Reasonable Doubt Whitney G Free Read Online

  Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and whatever resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Whitney Gracia Williams

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in whatever form, or by any ways, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

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Formatting by Erik Gevers

Table of Contents

Titlepage

Copyright

Notation for Nook users

Denial (northward): from Reasonable Doubtfulness ii

Titlepage once again

Dedication

Prologue

Testimony (n.):

Emotional Distress (n.):

Malfeasance (n.):

Impasse (north.):

Foreseeable Take a chance (n.):

Overrule (v.):

Months later…

Rebuttal (northward.):

Remedy (n.):

Stay (north.):

Harass (v.):

A Priori Assumption (due north.):

Omission (n.):

Suppression of Evidence (n.):

Swear (v.):

Reasonable Dubiousness (n.):

Disregard (v.):

Curb (v.):

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Note from the author

for Nook users.

Dear Nook readers,

It seems that some readers who bought "Reasonable Doubt, Volume Ii" from Barnes & Noble have been missing a affiliate called "Deprival (n):" from their Nook reader.

While I accept no idea how this could have happened I repent for this omission. Let me requite yous readers that missing chapter hither.

Whitney Yard.

Deprival (northward.):

A statement in the accused'south answer to a complaint in a lawsuit that an accusation (claim of fact) is not true.

A few days later…

Andrew

I was officially out of my damn mind.

I was in my bathtub, and Aubrey was sitting on summit of me—panting as she came downwards from another orgasm.

She was spending the nighttime at my condo for the tertiary time this week, and it was pointless to fifty-fifty pretend like I minded.

I wasn't certain what the hell was happening, just she'd definitely gotten to me. She was infiltrating my every idea, and no matter what I did to endeavor and come dorsum to my senses—to remind myself that this could only be temporary, she slipped deeper into my life.

"Why are you so tranquility tonight?" she asked.

"I'g not immune to retrieve?"

"Non when a naked woman is in your lap."

"I was giving her a chance to relax." I slid my easily underneath her thighs. "What unnecessary bullshit do you want to talk most today?"

"Information technology's non unnecessary," she said. "It's about your family."

"What about my family?"

"Are they still in New York?"

I prevented myself from clenching my jaw. "I don't know."

"Y'all don't know?" She raised her eyebrow. "What do y'all mean yous don't know? Are you lot estranged from them?"

"No…" I sighed. "I just don't have any parents."

She tilted her head to the side. "Then why exercise I call back you telling me a story about your mom the commencement calendar month that we met?"

"What story?"

"The story most Fundamental Park and ice foam." She looked into my optics, as if she were expecting me to say something. "You lot said she took you to some children's fair, I retrieve? Information technology was something that happened every Saturday. Just the 1 you remembered most happened when it was raining and she still took yous, and you stood in line for an hour simply to get a scoop of vanilla."

I blinked.

"Is that story not right? Am I mixing it upwards with something else?"

"No," I said. "That'due south correct…Merely I haven't seen her since."

"Oh…" She looked downwards. "I'm distressing."

"Don't exist." I trailed a finger beyond her lips. "I turned out just fine."

"Can I ask you a few more things?"

"You accept a daily question quota starting today."

She rolled her eyes. "What practise all the "E" and "H" pictures in your hallway represent?"

I felt a sudden anguish in my chest. "Naught."

"If you hate New York then much and you don't similar talking about your past or what you lot lost half-dozen years agone, why practise yous have so many mementos hanging on your walls?"

"Aubrey…"

"Okay, forget that question. And the Latin quote across your middle? What does it mean?"

"Prevarication about one thing, lie most it all." I kissed her lips earlier she could inquire me anything else. I was starting to wonder why she hadn't wanted to be a damn announcer instead of a ballerina.

"Information technology'south your turn," she said softly. "You can ask me questions at present."

"I'd rather fuck you lot once again." I lifted her with me equally I stood upward and helped her out of the bathroom tub.

We both dried off and went into my bedroom. Just equally I was pulling her against me, my doorbell rang.

I sighed. "Dinner's early." I slipped into a pair of lounge pants and a T-shirt and headed to the door with my credit bill of fare.

The 2d I opened it, I was confronted with the sight of the last person on world I wanted to see. Ava.

"Don't you dare fucking slam it on me this time," she hissed. "Nosotros demand to talk."

"We don't need to talk nearly shit." I stepped exterior and shut the door behind me. "How many times practice I accept to tell you that y'all're not wanted hither?'

"As many times equally information technology'll take yous to actually believe it, which you don't." She scoffed. "Ask me why I came to Durham to see yous, Mr. Hamilton. Appease me and I'll finally go the hell away."

"You're going the hell away regardless," I said flatly. "I really don't requite a fuck why yous came here."

"Not fifty-fifty if information technology'south to sign the divorce papers?"

"You could've sent that shit in the mail service." I gritted my teeth. "And since I'1000 sure you're running out of loopholes for contesting it, I'm willing to look until all your options run out. I'm sure your lawyers will drop you every bit soon as they find out what type of client you are."

