“I’m not sure what you have been told about me, but I’m not nearly as bad as they make me out to be.” His deliciously deep voice carried a little bit of ego.

I’m sure you are exactly as bad as they make you out to be….

Brad De Luca is used to getting whatever and whomever he wants. The premier divorce attorney in town, he’s a playboy who’s bedded half the city—including his own clients. And when the newest intern at his firm poses a challenge, his seductive prowess goes into overdrive.

Pre-law student Julia Campbell is fresh off a failed engagement and happy with her new independence. Even if she weren’t warned away from Brad at every turn, she’d know he was bad news. The last thing she needs is a man who could destroy her job prospects, not to mention her innocence. But before she knows it, the incorrigible charmer has her under his spell. His deviant tastes plunge her deep into a forbidden world of sexual exploration…but her heart may not survive the fall.

Blindfolded Innocence
Alessandra Torre

www.spice-books.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Prologue

I knelt on the floor, a pillow underneath my knees. Blindfolded, I listened intently, waiting for a sign of what was to come. Only the hum of the hotel air conditioner met my ears. Seconds passed, then a minute. Finally, I heard the door open and then click shut. Footsteps, muted on the carpet, behind me. I felt, rather than heard, a male presence pass by my side and come to stand in front of me. Close, so close. I leaned backward slightly. The sound of a zipper being drawn down filled the silent room.

One

Four months earlier

I decided to break off my engagement on a Wednesday night at 2:20 a.m. I was drunk past the point of walking a straight line, but not yet to the point of slurring my speech. Drunk wasn’t the best mind-set to be in to make a life-altering decision, but a thin curtain had finally been ripped away and a truth that I had evaded for the past two years now stood front and center in the middle of my head, waving its arms and screaming.

Luke was not the one for me.

I met Luke as a sophomore in college. At the time I was emotionally vulnerable, recently dumped by the first “love of my life” two weeks after he took my virginity. That asshole ditched poor deflowered me to run off with a seventeen-year-old blonde, pink-toenailed California princess. Luke was different—quiet, brooding, a sensitive soul who seemed absolutely terrified of me. I was bubbly, beautiful and determined to get over my heartbreak the college way—partying myself into oblivion. I hunted Luke down the way a lioness would a defenseless baby antelope, making my sole occupation getting him to fall completely and hopelessly in love with me—which he did, putting me on a pedestal and worshipping daily at my whim.

I demanded a proposal within six months, which he gave me willingly—I think—and we began to plan a life together. This life plan was hampered slightly by the fact that Luke was a dreamer with high goals but little follow-through. He enjoyed spending time with me, and not much else. He worked in construction—not in a management capacity, as I had originally thought, but as a laborer. My bubbly persona started to turn into more of a nagging mother role. It wasn’t long before my subconscious started poking me with a sharp, pointy stick. I ignored the annoying pokes for twelve months, then my subconscious had enough of waiting.

It is weird the things that enter your head during a breakup. I sat on my bed with Luke sitting next to me, and I wondered why I had never purchased a chair for my bedroom. I had a desk and the typical bedside table, but no chair. A chair would have made the situation easier. Sitting next to Luke on the bed was too intimate—his pain was too close—and I knew I would have to fight to keep from reaching over to comfort him.

I stood up, wobbled slightly and turned to face him. I took a deep breath and delivered the bad news. I think my dramatic breakup speech was hampered slightly by the fact that we were both drunk, but I tried my best to be compassionate, coherent and firm. I accomplished at least two of those objectives.

Luke turned out to have a streak of stalker in him. Despite all the poking and prodding that he had needed to bathe, balance a checkbook and show up for work, it turned out he needed little or no encouragement to spend every waking moment trying to convince me to come back to him. In retrospect, maybe I should have spent less effort trying to get him to fall in love with me. I might have overshot that objective.

After two weeks of avoiding my home, work and anyplace I had frequented during the past two years, I decided to leave my crappy apartment and even crappier job and start fresh. It was good timing. Intern season was starting.

Two

My internship at Clarke, De Luca & Broward began on a Monday morning at 8:00 a.m. I sat in the Human Resources offices with eight other interns and waited for my attorney assignment. Our internships would last for one semester. During that time we would be assigned to an attorney and, for the most part, would be their personal bitch for the next ten weeks.

I had heard the stories. Liz Renfield, one of the junior partners, once made an intern cover her gynecology appointment. The intern had to sit in the cold stirrups and undergo a full exam just so Renfield could make a deposition and continue her birth control uninterrupted. Hugo Clarke was apparently the dream assignment. He was known to take interns under his wing and pretty much guaranteed them a salaried position after graduation. Brad De Luca was a skirt chaser, Robert Handler a drunk, and Kent Broward drowned interns in work. There were a few new attorneys that hadn’t yet built up reputations, but I was sure that they would have them soon enough.

“Miss Campbell,” the throaty-voiced receptionist barked, waving her hand, beckoning me. I stood, smoothed my skirt and strode to the front. I was nervous, but tried to appear calm and collected. I came to a stop in front of her and waited. “You will be assisting Attorney Kent Broward,” she stated. “After orientation, report to his office, fourth floor.” She dismissed me by turning back to her stack of forms and calling the next victim, Jennifer Hutchinson. I turned and walked back to my seat, passing Jennifer on the way. She gave me a tight, nervous smile, which I returned.

I sat down on the plastic-wrapped seat and exhaled, releasing the breath that I had not been aware I was holding. Attorney Kent Broward. I could have gotten worse. Broward worked long hours and expected his interns to do the same, but at least I would get good, solid training. If I impressed Broward, I should have no problem getting a strong recommendation for law school. Word was that Broward was tough, but not unreasonable, and fair. I heard Jennifer’s assignment called out in the background. She received Liz Renfield. Tough break.

Orientation passed slowly, a boring drone of questionnaires, forms and informational videos on topics such as equal opportunity and sexual harassment in the workplace. We had a catered lunch in an empty conference room—cold ham-and-turkey sandwiches with chips. I munched on a Frito and listened to the idle chat. The conversation seemed to center around drinks after work and where everyone wanted to go.

“Hops Grill. Julia, that work for you?” Trevor, a lanky redhead, leaned toward me as he asked the question.

I shrugged noncommittally. “Hops works for me, if Broward lets me out in time,” I said. I didn’t expect to make many happy-hour events, at least not for the next ten weeks. I could probably cross off any social events, period, until my internship was over.

“I’m sure Broward will let you off early today. It is the first day, after all.” The optimism came from Todd Appleton, a handsome, athletic type, as he stared into my eyes from across the table.

I smiled at him, trying not to stare at his perfect grin. Hmm...that view will help the next few months pass quickly. “Maybe. Who’d you get?”

“De Luca,” he responded breezily. “Should be fine. The guy apparently parties more than he works.”

I glanced at Jennifer. She was typing furiously into her phone, probably updating her boyfriend on her day. “Jennifer, you going for drinks?” She glanced up, nodded and resumed her texting.

Jane, the Human Resources receptionist, a petite white-haired woman, who would have seemed motherly if not for her piercing stare and gravelly smoker’s voice, strode into the room. “Okay, interns, let’s move!” she commanded, clapping her hands. “Report to your attorneys and bring all of your things with you!” She clapped her hands again and began herding us out. Todd caught up with me on the way out and held the door for me, pressing his hand gently on my back to guide me through the door. I tried not to smile, but felt a flush hit my face. I headed for the stairs and prepared myself for the fourth floor, and Broward.

Broward was in his forties, tall and bald—shaved bald, in an obvious attempt to hide a receding hairline. He looked like a runner, thin and in shape. He had his jacket on and was seated behind his desk when I came in. He stood as I entered and came around the desk to shake my hand. “Julia.” He beamed, pumping my hand. “Nice to meet you.” I liked him immediately. He seemed intelligent, approachable and trustworthy. Plus, it appeared he had excellent taste in interns. Looking around, he grabbed a set of keys and a stack of files. “Come with me. I’ll show you your office and start you working.”

* * *

Four hours later, I paused in my typing and leaned back in my chair. I stretched my arms and legs and rolled my head, trying to get the kinks out of my neck. I looked around my office, taking my first real appraisal of the space. It was a nice office, more than I had expected as an intern. Dark wood-paneled walls, plush cream carpet and expensive, heavy furniture—the room had a definite masculine sense, a cigar bar–type feel. I didn’t mind. Girlie, flowery and pink don’t exactly inspire fear in the courtroom.

My desk was filled with legal briefs, all covered with Broward’s handwritten notes. They all needed to be summarized and to have his notes implemented. I sighed. Long nights were going to be the norm, mostly filled with menial work that would do nothing to further my work experience. Welcome to the world of internship. I leaned back over the desk and started in again.

An hour later, there was a soft knock on my door and Todd Appleton stuck his gorgeous blond head in. “We’re heading out for drinks,” he said. “Still room for you, if you’re interested.” He looked carefree and relaxed, happily done for the day, his tie already loosened.

“I think I’ll be here awhile,” I said from behind the stack of briefs. “But thanks for checking.”

His gaze traveled from my full desk to the crammed cardboard file box on the side of my desk. His smile faded slightly. “All right...I’ll take a rain check.” He tapped his hand on the door frame twice and then left, closing the door behind him.

I rubbed my eyes and focused again on Britley v. Russell Properties, an exciting legal battle regarding a dispute over water rights on a condominium project. Thrilling. At least Broward was still there also. I could hear him on the phone, his seat creaking occasionally when he stood up, usually to pace. I bet a track had been worn on his plush carpet from the constant pacing. My stomach growled. The next day I would know to pack a dinner. Damn Todd and the other interns, with their light workloads and happy-hour drinks. I grumbled a little longer and then tried to refocus my mind.

