Love Proof E-Book

Robin Brande

• Herausgeber: Ryer Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

"Totally fun, smartly written reason to stay up past my bedtime." . . . "A page turner that was smart, witty, clever ..."

Lawyer Sarah Henley hopes to salvage her career by accepting an assignment few other attorneys would want. The fact that her opponent will be her former lover Joe Burke only sweetens the deal. He broke her heart six years ago, and she's never understood why. Now she has a chance to even the score by beating him on the battlefield.

But things rarely go as planned either in love or the law.

A smart, sexy contemporary romance about first loves, second chances, and what it takes to turn an enemy into a lover. A hard-fought lawsuit isn't the only battlefield when your heart is at stake.

Leseprobe

LOVE PROOF

ROBIN BRANDE

RYER PUBLISHING

LOVE PROOF

By Robin Brande

* * *

Published by Ryer Publishing

www.ryerpublishing.com

Original Copyright 2012 by Robin Brande (writing as Elizabeth Ruston)

Revised Edition 2014 by Robin Brande

www.robinbrande.com

All rights reserved.

Cover photos Dreamstime.com

Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.

www.gobookcoverdesign.com

* * *

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Created with Vellum

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

BONUS CONTENT

Crack Soup Recipe

About the Author

Also by Robin Brande

1

“You’re the hired gun?” Joe asked.

Sarah made two pistols with her fingers and shot Joe Burke in the gut. It felt remarkably satisfying.

She had been looking forward to the look of shock on his face when she showed up at her first deposition, the one in San Diego, but instead Joe had the bad judgment to smile.

“Well, welcome to it, Red,” he said. “Nice to have you along.”

“Red, huh?” said the other lawyer, a man named Paul Chapman. “You two know each other?”

“No,” they both answered at once. Joe shot her an amused glance.

They took their seats around the hotel conference table, Joe and his client on one side, Sarah and Paul Chapman across from them, the court reporter at the end of the table between them.

“This ought to be interesting,” Joe said, looking Sarah in the eye.

She had learned that sometimes the best strategy when dealing with other lawyers was to say nothing at all. Let her opponents talk and talk, let them bluster and threaten and boast, until finally they realized they sounded more idiotic and less effective with each passing moment. That was when Sarah would quietly enter back into the conversation with one simple statement—“The judge won’t see it that way,” or “You can try that, although the jury in my last trial gave the plaintiff absolutely nothing for the same argument”—then she would quietly wait again while the lawyer blustered and threatened some more.

In the end, Sarah usually got what she wanted, whether it was a favorable settlement for her client or a ruling from a judge on a key motion. Her opponents had learned over the last five years never to underestimate her. Not to be fooled by the package she came in. The petite, feminine redhead in front of them could be as lethal at trial as any silver-haired, seasoned litigator or one of those tough-talking women Sarah used to look up to until she actually had to try cases against them and saw them for what they were.

What Sarah realized was that nearly everyone in the law business was insecure. Some of them tried to cover it with fancy offices and expensive cars and other proof that they were successful and unafraid. Others drank. Some believed the more they bullied people, the less likely anyone would notice their own weaknesses.

But Sarah noticed. She’d been noticing her whole life. And finally she reached a point in her own career where she could use that knowledge to bring her the kind of success she had worked so hard for since high school.

Until one single moment six months ago had brought it all crashing down around her. And now she found herself in this cramped conference room, sitting as calmly and as casually as she could across from the man who had hurt her almost as much as losing everything six months ago.

But he never needed to see that on her face. So when Joe spoke directly to her—“This ought to be interesting”—Sarah practiced what she’d perfected since the last time they saw each other. She simply gazed at him in return, saying nothing, keeping her face as neutral as possible.

While Joe made absolutely no effort at all to hide a wicked smile.

He’d filled out since she last saw him, Sarah thought. Not fattened up—far from it—but become broader in the chest and shoulders, as if he put on more muscle. He even looked taller than the six-foot-two she remembered, although she doubted he kept growing between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-one. Maybe he’d just grown into a man, period. Better late than never.

He wore his dark hair shorter now, clipped closer to his head, and his face was clean-shaven instead of scruffed up with that constant stubble she had gotten used to. He looked good—better than she expected, better than she had hoped—dressed in his navy suit, striped shirt, and tie. She wanted to find him hollow-eyed and haunted, with the look of a man who knew his best years were already behind him. Instead he looked fit, strong, and, worst of all, content.

Joe glanced up just then, and Sarah quickly started typing again on her laptop. That was all she needed, for him to catch her studying him.

Maybe it wasn’t so surprising that he looked better, she thought. They had all been so unhealthy and malnourished in law school, living off of fast food, caffeine, and beer. Sarah kept up with the first two, unfortunately, for another several years before finally seeing the light, but obviously Joe had taken good care of himself. The results were...impressive. She couldn’t deny it, even if she would never admit it to Burke’s face.