"All I'm request for is x k a month."

"Go enquire the human being who was fucking you lot in our bedroom while I was at work." I glared at her, livid. "Or ameliorate even so, inquire the judge yous only "fucked for a favor," or hey, if yous're up to it, fuck my former best friend. Sleeping with him ever seemed to make you feel better, right?"

"Y'all weren't Mr. Perfect either."

"I never fucking cheated on you, and I never lied to you."

Silence.

"5 thousand a calendar month," she said.

"Get fuck yourself, Ava."

"You know I never give up," she said, her optics widened as I stepped back inside my flat. "I ever get what I want."

"So practice I." I slammed the door in her face, feeling my center palpitating, feeling the onset of ugly memories all over once more.

Rain. New York. Heartbreak.

Complete and utter heartbreak.

Seeing Ava in person again—hearing her manipulative vox and feeling those familiar pangs in my chest, immediately made me realize that I couldn't make the same fault again.

Aubrey w

as already asking questions, trying to dig her fashion into my life as much as she could—thinking that if she stayed effectually long enough that we would piece of work out together. Only I knew that would never happen, not after seeing Ava and knowing just how far she would go to ruin me all once more.

I was officially done with this monogamous game nosotros'd been playing for the past couple weeks. It was quite fun—different, simply since Aubrey could never be mine and I could never exist hers, it was quite fucking pointless, as well.

I headed back into my bedchamber and saw Aubrey smiling every bit she settled into the bed.

"Where's the dinner?" she asked tilting her caput to the side. "Did you go out information technology at the door?"

"No." I shook my head and started packing up her things, stuffing them all into her purse.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"You tin't stay the night."

"Okay…" She stood up. "Did something only happen? Exercise you want to talk most—"

"I don't desire to talk about anything else with you." I hissed. "I merely desire to accept you the hell dwelling."

"What?" She looked confused. "What'southward incorrect with you? Why are you—"

"Make sure you get all of your shit out of my bath. You won't exist coming back here once again."

"Why non?"

"Because I need to first fucking someone else." I picked up her headband. "I recall I've spent more than plenty time with you lot, don't y'all think?"

"Andrew…" Her face fell. "Where is all of this coming from?"

"The same place it was ever coming from. You lied to me once, you'll lie over again."

"I thought we were over that."

"Maybe you lot were, but I wasn't."

"What are you saying?"

"I'thousand saying that you need to get all of your things so I can accept yous abode, and from here on out, you are my intern and I am your boss. You volition forever be Miss Everhart to me, and to you I'll exist Mr. Hamilton."

"Andrew…"

"Mr. Fucking. Hamilton."

She rushed over to me and snatched her things, letting a few tears escape her optics. "Fuck you lot. FUCK. YOU. This is the terminal fourth dimension you'll e'er pull this hot and cold shit on me." She stormed out of my flat, slamming the door behind her.

I sighed and felt an immediate pang of guilt in my chest, but I knew it was the right thing to do. It was either cut this bullshit off now, or be responsible for breaking her heart later.

I stepped onto the balcony and lit a cigar—looking up at the moonless sky. Even though I felt bad for ending things so abruptly, for putting her out with no caption, I needed to get back to who the hell I was and fast before I fucked upwards and put my center on the line again…

For my BFF/ultimate beta-reader/amazing assistant/shoulder to cry on whenever I'm acting crazy/ "person" like they say on 'Grey's Anatomy'… Tamisha Draper. ( My books would suck without y'all…)

To Tiffany Neal. Thank you for being the residue. You'll e'er be the perfect balance…

To Natasha Gentile…How did you become my friend? LOL

And for the F.L.Y. coiffure: I fucking honey yous more than you lot'll ever know…

Prologue

Several months ago…

Andrew

Information technology was all there in black and white, front and eye, no filler.

Although the facts were skewed and The New York Times had once again neglected to post my photo, the harm to my business firm—Henderson & Hart, was at present done. And I knew exactly what was most to occur, step by step.

I'd seen it happen in this city likewise many times earlier.

Kickoff, the top clients who'd sworn to always stay by my side would call and say that they "of a sudden" found new representation. Then the employees would file letters of resignation—knowing that having a tainted house on their resumes would hinder their careers. Next, the investors would call—pretending to empathize every bit they publicly denounced me in the media and promptly pulled all funding.

Concluding, and most unfortunately, I was sure to become another hotshot lawyer who ruined his career earlier it could even begin.

"How much longer do yous think you lot'll be able to become away with stalking Emma?" The private investigator I hired stepped abreast me.

"She's my fucking daughter. I'm not stalking her."

"Five hundred feet." He lit a cigarette. "That's how far you're supposed to be."

"Are they treating her right during the week?"

He sighed and handed me a stack of photos. "Private preschool, early tap-trip the light fantastic toe lessons, and weekends at the park every bit you can conspicuously see. She's fine."