At 10:00 p.m. Broward knocked on my office door and entered. Tie undone, shirt rumpled, he looked at my exhausted face with a gentle smile. “Come on, Julia. Let’s go. You’ve put in a good first day.”

I smiled at him wearily. I was so hungry I was ready to start chewing on a Post-it note; I was certain my butt had officially fused to the leather seat, and my hands were cramping from the nonstop typing. I wanted to come across as a road-hardened legal warrior, but I was too tired to keep up the facade. Besides, he looked tired also.

“All right, boss,” I said, grabbing my jacket and shrugging into it. “I won’t argue with you, seeing it’s my first day.” I picked up my purse and followed him down the hall, waving to the quiet, round, Hispanic housekeeper who waited at the entrance to Broward’s office armed with disinfectant and a trash bag. She smiled at me and waited until we passed before scurrying into the office.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Broward said—a statement rather than a question. “You don’t need to be in the parking garage alone.” I nodded my thanks and tried to walk without stumbling.

We got on the elevator. Muted music filled the car. I tried to think of something moderately intelligent to say.

Broward broke the silence. “I buried you in files today. I didn’t give you a proper introduction to the office. Tomorrow I will give you a tour and the basic background information on everything that you will need. Week after next I will be in Fort Lauderdale, so I want to get you as acclimated and self-sufficient as possible.”

“Sounds great,” I said. Thank God, a week of normal hours. I gestured to the ten-year-old gray Toyota Camry, my mom’s old car, now one of two cars in the parking lot, the other a shiny black Lexus, which I assumed was his. “This is mine,” I said a bit unnecessarily. “Thank you for walking me.” I awkwardly stuck out my hand and he shook it.

“See you tomorrow, Ms. Campbell.” Broward smiled and released my hand.

“Good night, Mr. Broward.” I nodded, and headed for my car.

Three

Six in the morning came way too freaking early. The day before, I had bounded out of bed, excited about my internship, but today it took two snooze cycles before I lifted my head. My alarm still sounding, I fumbled to turn it off just as pounding started on the wall beside my bed. “It’s off!” I shouted. Zack, my stoner of a roommate, stopped beating on the wall, probably already halfway back to sleep. He’d had friends over till past 3:00 a.m., and they had made no effort to be quiet. I had no doubt there would be plenty of fights in the upcoming months over our sleep routines.

After breakfast and a shower, I grabbed a blue sweater-dress out of the closet and pulled it over my head, cinching a brown belt around my waist. Grabbing small faux diamond stud earrings and a purse, I surveyed my shoe options. All sexy and over three inches tall. Seeing long hours ahead, I realized I would need to buy some shoes that emphasized comfort over fashion. For now, I grabbed some gorgeous leather-and-gold stilettos and slid them on.

I arrived at the office at 7:30 a.m. Pulling open the heavy teak doors, I entered the lobby, nodding to Dorothy, the ancient receptionist. “Good morning, Miss Campbell,” she said creakily. “Here late last night?” Her bemused expression had no trace of pity.

“Not too late,” I replied breezily. She grinned at me, her wrinkles accentuated by the motion.

“Have a good day,” I heard her call as I pressed the door to the stairs and headed for the fourth floor.

The fourth floor—or power floor, as the staff referred to it—was divided into three different wings, one for each partner. Each partner had two secretaries, two paralegals and one intern. Brad De Luca was the exception, with four secretaries and three paralegals. I remembered from orientation that his caseload was double that of any other attorney, including the other two partners. Broward’s secretaries were Sheila and Beverly, neither of whom, judging by their empty desks, arrived till 8:00 a.m.

Broward was already in his office, phone to his ear, when I passed his closed door. I waved at him through the glass and entered my office. Setting my purse by the door, I switched my cell to Silent and then started in on the pile stacked on my desk. I was halfway through the first brief when Broward appeared in the doorway.

“Good morning,” he said distractedly.

“Good morning.”

“Did you make coffee?” His question caused me to look up from my computer.

“Coffee?” I stalled. Is that part of my duties?

“Yes, the kitchen with the coffeepot is on the third floor. I’m sorry I didn’t give you the proper tour, but I thought they might have covered that in orientation.” A phone began ringing in his office, and he glanced back at me with agitation.

“Yes, I’ll get it now.” I stood quickly and smoothed down my dress. He disappeared, and I heard him answer his phone a few seconds later.

Coffee. Okay, I can do this. Are Trevor and Todd brewing freaking coffee?

I found the third-floor kitchen without too much trouble and stared at the complex stainless steel coffeepot. I came from a noncoffee family. I had never desired to attach myself to a caffeine habit, and had treated coffee the same way I treated cigarettes, drugs and—until I was nineteen—sex. I stayed away from them, and they stayed away from me. Therefore, my coffee education rivaled that of a newborn.

Should I admit weakness and ask Ancient Dorothy for help? Nope. I started opening drawers in the kitchen, hoping to find a user’s manual for the coffeepot.

My butt was saved by a short, round woman with spiky red hair and an I Love My Labradoodle sweatshirt. Sarcastically, I wondered if the sweatshirt classified as business attire until my subconscious smacked me across the face. Who was I to judge salvation?

“Good morning!” Labradoodle woman chirped happily, bustling past me and settling her orange-and-blue polka-dot lunch box in the fridge.

“Hi!” I blurted out enthusiastically. Probably a little too enthusiastically. She gave me an odd smile before heading to the sink to wash her hands.

I cornered the Labradoodle-loving stranger by the sink. “My name is Julia,” I said. “Today is my second day, and Broward just asked me for coffee, and I’ve never made coffee before, and I can’t find a user’s manual for the coffee machine, and I don’t know how it’s supposed to taste....” My rush of words faltered and I looked at her in desperation. Please, have some compassion!

She beamed at me and patted my arm reassuringly. “Now, now, that is no problem! I don’t drink a lot of coffee myself, but I’ll show you how to fix it!” With purpose, she bustled over to the cabinet and pulled out a jug of ground coffee. “Now, the way I fix it is to put three teaspoons of coffee grounds in...and then fill the water canister to eight cups.” Three teaspoons, eight cups. Sounds easy enough.

I followed her instructions and had a pot of watery brown liquid brewing in no time. I didn’t trust myself with a taste test, but poured Broward a cup and stuck one of the prepared containers of sweeteners, creamers and stirrers under my arm. I carefully navigated my way through the halls to the elevator and used my elbow to press the button. The doors opened to Todd Appleton’s perky good looks. His glowing skin and enthusiastic “good morning” spoke of a full night of rest. I stepped into the elevator with him and watched his eyes travel up my legs and stop on my shaky coffee cup and creamer selection. I had already sloshed at least a fourth of the coffee around the rim, and could feel some drops running down my fingers. Great.

“Making coffee for the office?” he teased, his gaze finally reaching my face.

“Very funny,” I responded. “Did you know our duties include coffee prep? Something I have never attempted before,” I added dryly.

“Maybe for you,” he shot back. “De Luca has Le Croissant bring up a full spread every morning, with coffee, fruits and a bunch of pastries. They deliver at 8:00 a.m.” He paused, glancing at his watch. “Hence my early arrival. I want to get some while they’re fresh.”

The elevator pinged and stopped at the fourth floor, doors opening slowly. Todd bounded off, apparently never having been taught by his doting mother that ladies go first. I exited carefully, trying my best to keep every last remaining drop of coffee in the cup, and traversed the three turns and two straightaways until I stopped in front of Broward’s door. I bumped the door gently with my knee, and then pushed it in.

I could feel tendrils of my hair coming out of my French twist, and felt completely out of sorts when I tried to gracefully place—and more like dumped—the cup and ceramic container on Broward’s desk. He was on a call, discussing what sounded like an environmental issue, and held up one finger to indicate that I should stay. I chose one of the two heavy leather chairs facing his desk and sat, waiting for his call to finish.

While he droned on about the impact of what sounded like a nature trail, I discreetly checked out his office. It was decorated in the heavy, ornate, masculine fashion that all our offices seemed to share. He had stacks of files everywhere and file boxes lining any free space on the edges of the walls. Six file cabinets lined one wall, and a six-person conference table took up the right side of the room. It was a large office, more than twice the size of mine, but what I would have expected for a firm partner. The table didn’t look as though it was used for many meetings. Every inch of it was buried in stacks of papers, with hundreds of small and large Post-it notes covering them. My head spun with the enormity of his workload. I had naively assumed that I was making some headway with the measly fourteen hours I had put in the day before. I grew stressed just sitting in his office.

His desk was the cleanest place in the office. He had three legal folders on its surface, one open to the file he was discussing on the phone. He had a large digital clock, no doubt to help him keep track of billable hours. He had two framed photos next to his phone. I couldn’t see them from this angle, but assumed they were of his wife and kids. Those photos were probably the most he ever saw of them. My snooping was cut short by the sound of his phone handset being returned to its rightful place. I looked up and into his blue eyes.

“I didn’t know how you liked your coffee, so I brought it black,” I said, gesturing to the accompaniments in the ceramic holder. I stood up and slid the coffee cup toward him until it was in easy reach.

“Just light cream and Equal,” he said, standing up, grabbing the creamer box and flipping through it.

What defines “light”? And how much Equal? I watched him closely, noting how much he added of each to the cup. He looked at the color of the coffee a moment longer than what I would define as normal, and then, dismissing whatever thought was in his head, brought the cup to his mouth.

