“Yes,” I finally answer. “Surely it won’t be that big a deal. It’s my first offense. I’ll get my own lawyer and everything will be fine because I didn’t do it. It wasn’t mine.”

“Tell that to the judge,” Gabe mutters as he hangs up.

That’s exactly what I do six days later as I stand in front of a judge in a dingy Chicago courtroom for the first time in my life.

As Dominic Kinkaide sits behind me flanked by four lawyers compared to my one, I tell the judge everything, how I’m certainly not guilty and how the pot wasn’t mine. How I’m floundering a bit, but I’m definitely trying to pull my life together.

But it doesn’t matter. I can see that in the judge’s steely eyes as I try to plead my case. Nothing I say is gonna matter.

I’m screwed.

Chapter Five

Dominic

Well, this is new. I’ve never been in a courtroom before.

That’s not exactly true. I did sit in a seat like this when I was in the movie Annihilated. I played a sadistic serial killer/rapist, so I’ve seen the inside of a courtroom. Just never in real life. I’ve never sat and waited to be judged, waited for my fate to be decided by someone else.

Not for real.

It turns out, real life is fucking frustrating.

I sigh heavily and turn to the lawyer closest to me. Like the three sitting around him, he’s buttoned up in a white shirt and dark suit, wearing a shrewd, businesslike expression. My manager hired them, a whole team of legal sharks. If these guys can’t get me out of this, no one can.

“How long is this going to take?” I ask the head lawyer. Tom, I think his name is. He glances at me.

“However long the judge wants it to take,” he answers wryly. “Just sit back and relax. You’re going to be fine. You’re lucky that Mr. Evans is refusing to press charges against you, or you’d be here for assault as well as drug charges.”

I slump into my chair, impatient, and kill time by watching the blond chick standing in front of me. Jacey.

The girl who may or may not have gotten me arrested for drugs.

I watch her tear-streaked face and the way she so sincerely pleads her case with the judge. I almost think that the drugs really weren’t hers. But if they weren’t hers, I don’t know whose they were. They sure as fuck weren’t mine.

She turns away from me once again, and my eyes sweep over her from top to bottom.

She’s got a tight ass, I’ll give her that, barely concealed in a short skirt. My brother would say that she’s got an ass like an onion, hot enough to make him cry. As for me, I can just imagine burying my dick in it, pressing my face to her shoulder blades, reaching around her and…

I stop myself, shaking the random fantasy out of my head.

This isn’t the time or the place. I turn back to my lawyer. “Did you get those assault charges dropped for her?”

He stares at me. “Yeah. I pulled a couple of strings. She’s only being charged with possession of marijuana now, like you. I don’t know why you care though. It’s probably her pot to begin with.”

I don’t know why I care, either. Other than the fact that she didn’t even know me, but she jumped in the middle of a brawl and tried to stop it. And afterward, she had stood with her little body in front of mine, almost as if she was shielding me from Cris… even though I’d accidentally clocked her in the face.

Why had she done that?

I don’t fucking know. But I feel a little responsible that she was even there. Even if it was her pot, she wouldn’t have been there in the first place if it hadn’t been for me. And I can’t help but think back to the look on her face when I walked past her in her jail cell as she sat there covered in my blood.

She looked utterly vulnerable in a jail cell full of hookers. That’s when I called my attorney and had him get her assault charges dropped. If I hadn’t done that, she’d have been there all night.

Oblivious to my musings about her, she stands in front of the judge now, giving him a sob story about how she’s trying to pull her life together or some shit. But the judge doesn’t even blink, he just stares down at her sternly from his perch above.

“Young lady, you do need to grow up. And I know that some judges like to give pretty little things like you a break. But I’m not in the business of being an enabler. So, you should learn right here and now that this kind of thing isn’t a trivial matter.” The judge pauses to stare down at her sternly.

“I’m finding you guilty of possession of marijuana. I’m sentencing you to ninety days’ community service at a local youth center and six months of probation. Learn from this, young lady. I don’t want to see you here again. If you perform every bit of your community service as ordered, I will think about expunging this from your record. My bailiff will give you the details.”

Jacey turns around with tear-streaked cheeks, and I suck in a breath over her sentence. My lawyer shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it. She must’ve rubbed him wrong. You’ll be fine. She’s got a second-rate attorney who can’t argue shit. You’ve got me.”

Unfortunately, as I stand in front of the judge a few minutes later, I can see that having four attorneys isn’t going to do me any good. In fact, it might just have the opposite effect. The judge’s eyes glitter as he stares at my legal team.

“So, son. You think you can come to Chicago and do illegal drugs, then just hire a team of lawyers to get away with it?”

“No, sir—” I start to argue, but he doesn’t give me the chance. He holds up his hand.

“Uh, uh. I don’t want to hear it. I find you guilty of marijuana possession and I sentence you to ninety days of community service and six months of probation. I realize that you live in California, but you will remain here in Chicago until your community service has been served.”

Before I can even say a word, my attorney sputters.

“Objection!” he protests. “My client has obligations in California. He has a new film hitting production next week. In order to work and support himself, he must return to California. Can’t he serve his community service there?”

The judge looks at us drolly. “Are you telling me that your client is on the verge of destitution if he can’t return to California? I find that hard to believe, and if that is the case, I of course would need to see some verification of that.”

My attorney backpedals. “Of course that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that that this is his first offense and he deserves some leniency. If he’s not allowed to return home, it will drastically affect the production schedule of his next film, which will have negative ramifications for my client.”

The judge smiles now, a humorless grin. “That, counselor, is not my problem. It should serve to teach your client a lesson. The sentence stands. The crime was committed here, the sentence will be served here. If he serves it out in complete compliance, it will be expunged from his record. The bailiff will have the details.”

I’m stunned as I sit staring at my hands. Did that really just happen? I’m stuck in Chicago for three months? And I have a criminal record now? Holy shit. I glare at my high-priced lawyer.

“So, apparently, you’re a second-rate attorney who can’t argue shit, either.”

I ignore his protests and push away from the table, following the bailiff to learn the details of my sentence. Before the bailiff ducks into a room, he waves me toward Jacey, who is sitting on a bench in the hall. I join her, and together we sit and wait. She’s not crying anymore, but she seems just as distraught.

“Can you believe this?” she moans as she drops her head into her hands. “Oh my god. This is crazy. If you would just tell them the pot was yours, this would all go away. You’re the freaking movie star. I’m sure you’re quite accustomed to making things disappear.”