Author's Note:
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached, as long as no charge is made for it and it isn't changed in any way. If it is archived or displayed, it is done so with the understanding that the author will have unrestricted access to the archive or posting.
Please address all feedback, inquiries, marriage proposals, etc. to the author at mischief1@bigfoot.com.
Disclaimer: This story is a work fiction. None of the characters or events herein are based on real people, either living or dead. It was produced for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or if reading stories of a sexual nature upsets you, do not read any further! By reading further, you certify that you have accessed/requested access to this material willfully, and that you are an adult 21 years of age or older. You also certify that you are NOT a city, county, state, or federal law enforcement officer, official of the United States Postal Service, acting in the capacity of a representative of a telecommunications firm, and that, to your knowledge, this material does not offend the standards in your area, nor is it in violation of any of local, state, or federal law. No animals were harmed in the manufacture of this product.
*******
Tony Linn wasn't the type of lawyer Angela Benton normally would have had representing her. Ivy league undergraduate, top ten law school grad, a prestigious federal clerkship and a $300 an a hour billing rate with one of the most influential law firms in the state, Tony was the kind of attorney Angela read about OTHER people having. Lucky for her, Tony had a drug problem, one that had migrated quickly from recreational to habitual. At the risk of losing his license and facing criminal charges, he had accepted a community service sentence that made him accessible to the Angela Bentons of the world.
Angela was one of those people who never seemed to catch a break. With features too soft, too ill defined, to ever truly be considered pretty, she was nonetheless attractive. Standing 5'9" in bare feet (and 6' in her trademark 3" spiked heels) she was taller than a good many people. By no means svelte, she was a solid 160 pounds, but she was well put together. A 38E bra size commanded the attention of all but a blind person, especially given her penchant for going braless and pouring herself into size 12 tops instead of a more realistic 16. Add to that an overzealous dye job that turned her brown curls almost white, a small, pouty mouth with enough red lipstick to cover a barn, and translucent hazel eyes, and you end up with a woman who consistently turned heads, though not always for the right reasons.
She made her living through an odd assortment of unrelated odd jobs, the type that every thriving economy needs in order to keep moving. In the last nine months she'd been a waitress, a bartender, a receptionist, and a "nail technician"; most recently, she'd been employed as a sales clerk in a major department store downtown. That is, until she'd been arrested at one of the stores in the suburbs on the suspicion of shoplifting.
She hadn't been able to make bail and spent almost two weeks in jail before her case came to trial. Tony was her court appointed attorney, and made no secret that he thought this type of work was beneath him.
Lucky for her he didn't have to expend a lot of effort. The arrest had been made based on a sketchy eyewitness description. The item in question, a particular brand of makeup, was something Angela had proof she was allergic to. But the final nail in the prosecution's coffin came when a woman showed up before the same judge one day, also platinum blonde (the similarity ended there), caught red handed shoplifting the same makeup from another store, with a history of prior convictions.
The judge dismissed the case against Angela, and in a rare move of compassion offered to allow the defense to request monetary damages. The prosecution countered almost immediately with an offer of $25,000. After a quick conference right there in the courtroom, Tony accepted the settlement on Angela's behalf. Stunned, the judge closed the case and informed Tony that he wanted to see him and his client in his chambers immediately.
In chambers, Angela perched herself on one of the visitor's chairs pensively. She'd never been in a judge's office before, but it felt vaguely like the principal's office, a place she was very familiar with, and had no fond memories of.
She looked over at Tony, who lounged casually, unconcerned; his short cut wavy brown hair perfectly in place, his blue eyes calm, almost bored. He yawned offhandedly and she marveled, for the umpteenth time, at how white and straight his teeth were, how rugged his jaw and cheeks stood out. He wasn't a tall man, maybe only an inch or two taller than Angela without her heels, but he was broad and muscular looking.
Judge Milton Evers entered his chambers in a flurry. Angela shot up out of her chair reflexively, but Tony just looked over and gave a halfhearted wave. Judge Evers glowered.