Gag would be too strong a word for what happened next. An involuntary wince perhaps? His blink was a bit forced, his mouth curled into an unpleasant grimace and there was a slight shudder that he tried hard to cover. An involuntary giggle popped out of me and I slapped a hand over my mouth. He looked at me in confusion, trying to figure out if I was trying to play a joke on him. His expression looked somewhere between mad and amused.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped, fighting the ridiculous hiccuping laugh that was fighting tooth and nail to come out. “I don’t drink coffee. I’ve never made it. I was stumbling through trying to figure it out when someone downstairs was kind enough to show me how....” My voice trailed off as my giggle urge left and I felt despair creeping in. “Is it...horrible?” I whispered.

“A little,” Broward admitted, a wry smile coming to his lips. “But, no worries. I’ll have Sheila walk you through it tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I need a file couriered over from Rothsfield and Merchant. Could you stop by Starbucks on the way back?”

I nodded rapidly, some relief flowing into my body. He didn’t seem mad. Yes, I had looked inept, but it seemed to be okay.

“If you prefer,” I ventured, “I think Mr. De Luca had some breakfast delivered. I could grab some coffee from their conference room?”

His face darkened. Okay...maybe not something he’d prefer. Did I say something wrong?

“No,” he said sharply. “Brad orders that for his secretaries, intern and his clients. We don’t mess with, or borrow, from his staff, and I expect the same from him.” His glowering tone softened slightly at my pale face. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Maybe now is when I should go through the office background.” He stood, shut the file on his desk and pressed the call button on his phone.

A delicate, professional voice sounded through the speakerphone. “Yes, Mr. Broward?” It sounded like Sheila, his secretary. Why wasn’t Sheila getting his coffee? That seemed a secretarial duty.

“I will be indisposed for the next...ten minutes. Please hold my calls.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Broward.”

“Can you please shut the door?” Broward asked as he sat down. I quickly walked to the door and shut it softly, then returned to my place in front of his desk. Broward leaned back in his chair and tapped his finger to his chin, mulling something over while looking at me. I fought the urge to fidget.

“Okay, to begin, let’s attack the elephant in the room.” He leaned forward and met my gaze firmly, his almost-stern expression reminding me of when my father used to lecture me on the importance of high school English. What elephant in the room? Is this about the coffee?

“Brad De Luca,” he began. “Brad is, without a doubt, the best divorce attorney in the south. His waiting list is over ten months long, and many unhappy wives prolong a marriage for the sole reason of waiting to have Brad represent them.” His voice was matter-of-fact and slightly wry. “Brad is a shark in the courtroom and has no problem splattering the walls with blood. He also takes very, very good care of his clients.”

His tone and expression led me to believe that “taking care” of his clients might mean a little more than one would think. I nodded to indicate that I got the point.

“You will no doubt notice the daily breakfast platters, be invited on the Bahamas work weekends and hear the drone of excessive and unnecessary celebrations going on in that wing of this floor.” His stern gaze moved up in intensity to level six. “Julia, I don’t want you to have any part of that. Brad runs his part of the office that way—I run mine in a more...professional and efficient manner. There is a reason that you were not assigned to Brad. Stay away from him.” The approachable, friendly Broward was gone. In his chair sat a dictator speaking to me in the manner one might use on a bad puppy.

I was contrite and didn’t even know why. “Yes, sir,” I said, firmly but quietly.

“Great,” he said briskly. “Now, moving on to the other partner, Hugo Clarke. Clarke focuses on criminal law. His clients are mostly white-collar, though if a case has enough publicity, he will take on the bloodier ones. He is a great source of knowledge, and is always happy to help our interns. He has a young grandson who often spends time here at the office. If you see a two-year-old wandering around, that would be Clarke’s.”

I waited for another death glare and a warning that Clarke sold black market organs, but Broward seemed to be off his soapbox and was now almost jovial. Good lord, it was like dealing with a menopausal woman.

“I focus almost entirely on corporate law—all civil matters. Our work has a lot less emotion involved, but is exciting all the same.” Right. Every law student can’t wait to dive into corporate reform.

Broward skimmed over the other attorneys and reviewed the billing procedures and his general expectations. They all seemed reasonable, though I suspected his general reference to my expected sixty-hour weeks would probably be more of a seventy-or eighty-hour commitment. He signaled the end of our conversation by pressing Sheila’s extension on his phone and indicating that I should open the door.

Her melodious voice came through the speakerphone. “Yes, sir?”

“Please give Julia a tour of the office. Apparently Jane didn’t do a proper job in orientation. Also, she will be running over to Rothsfield to get the Danko file, so please explain the mileage system and petty cash.”

“Certainly.”

Sheila appeared in Broward’s doorway within seconds. She matched her polished voice—an older woman, in her sixties, with a blue sweater set, gray wool dress pants, perfectly coiffed silver hair and a string of pearls. She smiled kindly at me and ushered me out of Broward’s office, closing his door softly behind her.

Sheila’s tour of the wing was in-depth and informative. I met over twelve secretaries, six paralegals, and Attorney Liz Renfield. I nodded at the other interns as we passed through their areas, but didn’t have any conversations. I figured out early why Sheila didn’t bring Broward’s coffee. Handing me the petty cash key, she had an extreme shake to her hands. She was a talker, and I learned as much about her as the firm. She had been there twenty-two years, since it was just Clarke Law Firm and they had to occasionally miss a paycheck if it had been a slow month. By the end of the tour I had learned that Liz Renfield and Robert Handler had once shared more than a case, and that recently Chris Hemming, a civil attorney, had been caught embezzling funds and had been fired.

Sheila led me up a vacant and stale stairway leading to the attic file storage, pausing at the top, key pointed toward the lock in her shaky hand. She glanced at me, somewhat casually. “Did Mr. Broward mention anything about Brad De Luca?”

Four

Sheila and I were alone in the attic, a stuffy room with rows and rows of file boxes. At my initial estimate, there seemed to be over twenty rows, each over fifteen boxes deep and eight or nine boxes high on each side. Fluorescent lights above us made it a well-lit but hot area. The lights combined with Sheila’s question made me feel like a prisoner being interrogated. What is everyone’s obsession with this guy?

“Yes, Broward—Mr. Broward—told me that their side of the office operates a little differently than ours, and that I should steer clear of it.” I mumbled the words like a schoolgirl reciting her daily duties.

Sheila’s eyes gleamed with the excitement of gossip, but also with warning. “Mr. Broward was probably too proper to say that Brad is absolutely incorrigible! He stopped being assigned female interns three years ago because he couldn’t keep his hands off them. He’s divorced due to another one of his...relationships, and is never without some young thing on his arm. He’s Italian— You know how those men are.” She pronounced “Italian” as if it was some kind of diseased animal, and waved her hand as if that should explain everything. “Bottom line...” She fixed her steely gaze on me. “You are exactly his type. You need to stay as far away from Brad De Luca as you can get.”

Sheesh. This is what everyone is worried about? That I am about to become one of a senior partner’s latest conquests? First off, I am as sexually unpromiscuous as...probably Sheila! I am a twenty-one-year-old college student who has had a total of two partners. In college terms, I’m practically a saint! Secondly, isn’t De Luca like forty? In his late thirties at least. Who in their right mind would think I would be attracted to someone that old?

I was more than a little offended by the perception of my low standards.

I met Sheila’s eyes firmly and confidently. “Sheila, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Trust me.”

Her return look was less confident.

Five

A bit awkwardly, we finished the tour, and ten minutes later I was in my car with the windows down and “Whatever” by Hot Chelle Rae blaring. It was hot as hell outside but I didn’t care. I needed wind filling my car and blaring music in order to get my funk to pass. I wanted to make an impression at my internship, but one as an intelligent hardworker, not as the chick that everyone thinks Brad freaking De Luca is going to bang. My head was properly cleared but I was still a little bitchy when I returned to the office, Danko file in hand, along with a still-steaming cup of Starbucks coffee with “light cream and Equal” in it.

I gave the file to Sheila and dropped the coffee off at Broward’s desk. He was on another call and waved distractedly to me. I went into my office and started where I had left off the night before. Within three minutes, my office door banged open and Todd Appleton plopped his body into one of my chairs. Really? Am I going to get any freaking work done today?

I looked up over my file with what I hoped was an “I’m busy, what the hell do you want?” look.

“Yes, Todd?”

“Where have you been all day? We’ve been so busy on the East Wing. This one case, the wife caught her husband doing his boss’s daughter! And then we found out that...” His voice droned on and on and I began focusing on his beautiful features as opposed to his words. I snapped myself out of my mind fart and waved my hand in front of Todd.

“Todd, can’t talk. I’m busy.” I gestured to all the work filling my desk and office.

He glanced around. “I know, but...you’ve been gone all morning.”

“Exactly. Hence my heavy workload. I need to get some stuff done.”

“Oh.” His dejected face reminded me of the time I told the four-year-old I used to babysit that even though he had asked Santa for a real baby alien, it probably wasn’t going to happen.

“Sorry, Todd. I’m just buried right now in superexciting deposition reviews.”

“Sure, no problem. Hey, we missed you last night. You’ll have to come out with us soon.” He grinned that smile at me, scratched the back of his head and then stood up, five-feet-ten inches of classic Abercrombie & Fitch beautiful looks.

I flashed him an apologetic smile and returned to my depositions. It was 11:00 a.m. Only eleven or twelve hours to go.

* * *

My first two weeks passed excruciatingly slowly. Other than learning office politics, I garnered few legal skills besides filing, typing and deposition review, most of which I had mastered already. My only solace was thinking about the upcoming week—when Broward would be in Fort Lauderdale. I had already cornered Sheila to get the scoop on office hours during that time.

“Nine-to-five workdays,” she promised me, an understanding look in her eyes. “This week been rough on you?” Her voice had taken on a motherly concern, and I wanted to hug her for showing some compassion. Everyone else in the wing seemed to work with an unending supply of energy. It wouldn’t have sucked so bad if I hadn’t been hearing about the party life in the East Wing.

