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Chapter One

ADRIANO

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ISTRIDE OUT OF THEcourthouse, already loosening my tie. Another win. The Brinkman case was supposed to be impossible—corporate fraud on a scale that made the financial papers salivate for months. But impossible just means I haven't solved it yet.

"Mr. Kontides!"

Reporters swarm, digital recorders thrust toward my face like weapons. I force myself to crack my smile, remembering my secretary's warningnotto come off as too ruthless...even if it's the truth.

"The Brinkman verdict speaks for itself. Justice was served." I brush past them, scanning the corridor for the one face I need to see.

There she is.

Shayla.

Standing against the wall, tablet in hand, already typing what's undoubtedly a press release highlighting our winning arguments, many of which are the product of hours’ worth of brainstorming between the two of us. Not that anyone knows. Nine years as my executive assistant, and she still refuses to take even an ounce of credit.

I'm about to head over when I see a slick-haired bail bondsman approach her, and my stride quickens. I recognize him from the holding cells downstairs. And the way I see it, he deserves to be thrown into one of them, with how he's acting now.

The bastard has braced his hands against the wall by Shayla's head, caging her in. "I'm just saying, a woman like you—"

Just hearing him leer at my secretary like that makes me see red.

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"—DESERVES A NIGHT OUT. Let me take you somewhere nice."

Shayla doesn't look up from her screen. "Thank you, but no."

"Tomorrow, then."

"I'm afraid that's still not—"

"Shayla?"

The sound of my voice cuts her off, and the bondsman immediately backs away. He turns to me with a whitened expression. I raise a brow, and the bastard is smart enough to understand what I'm asking.

He scuttles off, tail tucked between his legs.

Good.

But I also need to make a mental note and speak to his superior. If they want to remain in my good graces, then he should know better than to bother my secretary.

I turn to Shayla, but find myself staring at empty air. She's already heading back to my limo.

Typical.

Shayla starts talking as I slide into the seat opposite her.

"I've already emailed a draft for the press release."

"Shouldn't you be congratulating me for winning the case?"

"I would love to," Shayla answers piously, "if only it didn't mean shirking my responsibility."

"What responsibility?"