She fights for justice; he bends the rules. Together, they break all of them in this scandalously sexy legal drama.
Soon after passing the bar exam, Talia Tate is tasked to assist her father, the head of Tate & Associates, with the controversial State v. Duncan trial. Talia is determined to prove to her father, the firm, and herself that she is a brilliant lawyer worthy of respect. Her stress hits a fever pitch when she realizes she’ll have an unexpected face-off on her first case.
Detective Maddox Reed doesn’t mind cutting corners when closing a case. Since his days in patrol, the locals knew to steer clear of “Speedy Reed-y.” When Donovan Duncan was brought into his squad room, he was ready to send him to prison without an interrogation. He thought the case was cut-and-dried . . . until Talia comes to his office with fingers pointed, ready to get Donovan the justice he deserves.
Representing opposite sides of the law, Talia and Maddox find themselves fighting two battles: justice and lust. How could they fall in love under circumstances so polarizing that the whole world can feel the tension? While both of them are in a race to come out on top, surprising feelings make it difficult to separate business from pleasure. Will these two souls find solace with each other? Or will the burden of love be too hard to bear?
Release date:
February 25, 2025
Publisher:
Black Odyssey Media
Print pages:
288
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models and are not intended to portray any character in the book.
All rights reserved. Black Odyssey Media, LLC | Dallas, TX.
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Prologue
Red and blue lights mixed to create a purple hue around the neighborhood. The flashing lights illuminated the darkness with an eerie glow, capturing the attention of families within the houses on the usually quiet and reserved street. Sirens blared as the police cars sped down the gravel-covered road coated with refilled potholes in a quiet suburb in Houston, Texas. Nosy neighbors peeked through the blinds or stepped onto their porches to see what was happening. The police unit was dispatched by the 9-1-1 operator with an aggravated robbery in progress. The caller indicated one lone suspect waving a firearm. The woman stated the assailant had demanded her neighbors fill his backpack with their jewelry, money, and other valuables. The neighbor had become aware of the situation after she heard gunshots and saw the scene unfold from her kitchen window while she washed dishes after dinner.
Decorated Officer David Mitchell was the first on the scene with his partner, Officer Reynolds, and another squad car with Isaacs and Franklin close behind. When he emerged from his vehicle, he witnessed a young Black male sprinting from the home. The young male brandished a firearm and a backpack as he took off down the alley. All Officer Mitchell could see was the back of his head, his clothes, and the unmistakable designer shoes on his feet.
“Isaacs and Franklin, the two of y’all check the perimeter. Reynolds, you check the house. I’ve got the suspect!” Officer Mitchell shouted through the communication system before he pulled out his standard police-issued Glock 22 from the holster and chased after the suspect.
Officer Mitchell was an older biracial man with skin the color of the sand on the beach. He was in his early forties and had been on the force for two and a half decades. With twenty-five years as a police officer in the Houston Police Department, he was a veteran amongst his peers. He’d seen his fair share of crazy crime scenes. He’d apprehended his fair share of suspects throughout his career. A night like tonight should have been a walk in the park for him . . . or so he thought.
Around nine p.m., Officer Mitchell turned the corner to see a split in the alleyway. One way led into a sub-neighborhood with a cul-de-sac, and the other led to the parking lot of a shopping center with several stores and a gas station. Officer Mitchell froze and took a deep breath. Dammit! He swore under his breath as he paused. A split-second decision could be the difference between losing the suspect and catching him.
He pressed the radio and gave a general description of the suspect. “This is Officer Mitchell. I am in pursuit of a young Black male, about six feet tall, wearing dark jeans and a dark hoodie. The suspect was last seen fleeing the scene on the 1600 block of—”
The radio went silent as he spotted a young man wearing a hoodie coming out of a gas station. He pressed his radio again. “I am in pursuit of the suspect on the corner of Main Street. Send backup!” He pumped his arms and used all the power in his legs to approach the young man.
“Freeze! Let me see your hands!” Officer Mitchell shouted as he pointed his gun in the direction of who he assumed was the suspect.
Upon further examination of the young man, Officer Mitchell saw that this man had the same height and build as the suspect in question. The young man was also wearing dark jeans and a dark hoodie but did not have on the designer shoes from before. This young man’s shoes were worn down, with dirt and scuff marks covering the fabric.
