Off The Record Ch. 06

Hi all :)

I originally had this chapter written from Harper's perspective, but I converted it to Morgan's for the sake of moving the story forward, and I'm glad I did because I think it turned out for the better!

I'm a big fan of this chapter, so I hope you like it!

Just one or two more chapters of torment before these two really get going ;) In all honesty, these two characters currently have me in a chokehold and I'm having a blast torturing them, myself, and you guys with the tension. I can confirm that I do have a lot of the spicier chapters already written and ready to go - it's just a matter of developing the story, building the tension, and getting them there!

Hope you like enjoy :)

All characters are over 18.

***

"We can definitely open a conversation about you taking the stand, and what the pros and cons of that may be the next time I see you," Morgan said, smiling at Edward.

Her smile was forced, but not because of anything her client had said or done. She was just so fucking tired.

She had been in court consistently for nearly the past month, working through the voir dire process, and it had been draining.

On her first day away from the courthouse since jury selection had concluded, she had been running around to meetings, finally ending her day with Joel and Edward at the prison.

All she wanted was to collapse into bed and be dead to the world for the next eight hours.

Her phone lit up where it was resting on the table, and she gave it a passing glance before turning her attention back to Joel and Edward.

And then she did a double-take, because her brain had needed a moment to catch up and actually process the words she had seen on the banner flashing across her screen.

She scrabbled for the phone, snatching it up to open the notification, the two men looking at her wide-eyed like she was insane.

"Morgan, what--" Joel started, but she held up a hand.

"One second," she bit out.

Morgan had set up Google alerts months ago to remain aware of anything being published about the Sterling case, no matter how negligible it may seem.

Her breath stuttered to a halt in her throat when she read the headline from The New York Times article.

'Juror Selected for High-Profile Sterling Trial Dismissed, Potentially Faces Contempt of Court Charge, Jailtime for Lying About Relationship with Victim.'

Written by Harper Cassidy.

"Holy shit," she whispered, forgetting that she had an audience.

Edward was looking at her with his typical gentle curiosity, but Joel's gaze was hard and focused. He knew that whatever she'd seen was important.

"Joel, check your email."

Without question, Joel grabbed his phone.

Morgan scrolled down past the headline to the article itself.

'A woman is being held in contempt of court Wednesday after it was discovered that she lied on her juror questionnaire while being screened for service in the highly-anticipated upcoming murder trial of Edward Sterling.'

'Not only had she been a victim of domestic violence herself, potentially introducing bias into her ability to contribute to a fair verdict, but she also knew the victim, Jacqueline Sterling, personally. The two women worked together at the same bank for approximately six years, during the time period of 1990-1996.'

'The honorable Judge Thomas Richter had this to say on the matter: She is incredibly lucky that this came out prior to the trial. If she had caused a mistrial, she would likely be facing the maximum jail time sentence for it.'

'The New York Times will continue to provide updates as this story develops.'

Relief and rage simultaneously flooded Morgan's nervous system.

It had taken them three fucking weeks to find twelve jurors who didn't have some sort of conflict of interest that made them unfit to serve. They had even had to expand the geographical radius in their search efforts since so many citizens in New York already had very solid opinions about the case and had been tainted by the media.

Realistically, Morgan knew there was no way to get a truly unbiased jury. But they'd done a decent job of weeding through the massive jury pool to find their twelve.

Or so she'd thought.

How on earth had this woman slipped through the cracks? Morgan wasn't a conspiracy theorist, but it all seemed a bit too unbelievable.

Thank god they had a handful of alternates ready to go.

And thank god she had Harper to save her skin with things like this.

When she finished reading the article, she pulled up her message thread with Harper.

Morgan: Why didn't you tell me??

Surprisingly, Harper read the message immediately. She must have been expecting for Morgan to reach out when the story dropped.

Harper: That wouldn't have been very unbiased of me, now would it?

Morgan laughed, shaking her head.

Morgan: How did you find out? And how did you manage to get a quote from Richter? The man is a stone wall.

Harper: I don't reveal my secrets that easily, Monroe ;) But I can be very persuasive.

Another message followed:

Harper: On an entirely unrelated note, would you happen to have any availability this week for a quick interview concerning an unexpected development in the case?