But she was glad she wore her best suit today: the slim black skirt and perfectly-tailored jacket, with a white silk shell underneath. Her hair had behaved, looking smooth and under control and curling only at the ends the way she wanted. Normally it fought her—hard. She had taken special care with her makeup, too, giving her eyes more drama than she normally would for a daytime work event, and making sure the color on her lips would last for several hours.

It had been a long time since she had a reason to put on her full lawyer uniform and war paint. She’d gotten a little too used to spending her days bare-faced and in workout clothes. But she was back now, ready to do battle. And she knew she looked the part.

Joe wasn’t the only one who had grown up over the past six years, Sarah thought. She couldn’t help wondering if he noticed.

“I think I have something for you,” Sarah’s friend Mickey said when he called her the week before. “Get off the couch and come down here this afternoon.”

“I’m not on the couch,” she said, panting into the phone.

“Then get off of whoever you’re doing right now and get down here,” Mickey said before hanging up.

Sarah ended the call and her music kicked back on. She had both ear buds in and had already run two miles on the treadmill. Now Neko Case sang to her while she sweated through the next quarter mile. She already had her lineup of music to carry her through the last three miles, but glancing at the clock, she knew she had to cut it short or she’d never get the weight-lifting in, too. As much as she hated short-changing any workout—and what a laugh that was, considering how she felt about exercise as little as a year ago—she knew she needed the time to go home and shower and change and make herself look like a lawyer again. A working lawyer. An employed one. God, she hoped so.

Whatever the job was, she’d take it. If Mickey really had come through for her, she owed him something big. Just not the thing he pretended he wanted.

Sarah slowed to a walk, then hit the stop button a few minutes later. She signaled her trainer, Angie, who had her own ear buds in as she worked through a weight-lifting session of her own. Sarah’s time didn’t start for another half hour, but she hoped Angie wouldn’t mind taking her early. This could be it. This could be Sarah’s salvation.

Even, as she found out a few hours later, with Joe Burke on the other side.

“It’s just a contract job,” Mickey’s boss, Calvin, told her. “We decided to bring in someone from the outside instead of using manpower from in here.”

Mickey handed Sarah an expandable file that was expanded to its full capacity. “Here are the pleadings so far. It’ll probably take you the weekend to read through them.”

“Are you saying I have the job?” Sarah asked both him and Calvin.

“Mickey says you’re a killer,” Calvin answered, rising to his feet and signaling the interview was over. “Check in with HR and they’ll get all your paperwork.”

“We haven’t discussed the pay yet,” Sarah said, and even though Mickey gave her a look that said, Not now, Sarah persisted. She was doing this for the money, not for the prestige. Especially since there was absolutely no prestige in being the traveling lawyer who would take depositions all around the country for the next five months or so while the real attorneys on the case would sit comfortably in their plush Los Angeles offices waiting for her to report back in.

Calvin mentioned a number, and Sarah shook her head. As desperate as she was for the job, she guessed Mickey’s firm needed her, too. It was hard to find a lawyer with her experience and reputation—or at least her former reputation—who would be willing to fly to four or five different cities each week and sit through hours of testimony about how the firm’s client had ruined the plaintiffs’ lives.

And if Sarah could actually make something of the case, she thought, come up with some defense none of the other attorneys had considered, maybe this would be her ticket to a full-time job.

But she held all that in check as she haggled over her price. It amused her how no one sat down again—the three of them stood clustered in front of Calvin’s door, just where they’d been when he rose to see her out. Sitting down, accepting a lower elevation than the others, might signal a loss of status. Sarah always liked to notice the different methods her fellow attorneys used to try to hold on to their power.

Finally they reached a deal. If the job really was going to last only five months, Sarah knew she would need every single penny of that salary to dig herself out of the debts she’d incurred since April. She might even be able to rebuild some of her savings, to protect against the next dry spell if this job didn’t turn into something more permanent.

But she couldn’t think that far ahead. She had work now, and that was what she needed.

She offered her hand first to Calvin, then to Mickey.

“She’s a killer, all right,” Calvin said to Mickey.

Mickey held Sarah’s hand a little too long. “Told you.”

Sarah gave her former law school classmate a wry look and a raised eyebrow until Mickey chuckled and released his grasp.

“Sorry to hear about that whole mess,” Calvin said in parting.

Sarah nodded. “Unfortunate,” was all she said.

The worst experience of my life, was what she thought.

The first series of depositions would begin in San Diego, then continue to Pasadena, San Jose, and Fresno. But Sarah knew this first one would set the tone for all the others.

Set the tone between her and Joe.

Unfortunately, two full hours passed before she got to ask a single question.

Paul Chapman was one of those lawyers who didn’t understand the crux of a case. He had his standard deposition questions—ones he’d probably learned in his first year as a lawyer, twenty or however many years ago—and Sarah assumed he never deviated from them since, no matter how irrelevant they were to the particular case before him.

“Where were you born? ... What are your parents’ names? ... Where did you go to high school? ... Do you have any degrees? ... Describe your work experience ... When were you married? ... How many children? ... Their ages?”