He could have tossed the shoes and the backpack in the few moments I lost him. He could have made a quick switch in the gas station. Officer Mitchell’s thoughts were going haywire as he tried to make sense of something that was far from black and white. The area was as gray as it could get.
The young man froze with a look of fear in his brown orbs. He turned around to see the officer with his gun pointed directly at him. Donovan Duncan was a seemingly good kid. He grew up in a two-parent household with a younger sister and brother. He made good grades in school and graduated high school in the top 10 percent of his class. He’d spent two semesters in a community college and then went to a university only a short drive from his parents’ home. At twenty years old, he never would have imagined being in a predicament like this.
Donovan’s friend, Jeremy Charles, discreetly pulled out his phone and opened the social app. He hit Go Live as they awaited the officer’s next instructions. It was hard to remain calm with the pounding of their hearts ringing in their ears, but the young men did their best to stay as calm and compliant as possible. The officer didn’t say anything for a moment before he closed the distance between him and Donovan and snatched the youth by the arm. Then Officer Mitchell pushed Donovan onto the ground and pressed his knee into the young man’s back.
As he placed his gun in the holster and pulled out the metal handcuffs, Officer Mitchell recited the Miranda rights. “You’re under arrest.”
“What did he do?” Jeremy asked. His voice cracked with fear as he watched his best friend get handcuffed by the officer. “We were in the store getting snacks, bro. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one may be appointed to you by the court,” Officer Mitchell continued.
“What did I do?” Donovan cried out. He wanted to resist, but he knew better than to give the officer a reason to use more force. He’d seen enough news articles and videos to know what his fate would be if he didn’t comply . . . or if he did comply with too much aggression. “Please,” Donovan begged, “what did I do?”
“Shut up!” Officer Mitchell shouted at the young man.
“What did he do?” Jeremy asked again. “Bro, you’ve got the wrong guy. Please, whoever you think he is, he’s not.” Jeremy knew going against authority could be the difference between living to see tomorrow and becoming the next viral hashtag. He didn’t want his friend or himself to become the next trending topic.
Officer Mitchell’s eyes snapped up to look at Jeremy. His eyes were wild with shock. He’d been so focused on the man in the hoodie that he hadn’t noticed the other young man who stood only a few feet away. I messed up. Officer Mitchell’s thought caused a sinking feeling to enter his stomach.
One of the first rules as an officer is to evaluate the entire scene before making a move. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case tonight. He had made several hasty decisions that could possibly blow up in his face.
“Put your phone away!” Officer Mitchell ordered as he pulled his gun out again. This time, the Glock 22 was pointed at Jeremy. At the same moment, two squad cars pulled up, and the three officers emerged from their vehicles.
“You’re going to shoot me on camera?” Jeremy’s trembling voice created a pause for Officer Mitchell. “Do y’all see this?” Jeremy asked the people on his live. “I’m trying to protect my best friend, and this pig has his gun pointed at me because he racially profiled an unarmed Black man coming out of a gas station. Tag the news networks!”
This isn’t how this was supposed to go down, Officer Mitchell thought. He shook his head and put the gun back into his holster as his eyes locked with the confused officers awaiting his orders.
“Reynolds, this one has been read his Miranda rights. He’s good to go into the car.” Officer Mitchell removed his knee from Donovan’s back and stood up. Then he pulled Donovan onto his feet and handed him off to Reynolds, who escorted him into the back of the police car.
Next, Officer Mitchell turned to the other police officers and gave them their next set of instructions. “Isaacs and Franklin, can you take the friend home? Get his statement and make sure he makes it home safely.”
Officer Mitchell’s voice was calmer than before. He knew his job would be on the line if he didn’t gain control of the situation.
“No. You’ve got the wrong guy! Me and Don were in the gas station getting snacks. How many times do we have to tell you this? You don’t have to take him away! You can check the security camera!” Jeremy’s eyes burned with large streams of tears. He didn’t want to leave his friend or go with the officers. He wanted to stick beside Donovan until he was sure his friend was safe.
Donovan looked over at his distraught friend. “It’s okay, Jerm! Call my mom. She’ll know what to do.”