Morgan huffed out a breathy laugh as she shook her head. This fucking woman.

She glanced at her watch. It was already six o'clock, and she would be wrapping up here momentarily. She typed out a quick response, Joel and Edward still occupied with reading the article.

Morgan: My week is looking a little hectic. Is tonight too soon? I'm in a meeting right now, but I'll be leaving shortly. Could I meet you somewhere?

Harper: I'm at the gym right now and probably won't be presentable for a public place, but you're welcome to swing by my apartment.

Morgan thought for a moment. She hadn't ever been to Harper's apartment before, and there was a part of her that was extremely curious to see it.

Morgan: Sounds good. Are you hungry? I'll bring dinner.

***

When Harper answered the door later that night, Morgan almost swallowed her tongue.

She was wearing a form-fitting navy blue Columbia University T-shirt and a pair of charcoal gray joggers. Toenails painted a mint green caught Morgan's eye as Harper shifted back on bare feet to pull the door open wide enough to allow her inside.

"I'm sorry I'm dressed like this," Harper said immediately, wide eyes blinking up at Morgan.

Morgan bit back a groan when she saw that she was wearing those fucking glasses again--glasses that Morgan hadn't realized she'd needed in her life until that first day of jury selection when she'd caught a glimpse of Harper up in the gallery.

The sexy, academic journalist look was just the latest bullet point Morgan had added to her endless list of mind-meltingly delicious things about Harper.

"I was disgustingly sweaty after the gym and wanted to jump in the shower quickly before you got here," she said, a slight blush creeping up her neck. "I figured you wouldn't mind if I put on something comfortable."

Morgan smiled at her, finding her nervous, awkward ramble completely adorable. "You look perfect, Harper."

That endearing pink rosiness spread to Harper's freckled cheeks as Morgan continued, "I should be the one apologizing to you for coming over this late." She held up the bag in her hand. "But I brought the best Chinese takeout in Manhattan to make up for it."

"Good, because I'm starving." She led Morgan around the corner and into her living room.

The apartment was so incredibly cozy.

The living area was small but welcoming, with a comfortable-looking maroon sectional taking up a good portion of the room. A flatscreen was mounted on the wall in front of the couch, a dark mahogany coffee table in between.

Lining her windowsill above a large bookshelf was a wide variety of adorable little succulents and other potted plants that contributed to the room's warmth.

"Make yourself at home," Harper said, breaking through Morgan's distraction as she took in her surroundings. "I'll go grab some plates and utensils."

Turning to the couch, Morgan saw that Harper already had her interview setup in place. She settled onto the couch and waited for Harper to return.

A few minutes later, Harper eased down onto the couch with her notebook, tucking her leg under her thigh. "Do you mind if I record the conversation?"

It always made Morgan smile, the formality that Harper insisted they maintain when they met up like this. "Of course not," she replied.

Harper set her phone on the coffee table and tapped the record icon on her app. "Is it discouraging, knowing that an individual tainted by these types of biases came so close to sitting in the jury box for Mr. Sterling's trial?"

For the next hour, they had a relatively informal conversation concerning the issue of the dismissed juror and how it most likely would have caused a mistrial over a dinner of orange chicken, pork-fried rice, lo mein, and crab rangoon.

Morgan loved it when Harper would ask her legal questions--which she did frequently--her nose scrunching up in confusion whenever she used a Latin term.

By the time Harper had finished her list of questions, it was just past nine o'clock.

"Let me clean up a little," Harper said, rising from the couch and stretching.

"Let me help you," Morgan said, moving to stand up.

But Harper placed a firm hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Not necessary," she said, smiling down at her.

She gathered their leftovers and carried them to the kitchen around the corner, leaving Morgan to take a closer look at her surroundings.

She wouldn't consider herself an overly nosy person, but every piece of new information she learned about Harper was like a breath of air she didn't know she wanted or needed until she got it. It was like getting a hit of the most addictive drug injected into her veins.

Her eyes settled on the massive bookshelf that spanned the entirety of the wall below the windows.

She glanced toward the open doorway of the kitchen, listening for the faint sounds of running water and clinking silverware.

