RomCom Cliché

Chapter Eighteen

Back in work days earlier than she should have been, Rebecca knocked on West's office door and stepped inside as her mentor's face furrowed with confusion. 

She was on a call and waved Rebecca down onto a seat as she wrapped it up, her dark eyes narrowing as they gave her an appraising look, assessing the dark smudges beneath her bloodshot eyes that even makeup hadn't been able to hide.

"Did you just get off the plane or do you look like shit for some other reason?" West asked as she hung up and tossed her phone onto the cluttered desk, leaning back as she raised an eyebrow.

"I got back on Monday."

"So for another reason then. Great. You'd better not be about to ruin my Christmas holidays."

Rebecca exhaled as she deflated in the chair, a grey look of guilt on her face as she gave West a pained look. 

"I can't do the Sawyer case."

With a huff of laughter, West rolled her eyes, "Rebecca, it's fine. You're overthinking too much. Don't underestimate yourself--"

"I don't want it," she said through tight, bloodless lips. "I can't in good conscience take this to trial."

Her laughter still lingered on her lips and West straightened up behind her desk, leaning her forearms against the edge as she gave Rebecca a searching look. 

"Okay, what's going on?"

Looking down at her lap, Rebecca swallowed thickly. "It's... a conflict of interest. A conflict of morality."

"You have to let go of your morals in situations like this. You know that not every client is innocent; your ethics are to provide them with the best counsel that you can. You're not the judge - you don't get to decide what's morally correct and pass judgement. You have to let this go."

"I can't. It's personal."

"Out with it then," West demanded, gesturing to her. "Tell me what it is or I can't help you."

"My- my brother," she started before faltering, tripping herself up and feeling the deep cut of pain. "He killed three people while under the influence."

"Oh. Right. I forgot--"

Rebecca made a strained sound at the back of her throat, her face tightening as she grit her teeth and stared out the window. She felt slightly breathless, a little bit nauseous, her mind still trying to process the bombshell that had been dropped on her only a few days ago.

"Let me call Dawson and Don," West murmured, reaching for the landline and pushing his extension.

She said a few words and they descended into tense silence as they waited for both men to arrive. Rebecca closed her eyes and breathed slowly as she felt the tension in her shoulders, the guilt eating away at her. 

This would only add to it if she went through with it.

Five minutes later, both men arrived, all chummy in their tailored suits, suntanned from golfing trips and sunbathing around the pool of their mansions. They didn't care about morals and ethics; they cared about money. 

They'd both worked at the same firm for a decade before splitting to open their own firm together, raking in millions from the National City elite as they dabbled in corporate and family law and the occasional criminal case. 

They were one of the best firms in the country, and definitely in the city, with a host of Partners in the process with Rebecca the latest one and the youngest by far.

"What's this about? I've got a lunch meeting in twenty," Maxwell Don said, hitching up the cuff of his suit jacket to glance at his watch.

"It's the Maya Sawyer case," West said.