News had broken out about Donovan Duncan’s arrest and had spread like wildfire before they’d even made it back to the precinct for questioning. Charles’s video caught the eyes of several influencers, and all of the local stations flooded the police station to get the first scoop on the incident. Officer Mitchell swore under his breath as the squad car rolled up to the front of the building.
Officer Reynolds shook his head. “Vultures.”
Camera flashes immediately swarmed the police car when the reporters spotted Officer Mitchell emerge from the vehicle. They bombarded the white Charger like a herd of lions who circled their prey. Like vultures, they shot rapid-fire questions with microphones, cell phones, and recorders pointed at the three men as Donovan was escorted through the crowd.
“Keep your head down, and don’t say a word,” Officer Mitchell ordered in a volume only Donovan could hear.
“No!” Donovan shouted. “I am innocent! This idiot arrested the wrong man! Free me!”
“Officer Mitchell, how confident are you that you’ve made the right arrest?” one reporter asked.
“Donovan, will your family enlist the help of Tate and Associates?” another reporter asked.
“No comment,” Officer Reynolds muttered as he walked Donovan up the stairs into the building.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, please step away from the suspect. We will do our due diligence to make sure justice is served.” Coming out to appease the growing crowd, Detective Reed stepped out onto the stairs as Officers Mitchell and Reynolds escorted Donovan into the station.
This would be the start of a long battle between law enforcement, the community, and a family of lawyers.
Chapter One
Talia
Three months before the Donovan Duncan Incident . . .
“It is with great pride and joy that I announce the newest associate lawyer for Tate & Associates. Ladies and Gentlemen, give a warm welcome to my heart in human form, Talia Tate!”
Cheers erupted throughout the large conference room. The introduction from my father warmed my heart and face at the same time. My cheeks burned a bright rouge against my deep, brown skin. My skin reminded me of coffee with the perfect amount of cream and sugar and just a slight orange undertone. The hue of my skin hid most of the blush whenever I felt embarrassed. I hated being the center of attention, especially in a cutthroat business such as law, but I would hold my head up and attack the new position with everything I had.
“Thank y’all for the warm welcome. I’ve worked my ass off to secure this position. I went to an Ivy League school and learned from some of the best professors in the world, so I know for a fact I’m going to be a great asset to the T&A team.”
My credibility was extensive, and I wanted to dismiss all claims of being given the position just because my father owned the company. I spent seven years of school securing my law degree. Four years of undergrad at an HBCU, and then three gruesome years at an Ivy League to finalize the degree. In those seven years, I shadowed my father on many cases, obviously, not the real high-profile cases, but the smaller ones were where I learned the most.
“I’m so proud of you, baby girl,” Daddy stated as he hugged me tightly after my speech.
I smiled and hugged him back while I reveled in the love he bestowed upon me. I have wanted to make my daddy proud since I was a little girl. He was my hero, best friend, and confidant. There were countless college nights when I’d call him at eleven o’clock to help me with a test or essay I struggled with.
Once we stepped away, I replied, “Thank you for believing in me, Daddy. I love you so much, and I know I’m going to live up to and exceed all of the expectations you have of me.”
“I do not doubt you will do exactly that. You should work the room. Network. Mingle. Most importantly, I want you to get to know the people of the company as their peer and not an intern. This will one day be your firm, so the sooner you gain respect, the better.”
“Yes, sir.”
My grandfather, Julius Tate, created Tate & Associates. When he got sick, Daddy took over and has run the business for several decades. My time would come when the torch would be passed down to me. The anticipation was exciting, so I couldn’t wait. Tate and Associates was a family legacy.
My eyes perused the room at all of the painted smiley faces. Everyone moved around the large conference room as they talked to one another. Although they were here to welcome me, I also knew they enjoyed the few hours away from the caseloads they worked on. The paralegals would handle the firm while all associates and partners briefly partied.
“Welcome to the team,” Janice, a fourth-year associate, greeted me with a warm smile and hug.
Janice was a dark-skinned woman with a pixie cut. She wore glasses and sported a nice skirt suit to flaunt off the curves God blessed her with. She was the first person to introduce herself to me after my speech. She was one of the few associates who always had a grin when I visited the firm during my internship. She was stunning with a beautiful soul to match. I strongly felt she would become a great work friend once I settled into the daily routine at the firm. She had many wins under her belt, so a connection with her could be beneficial.