Surely, Harper wouldn't mind if she checked out her collection.

She had every classic you could imagine--novels and plays and books of poetry.

Morgan ran her fingertips across the spines of the books on the top shelf, relishing the feeling of the glossy covers of the special editions that Harper had somehow gotten her hands on.

"Do you like to read?" Harper's voice came from behind her, startling her.

Morgan turned toward her, giving her a guilty smile. "I love to read. I don't have as much time for it as I used to, but..." she trailed off with a sigh. "You seem like you have good taste."

Harper hummed, moving forward to stand next to her. "You're welcome to borrow one, if you'd like."

"Maybe..." Morgan said, still entranced by the selection of titles in front of her. "What's your favorite classic?" Morgan studied her curiously. "Wait, let me guess. I want to say Jane Eyre?"

Harper's jaw dropped in offense. "Jesus, next time just say that you think I'm boring."

"It's not a bad book," Morgan said, a little defensively. At Harper's doubtful look, she rolled her eyes. "Okay, maybe it isn't my favorite, but I have a healthy respect for pretty much every classic novel, in some way or another." She gave Harper an appraising look. "It's just that you have that whole," she gestured in Harper's general vicinity, "dark and broody, Gothic thing going for you."

"Jane Eyre," Harper began, the judgment clear in her voice, "is melodramatic and dense." She rolled her lips in thought. "Of course, I can respect the feminist themes and Jane as a character, but in all honesty, I'd rather eat glass than have to suffer through that book again."

Morgan laughed. "Well go on, then. Tell me what book you prefer, literature snob." She could tell from the glint in those hazel eyes that her ribbing was spurring Harper on.

She loved riling her up.

Harper narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to answer her before clamping it shut immediately, the confidence disappearing from her expression. She cleared her throat and looked Morgan in the eye.

"Frankenstein," she said sheepishly.

So that look on her face had been because Harper had known her real answer only proved Morgan's point.

Talk about dark and broody. Morgan managed to stop herself from laughing out loud, but had to bite her lower lip to stop from grinning. She nodded, trying her best not to enjoy the eyeroll she earned.

Harper pointed a finger at her. "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

Harper crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "It's a masterpiece. The emotional depth of the novel, the complexity of the themes. You can't tell me that you don't think it's not--"

"--the most brilliant take on the human condition ever written?" Morgan raised an eyebrow at her and smiled. She moved closer to the bookshelf and tilted her head slightly, dark hair falling over her shoulder. "'We are unfashioned creatures, but half made up.'" She threw Harper a wink.

Just as Morgan had hoped, that gave Harper pause. She saw the way Harper's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch, clearly pleasantly surprised at Morgan's ability to quote Mary Shelley.

She had impressed her, and that knowledge flooded Morgan's chest with pride.

"And besides, it would be hypocritical of me to judge you, since I'm partial to Thomas Hardy, myself," Morgan said with a small shrug.

"Hardy?" Harper's pitch rose. "And you have the nerve to say that what I read is bleak and depressing?"

Morgan narrowed her eyes, her guard going up. "He was a fucking revolutionary."

Now it seemed to be Harper's turn to bite back a smile at the urgency in Morgan's voice. She stayed quiet though, leaving the door open for Morgan to make her case.

Morgan pressed on, desperate for Harper to understand her passion for his work. "His stories are heartbreakingly dismal, but they're realistic for the era he lived through. He wrote about what most people of his time were too cowardly to acknowledge. Sexism, feminism, all of the societal injustices that no one was brave enough to confront."

"Tess deserved so much better," Harper said wistfully, sending a smirk Morgan's way.

Morgan blinked at her before smiling. "Damn right, she did."

"I'm the last person you'd ever have to convince of Hardy's brilliance. He's one of my favorites, too," Harper said.

Morgan gazed at her before turning back to the shelf. She hummed thoughtfully.

"What?" Harper's voice sounded flustered, almost like she was annoyed with herself for wanting to know what Morgan was thinking.

"For someone who claims to love Hardy, I don't see any of his books here." She raised a suspicious eyebrow at her. "And you have some Fitzgerald here, but no Gatsby. I'm surprised."

Harper's lips twitched. "And why is that?"