Sarah could barely contain her irritation. The deposition could be over in one hour, two at most—even with her questions as well as Chapman’s—if only he’d get to the real issue at hand:

When did you buy your hair iron? Where? How many times per week did you use it? When did it catch on fire? What happened then? What injuries, if any, did you sustain? What expenses, if any, did you incur?

Out, deposition over, on to the airport.

At one point, when Chapman actually had the idiocy to ask the woman whether she tried to call the toll-free number on the Atheena Hair Glory website to ask them what to do in case her hair caught on fire, Sarah looked up and caught Joe smiling at her. She narrowed her eyes, and just for something to do, said, “Objection.”

Chapman turned to her, obviously out of sorts. It was the first time either Sarah or Joe had said anything to interrupt his brilliant line of questioning.

“On what basis?” Chapman asked.

“Sustained,” Joe said, even though only a judge had the power to do that. “Are you almost done, Paul? I think we could all use a break.”

Chapman flipped through his notes. Notes, Sarah thought, as if he couldn’t ask those useless questions from memory. How did a guy like that get to be a partner in one of the largest insurance defense firms in L.A.? But Sarah knew very well the inequities of a climb up the ladder of a firm. She had been a partner once, too. Briefly, for what it was worth.

And that turned out to be not much at all.

“Have you done anything to try to restore the damaged hair?” Chapman asked the woman.

“Like what?” she shot back. “Get a damn wig?”

“Yes,” Chapman answered, undeterred by the woman’s tone, “something like that.”

“Hats,” the woman said. “Lots of ugly-ass hats.”

“Okay, thank you, Darlene,” Joe said, gently touching the woman’s arm. “I think we need a break here. Back in fifteen?”

Sarah stood up and stretched, then turned over her legal pad and closed the lid to her laptop before heading out into the hallway. The court reporter joined her as they both went in search of a restroom.

“I’m Marcela,” the court reporter said, offering her hand.

“Sarah Henley—but you already know that,” Sarah added with a smile. The court reporter would have listed the names of all the attorneys present at the beginning of her deposition transcript.

Unlike some lawyers she had met over the years, Sarah always made a point of being nice to the support staff, whether they were court reporters, bailiffs, legal assistants, law clerks—anyone and everyone who did the behind-the-scenes work that she knew made the machinery hum. Having spent years as a secretary herself, she understood the value of a good assistant.

“Hope you don’t mind me saying this,” Marcela said, “but it’s nice to see a woman in there for a change.”

“Thanks,” Sarah said, pushing open the door to the bathroom. “It’s nice having you in there, too. Balances out the macho.”

“That poor woman,” Marcela said, shaking her head.

Sarah smiled politely. “I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to talk to you about that.”

“Oh! Of course,” Marcela said, clearly embarrassed. She disappeared into one of the stalls. “I’m sorry,” she continued from inside. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

The bathroom door swung open again, and Joe Burke’s client entered. She frowned when she saw Sarah, and quickly went to one of the empty stalls. Sarah was used to opposing parties hating her—of course she was the enemy, the evil lawyer, all of that. It went with the territory. She rarely took it personally.

But she’d also stopped trying to make sure everyone liked her. If people thought she was evil, so be it. If they thought she was a bitch, oh well. Like her mother always said, “You’re not a bite of candy. Not everybody’s going to love you.”

Sarah checked her hair, her makeup, her suit, and satisfied that she still looked put together, quickly moved to the last empty stall before the other two women could emerge. She stayed where she was until she heard them both leave. Then she came out and spent a few extra minutes washing her hands and looking herself in the eye in the mirror.

He’s just a man. He’s no one special. He was six years ago.

No, Sarah corrected herself, five years, ten months, and three days.

She gave herself a mean, steely gaze in the mirror.

“Go show him,” she whispered to herself.

Although she knew what she really meant was, Make him suffer.

2

“Hello, Mrs. Franklin, thank you for coming in today,” Sarah began. “My name is Sarah Henley. I’m the attorney for Mason Manufacturing. They provided the heating element for the Atheena hair iron you purchased.”

Darlene Franklin folded her arms over her chest and glared at Sarah.

“Speaking personally,” Sarah continued, “I’m very sorry for what you went through. I’m sure that had to be horrible.”

She could see the woman soften. Just a little.

“Is that official?” Joe asked.

“As I said,” Sarah repeated without looking at him, “I was speaking personally, woman to woman. Now, Mrs. Franklin,” she went on before Joe could make any more of that statement—which really was just a tactic to make his client feel more comfortable and hopefully less hostile—“I only have a few questions for you, then we can let you be on your way.”

She smiled, but Mrs. Franklin did not smile back. That was fine.

Sarah asked her few simple questions—fewer than ten of them—then smiled again at Joe’s client and thanked her for her time.

The court reporter waited for Joe, to see if he had any questions of his own.

“We’re done,” he said. “Thank you.” He took a few minutes to escort his client from the room, then returned, checking his watch. “Next one’s at one o’clock, then I assume we’re all on the same five-thirty flight. Think you can condense some of your questions, Paul, so we can make it?”

“I’ll take as much time as I need,” Chapman answered.