The East Wing had their own set of big, dark walnut-and-leather double doors. The only glimpses you got inside came when someone was entering or leaving. It was like a superexclusive club that I couldn’t get into, so my mind created impossibly extravagant fantasies about the world inside. Following closely the instructions—or threats—of Broward, I stayed away from the East Wing and all of its “activities,” but drooled jealously from afar.

Often as I passed their big double doors, I’d hear loud laughter and other sounds coming from inside. On Wednesday, there was some kind of a party. At five-thirty, Smith & Wollensky waiters started unloading trays of lobsters, steaks and carts of large silver dishes from our elevators. They were followed with five cases of chilled champagne and sumptuous dessert trays that made my mouth water. Muted music could be heard from behind their doors, and a thumping bass. The bass only lasted about three minutes before Broward screamed some form of profanity, opened his door and stomped his way over to the East Wing. About a minute later, the music was turned down and our floor stopped systematically vibrating. Sheila leaned backward in her chair until she could see into my office and winked at me.

The East Wing, unless they were partying, never stayed past 6:00 p.m. The North Wing, Clarke’s domain, worked till about eight-thirty most nights. We, the West Wingers, were the night owls. Most Broward paralegals stayed till about 9:30 p.m. I stayed till Broward left, which normally ended up being sometime between ten and eleven. It was better than manual labor, but still mentally exhausting. I went straight home each night, showered, crawled into bed and fell asleep before my head hit the bed. Eat, sleep and work had been the past two weeks of my life. I leaned my head on Sheila’s shoulder and signed dramatically.

“There, there,” she said, patting my shoulder. “I promise you, you’ll get used to it.”

* * *

The first weekend of my internship I had wallowed in bed the entire time, eating Sour Patch Kids and watching Cameron Diaz movies. Seeing as how texts and Facebook posts from my friends had started to drop off, I figured I needed to spend this weekend back in the land of the living. Friday evening, getting home at a remarkably early 8:00 p.m., I returned two weeks’ worth of missed calls. After begging for forgiveness and promising to do better, I cajoled my two closest friends into margaritas and Mexican food at Los Amigos, a run-down college hangout four blocks from my house. My plan was to get sloshed on margaritas, then stumble home—the perfect “college girl gets snatched by a serial killer” scenario, but at twenty-one years old, it sounded like a reasonably good plan.

At 9:30 p.m., dressed in a blue sundress and heels, my hair loose and makeup subdued, I wrestled through the line outside the bar and made my way inside. My skin was paler than usual due to my recent inability to spend any time outside, but I still turned a few heads. I saw Olivia and Becca perched at a high-top in the corner. The bar was filling up, and it took a few minutes of squeezing through people to get over to them.

“Hola!” I said enthusiastically, giving them both hugs before climbing onto one of the stools. They both had ridiculously huge margarita glasses with goofy straws in front of them, and I looked around for the waiter. He came over shortly, took a cursory look at my ID and then disappeared to get us some queso and chips. Becca didn’t wait long to start chewing me out.

“So, seriously,” she snapped, glancing at her imaginary watch, “it’s been almost two weeks since we’ve seen you. Unacceptable!” She slapped her well-manicured open palm on the table to emphasize her point.

“Go easy on her, Becca,” Olivia chided. “She’s working—something you wouldn’t understand!” She shot a playful smile in Becca’s direction.

Olivia was right—working was something Becca would probably never understand. Her wealthy parents and their generous funding pretty much guaranteed Becca an easy ride to whatever wealthy husband she’d eventually marry. With Becca’s perfect body, classic bone structure and disarming personality, she had basically won the genetic lottery.

Olivia was more like me—from working-class parents, barely surviving on student loans and part-time jobs. I was especially tight at the moment, due to my full-time unpaid internship. We were all prelaw students, but I was a semester ahead of them, and therefore the first to undergo the intern experience.

“Really, Jules, how’s it going?” Olivia said.

I shrugged. “So far, it’s a lot of menial work. My boss is okay, just a complete workaholic.”

“Oh, please!” Becca said. “Tell me what he’s really like. Is he Mr. Sexy-Aggressive Attorney, or the nerd you’d like to bang some freakiness into?” She grinned at me across her margarita.

“Uhh...neither. Try happily-married-plus-I-wouldn’t-hook-up-with-someone-at-the-office sexuality. If that even exists.” I smirked at her, taking a big swig of my drink.

Olivia laughed, and Becca’s eyes rolled. She leaned forward and pointed at me. “Don’t give me that high-and-mighty routine. You make it a profession to tease half the men in this town into drooling oblivion, and leave them high and dry. Don’t tell me you would pass up the opportunity to have the upper hand in the office.”

I pasted an offended look on my face. “Why, Becca! I can see why you think it’s easier to ‘actually’ have sex with guys, but I enjoy the chase more than the actual rewards. If I slept with every guy I made out with, can you imagine my reputation? Not to mention I’d be pregnant with six kids!”

Olivia cut in. “Sweetie, you have a reputation anyway—as the biggest tease this side of the interstate. There’s not a guy on campus who doesn’t know your game by now.”

They were right in their harassment. I teased guys all the time—got them worked up to the point of excitement and then stopped the action. My methods may have been frowned upon, but it allowed me to preserve my relative innocence and get a confidence boost at the same time. “I assure you, there are plenty of guys on campus who have yet to find out about my teasing ways. I’m not going to fuck guys just because they’re worked up.”

Becca snagged a chip, dipping it into the cheese, and shrugged at me. “At least suck them off, Jules. Then they’re not left hanging, and you can sorta retain your moral high ground.”

“Becca, then she wouldn’t have the power over them. She wants them to continue wanting her. Wants them to imagine ‘what could have been.’” Olivia nodded knowingly.

“Oh my lord—are we done with my pysch evaluation?” I asked. “Why does it matter that I’m a tease? I don’t see us giving Becca the third degree when she decides to bang half the lacrosse team!”

Becca was in the middle of a strong rebuttal when I felt an arm slip around my shoulders. “Hey, beautiful,” a voice said in my ear. I pulled back and stared into Todd Appleton’s face.

“Todd!” I said, surprised to see him out of the office. I hadn’t seen much of him in the past two weeks since I was banned from entering the East Wing. He had stopped in once or twice, but I’d always been too busy to chat.

“This seat taken?” he asked, gesturing to the empty stool.

“Not at all!” Becca said, smiling brightly. She flipped her brown hair over her shoulder and leaned forward, flashing Todd her best megawatt smile.

I looked to Olivia for approval, and she rolled her eyes good-naturedly and smiled agreeably at me.

Todd introduced himself to my friends, and then slid onto the stool. He motioned for the waiter, and then leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table. Grabbing a handful of chips, he turned to me.

“All the interns have been going out a few times a week,” he said, biting down on a chip covered in cheese. “You should join us sometime.”

I shot him a look. “Sure, I’ll just swing by on one of my three bathroom breaks.”

“Oh, so Julia’s been ignoring you, too?” Becca said, leaning forward and showing her ample cleavage.

“Aw, I’m just kidding her,” Todd said. “I know that her attorney buries her under work.” He brushed the back of his hand gently down my arm, sending a shiver through me. I moved away, catching myself before I smiled at him. Flirting is fine, but I’m not about to take it further...even though you are so damn hot!

Becca shot me an inquisitive glance and I sent back a “he’s all yours” look. The waiter swung by with a platter of dirty glasses and plates, and Todd put in a drink order.

“So,” I said casually, “what’s it like working for De Luca?”

Todd snorted and nodded enthusiastically. “It is awesome. The guy is an absolute animal! You should see him in the courtroom. He rips these guys to shreds!”

“The courtroom?” I interrupted him. “You’ve been to court?” This is bullshit! Todd gets plush hours and courtroom experience?

“Yeah! He took me with him last Monday. It was awesome!”

Five minutes with Todd and I was already a little sick of the word awesome. Maybe I was just bitchy about my current situation. Either way, I tried to appear cool and offhand. “What was going on there Wednesday?”

“Wednesday?” Todd’s face scrunched up, as if he was concentrating hard. Seriously! I wanted to scream at him. Smith & Wollensky, lobster, music, two days ago, and you can’t remember?!

“Oh!” He slapped his head. “The Hatfield deal! You know the Hatfield family—the media tycoon? Mr. Hatfield finally settled so De Luca threw a mini celebration for the missus.”

“That was a mini celebration?” The words popped out before I could stop them.

Todd looked at me, surprised. “Yeah, well, you know, De Luca throws some big parties. We have a huge client party planned out at his house this weekend.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

“Are you going?”

“Of course!” He snorted again. “It’s going to be, like, awesome! I heard he’s hiring strippers!”

WOW. Super Classy. De Luca seemed to live up to the reputation. I took a big sip of margarita and thanked God I hadn’t been assigned to him.

* * *

One giant margarita later, Todd was still hot, but now not quite as annoying. My drunken haze had turned his juvenile antics into sexy cool. I was starting to weaken, letting his hands do some roaming, when Olivia pulled me aside.

“Seriously, Jules, I’m going to do you a big favor and send you home.”

“Whaat...? Why?” My slurred voice sounded drunk, even to me. I waved my hand in front of my face, stopping Olivia from responding. “Never mind, you’re right. I’ll go.” I moved over and hugged Becca, gesturing over the music that I was heading out. She blew me a kiss and waved goodbye.

I hugged Olivia and Todd goodbye. He held the hug a few seconds longer than necessary, then gave me an extra squeeze. Olivia walked me out and offered to call a cab. I waved her away and pulled off my heels, starting the drunken stumble home.

Six

In every successful swinger relationship, there must be a set of rules so that everyone knows their place, and so that no one is offended or taken advantage of. Different couples practice different rules depending on their own preferences.