“Thank you so much, Jan. I’m excited to be an official member now.” I held my hands behind my back and swayed from side to side.
I didn’t like to show the fidget in my fingers when I talked. There were a few tells I had that blatantly displayed my anxiety and nerves that I fought hard to suppress most of the time.
“Girl, you’ve been an official member,” Janice reminded. “And don’t you worry about the haters. Once they see you winning cases, they’ll shut up.”
“You’ve heard them gossiping too, huh?” I asked. “Even if they hate me, they should know my father well enough to know he wouldn’t have anybody unworthy of the job taking up space in his firm. This business is his pride and joy, so I know for a fact he wouldn’t have me here if he weren’t completely certain I was ready to take on the position.”
“Oh, trust me, I know,” Janice agreed.
There were only three things Stephen Tate cared about in this world. At the top of the list was my mother, Emilia. She was his soul mate and the reason he woke up every morning. Number two on the list were his children. Stephen Jr., SJ, and I were the apples of our parents’ eyes. SJ was a thirty-six-year-old surgeon and father of three. He was married to Kiara. She was beautiful with her golden-brown skin. What I loved most about her was that she owned a day care. She cared for my nieces and nephew while caring for a dozen other kids five days a week. I didn’t see them often, but when we all were together, it was nothing but fun times and lots of laughs.
Number three on my father’s list was Tate & Associates. T&A dated back in the family for over fifty years. In a way, it was our way to honor my grandfather. Daddy took the responsibility to heart and did all he could to uphold the family business. Thousands of lives were saved because of the hard work my patriarch put into building a legacy I would one day take the reins of and run.
Glasses of champagne were passed around as we toasted in celebration of my new role in the firm. People wouldn’t understand, but my passion was in the criminal justice system. The system was unfair to people who looked like me. Black skin was bad skin in the eyes of many people in and around the system. Racism was prevalent to this day, even if people wanted to pretend it wasn’t. It was my job to change the narrative that Black people were criminals—especially since we were disproportionately targeted and arrested. Most of the prison population was stacked with African Americans and other minorities because law enforcement targeted areas where minorities were the majority. I spent years learning about the intricacies and biases of the criminal justice system. I wasn’t a lawyer because of how good the pay was. I was a lawyer because my duty was to be a voice for the voiceless. I wasn’t here to play games. This wasn’t a get-rich-quick scheme.
As the champagne settled in my bloodstream, the nerves disappeared. My anxiety took leave as I worked the room like a professional orator. I talked to nearly everyone. The first- and second-year associates were the easiest to talk to because we all had some things in common. Then I made my way through the third- and fourth-year associates.
A sly smirk stretched across my face when I spotted Dylan and Paul. Fueled with the bubbly liquor in my system, I called out to them. “Dylan! Paul! I’m glad to see you two enjoying yourselves.” I closed the distance between us and offered them a closed-mouth smile. My eyes twinkled from mischievous intent. “Remember when y’all used to pick on me during my internship days? I used to get your coffees and do all of the research for your cases. Now, we’re equals . . . Ain’t that something?”
Dylan Richards was a lanky white man with blond hair and blue eyes. He had the type of face I’d see in magazines. He was a brilliant lawyer who worked his ass off to provide the best service for all his clients. Paul Westwood was a legacy. His entire family consisted of lawyers, including prosecutors, family law, business law, and criminal law. He knew the Bill of Rights and the Amendments before he was in kindergarten. Paul was a Black man a few inches short of six feet. His lack of height didn’t matter much because his personality drew women in, and apparently, his sex game kept them coming back for more.
Dylan rubbed the back of his neck while he scrutinized the floor. Paul mimicked his motions. My smile stretched as wide as it could as I marveled over their guilty mannerisms.
“Oh? Cat got your tongues?” I continued.
“We only teased you because that’s just how things go around here. All interns are subjected to those types of things during their time here,” Dylan explained.
“In all honesty, I didn’t think you would choose your father’s firm to go through your first year. I assumed you’d start in a smaller firm to get the hands-on experience most first-years need,” Paul added.
My lips stretched into a big grin as I patted them bot. . .
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