“Of course.” Joe looked at Sarah, obviously expecting her to signal in some way that she, too, thought Chapman was an idiot. Instead she resumed typing her notes from the deposition.

“How about you, Sarah?” Joe asked. “Are you on the five-thirty?”

“I don’t know,” she said without looking up, “probably.” Although she knew very well she had chosen that flight instead of the one two hours later. She hoped to have a light dinner somewhere cheap, then go to bed at a decent hour so she could wake up early enough to work out before the next morning’s deposition. But none of that was Joe’s business.

The court reporter finished putting away her equipment. Sarah looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Marcela. We appreciate your work.”

“You’ll see me again,” Marcela said. “Our company got the contract for all of the west coast depositions. I’ll be at some of them next week.”

“See you then,” Sarah said. She accidentally caught Joe’s eye, and quickly looked back at her laptop screen.

“Sarah, can I talk to you for a minute?” Joe asked.

“Not right now,” she said. She typed a few more lines, just as cover.

“Sarah?”

“What?” she answered, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

“Can I interest you in lunch?”

“No, thank you.”

“You buying?” Paul Chapman asked him.

“No,” Joe said. “I was going to make Sarah pay.”

Funny, she thought, looking him straight in the eye, I was thinking the same thing about you.

3

The woman at the afternoon deposition had hair not that different from Sarah’s. It was that same dark auburn, not the lighter shade of red Sarah always thought was so pretty. It had the same thick texture, and even though the woman had obviously blown it straight, Sarah could imagine the thousand crazy, mini spirals just waiting to pop out again the minute her hair was wet.

“It used to be long,” the woman told Chapman after he finished an hour’s worth of irrelevant questions and finally got around to asking about her hair. “Even longer than hers,” she said, pointing at Sarah. “I was growing it out since high school. People said it was my nicest feature. Then that iron thing of yours caught it on fire and now all I’ve got left is this...”

She held up a hank of the shortened ends, but Chapman couldn’t be bothered to look.

“Did you call the toll-free number on the Atheena website?” he asked.

“Did I what?”

“The toll-free number,” he said. “It’s there for a reason. It’s under Customer Service.”

“No, I didn’t call some number,” the woman snapped, her anger practically steaming out through her pores. “A friend of mine had to rush me to Urgent Care. My scalp was burned. You could smell the hair—it was disgusting. They had to cut a whole bunch of it off—even the part that was okay—so they could put bandages all over my head. And then I still had scabs all over for weeks—”

“Mm-hm, mm-hm,” Chapman answered, sounding bored and still not looking up from his notes.

Sarah saw the woman turn to Joe and give him a look that asked, Am I allowed to punch him?

As soon as Chapman finished, Sarah jumped right in. “Ms. McIntyre, I’m sorry we didn’t get to hear your whole story before. Please start at the beginning again and walk us through it, moment by moment. You said you felt the unit getting hotter...”

Sarah enjoyed the psychology of law as much as she enjoyed law itself. She liked trying to understand what people wanted and needed in every situation so she could mold a case to her advantage.

And just as Sarah expected she would, Joe’s client seemed to calm down—to sound less hostile—the more Sarah let her talk. She had seen it before with people involved in law suits: this desperate and angry need to make someone listen, to feel like they’d finally been heard.

It was why some parties refused to settle until they had their “day in court.” Sometimes all it took was that one day. They just wanted the formality of sitting at a table next to their lawyer, with their opponent at a table nearby, and a judge sitting behind the raised bench in front of them. They wanted to see the faces of a jury looking at them sympathetically. They wanted to see all the trappings of law they’d grown up watching on TV: the Hear ye, hear ye, all rise, the Honorable So-and-So presiding, even though that wasn’t how it was in the real world.

And more times than not, just that one day was enough. Litigation was nerve-wracking. People didn’t realize how stressful it was to actually be part of the pageantry of court. To have to sit there silent and unemotional while people told lies about you.

That was how it always sounded, Sarah knew: like lies. It was the nature of law to pit one person’s story against another person’s completely different one, but lay people didn’t understand how brutal that would feel while they had to be on their best behavior in front of a judge and jury.

So even though many lawyers gave up trying to settle a case once they began their opening statements, Sarah always scheduled time at the end of that first day of trial to meet again with her opponent to see if the client had changed his or her mind. If not that day, then Sarah would try again once the client had had a chance to testify. Just listen to me! their whole attitudes seemed to scream. I want someone to hear my story! So Sarah listened, and it had been one of the secrets of her success.

When Ms. McIntyre finally finished taking Sarah through the events, step by step, Sarah asked her a few more questions about where she purchased the product and when.

“Thank you,” Sarah said. “No further questions.” She saved the work on her laptop and immediately began packing it away along with her files. She could catch up on her notes at the airport.

She purposely didn’t look over at Joe. She had felt his eyes on her the entire time she questioned his client, and she felt tempted to check for his reaction: did he approve of the way she was handling it? Did he think she was good? Did he still think she was smart?

Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care...