"Does she all the same cry at dark?"

"Sometimes."

"Does she nonetheless beg to see me? Does she—"

I stopped talking one time Emma'south blue eyes met mine from the swings. Squealing, she jumped off her seat and ran towards me.

"Daddyyyy! Dadddyyy!" She shouted, but she was picked up earlier she fabricated it any closer. She was taken away and put inside a motorcar merely equally she started to cry.

Fuck…

I immediately sat up in bed, realizing that I wasn't in New York City'due south Central Park. I was in Durham, North Carolina, and I was having another nightmare.

Glancing at the clock on my wall, I saw that it was just by one o'clock. The calendar hanging straight to a higher place information technology only confirmed that I'd been living hither for far too long.

All the research I'd done six years ago—weighing the pros and cons, checking the records of all the top firms, and scouring the brand-upwards of women on Engagement-Lucifer, was now seemingly invalid: The condo I purchased was a mere remnant of what had been advertised, there was but 1 firm worthy of my time, and the puddle of fuck-worthy women was dwindling by the 24-hour interval.

But hours ago, I'd gone on a date with a woman who told me she was a kindergarten teacher with a penchant for the color red and history books. In reality, she was twice my historic period, color blind, and she just wanted to "remember what some good cock felt like."

Frustrated, I slipped out of bed and walked downward the hallway—straightening the "Eastward" and "H" frames that hung on the wall while trying not to look too difficult.

I was going to need more than my usual few shots to get through tonight, and I was starting to get extremely annoyed that I hadn't fucked someone in what felt like forever.

I poured two shots of bourbon and tossed them downwards back to dorsum. Before I could cascade another, my phone vibrated. An email.

Alyssa.

Subject: Performance Quality.

Dearest Thoreau,

I'grand certain that correct now you lot're in the middle of fucking yet another conquest, and are seconds away from giving her your infamous "One dinner. I night. No repeats." line, but I was just thinking about something and HAD to electronic mail you…

If yous savour sexual practice equally much as you claim you do, why do you just insist on ane night? Why non a strictly friends with benefits relationship and so you won't have and so many dry spells? (I mean, this is mean solar day thirty of "Operation: Yet No Pussy" for you lot, correct?)

I'yard actually starting to wonder if the simply reason you give 1 nighttime is because you already know that your performance won't be good enough to warrant another...

Having a subpar dick isn't the finish of the world.

—Alyssa.

I shook my caput and typed a response.

Field of study: Re: Performance Quality.

Dear Alyssa,

Unfortunately, I am not in the middle of fucking another conquest. Instead I'm decorated typing a response to your latest ridiculous electronic mail.

This is indeed day xxx of your appropriately named, "Operation: All the same No Pussy," merely since I've fucked you over the phone and fabricated you cum, it hasn't been a complete failure…

I practise in fact enjoy sex—my cock has an clamorous appetite for it, but I've told you countless times that I don't do relationships. E'er.

I decline to even address your terminal paragraph, every bit I've never receive

d a single complaint about my "operation" and my cock is far from being subpar.

You are quite correct in your closing statement though: Having a subpar dick really isn't the stop of the earth.

Having an un-fucked pussy is.

—Thoreau.

My telephone rang immediately.

"Seriously?" Alyssa blurted out when I answered. "Does your message actually say what I think it says?"

"Have you all of a sudden forgotten how to read?"

"You are ridiculous!" She laughed. "What happened to your date tonight?"

"It was another fucking liar…"

"Aww. Poor Thoreau. I was actually hoping the thirtieth twenty-four hour period would be the charm."

I rolled my optics and made another drinkable. "Is living vicariously through my sex life your newfound hobby?"

"Of course not." Her light laughter drifted over the line, and I could hear the sound of papers shuffling in the groundwork. "I've been meaning to ask you: Where are you from?"

"What do y'all hateful, where am I from?"

"Exactly what I asked," she said. "You tin't be from the South. There'south no drawl or even a hint of an emphasis in your phonation."

I hesitated. "I'm from New York City."

"New York?" Her phonation rose an octave. "Why would you ever leave there to come to Durham?"

"It's personal."

"I can't imagine e'er wanting to leave New York. It seems then perfect. And there'south just something about the lights and the lives of people who stay there, how they all must have these huge dreams and…"

I tuned her out and tossed back my shot. Her poetical waxing virtually that desolate place needed to be put to a end. Fast.

"And wouldn't the police force firms in New York exist far more alluring than the ones here?" She was withal talking. "Like, one of my favorite—"

"What'due south the proper noun of that ballet yous're auditioning for this year?" I cut her off.

"Swan Lake." She always dropped the subject if I said anything about ballet. "Why?"

"Simply wondering. When is the audition?"

"A few months from now. I'm trying every bit hard as I can to balance my classes—" She cleared her throat. "I mean, I'm trying really hard to balance my case loads with my practice time."

Reasonable Doubt Whitney G Free Read Online

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