor Hernandez is trying hard to hold you accountable for?" one reporter shouted.

Priest let a smirk prance across his face. The media had been following every step of the trial. They had grown accustomed to his smug yet open demeanor. "His efforts are still being considered as trying. They have no impact on me or my team for that matter," Priest spoke into the bundle of microphones that were pushed before him as the reporters all squeezed in to catch a notable quote from him. "What I will shed light on, though, is how diligently the State of New York has been working on such a tedious case. However, it saddens me to see that they are focusing their attention on the wrong situation and the wrong figure in the community." His diction was so elusive yet so precise. Everyone felt compelled to listen to what he was saying.

Figuring that he had said and done enough to satisfy the people, Priest thanked the reporters for their time before resuming his journey into the courthouse. As J'Ru stood right beside him, they slapped hands with each other, celebrating the fact that Priest knowingly just stirred up the media with just a few words.

"You know, you shouldn't really say shit like that," Sylvia scolded her son as she walked behind him in her stilettos, desperately trying to keep up with the fast pace of Priest’s and J'Ru's walking.

Priest paid her no mind. He had his own tactics that were being played out so things could happen in his favor. Sylvia would never understand that simply due to their different mentalities.

Britain finally peeled her eyes from the screen once she saw Priest enter the doors of the courthouse, out of the jurisdiction of the reporters and photographers since they had no access without permission. Her phone rang, and for a moment, she thought it was Priest. She let out a light sigh once she noticed the caller ID name. Editor-Frankie Norwood .

Britain was praying that she hadn't let the latest deadline for the “Humans of New York” story slip her mind before answering the call. Nerves plunged down on her as she was greeted by her editor. "Demings?—"

Before the demanding and bossy woman could get anything out, Britain cut her off. "Listen, I know I've been late on a few stories, but it's been so hard to choose from the hundreds I have, along with transcribing them and?—"

"What the hell are you talking about, Demings?!" Frankie smacked her lips in her loud and authoritative voice that Britain had grown accustomed to over the years. "I need you to leave wherever the hell you are and meet Jason, the photographer, at the courthouse. I have a story for you!"

Britain screwed her face up as she tilted her head to the side. The context of the conversation had taken a turn somewhere Britain never expected it to go. She wasn't sure whether to be excited or apprehensive. "What? I don't even work for The Times fully."

"Demings! You said it yourself; you're interested in writing full-time for us. I stuck my neck out for you. Plus, you’re the only one I know who can deliver this story the way it's supposed to be written." Frankie was a firm believer in Britain.

She was a little rough around the edges, but the amount of admiration she had for Britain's work gave Britain so much confidence. Britain never had the opportunity to become a full-time writer for The New York Times because she really had no idea where she would fit in. Her freelance work was enough for her since she technically was never offered a contract. Britain always talked Frankie's ear off about becoming a full-time writer and reporter. However, Frankie had never believed her fit to be one until now.

It took Britain going out on a limb a few months ago to uncover a huge Ponzi scheme that was being operated out of a small financial advisor's office out in Tribeca for her to be noticed. The company was generating millions of dollars off falsified investment plans and unreturned loans. The story was far too huge for Frankie not to publish, so she did, which was what made Britain known as a great freelancer. She didn't like the name much, but it gave her some type of value in the industry. Not many of her colleagues liked Britain because they thought she was swindling herself into the pages of the newspaper and features on the website and app just by kissing Frankie's ass, but that wasn't the case. Britain's idea was genius, a real marketable one at that. “Humans of New York” was destined to bring in more traffic and readers, which was why Frankie was so sold on it. It just so happened that Britain could do far more than just transcribe a few words and snap a portrait photo of someone. Her writing was impeccable; however, no one had really given her a chance.

Britain was in deep contemplation. It didn't take many of Britain's brain cells to put two and two together to realize what story she would be fishing for at the courthouse. She had just landed herself a front-page story, and she so happened to be sleeping with the headliner on a nightly basis. Priest was the only buzzing topic right now, so she knew The Times wanted to be all over him. She was shocked that she, out of all people, was getting the call.

Britain cleared her throat. "Uh, what happened to Nathan? Wasn't he following the Priest Justice trial?" Britain asked out of curiosity.

"How did you know it was the Justice trial?" Frankie raised her brow with a smirk gracing her face as she leaned on the corner of her tempered glass desk.

Britain mentally face-palmed herself before regaining her composure quickly. "Just a wild guess." She shrugged. "I've been following it, though."

Frankie let out her signature laugh. "Well, now! Look how things are falling into place. I need that story sent to me as soon as the trial is over, not a minute later," she gritted. "I'll let Jason know you're on your way. He has your press pass. Don't screw this shit up, Demings!" her nasally voice that intertwined perfectly with her New York accent screeched out to Britain before the call was ended abruptly.

Staring down at her phone, Britain blinked rapidly. She had just landed herself in a sticky situation that she didn’t know how to get herself out of.

Respecting Priest's request not to go to the courthouse came with a cost. She knew Frankie would be upset enough to pull her entire “Humans of New York” column from her indefinitely if she didn't pull through on this, while going against his request came with a status boost in her career and the opportunity she had been dreaming of— a front pager!