She knew the secret to remaining immune to him was to keep her defenses on high alert every second the two of them were together. Sarah had no intention of melting into a little puddle at his feet, desperate for any sort of acknowledgment or compliment.

He could tell her she had the most brilliant legal mind of the twenty-first century—that she was beautiful, gorgeous, that he couldn’t believe he had lived without her all this time—and it wouldn’t make up for one minute of the anguish he’d put her through. He could think whatever he wanted to about her. Sarah was there to do a job.

And if she could somehow figure out a way to win this case against him as part of the bargain, then bonus.

She retrieved her carry-on bag from where she had stored it in the corner of the room, thanked Marcela for her work, then nodded to Chapman and Burke. “Gentlemen.” Then she strode through the door and headed for the hotel lobby.

She could see taxis lined up outside. She wanted to get to one before either of the other lawyers could catch up with her and suggest they share a ride to the airport.

She needed the time alone. This was only her first day, and already she felt drained. Not from the two depositions—those were nothing. It was Joe. Being in the same room with him. Hearing his voice again. Seeing the way his body had changed, improved, and wondering what new muscles and contours hid beneath those expensive lawyer clothes. Looking into that face again and realizing it had only grown more handsome and masculine over time.

Damn him.

Her friend Mickey had asked her, point blank, once they were alone again in his boss’s office and Sarah had just accepted the job, “Are you going to be able to handle spending all that time with Burke?”

She pretended it was a stupid question. “Of course.”

“I mean without killing him?”

“We were children back then,” she said.

“I don’t know,” Mickey said. “I seem to recall I had a kid of my own by then, so we all must have been at least out of puberty.”

“Barely, in his case,” Sarah said.

“This could go one of two ways,” Mickey said. “Either you’re going to be the best lawyer our client could ever have for this case because you’ll pummel Burke to the ground. Or...”

Sarah waited, but Mickey was having too much fun.

“Or?” she prompted, knowing she was playing into his hands.

“Or Burke is going to steal you away from me for the second time.”

“You and I were never together, Mickey.”

“In my dreams we were.”

“How’s Julie doing?”

“Julie who?” he asked.

Sarah sat in the gate area eating a teriyaki vegetable and rice bowl from the food court and checking her e-mail on her phone. She saw Joe out of the corner of her eye, but continued staring at the small screen. Even though she could almost feel him as he came within the last ten feet of her.

Without asking, he took the seat next to her.

Sarah couldn’t help but turn her head just the slightest and glance at him, but then she went back to appearing busy.

“How are you, Sarah?”

“Fantastic.” She could feel the heat from his nearest leg and arm, even though both were at least four inches away.

“No,” Joe said, his voice serious, “I mean how are you really?”

Sarah forced herself to turn to him and smile. “What, are we going to talk about our hopes and feelings now, Burke? I don’t think so.”

He studied her face for one long moment, then nodded. He stood and grasped the handle on his bag and found another seat far away.

Sarah looked down at her phone again, pretending to be absorbed. But she couldn’t help swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth. She had planned to say something exactly like that to Burke, but it felt much better in her imagination. He looked hurt, and she should have been glad. She’d rehearsed it that way.

She sat up straighter and crossed a different leg. She still wore her suit. She could have changed into something more comfortable in one of the airport bathrooms, but Sarah preferred keeping her armor on until she was safely away from Joe for the night.

She had dressed very carefully that morning, all the way down to the black bra and panties that reminded her she was a warrior, a black belt in this game. She had no intention of ruining the effect by packing her outfit away and putting on the only other outfit she’d brought: loose workout pants, a T-shirt, and running shoes. She noticed Joe had taken off his coat and tie, but he still wore the suit pants and shirt.

Everything was power, Sarah knew, clothes in particular. She had known that since childhood, when her own generic jeans and off-brand shoes had marked her as poorer than most of the kids at her school, even though none of them would have qualified as rich.

There were so many nuances to how people saw you, Sarah thought: whether they assumed you were better than they were or worse. And she intended to capture and hold every single advantage she might gain now in her adult life, no matter how small that advantage might seem to someone else.

If wearing a tight skirt and high heels for a few more hours might make her appear more powerful than she felt at the moment, then they were worth it.

She took another bite of vegetables and rice, no longer enjoying the taste. But she needed the energy. It was the same reason she decided to make sure she got at least seven hours of sleep every night while she was on the road. And she wouldn’t have a drop of alcohol, even if a day spent with both Paul Chapman and Joe Burke would drive any woman to drink. Each of them for different reasons.

Sarah understood the rules of engagement: stay alert, always be watching for opportunities, and never let your guard down.

Check, check, and check.

She stole a glance at Joe, who now sat reading his own phone. Keeping his own gravitational force to himself, way on the other side of the room.

She felt it, and it bothered her. That familiar, comfortable pull of a body she used to know so well. A body she used to claim with as much right as if it had been her own. And a body that treated hers the same way.

Sarah sighed and stopped trying to read the irritating little screen. Her eyes naturally wandered in search of something more interesting.

And found Joe’s in return.

