“Mark says you have a problem, Ms., Mrs.…?”
“Ms. will do. I’m not married. I was for a few years, but I’m not now.”
“Why do you need to see me?”
Stassen looked down. Her shoulders were hunched, and her hands were clasped in her lap. “This is very embarrassing.”
“What you tell me is just between the two of us, and I don’t judge my clients,” Robin said with a gentle smile. “What’s your problem?”
“Mark probably told you that I work at an accounting firm. The people there, well, they’re very understanding, very supportive. But if this comes out, I don’t know what they’ll do. I … I could lose my job.”
A tear trickled down Erika’s cheek, and she stifled a sob.
“Do you want some water?” Robin asked as she handed Erika a Kleenex.
“I’m sorry. This has been very difficult for me.”
“No need to apologize. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here so I can see if I can help you.”
Erika took a deep breath. “It’s prostitution. That’s what they say I did.”
Robin frowned. She’d represented prominent men who had been arrested for soliciting a prostitute and women who had been charged with being a prostitute, but a female CPA didn’t seem to fit into either category.
“Why don’t you tell me what the police say you did.”
“Okay, but before I do that, there’s something you need to know. My name on my birth certificate is Eric Stassen. Legally, I’m a man, but that’s going to change in two months.”
CHAPTER THREE
Ian Hennessey spent more time than usual selecting the clothes he would wear to work, because he wanted to look like a consummate professional when he met with Robin Lockwood. Hennessey, a stocky, broad-shouldered twenty-five-year-old with bright red hair and pale, freckled skin, had been a Multnomah County deputy district attorney for less than a year. His opponents in most of the misdemeanor cases he’d tried had been public defenders, who were also inexperienced, recent law school grads. This was the first time Ian would go up against an A-lister. Kicking Robin Lockwood’s ass would give him a ton of street cred, and to be honest, Ian really needed a big win.
Ian had finished near the bottom of his law school class and had flunked the Oregon bar twice. His early track record reinforced the views of the other deputies that he would never have been hired if his father hadn’t used his influence.
When he started his job at the DA’s office, Ian resented the fact that his parents had “bought” it for him, and he had put very little effort into his cases. The deputy in charge of his unit had called him on the carpet after he lost three winnable cases in a row. Ian had several feeble explanations for his failures. He couldn’t help it if the security guard in the shoplifting case was an idiot, the defense attorney in the DUII had surprised him by producing a smartphone video that contradicted his cop’s testimony, and the jury in his other case was stocked with bleeding-heart liberals.
Ian’s supervisor had accused him of failing to prep the security guard, not reading the list of evidence the defense attorney in the DUII had sent over in discovery, and doing a lousy job during jury selection. Ian had told the supervisor that he had too many cases and too little time to prepare, but his excuses fell on deaf ears. Ian had been faced with an unspoken threat that his days as a deputy DA were numbered if he didn’t improve.
Terrified of losing his job, Ian had applied himself, and two guilty verdicts had followed. Success as a result of his own efforts was new to Ian, and he started believing that he could be a good lawyer. The Stassen case was a sure winner, and beating Lockwood would go a long way toward salvaging his reputation.
Hennessey checked his watch every couple of minutes as the time for the scheduled conference approached. Just as he was about to look again, the receptionist buzzed. Hennessey straightened his tie, buttoned his jacket, and checked himself in the mirror that hung in the cubicle he shared with another new DA. Then he took a deep breath and walked down the hall to the reception area.
“It’s a pleasure to meet ‘Rockin’ Robin,’” Hennessey said. “I’m a big UFC fan.”
When Robin walked down the aisle to the Octagon, her fans used to sing “Rockin’ Robin,” an old rock-and-roll song.
Hennessey puffed out his chest as he led Robin to a conference room.
“I wrestled in college. I even thought about trying my hand at MMA, but I got into law school and shelved the idea.”
“You made the smart choice,” Robin said. “Duking it out with defense attorneys is a lot less painful than getting your bell rung.”
“You’re probably right,” he said as he opened the conference room door and ushered Robin in, “but sometimes I wonder how I would have made out.”
Robin smiled but didn’t comment.
“So,” Hennessey said, “are you here to negotiate a plea?”
“I was hoping we could work out an agreement that would let Ms. Stassen avoid a criminal record. This is her first offense, and she has a good job. A conviction could lead to her losing it.”
“This is the first time Mr. Stassen was caught.” Hennessey smiled. “And yeah, I know your client is a man, and I bet he’s offered to give blow jobs for dough more than just this once.”
“I’ve talked to several people about men who change their sex. Erika—”
“Eric,” Hennessey corrected Robin.
Robin didn’t want to get in a fight over a pronoun, so she decided to refer to Erika as a male until she got what she wanted.
“He didn’t engage in sex for the money.”
Hennessey tuned out when Robin