Seven

Tuesday, 10:00 a.m.

A file folder sat in the center of my desk. I walked into my office and stopped short, staring at it. I instantly knew it didn’t belong. It was red. Files on my desk were usually in the blue or green folders that were used for civil litigation or corporate filings. I picked it up hesitantly and thumbed through it. Immediately, I could tell it was a divorce file—Custody and Division of Assets were prominent tabs. I closed the file and tapped it on my desk, thinking, What to do...

I could call Ancient Dorothy, tell her that a file had been misdelivered, but that was just silly. I was less than twenty feet from the East Wing. I could just walk over there and deliver it to the first secretary I saw. It would take less than a minute, and then the file would be properly handled. It was the obvious and responsible course of action.

Except that Broward doesn’t want you going to the East Wing, my conscience nagged with a know-it-all tone. What am I, five? I countered, getting irritated at my conscience. I’m perfectly capable of returning a file without getting into any trouble.

Decision made, I grabbed the file and strode out of my office, ducking past Sheila and practically jogging past the remaining open doors. I felt as if the red folder was a giant Look at Me! sign advertising my destination. Which, of course, it kind of was. I tucked the folder under my arm and willed myself to be invisible. My concern was unnecessary. No one even looked up, everyone absorbed in the ever-present pile of work. Broward being out of town didn’t mean the presses stopped.

I took a last-minute detour into the restrooms located just to the right of the elevators and appraised myself in the mirror above the sink. The light in the bathroom was muted, but it was bright enough to show me that it was not my best day. Whether intentional or not, my knowledge that Broward would not be in this week had caused me to dress down and not put as much effort into my appearance. I was wearing khakis, a pressed white button-down shirt and one of my new pairs of sensible, low, open-toed heels. My hair was, as always, up in a bun, and I had opted for glasses instead of my normal contacts. Some people think of glasses as sexy. Those people haven’t seen my glasses. Coke bottles would be a more apt description.

I had neglected to put on makeup, which meant I had pale, untouched skin and dark circles under my eyes. I knelt and opened up the sink cabinet and fished around behind a tampon box, reaching into the dark depths and feeling blindly until my hand bumped against what I was looking for: my small cloth makeup bag.

My first day I had packed an emergency makeup kit, one that included mascara, lip gloss and concealer. I had stored it there in case I ever needed to freshen up before a big meeting, or hadn’t had time to do my face before work. I sent a silent thank-you up to God for blessing me with such incredible foresight, and hauled myself back up to a standing position.

Three minutes later I looked reasonably presentable. I still had my thick glasses, but I had long, plump lashes behind them and my lips had some color. The dark shadows were still present, but minimized by the concealer.

I grabbed the red file folder, opened the door and scolded my nervous butterflies. Then I straightened my shoulders, pulled open the heavy bathroom door and headed for the East Wing.

Eight

Rule 1: She is kept blindfolded for the first meeting. If the blindfold is to be taken off, it must be done by her alone.

The heavy East Wing double doors opened to a sea of noise and activity. People were everywhere, and everyone seemed to be very important, very busy or very emotional. I stopped just inside the doors and tried to get my bearings.

The room was large, dominated by three oversize curved secretarial desks that created a semicircle at the back of the room. To get to the secretaries, there was a wide path flanked on either side by leather seating clusters. Both seating arrangements were full. One seemed to hold a meeting in progress; the other had two leggy blondes and an older man in a suit, apparently waiting for something. To the right was a large glass conference room, another meeting in progress. I could hear muted tones of what sounded like an argument coming from that side. On the left were offices, probably holding paralegals and Todd. Behind the secretaries was a large office with floor-to-ceiling windows through which I could see the downtown skyline. I could also see a man standing at his desk, a phone to his ear. Judging from the size of the office and its view, I assumed it was De Luca’s. Okay, Julia. Get in, get out, and stop gawking.

I moved quickly and—I hoped—confidently toward the secretary cluster. Their three desks were elevated, and I felt like a defendant approaching the judge. The secretaries all seemed cut from the same cloth: old, dignified and spicy. Headmistress-style seemed to be De Luca’s preference. Or perhaps HR’s preference for De Luca. The center headmistress wore a red suit and had a brass nameplate on her desk that indicated her name was Carol Featherston.

She looked up as I approached and her sharp gaze immediately locked on the red folder held in my now-sweaty clutches. She skipped a greeting and held out her hand. I passed the file meekly over. Her phone started to ring, but she ignored it and flipped quickly through the file, then snapped it shut and looked back at me.

“Where did you get this?”

“I’m Julia Campbell, from Broward’s office. I—”

“Where did you get this?” Her piercing gaze and shrill voice told me to get to the point.

“It was on my desk, ma’am.”

“All right, I’ll handle it. Thank you.” The snappy response seemed to indicate that I was done. I couldn’t imagine this woman planning stripper-filled parties. Todd must have been exaggerating. I smiled politely at her and turned to leave. My exit was interrupted by a loud rapping of knuckles on glass. I paused midturn and glanced back at Ms. Featherston. She held up a finger and glanced over her shoulder. I followed her gaze.

A bear of a man stood at the glass partition of the large office with the view. He had the build of an ex-athlete—impossibly broad shoulders and muscular arms that his thousand-dollar dress shirt couldn’t hide. He had olive skin and a thick head of hair—strong, handsome features. He would have been too good-looking if it weren’t for the fierceness of his features. He looked like the kind of man who chased confrontation down and then ate it for breakfast. Phone to his ear, his knuckles were still rapping the glass when my eyes met his. He pointed one finger at me and then motioned for me to come, turning his back and pacing away without waiting for a response. Uh-oh.

I must have had panic on my face when Ms. Featherston turned back to me. Her stiff expression softened slightly; her tone was a little kinder, but still firm.

“Go on in,” she said. “He wants you.”

Ms. Featherston returned her attention to the file. I glanced around, looking for an escape, and then, wobbly, made my way around the secretary stand to the door of the office. Brad De Luca was printed on a brass nameplate in the center of the door. Broward is going to kill me.

I opened the door without knocking and walked in, shutting it quietly behind me. I stood by the entrance, hands together in front of me, and waited for De Luca to get off the phone. His office was long, and there seemed to be a silly amount of space between where I stood and where he paced. I’m not moving a damn step closer to this man if I can help it. I seemed to be having trouble breathing. My chest was tight. Beads of sweat were forming on my upper lip. I tried to discreetly wipe them off. What the hell am I so nervous about? He’s not going to eat me, for Christ’s sake.

He finished his conversation and hung up the phone, staring at me. Looking into his eyes, I felt my knees buckle slightly. There was this draw to him, this indescribable pull that I couldn’t break from. He emitted, even across the large office, a wave of power, intelligence...and sexuality. No freaking wonder everyone talked about this man. Seeming to be completely at ease, he picked up a stress ball and squeezed it, never breaking eye contact. I felt like an innocent little fawn stuck in the lion’s gaze. I stayed quiet and waited for his gorgeous self to say something.

“I need a car,” he finally said. His voice was sexy and deep, definitive. He sounded like a man who had never second-guessed a single action his entire life. I, on the other hand, was second-guessing every predisposed opinion I had made about him. Maybe Broward and Sheila were right to be worried.

“A car?” My voice came out a little higher than I had intended, almost a squeak. I definitely needed to get my shit together.

“Yes. I know the casino typically handles my transportation, but I plan to go on a side trip this weekend, and want a car.” He picked up his phone and started to punch in a number, as if to indicate that our conversation was over. Then he paused, looking at me again, closer, his eyes narrowing slightly, his gaze sweeping over my body in an obvious perusal. I bristled slightly, crossing my arms over my chest, feeling my cheeks warm.

When he spoke, his tone was slightly confused. “Have you done something different?”

“Different?” I didn’t really know what to say. This was the strangest interaction I had ever had. I’m sure he was blown away by my verbose and witty conversation.

He came around the desk slightly, eyes locked again on mine. Please don’t come closer. “You look...different.”

I felt as if I was in Crazy Town. Has he seen me before? “I’m wearing glasses.”

De Luca looked at me again, then something flipped in his eyes, a moment of understanding. He turned away from me, continuing to dial a number, and I understood that our interchange was over.

That was freaking weird.

I walked back to the center desk and waited for Ms. Featherston to look up. She did, after a moment.

“Mr. De Luca asked me to reserve a car? For this weekend?” I sounded inept, even to my own ears.

Featherston looked confused, and then her expression cleared. Her mouth curved into something resembling a smile. “He thinks you’re Tiffany,” she said wryly.

“Who?”

“Tiffany. The girl downstairs who handles travel arrangements. You look like her...slightly. He must have gotten confused. I’ll make sure she gets the message.” She shot me an amused look and then refocused on her computer.

I turned on my heel and headed for the doors, wanting to get back to the normalcy of the West Wing. Wow, talk about an ego check. What a...jerk! So caught up in his own world he mistakes me for someone else—like all of us are bland, interchangeable slaves waiting around to jump to his ridiculous travel needs? I could feel my irritation building. I pulled my shoulders back and straightened my head, enjoying the anger coursing through my body. It felt good having some of my backbone again.

Back at my desk, I pulled out my cell and sent a quick text to Olivia. Dinner and drinks tonight?

Her response was quick, and affirmative. We agreed, through a series of texts, to meet at 8:00 p.m. at Café Salsa, a downtown tapas bar known for their great bands. I locked my phone and put it back in my purse. I planned on enjoying this Broward-free week, and damned if I’d let that asshole De Luca affect it. I attacked my pile of files with new gusto.

* * *

A few moments after the double doors closed behind that delicious ass, Brad dialed a second number, watching the stately secretary outside his office answer her phone.