Sarah didn’t look away this time. She needed to be fiercer than that. The key was to have absolutely no expression on her face.

Joe obviously played by the same rule book. When he was done looking at her, a few long moments later, he calmly returned to his own work.

But Sarah knew: no matter how he acted now, she had gotten to him, if only just a little. How did she know? Because he was the one to make the first move.

And she was the one who shut it down.

Victory would taste a lot sweeter if only her chest would unclench. She’d have to work on that.

That, and the way all the cells in her body seemed to pull her in one direction whenever the man came too near.

But that was easy to fix: just stay as far away as possible.

4

Paul Chapman lumbered past her up the aisle of the airplane.

“I’m in back,” he said unnecessarily. Sarah nodded as if she cared.

Joe had already boarded and sat a few rows ahead of her. Close enough that she had a view of him sitting in his aisle seat.

What was it, she wondered, that made him look so different? It wasn’t just his filled-out frame. It was the way he carried himself now, no longer slouching with that easy-going gait. Like the difference between a loose-jointed puppy and a full-grown dog.

And his hair looked good cropped close like that. Not unruly the way she remembered. Everything about him looked better, unfortunately.

Sarah closed her eyes and leaned back.

“Here on business?” the man next to her asked.

“Mm,” she answered, hoping to discourage any conversation.

“What are you, one of those women stockbrokers?” he asked.

Good guess, Sarah thought, for a guy obviously using it as a line. He must think a woman would appreciate being taken for a stockbroker instead of someone’s assistant or a salesgirl or whatever else he really thought she was.

Sarah turned and opened her eyes just a slit. “Surgeon,” she said. “I took out a brain today. I’m really exhausted. So if you don’t mind...” She closed her eyes and leaned back again.

“Surgeon?” the man said loudly enough that when Sarah opened her eyes again she could see Joe looking back at her with a smile playing on his lips.

“Yep,” she answered just as loudly. “Today brains, tomorrow intestines. We do it all.”

“Are you shittin’ me?” the man asked.

“No, I am not shitting you,” she said with perfect enunciation. “Now if you don’t want me to kill my next patient in the morning, you’d better let me get some sleep.”

“You’re shittin’ me,” the guy muttered.

Sarah risked one more quick check on Joe. He’d obviously been waiting for her to meet his eye, because as soon as she did, he turned his fingers into scissors and cut at a downward angle.

“Big vasectomy tomorrow afternoon,” Sarah added. “Wouldn’t want me to make a mistake there, would you?”

Joe nodded, satisfied. Then he turned back around.

And Sarah immediately regretted what she had done.

Why was she playing with Burke? They weren’t friends. They weren’t anything. If she could take back that last statement, she would.

“Now I know you’re shittin’ me,” the man said with renewed confidence. “Nobody does all that.”

Sarah shrugged. “I’m the best. And we’re done here, sport. No more talking.” She popped in her ear buds, even though she wouldn’t be able to turn on her music until the plane leveled off.

She wished she had never let herself get drawn into the conversation. She could tell herself it was because she couldn’t resist making her seatmate look like a fool, but she knew the real reason: she was showing off for Burke. As soon as she knew he was listening, she just had to remind him how clever and smart-mouthed she could be.

Why? she scolded herself. Why do you have to prove anything to that man?

Because, she answered honestly, it would be worse to think he forgot.

5

As soon as the plane landed at LAX, Sarah prepared to make a fast exit. Joe’s row emptied before hers, so there was nothing she could do about that, but she could certainly beat Paul Chapman out of the airport before he felt compelled to ask for or offer her a ride.

Sarah had the feeling he didn’t understand the boundaries of co-defense attorneys who worked for different clients. Yes, Chapman was technically on her same side against all of Joe’s plaintiffs, but Chapman’s client was the main manufacturer, whereas Sarah’s was just the subcontractor. If she had any chance at all to heap all the blame on Chapman’s client and get hers released from the case entirely, she would take that victory any day. There was no chumminess on the defense side of the table as far as she was concerned.

She also had the feeling Chapman undervalued her because of her looks. And, no doubt, her age. It wasn’t so much any particular thing he had said, but just this overall demeanor toward her of All right there, little lady, you go ahead, but try not to hurt yourself asking all your big girl questions.

Maybe it was her imagination, but she didn’t think so. She could usually smell a jerk.

Too bad she had missed the scent on Joe.

Although he never seemed to underestimate her intelligence, so maybe that wasn’t a fair comparison. If she was worried about being fair.

She saw him up ahead, reading his phone while he made his way toward the baggage area and ground transportation. She had no idea where he lived, but assumed it had to be somewhere in the Los Angeles area, since he worked in the city. Her place was in Culver City, close enough to tomorrow’s deposition in Pasadena that she decided not to stay at the hotel, but to spend the night in her own apartment instead. She would have to leave with plenty of time to spare in the morning in case of traffic, but it was worth rushing a little in exchange for sleeping in her own bed.

As they neared the doors to go outside, Sarah saw the line of black-jacketed drivers holding up signs with their passengers’ names. Sarah saw one that read “Burke.”