Snapping herself out of her tugging thoughts that had officially torn her, Britain glanced down at her vibrating phone, seeing that it was a text from Frankie.

Frankie: Get there now Demings or I fucking swear to you!

Britain gulped before hastily getting herself off the couch. She sprinted to her bedroom, almost feeling as if she had caught a splinter in her foot from how quickly she jetted across her wooden floors. Raiding her closet, Britain groaned in frustration at the fact that she couldn't find anything to wear. Britain sulked in defeat.

"See, that's a sign," she settled while rolling her eyes.

To the right of her, her orbs landed on her navy-blue pant suit. Britain smacked her lips as she clutched the outfit in her hands. "How fucking ironic?" she muttered to herself. Britain dragged herself through the process of getting ready, while still managing to act fast. She was done getting ready sooner than she thought.

Now a few inches taller in her heels, Britain sauntered out of her bedroom and navigated to the front room. On the television, the news anchors were still trying to analyze Priest's coded words before he entered the courthouse. Turning the television off, Britain let out a deep sigh before swiftly grabbing her things and exiting the apartment. Once she locked up the apartment, she smoothed her hands over her attire, letting out a nervous breath. "Britain Dulce Demings," she recited to herself before striding toward her car.

Webbed in her thoughts, Britain dazed out until she arrived at the courthouse safely. While a part of her was excited and thrilled to have this type of opportunity, she couldn't help but to feel frightened, and the thought of what Priest would do once he found out she was present but wasn't standing alongside him plagued her mind.

"Maybe I didn't think this through." She shook her head, placing her key back into her ignition.

There was a knock at her window. Panicked, Britain darted her eyes up to see who it was. She let out a breath of relief once she realized it was Jason, who was scheduled to meet her with her press pass. "C'mon, Demings. Frankie will have both of our asses if you don't get the hell out of the car," he reminded her from the other side of her dark tinted window.

Britain cleared her throat before nodding. "Okay, just give me a minute," she requested.

Jason eyed her through the window before letting out a defeated sigh. He took a step back, leaning against the vehicle parked to the left of her. Britain leaned back in her seat, letting out a sigh of distress. She needed to wrap her mind around everything, but by the impatient look on Jason's face, she knew she wouldn't have enough time to do so now. Finally dragging herself out of the car, Britain made sure to grab both her phone and laptop.Jason threw his hands up in praise.

"Finally!" he let out, relieved that she had gotten out of the car. "Here's your press pass. You need to get in there― like now!" He rushed as he handed her a lanyard that was branded with big bold letters which read The New York Times . Putting it around her neck, Britain eyed the laminated press pass that had her name labeled on it, along with her picture.

This was it.

Scurrying behind Jason, Britain tried her best to keep up in her heels. Overthinking about one small misstep in her heels, her mind drifted to the day she and Priest met again in front of Remy's house. He prevented her from busting her ass in the way-too-tall heels she wanted to sport. The thought of him jokingly asking whether she knew how to walk in the shoes caused a light smile to grow on her face.

This felt wrong, as if she were betraying his trust or something. Britain just didn’t think she could go through with it, but it was too late. Britain was too cast away in her thoughts to even realize that she and Jason had bypassed different levels of security. Once she felt Jason shove her through a set of thick, heavy oak doors, she snapped out of her thoughts.

Screaming internally at the fact that her abrupt entrance drew a few eyes, Britain kept her head low and took a seat on the right side of the courtroom toward the back— behind New York State prosecutor Daniel Hernandez.

Nervously, Britain's eyes scoped the room. They instantly gravitated toward the left side of the room where Priest was seated alongside his lawyer, opposite of Daniel. Luckily, Priest didn't grow alarmed by her entrance, so he kept his head facing forward toward the judge. Britain knew that with one glance over his shoulder, he would have known that she was in attendance.

Her eyes continued to survey the room. Regret began to set in once she locked eyes with J'Ru. He was confused to see her, especially sitting on the opposite side. He darted his questioning orbs from her face then down to the lanyard she had around her neck. Reading the print on the lanyard, J'Ru shook his head in disappointment. Britain knew that look. That was the look of betrayal, and J'Ru's eyes filled with it as his eyes pierced hers.

Britain shot him a look of sorrow, silently imploring that he wouldn't jump to any conclusions, but he seemed to not have a care in the world. J'Ru's main priority was to keep his family safe from anyone who seemed to be playing both sides. At this moment, that was exactly what Britain looked to be doing. One second, she was in the Hamptons with Priest, and the next, she was sitting on the opposite side of the courtroom from him. Life had a funny way of playing things out.

Britain just hoped Priest would allow her some time to explain. She had no intentions of slandering him like Nathan had been doing in previous articles. She was going to take a different approach, one she knew both Frankie and Priest would be pleased with.

Coming to the conclusion that her front pager wouldn't be writing itself, Britain opened her laptop and clicked through The New York Times’ writer’s portal after logging in with the proper credentials. She started the voice recorder on her phone and focused on what she was told to do— tell a story.