“Yes, Mr. De Luca?”

“Who was that?”

A soft chuckle sounded in his ear, and she spun in her chair, meeting his eyes through the thick glass. “That was one of the interns. Kent Broward’s.” She looked at him with a glare that would melt a lesser man’s skin. “I trust this will be the last I see of her?”

He met her glare and smiled, turning away and walking to his desk. “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

That night, I dressed to kill, picking out a red minidress and sky-high nude stilettos. I straightened my hair and carefully applied my makeup. Putting on my sexiest lace bra and a matching thong, I shimmied into my dress and then dusted bronzer over my legs, chest and arms. A small black purse in hand, I stood in front of the mirror and gave myself the once-over. Hot damn, woman. You are looking good.

At five minutes before eight, Olivia pulled up outside my apartment in her old gray Ford Explorer, blaring Katy Perry. I skittered out on my heels, navigating the overgrown path with care. Entering Olivia’s SUV was like crawling into a bubblegum bubble. It smelled yummy and completely feminine, and said girl as loud as the feather boa hanging from the rearview mirror could scream.

We sang and car-danced the ten minutes to Café, my spirits rising with every chorus. At the restaurant, we got a great corner table with a view of the dance floor and bar.

“So, give me the goods,” she demanded as soon as we sat down.

“What goods?”

“You know! On your new job, life, everything! I haven’t seen you in over two weeks, and last weekend didn’t count! Becca was there, and that prevents any real conversation from occurring.” She giggled to soften her point, but we both knew she meant it. Becca was wonderful, but Becca was all about Becca, twenty-four hours a day. “Any word from Luke?”

I rolled my eyes at her reference to my ex. “No, thank God. He doesn’t know about my internship, and I don’t think anyone has told him where I live. Has he called you anymore?”

She shook her head in response. “Just that one time. I think I made it pretty clear to him then that he wasn’t going to get any information from me.”

I brought my martini up to signal a toast. She followed suit.

“To new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings,” she parroted. We clinked glasses and both took generous sips.

“So, tell me about the new job.” Her eyes glimmered. “Anything going on with you and that gorgeous hunk we saw at Amigos?”

“Todd?” I grimaced and shook my head. “No, he’s too...I don’t know...immature. Besides, I don’t want to get involved with anyone at work. It’s too complicated.” I thought of De Luca and my face flushed.

Olivia caught the tell. “What? What is it?”

I told her about De Luca, Broward’s warning and today’s interchange. She started to giggle and then clamped a hand over her mouth at my glare.

“It’s not funny,” I hissed.

“Oh, come on! It is funny! You trotted in there thinking that he would bend over backward to woo you, like every other guy you come across. Instead he gave you a menial task and sent you on your way!” She smiled affectionately at me, and patted my arm. “It’s okay, Jules. Not everyone is susceptible to your charms.”

I shrugged and was on the verge of a witty comeback when a server materialized at our table with two martini glasses filled with blue, glowing liquid. “Ladies, these drinks are from the table by the stage.” He deposited the drinks in front of us and disappeared before we had time to formulate a response. I drew my blue martini close and tried to glance discreetly over my shoulder. Three suits by the stage nodded and raised their drinks. I gave them a quick smile and turned back to Olivia.

“What do you think?”

Olivia leaned to the side and spoke over the sugary rim of her new drink.

“Fairly cute. They look successful, a little old.”

“How old?”

“Umm...late twenties? Maybe even thirty.” She said thirty as if it was ancient. Which, for us, it was.

“Any wedding rings?”

She tried discreetly to squint and instead came off looking as if she had discreetly farted.

“Stop that,” I snapped. “We can look up close.” What the hell, I put on this dress for a reason, right? I turned in my chair, flashed my best smile and gestured for the guys to come over. Time to have some fun.

Two hours later

Screw Becca and Olivia’s opinion, I was a cock tease, and wasn’t about to be ashamed of it. The chase gave me purpose, excitement; it was my favorite part of being single. Sex or a reputation were things I didn’t need or want. For me, teasing was more of a conquest thing, and it gave me an instant ego boost when I needed one.

I definitely needed one tonight. De Luca, having me—even if it was a rumpled, dorky version of me—in his office, and not even giving me a second glance. Worse, mistaking me for someone else! He was old, for Christ’s sake, even if he did radiate sex from every pore on his gorgeous body. As a rumored horndog, he should have smiled, flirted or asked me out—even if I had planned on saying no. Yes, I definitely needed an ego boost, and my evening’s prey waited in front of me.

Bob, a twenty-nine-year-old tax accountant with a bird chest and moderately muscular arms, lay flat on his back on top of his bed, gazing at me in drunken adoration. Stripped down to my black lace bra and thong, I straddled him. My hair fell loose down my back and I leaned forward, nibbling and kissing his neck. He moaned, and I could feel his erection pushing at his dress pants, begging to get out. His hands roamed down my back over the curve of my hips and grabbed my ass. Continuing to tease his neck, I reached down and slid my hand underneath his pants’ waist and felt the hardness of his cock. It was pretty nice compared to the ones I had previously touched. I grabbed it firmly, jacked him up and down twice and let him think for a minute that I was going to do more. Then I slyly bit my bottom lip, shook my head at him and pulled my hand out.

The fire in his eyes died a little and he looked at me with intense yearning. Right there, that is what I want to see. My confidence felt that familiar swell, but it was brief this time. It sank again quickly, almost as low as before. I gritted my teeth in irritation, pushing back against my subconscious, trying to feel that satisfaction I normally experience. But it was gone. I leaned forward, kissing Bob gently, then climbed off him, reaching for my dress, half listening to his sputtering words. Sorry, buddy, you’re done.

Nine

Wednesday, 8:15 a.m.

Brad De Luca’s cell rang for the seventh time that morning.

“De Luca,” he snapped into the phone.

“Julia Campbell,” his cousin Tony’s voice rang through the phone. Tony was a forty-year-old divorcé, with three kids, who drank full-time and painted houses as a hobby. Brad couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to Tony before 11:00 a.m. He must need money. He groaned silently and waited for more.

“You know her?” Tony asked.

His mind searched his recent clients, conquests and acquaintances and came up blank.

“No, don’t believe I do.”

Tony’s voice slurred a bit. “She’s an intern at your office.”

“Oh. She’s probably with Broward or Clarke. They keep the female interns away from me.”

Tony laughed so hard he began to hiccup. “I bet they do, man! You’d be slaying them!”

Brad glanced at his watch impatiently and willed the man to get to the point. “Who’s she to you, Tony?” His voice had taken on the rough brogue of his Italian childhood.

“I got a call this morning from Bob Hanstle—the yuppie guy whose kitchen I’m painting? He’s trying to get information about her. He knows she works for your firm, and, given my last name...thought I might know someone over there.”

“Your last name isn’t De Luca.”

“Yeah, well, I might have mentioned that we’re related.” Brad’s patience waned. Tony probably “mentioned” Brad’s name at every job opportunity he got, in hopes of increasing his credibility.

“I don’t know anything about her.” He tried to convey a tone of wrapping up the conversation, but Tony wouldn’t let it go.

“Come on, Brad, give me something. This guy is desperate over this chick. She must have a magic pussy, man.”

“Sorry, Tony. Never met her before.” He hung up the phone. So...it must have been Broward’s intern. And she had another man hot on her trail. He really needed to get to the office.

* * *

I woke up buried in the soft sheets of my cozy bed. I stretched, rolled over and winced at the hangover headache that was pounding in my temples. I pulled my eye mask up and glanced at my bedside clock. Holy shit! 7:45 a.m. I attempted to jump out of bed and was squashed back down by the invisible stakes that were piercing some important cerebral mass in my head. I tried again, slower this time, and ended up on my feet. Glancing into the mirror next to my door, I saw a face smeared with makeup and a distinct floral skin design that I recognized from the embroidery on my pillow. Ugh.

I grabbed powder-blue capris, a white cardigan-camisole set and some tan heels. I didn’t have time to shower, so I scrubbed my face as quickly as I could and threw on some light makeup. As any party girl will tell you, one-day-old going-out hair looks pretty damn good, so I ran my fingers through it and headed out the door.

* * *

I was in the fourth-floor kitchen, buttering a stale biscuit and licking some melted butter off my fingers when he walked in.

Whoa.

It was as if every ounce of extra air left the room in that instant, squeezing all the space out with it and putting me front and center in his laser beam. Damn. We locked eyes and neither one of us moved. In his office there had been a long, empty expanse between us, and even then there’d been a sizzle. Now, there in the small kitchen, the full force of his...essence...was magnified tenfold. It scared the crap out of me.

His eyes were a normal dark brown color, not anything special, but they blazed with a powerful intensity. He smelled of...something. I don’t know how to describe the smell, but it was intoxicating and animal. The man reeked of masculinity and sex. He seemed to be a big, tight ball of controlled energy and I could just as easily imagine him ripping someone’s head off as dipping me backward into a kiss. As I stood there, frozen, his sexy features curled into a smile and he looked as if he wanted to eat me. I backed up and bumped into the counter. I was acutely aware of the butter all over my fingers—and dripping from the edge of my mouth. I licked my lips and said the first thing that popped into my mind.

“I’m not Tiffany.”

His smile faltered slightly, and he shook his head and chuckled. “I know.”

“I’m Julia. Julia Campbell. Broward’s intern.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I just asked Sheila where to find you. She said you were in here.”

“Oh.” A pause. His eyes never left mine. “Why were you looking for me?”

“Would you like to go to lunch?” He turned on some powerful, magical force, and radiated with intense sexual heat. I almost swooned, but caught myself. Keep it together, you damn woman!

“Umm, no.”

“No?” His grin increased and he looked almost incredulous. He glanced around as if wanting someone to witness this.