"It just seems like your kind of book. Beautifully tragic and all that."

Harper stared at her. Finally, she sighed in defeat. "That book is in my bedroom, on my favorites shelf." She gave her a pointed look. "Along with Tess of the d'Urbervilles, Jude the Obscure, and The Mayor of Casterbridge."

"God, talk dirty to me, Cassidy." She wiggled her eyebrows at Harper as her lips curved into a flirty smile.

A sharp laugh bubbled up Harper's throat. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she considered Morgan, who was entirely enraptured as she took in all of the titles on Harper's shelf.

"May I see this favorites shelf?" Morgan asked, the flirtation in her tone giving way to curiosity.

"Hmm, I don't know. I don't usually put out that easily." She smirked at Morgan.

Morgan's eyebrows shot up nearly into her hairline as she feigned offense. "Not even after I quoted your favorite book to you?" She nailed her with a knowing look, doing her best to implore her with her eyes. "I mean, come on. How many women have ever impressed you like that?"

Harper shrugged. "Who said I was impressed?" But she smiled at Morgan, and Morgan smiled back.

"You didn't have to," she said quietly.

Harper was silent for a moment before she turned toward the hallway that led past the kitchen. "Come on," she said, beginning to move deeper into the apartment. "I have to admit that asking to see my books is definitely ranked among the most creative ways a woman has tried to get into my bedroom."

A slow smile crept across Morgan's face as she followed Harper through the apartment, taking in as much detail as she possibly could in the short glimpses she'd been granted. "It's not my fault that your most interesting bookshelf is in your bedroom."

Harper's bedroom was decorated in shades of gray and blush pink, the hardwood floor of the hallway giving way to soft carpet as they crossed through the doorway.

Her bed, neatly made and pushed against the far wall, was adorned with a comfy-looking gray comforter and about a dozen pillows.

She had a writing desk set up to the left of what looked like the door to a small walk-in closet; a desktop computer whose monitor was plastered with multicolored sticky note reminders and contact information sat dormant on the desk, a stack of papers and notebooks scattered across the desk's wooden surface.

"It's just over here," Harper said.

Morgan blinked, dragging her eyes away from the room's decor to focus in on her.

Right. The books.

The bookshelf was in the corner immediately to the right when you walked in, and one of those plush chaise lounge reading sofas that were advertised all over social media was angled in front of it.

Morgan smiled as she imagined Harper curling up on it, book in hand to decompress before bed.

Turning toward the books themselves, Morgan could see that right there on the top shelf were the titles that Harper had mentioned earlier, all in pristine condition.

Harper was looking at her with a raised eyebrow, like she was still pissed that Morgan had questioned her reading tastes.

Morgan laughed quietly. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Don't let it happen again," Harper teased, bumping her shoulder into Morgan's.

Morgan's smile gentled as she took a minute to browse the rest of the shelf. After a moment, she turned back to Harper and was startled to find her already looking at her, a very intense look on her face.

"If I show you something, do you promise to behave?" Harper asked.

Morgan balked. Because what kind of question was that? What, exactly, was she planning on showing her? And why would she need to behave?

She straightened up and raised an eyebrow at Harper, going with a classic, safe answer that covered all of her bases. "Never."

Harper exhaled through her nose, exasperated.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, clearly warring with herself over something. But then her eyes hardened, seeming to have made her choice.

"Fuck it," she muttered.

And then Harper took her shirt off, pulling it over her head and depositing it onto her bed.

Morgan froze, unsure of what the fuck was happening.

Her eyes widened, trying her best to be respectful but not entirely sure of how to do that. She rapidly replayed the conversation up to this point in her head, just in case she'd missed something.

Harper had led Morgan to her bedroom, said she wanted to show her something, asked her to behave, and then pulled off her shirt.

Check, check, check.

Was Harper showing her her bra? Was she supposed to look?

Morgan's eyes dipped down to Harper's very ample chest. And then snapped back up to make eye contact. And then lowered again, seemingly of their own accord.

Because...yeah. Harper was exactly as well-endowed as Morgan had suspected, her breasts practically spilling over the cups of her floral-patterned, lacy bra.

Morgan was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

"Umm..."

Super smooth.

Report