Joe approached the driver, said something, then the two of them continued on. At the last moment Joe turned around and saw Sarah just a few paces behind him.

He’s going to ask me, she thought. He was going to offer her a ride. Then she would tell him no, and finally their first day together would come to a close. She liked it ending on another no.

But Joe simply noted her presence, then turned around and kept walking. Leaving Sarah to fend for herself.

She fished for her keys in the pocket of her laptop case and slipped them into her suit jacket while she headed for the parking garage. Joe had done her a favor. He’d spared her one more conversation with him.

But nice move, gentleman, she thought, not offering the lady a ride in your fancy chauffeured car.

Even after her ill-advised attempt to amuse him on the plane.

The game was on. She knew it and he knew it. They were obviously going to see which of them would bend before they broke.

Sarah had grown stronger in the past six years, not weaker. If he thought he was still dealing with the young woman she used to be, now was his time to learn.

She had been through a lot since their last year of law school, as anyone reading the newspapers would know. Even before then, she had to scrap her way through one trial after another, and through the competitive hierarchy of one of the most prestigious—at one time—law firms in L.A. The girl Joe had known in law school couldn’t have handled that pressure—look how easily she fell apart just because a guy like him dumped her.

But Sarah wasn’t that girl anymore. And she knew she would handle the Joe situation completely differently now if she had a second chance.

Sarah unlocked the door to the car her father found for her back in April. It was old, but it ran well, thanks to his skills as a mechanic, and Sarah wasn’t too proud to drive a twenty-year-old car. It suited her lifestyle now.

When the firm imploded, all of her perks instantly disappeared. Gone were the leased Mercedes and the generous gas allowance; gone was her expense account that she sometimes had trouble spending by the end of each month; gone was the free gym membership that had finally introduced her to the wonders of exercise; and gone was the salary that made her secure enough financially that her parents finally let her start helping them with money. Gone, all gone in the space of a single day.

Sarah flipped on the radio to one of the talk stations that regularly gave traffic news. She slowly made her way out of the airport gridlock into the gridlock that would take her home. Finally she unlocked her front door and returned to the sanctuary of her one-bedroom apartment.

She liked her little apartment. Every time she walked into it, she appreciated how clean and friendly it seemed—especially after a particularly hard day spent fighting with people from morning until night. It all washed off of her, it seemed, the minute she walked through her door.

She spent her first week in the place painting everything white. From the walls, to the wooden paneling on one side of the living room, to the built-in cabinets and the wooden frames on all of her windows. She painted red accents here and there, but mostly she just wanted to see the clean. To know that everything in there was nice and new and something she bought just for her.

When she first started making money—real money—Sarah sat down and made a list. She called it her Flourish list: anything and everything she had ever wanted, but didn’t really need.

It included things like a pillow-top mattress. Plush towels. High thread-count sheets. Red velvet pillows and a beautiful, white faux-fur throw she saw in a catalog draped over a white upholstered couch. She made a point to buy all three of those, including the exact couch. Triple-wicked, scented candles. Sweet-smelling bath salts. A long list that she felt a little foolish making, yet at the same time it made her feel deliciously pampered even to sit there and think about it.

She had held off for so many years buying herself the kinds of things she dreamed about: even something as simple as pretty, lacy underwear, bought at full retail price instead of from a discount store. Every time she checked off another item on the list, she felt more prosperous. And what was most shocking, by the time she got to the end of it, was that the entire spree cost her less than three thousand dollars. Somehow she thought it would cost closer to ten thousand—maybe even more. She had built it up so much in her mind, it seemed an unreachable goal back when she had practically nothing.

She still remembered too vividly that day in college when she looked at her bank statement and saw a balance of $4.32. Back then, spending three thousand dollars on luxuries might as well have been ten thousand—fifty thousand, for how impossible it seemed. But these were different times, she told herself with joy. She had finally made it. And furnishing her perfect apartment was one of the happiest experiences of her life.

She didn’t regret any of it now—not a single purchase. Even though she could have used those thousands of dollars over the past six months. But she had to believe she would find her feet again one day. And when she did, she didn’t want to have to start over, pulling herself up from the kind of impoverished life she had grown so accustomed to since her childhood. She accepted that her rapid rise was over—there was no other way to see it. What she didn’t want to accept was the idea that she might start sliding backward to where she came from in the first place.

The food she ate at the airport wasn’t sitting well in her belly. Sarah pulled out the ingredients for a smoothie—organic orange juice, a frozen banana, frozen strawberries and raspberries and blueberries—and whirled them all in her blender. Then she took sips here and there as she changed out of her battle suit and wiped off all her makeup. She pulled a shower cap over her still-behaving hair and stepped into her bathtub shower. And replayed portions of the day as the warm water washed it all away.

Sarah set her alarm for four o’clock the next morning to give herself time to exercise. She never used to be that way. She’d roll out of bed, drink a huge mug of coffee, and answer her e-mails before she even started to dress.