“No.” My voice grew in strength and confidence. Cocky prick.

“Why?” He moved closer and I lost all sense of reality. The man was like no one I’d ever met. I could see why divorcing wives would throw apart their legs and beg him for more than lawyerly duties. The man was walking, breathing sex. I had never found bodybuilders or large men attractive. I had pined for and worshipped the rail-thin, pretty look of male models. But this man was built like a god, with the disposition of Satan. I couldn’t imagine being an intern to this man and not doing more than filing his briefs.

I would have moved back farther, but the kitchen counter rail was already digging into my ass and no doubt now leaving a bruise. I met his amused gaze and tried to portray nonchalance.

“For one thing, you’re a little old.”

His eyes flickered a bit at that, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “And?”

“Annnddd, I’m not supposed to talk to you.” Even to my ears, that sounded juvenile.

His egotistic smirk was back. “Ahhh...yes. Broward wants to keep you all to himself.”

I didn’t like that response, but kept my mouth shut and let my eyes communicate my silent retort.

“Let’s go to Centaur.”

“No. I have work to do.”

“Come on—I’ll have you back in a flash. No one will even know you’re gone.”

“I—”

“Julia!” Sheila stood in the doorway, glaring at De Luca. He had the good grace to look sheepish, which also looked ridiculously sexy. Good lord. Someone needs to take this man out back and shoot him.

I fled to the safety of Sheila’s side, taking my buttery fingers with me and leaving my plate and knife behind.

“I need Julia,” Sheila said. “Are you all through with whatever it was you needed her for?” Her expression painted her opinion clearer than any billboard could.

De Luca nodded a goodbye to me and strode out of the kitchen, winking at me and patting Sheila on the shoulder as he passed. I could suddenly breathe a lot easier. Sheila turned and affixed me with a steely stare, all evidence of grandmotherly goodness gone. “Is this going to be a problem?” she demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Good.”

Ten

11:45 a.m.

I didn’t know what I had been doing the past two and a half hours, but it hadn’t been anything productive. I twirled a pencil around my hand and debated whether or not I should ask someone for an Advil. My phone rang, a shrill sound that drilled into my headache with unsympathetic persistence.

“Julia Campbell.”

“It’s Beverly.” Beverly was Broward’s number two secretary, a plump redheaded woman who thought that stripes and polka dots matched, and had an extreme habit of oversharing everything. I mean everything. The second day I met her she “confided” in me that she’d once contracted genital herpes from a gas station restroom toilet. Need I say anything more? She would.

“Hi, Beverly.”

“We need you to run over to OfficeMax. Rick in IT just called, and apparently they’re having some kind of technical crisis that can only be solved by a...T-I44 FireWire cable port, whatever that is. We would go, but De Luca’s office is having us run a gabillion copies for some last-minute filing and the—”

“No problem, Beverly. I’ll do it now.” And stop by CVS and grab every hangover remedy they’ve got.

“Are you sure? I hate to ask you, but if we don’t get—”

“Yes. I’m sure. I’ll do it now.”

“Great! Thanks, Julia. Just run it to IT when you get back. It’s on the second floor, next to the—”

“I know where it is.”

“Oh-kay! Thanks, Julia.”

“You’re welcome.”

I hung up the phone and rose, glad for a chance to get out of the office. I slid my heels on, grabbed my purse and practically skipped to the elevator, avoiding even looking in the direction of the East Wing doors. Take that, Brad De Luca!

I took the elevator directly to the parking garage and exited, looking to the right for my car. One of the firm’s black town cars was idling near my Camry. The driver’s tinted window rolled down as I approached. A twenty-something white kid in a chauffeur’s uniform was seated in the driver’s seat, and spoke to me as I passed.

“Ms. Campbell?”

“Yes?” I stopped in surprise, staring at him.

“I’ve been instructed to drive you to the store.”

“What?”

“I’ll drive you to the store.”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

He ignored me and got out, walked around to the backseat door and opened it. I glared at him.

“I can drive myself. I’m a big girl.”

“Get in the car.” The order came not from the pimple-faced driver, but from inside the car. It only took a second for me to identify the deep, authoritative voice, and I shoved Pushy Driver aside and leaned over, looking into the car.

“You listen to me,” I hissed, pointing my finger in De Luca’s face. “I am not one of your strippers you can order around! I am busy at work and—” My tirade was interrupted when De Luca burst into laughter, his entire torso shaking. My finger sagged a bit but remained pointed at him, and I fought the ridiculous urge to laugh myself.

“Strippers! Jeff—did you hear that?” Jeff started to smile, and I turned with a snap and shot him the stoniest glare I could. His smile faded but stayed in his eyes. They’re laughing at me. Dammit. I don’t care if he is a partner in the law firm that my future is riding on, I—

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I take all the new interns out. Ask Todd. We went out as a group last week, but Broward had you stuck in preparation for that boring-as-hell mediation that he flopped at. I’ve taken that Asian intern out three times, for Christ’s sake—what’s his name—Anton Wu? Something like that. So, despite what you think of me, I am just trying to give you the same courtesy I give all the interns—the pleasure of my company and infinite knowledge.” He raised both hands in a “trust me I’m innocent” gesture. His cocky smile infuriated me, but my balloon of propriety had deflated.

I stared at him, thinking. My ego, brain and mouth were all totally confused. My headache screamed silently at me, making it even harder to reason. My shoulders finally slumped. “Really?”

He grinned out at me. “Really.”

“Okay,” I said glumly, getting into the car.

Jeff closed the door once my legs were safely inside. He hummed a little tune as he returned to his rightful place in the front seat. I wanted to smack him. I dreaded doing so, but turned and tried, rather unsuccessfully, to smile at De Luca and convince him to forget the little hissy fit that had just occurred.

He didn’t bite.

He relaxed in the car beside me, such a large man that he took up a seat and a half without really meaning to. He looked at me with interest, studying me. I tried to sit as close to the other door as possible without making it obvious. I could feel myself beginning to have trouble breathing again. Damn this man. I couldn’t think of anything to say, and the silence was starting to get uncomfortable, at least for me. He didn’t seem anything other than totally at ease.

“Are we going to OfficeMax?” I finally said.

“No.”

“What about the...cable port thingy?”

“We are going to Centaur. For lunch.”

“I told you I didn’t want to go to lunch. Do you just take everything you want?” As soon as the words popped out, I wished I could take them back. Firm partner, Julia. Remember that, for God’s sake!

He seemed amused by the question. “Yes, normally. I’ve found it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Plus, I already asked, and you said no.”

Oh, okay. So he’s daft. I nodded politely and tried to put a respectful look on my face. I don’t think I succeeded.

“Do you like Centaur?”

“I’ve never been. It’s a little out of my budget.”

“You’ll like it. You do eat meat?”

My dirty mind chuckled to itself, but I kept my tone mild. “Yes, I eat meat.”

His mouth turned up slightly, a smirk he tried unsuccessfully to keep in check. I looked away, trying to remain composed, but fighting a ridiculous urge to smile myself. Keep laughing, De Luca. I plan on putting a porterhouse on this bill.

The town car pulled through big gates and past freshly cut lawns up to a huge white Southern-style farmhouse with deep porches and thick columns. The entrance steps were flanked on either side by centaur statues. The well-manicured lawn, impressive structure and white-gloved valets screamed expensive. An attendant sprang to action when the car stopped, and pulled open my door. I accepted his outstretched hand, swung a leg out and stood up, squinting in the bright sun. My headache was drumming its fingers on my cerebral cortex.

I walked around the car and met De Luca at the base of the steps. He gestured for me to go ahead, and I stepped forward. As I climbed the stairs, he placed a gentle hand on the base of my back. A delicious shiver ran through me and my subconscious smacked it down as if it was a wandering fly.

The maître d’ instantly recognized De Luca and beamed. “Mr. De Luca! Come, come, I will put you at your favorite table!” He grabbed two leather-bound menus and led us through the restaurant. It was packed, and as we traversed through the tables, we were stopped several times by different men standing up to shake De Luca’s hand and say a sentence or two in greeting. When we finally arrived at the table—a large four-top in the back corner—I sank into the seat in relief. Before I had a chance to open my menu, a tuxedo-clad waiter appeared.

“Mr. De Luca, how are you?”

“Very good, Mimmo.”

“The usual?”

“Yes, please.”

Mimmo turned and disappeared. I glanced at De Luca over the menu.

“Is he going to ask me what I want to drink?”

“No. Is wine acceptable?”

My headache raised both its hands and waved them around. “I’d prefer just water.”

He nodded without responding. He ignored the menu and leaned forward on the table, crossing his arms and gazing at me. His biceps stretched the sleeves of his dress shirt and I raised the menu a bit higher, hiding behind it.

“How are you enjoying the internship?”

I lowered the menu slightly and spoke over it. “It’s been quite informative. I feel like I’m learning a lot and getting a great base that I’ll be able to build a strong legal education around.”

He reached over and gently pushed the menu down so that he could look at me. “Is that what you have prepared as your interview spiel?”

I colored slightly. “Maybe.”

“Come on. I’m not going to go running to Broward. How is it really going?”

I sighed, not knowing how honest to be. Hell, the man practically kidnapped you—you can probably be frank. His eyes were compassionate and gentle, and I didn’t see any blood dripping from his teeth.

“It sucks,” I admitted. “Broward works these ridiculous hours, and I am nothing more than a glorified secretary. My duties consist of typing and filing, with an occasional coffee run thrown in. Other than the prestige of the firm’s name, I am adding nothing to my résumé. The only thing I have figured out is that I don’t want to do corporate law. The other interns all seem to be learning and doing so much more—Todd has been to court with you, for heaven’s sake! I am just trying to get through these next couple of months and then spend the next three weeks sleeping.”

