Did you forget the case?

I took a quick shower, letting the hot water wash away the evidence of what had happened in the room and, more importantly, give me a few minutes to get my head back into work mode. I had less than an hour before I needed to be back at the office, and the Davis case was waiting for me.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Spencer was already dressed in slacks and a cotton shirt. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me with an expression that was very different from the confident smile he'd worn when I'd first arrived.

I picked up my blouse and began buttoning it. “So,” I said, looking at him through the mirror, “are you finally going to tell me why you really came to see me?”

Spencer didn't answer immediately. That was enough to make me stop.

“Spencer?”

“I need you to do something for me this afternoon.”

I turned around. “This afternoon?”

He nodded.

“What?”

“I need you to call me as a witness in the Davis trial.”

For a moment I simply stared at him.

“You want me to what?”

“Call me as a witness.”

A nervous laugh escaped me because surely I'd misunderstood him. “Spencer, you can't be serious. You came all the way to Costa Rosa, turned up at my office without warning, and now you're telling me you want to testify in my case?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I have information that could change the case.”

I stopped buttoning my blouse.

“What kind of information?”

“I can't explain everything here. Not yet.”

“Spencer, this is a courtroom, not a game. I don't put somebody on the witness stand because they ask me to.”

“I know.”

“Then you also know I can't simply spring a witness on the court without knowing exactly what he's going to say.”

“I know that too.”

His calmness was beginning to frustrate me.

“Then why aren't you telling me?”

“Because I need you to trust me.”

I stared at him, trying to work out whether the man standing in front of me was the same Spencer I'd known two years ago. There was something different about him now. He wasn't flirting with me. He wasn't joking. For the first time since he'd walked into my office that morning, he looked completely serious.

“This is my case, Spencer. My reputation is on the line.”

“I understand.”

“And my client could be affected by anything I do.”

“I understand that too.”

“Then give me something.”

He stood and walked toward me.

“Call me,” he said quietly. “Ask me the questions you need to ask. Be angry. Be mean. But when the time comes, put me on that stand.”

I shook my head.

“You're asking me to trust a man who I slept with once two years ago.”

“Twice now,” he laughed, but I couldn’t see the funny side of it.

“That isn't the whole story, is it?”

“No, but I really do have a client here.”

At least he was honest about that.

I looked at the clock.

“I have to leave.”

“I know.”

“I'll call you.”

He nodded.

“And Spencer?”

“Yes?”

“If you're wasting my time, I'll never forgive you.”

His expression hardened.

“I wouldn't have come to you if it wasn't important, Morgan.”

I picked up my handbag and headed for the door, but stopped before opening it.

“Trust you,” I muttered before returning to the office.

---

By the time I returned to the courthouse, I had managed to put Spencer out of my mind. At least that was what I told myself. The Davis case demanded my full attention, and after nearly two hundred hours of work on depositions alone, I wasn't about to let anything distract me now.

The afternoon session had already become a grind. We'd spent months dealing with a dispute surrounding my client's proposed development, and the plaintiff's attorneys had built their entire case around the suggestion that Davis had somehow acted improperly in securing the necessary approvals. I'd spent weeks dismantling their arguments, document by document, witness by witness.

My client was entirely innocent, and the delays and this trial were close to bankrupting him. I outlined everything I had but could still feel that a not guilty verdict was slipping away. And then Spencer's voice came back to me.

I need you to call me as a witness.

I'd thought he was being deliberately mysterious. Now I was beginning to wonder exactly what I'd gotten myself into.

The plaintiff's attorney finished his questioning of my current witness and returned to his table.

The judge looked toward me.

“Ms Karsada, your witness.”

I stood and glanced toward Davis.

“Your Honour, the defence calls Spencer Askren.”

The courtroom immediately became quieter. The plaintiff's attorney looked confused. So did Davis. And, if I was being honest, so did I.

“Objection, Your Honour. This witness has never been disclosed to us before, and we have no clue what testimony he might bring.” The opposing counsel found himself quickly.

“Ms Karsada?” The judge looked sternly at me.

I swallowed.

“Your Honour, Mr Askren approached me today and informed me that he had information relevant to this case. I believe his testimony may be directly relevant to the circumstances surrounding the approvals at issue.”

It wasn't exactly a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth. I had no idea what Spencer was going to say. The judge studied me for several seconds before turning toward the opposing table.

“Counsel, you may cross-examine the witness regarding the nature of his proposed testimony before I rule on whether it is admissible or not.” The plaintiff's attorney didn't look satisfied.

“And if his testimony is prejudicial to my client?”

“Then you may make the appropriate objection when the testimony is given.”

He sat down reluctantly.

“Call your witness.”

Spencer walked through the courtroom toward the witness stand with the same calm confidence he'd displayed when he'd walked into my office that morning. He was dressed in a dark suit, his expression serious and composed, and yet somehow, he looked even more handsome. He was sworn in.