But becoming a partner had reformed her. Her immediate boss, Richard, sat her down the day he made the offer and told her she needed to make some changes.

“We’re making you a team leader,” he said. “Elevating you to partner. Not an equity partner,” Richard had continued before Sarah could even register the news. “So you won’t receive any of the firm’s profits, but we consider this level of partnership an important step to full status, once you’ve proven yourself.”

He assigned her a team of five younger litigators. From then on, Sarah would be responsible for all of their files, all of their cases, and for making sure they turned in time sheets for every minute of their time by the end of every day.

“If you don’t write down the time, it never happened,” Richard said. “We only get paid for what we bill.” Sarah had heard that speech many times. She always had more billable hours than any of the other associates. It was one of the factors, Richard said, they’d considered when promoting her. “We know you understand money, Sarah.”

She agreed that she did.

And then she proved it by negotiating an even higher salary than the last team leader had been given.

“We have one concern,” Richard told her. “We need our team leaders to be in top form. The job comes with a lot of stress—you already know that. But being partner is going to double, triple that stress. You understand?”

“Of course.”

“You’re not much for working out, I take it.”

Sarah tried not to feel insulted. She thought she looked pretty good: same slim body she had maintained since high school, always turned out in professional-looking clothes and hairstyle.

“Our insurance premiums go down if all the key employees have gym memberships,” Richard told her. “So that’s included in your package. We have a list of different ones you can go to—you can find one close to the office or close to your house. But we’d like to see you meeting with a personal trainer at least twice a week.”

“I’d rather work,” Sarah said, assuming that was the right answer.

Richard shook his head. “You need to stay focused. Even-keeled. We’ve heard a few complaints that you’re sometimes too hard on people. Hard is good—don’t get me wrong,” he said before she could defend herself. “We wouldn’t put you in charge if you couldn’t lead. But it’s good for everybody if those of us in power take a little time to sweat off some of the pressure, you understand?”

Sarah had no desire to waste time at some gym when she could be billing, but she wasn’t going to argue. If the firm thought it would make her a better leader, so be it. She would put in the minimum time with a trainer in case anyone checked up on her, then she’d work extra hours to make up for it.

Because nothing was going to interfere with this promotion. It had come much sooner than she ever could have hoped: right before her twenty-ninth birthday.

Sarah loved responsibility—always had. Not so much bossing people around, but instead being the problem-solver in any group. Figuring things out. Some people worked for praise, she noticed over the years, but she took much more value out of being proud of herself. She liked knowing she was the most reliable person she knew—except for her parents, who had given her that training in the first place. But as far as any other lawyer she’d ever met—and before that, any other student she met—Sarah felt comfortable believing she worked harder and smarter than any of them.

Her five months as partner in the firm she had been working for since law school was one of the favorite periods of her life. She would wake up sometimes at three-thirty in the morning because she was so excited to get to work. It meant she often passed out dead tired by nine o’clock at night, but she loved knowing she was up before anyone else, working long before dawn.

On April 6, she arrived at seven AM and began working on a Motion to Dismiss. She had already checked the status reports from her team members before she even came in, and knew she would have a few hours to herself now to work on her own cases.

The agents swarmed the building. One minute the only people she noticed outside the glass wall of her office were the attorneys and staff she saw every day, and the next there were navy blue uniformed men and women everywhere, seizing papers and files, emptying cabinets, and ordering people away from the shredders that stood conveniently beside every desk.

Sarah rose slowly, her legs unsteady. She was tempted at first to stay in her office, hidden behind the wooden door, but she realized that wasn’t her way. No matter how horrible things would be once she confronted what was happening, she was a partner, she was a team leader, she was Sarah Henley. And Sarah Henley stepped up.

She could see now the bright yellow lettering on the agents’ uniforms: FBI.

As one of the female agents moved toward Sarah’s office, sweeping the contents of one of the secretaries’ desks into a sturdy cardboard box, Sarah asked, “Would you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Who are you?” the agent asked.

Sarah gave her name and position.

The agent pulled a list from her pants pocket and quickly scanned it. “Henley, you’re to go to the fourth floor.”

“What’s on the fourth floor?” Sarah asked, fighting hard to sound calm.

“Command post,” the agent answered. “We have to interview you before we can release you.”

“Interview me about what? What is all this?”

“Ma’am, if you’ll just proceed to the fourth floor—”

“Please,” Sarah said, her voice finally betraying her fear. “Just tell me what’s going on. Why are you here?”

The agent studied her for a moment, then answered, “Allegations of securities fraud, tax fraud, conspiracy, and money laundering.”

“Money laun...oh my God.” Sarah’s legs started to fail her. She braced herself against the edge of her desk. “Wh-who?”

“They’ll give you more information downstairs, Miss Henley. Now I’m going to have to ask you to vacate this office,” the agent said, already angling past Sarah.

“Can I—” Sarah cleared her throat. She saw one of the young lawyers on her team staring at her wide-eyed from beyond the door, her face as white as Sarah’s.

Sarah forced herself to remain calm. “What can I bring with me?”