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I hide my relief well. My sigh remains locked in my throat; my face is a mask of indifference.

“I hoped to surprise you.” He grins wide, the idiot. “Andrea here was kind enough to indulge me.”

Juvenile. So fucking juvenile.

We shake hands while I swallow my contempt.

“Mr. Langley.” He may not be formal when addressing me. Oliver may be on a first-name basis with him and his father.

I insist that we maintain the status quo. This is a place of business. These people aren’t my friends. I don’t have friends.

If I did, they sure as shit wouldn’t be rapists and murderers.

Handshakes out of the way, I twist to allow him entrance. “Let’s talk inside.”

No blood splatter taints his clothes or his face. His eyes aren’t haunted as most guilty people’s are. Doesn’t mean he didn’t just drive down here straight from a crime scene. It would suit him.

I’m behind my desk, silent, not offering him a seat or a drink. “To what do I owe this visit?”

My pulse, it’s not slowing.

Ophelia’s to blame.

Worrying over her. Wanting her throughout the entire fucking day.

The desire to claim and own and destroy her is stronger than ever.

I need her shackled. Crawling. Begging.

To shove myself into her dripping cunt. Lose myself in her furious eyes.

No. What I need is a moment to collect myself. A second to come to terms with this new realization.

I’m past wanting her. Past obsessing over her.

This is worse than any other addiction known to humankind.

Deep breath.

“I could, hypothetically, possibly, need your services in the near future.” Parker strolls straight toward the wet bar, pouring himself whiskey. Drops one ice cube in, making the liquid slosh. “The very near future.”

The door to my office flings open. I no longer expect Ophelia to show up unannounced. My brain is functioning. Cold and calculating. She can’t get out of my home. That’s impossible.

“Parker.” Oliver lets out a hearty laugh. He’s tanned from his trip—where did he say he traveled other than Amsterdam? Never mind, I don’t care—looking far less suspicious than he had throughout the day. An act for our client. “My assistant informed me that you were here. Great seeing you, friend.”

Again with this friend thing. What a joke.

This kinship makes my skin crawl, but it’s necessary. Other than our reputation of getting over ninety percent acquittal rate, that’s how we keep our clients ours.

Parker takes a sip of his drink, his attention on Oliver. “Same here. You look great. Safe to say you enjoyed your vacation?”

“Camden and I did, yes.” The door closes behind him. Andrea. “It was long overdue, our father and son bonding. Your dad was right to sit on my case all these years.”

“I believe you. Dad loves traveling together.” Parker’s laugh is condescending.

I focus on that instead of letting my mind wander to the shackled woman I have to protect.

Both men continue their mindless small talk as they lower themselves to the chairs across from me. I mirror their position, opening the button of my suit jacket.