I approached the witness box. “Please state your name for the record.”

“Spencer Askren.”

“And what do you do for a living, Mr Askren?”

“I'm currently the campaign manager for Sam Newson.”

There were gasps and more than a few heads turned in the public gallery.

I continued.

“And Mayor Newson is currently running for Governor of California?”

“Yes.”

“Before working for Mayor Newson, what was your occupation?”

“I was a stay-at-home dad,” Spencer smiled disarmingly to the jury. “But I think what you mean is, what did I do before that. I was a lobbyist in D.C.”

That caught my attention. I’d known Spencer was from D.C. but not what he did. I’d just assumed he was Dad I’d Like to Fuck.

“How long were you a lobbyist?”

“Nearly fifteen years.”

Fifteen years. I looked down at my notes. That was a long time to spend in Washington, and it certainly explained Spencer's confidence when it came to dealing with politicians and government officials. But I still couldn't see what it had to do with Davis. I looked back at him.

“And during those fifteen years, did your work involve government approvals for property developments?”

“Among other things.”

“Did it involve California?”

“Yes.”

“How often?”

“Frequently.”

I waited. Spencer didn't say anything else. I had the strange feeling that he was waiting for me to ask exactly the right question. The hairs on my arm started to stand up.

“And did any of your work involve the development at the centre of this case?”

Spencer looked directly at me. “Yes.”

My stomach tightened. I hadn't expected that answer. “Can you explain your involvement?”

Spencer glanced briefly toward the plaintiff's table before looking back at me. “I absolutely can.”

The opposing counsel was already on his feet. “Your Honour, I'd like to renew my objection.”

“Your Honour, I have absolutely no idea what Mr Askren is about to say. For or against my client,” I shot back before the Judge could raise a gavel.

The Judge looked pensive. It took a minute for him to answer. “Let’s see where this goes a mite longer before I rule.”

The opposing counsel reluctantly sat down.

I turned back toward Spencer.

“Mr Askren, you said you were involved in the development at the centre of this case. Can you explain exactly what your involvement was?”

“I was hired to make sure the development didn’t get approved.”

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

“By whom?” I asked. I was this close to nailing the plaintiff and his company that had been tormenting my client to the wall!

Spencer turned to look at the judge. “Full cards on the table?”

The judge nodded.

“When I accepted the position as Mr Newson’s campaign manager, it was on the condition that I speak up on any and all corruption that I knew of, the same promise that Sam is running on. I have detailed knowledge that the defendant was unfairly targeted by a whole bunch of people and not just the plaintiff,” Spencer said.

“Mr Askren, do you have evidence supporting that allegation?” The judge asked.

“I do.”

“What kind?”

“Financial records. Emails. Meeting records. Copies of agreements between intermediaries and developers and recordings of conversations involving people who were directly involved in getting the project denied.”

“And how did you come by this evidence?” The judge was controlling things now, and I didn’t even have to do anything.

“Because I was in the majority of those meetings and I kept the records.”

The courtroom was in turmoil. God Bless Spencer!

I turned toward the judge. “Your Honour, may I approach the witness?”

The judge nodded.

Spencer handed me a thick envelope. I opened it and began looking through the documents. The first page was enough to make my stomach drop. There was a list of payments. Names. Dates. Amounts. And beside several of them were references to meetings that matched dates already contained in our discovery.

I looked at Spencer. “Do you swear these are authentic?”

“I do.”

For months we'd suspected that the development approvals hadn't been entirely above board. We'd never been able to prove it. Now I was holding what appeared to be the missing piece.

“Mr Askren,” I said carefully, “does this evidence establish a connection between the Davis development refusal and political contributions?”

“Yes.”

“To whom?”

Spencer looked across the courtroom; just a trio of men beat a swift exit. Spencer went on to outline the main political opponent of Sam Newson and his political allies. Word of what Spencer was saying travelled fast, and reporters started flooding into the courtroom, taking pictures and recording my client and his opponent, who looked absolutely furious.

In the end, the Judge had no choice but to throw the case out with prejudice. It was only when the hubbub had died down that I finally thanked Spencer and introduced him to my client, Phil Davis.

“Spencer. I can not possibly thank you enough,” Phil said as he enthusiastically shook Spencer’s hand.

“No need to thank me. Just make sure you vote Sam Newson in November,” Spencer said.

Phil laughed as I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Go and be with your family. This was huge today. My firm will reach out Monday, and we can work out where to go from here,” I said.

That left just me and Spencer.

“And what about us? Where do we go from here? Perhaps somewhere tonight?” Spencer suggested.

I grimaced awkwardly. I’d love nothing more than to celebrate with Spencer and ride his cock all night, but I couldn’t. “I’m sorry, Spencer. I have a son, Max. He stayed with me at night. Perhaps I could see you for lunch again tomorrow?”

“I could extend my stay at The Best Western another day,” Spencer hinted.