“Edinburgh,” he corrects me.

Even worse. A man with ideals.

“Oh.” My reply drips with unspoken meaning. What I think of young lawyers like him. Men like him.

“Don’t you have a conscience?” he asks. “There are criminals walking free because you got them off.”

I take a step back and give him the full body scan, letting him know that I am taking in every detail of who he is and how he presents himself to the world. “Let me tell you something.” I manage to avoid the temptation to call him “boy.” “I’m a defense lawyer. My job is not to judge. That is why there is an actual judge in the courtroom. My job is not to determine guilt or innocence. That is why there is normally a jury. No, my job is to ensure that everyone, no matter who they are, where they come from, or what they are accused of, is given a fair trial. That there is someone to ensure that their side of the story is told, to make sure no evidence against them is fabricated or illegally obtained. My job is not—as you so eloquently put it—to ‘get them off,’” I did the air quotes, watching as he winced a little bit at the ferocity of my argument. “No, my job is to make sure that the innocent are not unfairly, or unjustly, fucked over by our judicial system. That the innocent do not have their liberties curtailed. That the innocent do not have their lives destroyed by vindictive and unfounded proclamations of their guilt. That is why I do what I do.” I enjoy watching him squirm. “You may not think it a noble endeavor, or an appropriate calling for a gentleman—sorry, that’s the phrase my father likes to use, but no one ever satisfies their parents, do they?—but it is the very cornerstone of the British legal system. One which I am very proud to be part of, thank you very much.” I turn to walk away from him and there’s a smatter of applause behind me.

“You were fantastic,” Charlie breathes into my ear. “Get me another drink.” It’s a command, not a request.

“What do I have to do to get you drunk?” I ask her.

“I told you I don’t do Jemima’s sloppy seconds.” There is a glint in her eye. She’s enjoying the attention. “But there is something that might win you some points.” She smirks but I have already seen through her.

I sigh. “OK.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Who?” But I know who.

“Your client.” Her eyes are alive, and she is chewing her lip in a rather distracting way.

“What do you want to know?” I am nonchalant. It’s not like I haven’t already used this conversation to take two other girls home.

She leans in, her lips brushing my neck. “Everything.”

Charlie and I have a lot of fun that night.

The next morning, as she waits for her Uber to pick her up, she instructs me not to tell Jemima.