The Intern (The Dalton Family, #4)

by Marni Mann

“You have this ability to mesmerize people on the stand. You’re like a magician. I’m positive you can’t escape the water tank you’re submerged in, where you’re wrapped in a straitjacket and tied to a chair, running out of air and drowning.” She glanced down at her drink but didn’t raise it. “Yet you do escape.” Her eyelids narrowed as she looked at me again. “That’s more than talent. That’s something you’re born with.”

“The skill that makes me a successful litigator, I believe, is my ability to see the truth in people’s eyes. I don’t need my witnesses to respond most of the time. I can see their thoughts, I can sense their fabrications, and I know when they’re being honest or misleading. The same way I can see what you’re thinking right now.”

“We can’t control what our clients do or what they admit to or withhold from us,” he said. “Our job is to get them a fair trial and win their case.” His thumb grazed the length of several of his fingers. Back and forth. Baaack and fooorth. “We can’t let their crimes—or lack of—affect us personally, nor should it change who we are as humans.” He glanced around the table, addressing all of us. “This isn’t a job for the weak. For the person who’s going to rush into the restroom and throw up when the court breaks for lunch. You’re either made for this job or it’s going to break you.” His eyes returned to me, causing my breath to hitch in my throat. “Remember, your reputation is everything. You’ll be hired because of your ability to win. If you can’t win, you’re going to be paid what you’re worth. And that’s absolutely nothing.”

Why do you want to be a litigator?” I checked on the bartender, hoping she was almost finished with our drinks. She wasn’t. “I—” “Because no reasonable, calm, collected person wants to fight for a living,” he said, interrupting me. “There are many other types of law that don’t require you to be so argumentative, but to be a litigator”—he exhaled, a rush of excitement filling his eyes—“now, that takes a set of balls. I want to know where your balls came from.”

“When you walk into a courtroom, what’s going to be your secret weapon?” He watched as I licked my lips, and it felt as erotic as stripping off my clothes. “I’ve told you mine. I want to know yours.” “My secret weapon,” I repeated. “You know, not only can I read people, but I also use my reputation to my advantage. I don’t give any motherfucker a chance. I find what it’ll take to make them bleed out, and that’s where I cut them.”

“Can I ask you something? Even if it’s slightly inappropriate?” “Go on.” I couldn’t believe I had blurted that out. That my thoughts were so unhinged that I no longer had control over my mouth. “Do you make all your opposing counsel feel this way? If they’re women?” His thumb traced around his lips. “What way is that, Hannah?” My body hummed like he was breathing against it. My hands squeezed the glass so hard that I was surprised it hadn’t shattered. “Connected.” That wasn’t right. I needed to better describe this. “Like you’re on the verge of …” “Devouring them.”

“As I’ve said, if they’re facing me in the courtroom, I want their blood. I don’t want their lips. I don’t want their body. I don’t want”—he gazed down again, stopping at my waist—“anything from them.”