His brow arched and he gave me a conspiring look. “I’m sure you’ve been doing something other than sleeping in your time off.”

I didn’t respond. Where the hell is that coming from?

He leaned back as our waiter brought two empty glasses and then filled them from a chilled Voss water bottle. “I know that Kent can be a hard-ass, but keep your morale up. You will learn something, even if it’s how to bill ridiculously long hours. If you want to see how the other half lives, you can always spend a day in either my or Clarke’s office. We normally sub the interns around a bit—let them see the other disciplines.” The waiter held out a bottle of wine for his inspection, and De Luca looked at it and nodded.

“I don’t think I’ll be spending much time in the other wings. Mr. Broward seems pretty intent on keeping me in our office.”

His eyes narrowed. “In your office or out of mine?”

I shifted uncomfortably, my body language no doubt answering the question before my lips even opened. “More likely the second.”

He waved away the offer to taste the wine and the waiter took the hint, hurriedly pouring two glasses and then scurrying away.

“I recall you making a stripper comment earlier. I’m not sure what you have been told about me, but I’m not nearly as bad as they make me out to be.” His deliciously deep voice carried a little bit of ego.

I’m sure you are exactly as bad as they make you out to be.

“Okay then, let’s verify some of the rumors.”

The challenge stood on the table between us.

De Luca took a swig of wine, his eyes never leaving mine, and then set it down firmly and nodded at me. Bring it on.

I started to open my mouth to speak, and he raised a hand, stopping me. “Wait. Before I agree, let’s make a deal. For every...rumor...you bring up, I get to ask you one question.”

I nodded in response. Throwing caution to the wind, I grabbed the second glass of wine and took a sip. I had a feeling I’d need it.

Our duel was postponed again by the overattentive waiter. “Are we ready to order, Mr. De Luca?”

“Sure, Mimmo. I’ll have my usual. Julia?”

I had barely looked at the menu, but went with my initial thought. “Porterhouse, please. Medium rare.”

Mimmo raised a brow but did not comment on my choice. “Would you care for a salad?”

“No. Baked potato, please. Just butter.”

“Certainly.” He did a little bow and departed.

De Luca looked back at me.

Okay, let’s go. “Have you ever slept with an intern?”

“Yes.” The answer was said matter-of-factly, without shame or pride. As if he had answered another question entirely.

“Details?”

“I’ll save that for a second date.”

“We aren’t having a second...date.”

“We’ll see. My turn. Why did you choose CDB for your internship?”

“It’s the best. I have no desire to settle for second best.”

“Have you been with the best in the past?”

“I’ve never had a job before.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I shot him a look. He put up his hands in feigned innocence and grinned.

“Why do you think I’ve been told to avoid you?” I asked.

He shrugged and took a sip of the wine. “All good reasons, I’m sure.”

“That’s evasive.”

“I’m an attorney. It’s my job.”

“And you think you’re good at your job.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I know I’m good at my job. There’s a reason I have a ten-month wait.”

“I’ve heard other reasons that divorcing females might want to wait for your services.”

“Meaning?”

“Sex.”

“So you think I’m good at that job?” His eyes brimmed with mischievousness, and I suddenly had a very good idea of what he would have been like as a ten-year-old boy.

“You’re being evasive again.”

“Just trying to figure out what you think you know.”

“Do you sleep with your clients?”

“Just the female ones.”

His blatant and unashamed response floored me, and I stumbled over the next question. He had leaned forward, across the table, and was meeting my eyes dead-on. I felt locked into a stare-off.

“All of them?”

“I’m not a gigolo. I have sex for pleasure. If I am not sexually attracted to the woman, there is no purpose in having sex.”

“Don’t you think that’s bad for business?”

“On the contrary, it is extremely good for business.” He leaned back and put one hand to his temple, playing with his pinkie with his mouth. His gaze had started to smolder. “I am very good at pleasing women, Julia.”

I blushed and looked away, praying for our food to arrive. It did not, but there was a different interruption: a ringing cell phone.

Brad reached for his cell and touched the screen without breaking his gaze at me.

“De Luca...

“At lunch...

“Yes, you can patch her through.”

He looked at me apologetically, and looked around for our waiter. Mimmo materialized at his side with a pen and pad in hand. This seemed to be an old pattern they had. De Luca grabbed the pen, looked at his watch and scribbled “12:33 p.m.” on the notepad. He ripped off the top page and returned the notepad, but not the pen, to Mimmo.

Hysterical babble could be heard from the phone pressed to De Luca’s ear. To his credit, he listened intently to the hysterics without an eye roll or sign of impatience. At the first pause, he spoke. “Claudia, listen to me. You need to trust that we know what we are doing and we will handle it. I will have him covered by the private investigator. He won’t sneak anything by us on my watch, I promise you.”

More hysterical shouting, then something that sounded like pleading.

“Those assets are safe. We already have a court motion in place that has frozen those. Please relax, Claudia. Why don’t you let me send Alfonzo over? He can massage those worries right out of you.”

I tuned his conversation out when Mimmo brought our food. My steak was enormous and smelled incredible. I had my knife and fork ready and dived in the moment the plate hit the table. De Luca shot me a bemused look, which I ignored, chewing furiously. The steak had just enough fat to add flavor, and was tender and perfectly cooked. I liked my steaks bloody, and this fit the bill. I paused in my intake to sip some wine. The glass was full. I stopped and looked at it. Did I finish the first glass? Or did he refill this early? I shook my head and pushed it to the side, reaching for the water glass instead. I needed to keep my head clear, given the temptation sitting across from me. Plus, I had broken enough cardinal rules for the day. I didn’t want to add Drunk at Work to the tally.

I was eighty percent through my steak and had demolished the baked potato when De Luca finally ended the call. He glanced at his watch again and wrote “12:42 p.m.” on the piece of scrap paper. I glanced at it and rolled my eyes.

“You’re going to bill her for nine minutes?”

“It was nine minutes I could have spent talking to you. And yes, at eight hundred and fifty dollars an hour, I damn sure am going to bill for nine minutes.”

“Not ten?”

His mouth twitched. “Not ten. For the same reason.”

Well, it looks like the man has some shred of moral fiber. Shocker.

“I’ve got to get back to the office.” He mumbled the words through a hefty bite of steak.

“Do we have time to run an errand?”

“Depends on what it is. Rick in IT is not expecting you to return with a...cable port thingy? I think that’s how you referred to it.”

“I need to go by CVS.”

“For what?”

“If you must know, a pregnancy test.” I kept a straight face and he blinked, taken aback. He squinted at me, trying to figure out if I was serious. I kept my iron facade. For about four seconds. Then I burst out giggling. “God—you are easy! I need headache medicine. But you, of all people, with your stable of women, should know to never ask a woman what she needs at the drugstore.”

He grinned. Reaching for his phone, he unlocked it and then pressed a number into the phone. “Jeff. We will be ready for pickup in about five minutes. Check the car for some Advil or Tylenol. If there isn’t any, go grab some. We’ll see you in the valet area in a bit.” He hung up the phone and returned to his steak.

“I could have picked up my own medicine.”

“We’re already short on time. They’ll wonder what’s been keeping you.”

“Scared of Sheila?”

He grinned again, looking up from his steak. “Terrified. That woman is worse than my mother.”

His steak was already half-gone, and the remaining bit didn’t have a chance. The man didn’t believe in wasting time. Mimmo appeared at my side.

“Ms. Campbell. I’ve taken the liberty of wrapping a few of our house truffles for your enjoyment later.”

How does this man know my name? I nodded my thanks and placed the small, exquisitely wrapped package into my purse.

He left, taking a handful of our plates with him. De Luca stood, shoveling a few more pieces of meat into his mouth, and then reached for my hand.

“Let’s go.”

I stood quickly and grabbed my purse. “Shouldn’t we wait for the check?”

“I have a house account. They know what to tip.” He wiped his face with the cloth napkin and tilted his head, indicating that we should leave. I allowed him to lead me out, but pulled my hand free as we approached the front doors. A doorman held the door for us, and we exited into the hot summer air.

The town car sat in front, Jeff standing by it. As he opened my door, he handed me a small plastic bag. Giving me a casual smile, he gently shut the door once I was fully inside. I peeked into the bag and pulled out a small bottle of Advil and a bottle of water. Sweet salvation. My headache jumped up and down, cheering. I twisted open the Advil bottle, popped three in my mouth and sucked down half the bottle of water.

De Luca spent the ride back to the office on the phone. I leaned back in the seat, the heavy food and wine making me sleepy. We were back in the garage before I knew it, and I glanced around before reaching for the door handle.

“Relax.” De Luca spoke from the other seat, having disconnected his call. He reached over and grabbed my knee, trying to reassure me—I think, but the connection of our bodies was a shock to my system, and I stifled a gasp.

I swatted his hand away. “If Broward finds out I—”

“Do you always do as you’re told?”

I gave him a death glare, but his demeanor didn’t waver one bit. “Yes, I typically do.”

“You should learn to bend the rules.”

“You should learn to follow them!” I retorted, smiling a bit. “Good afternoon, Mr. De Luca. Thank you for the ridiculously expensive lunch.”

“I enjoyed it.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, and opened the car door. Jeff was standing there, and I gave him a small smile and rushed to the elevators. I pressed the button and waited, glancing back at the black car. It stayed there, idling, Jeff once again in the driver’s seat. The bell dinged and the door opened. Thankfully, the elevator was empty. I entered, pressed the button for the fourth floor and leaned against the wall. I felt as though I had dodged a bullet, had skipped across glowing coals and then had tied myself securely to the tracks of an oncoming train. The bell dinged, sounding eerily like a far-off train whistle.

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