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Chapter Five

SHAYLA

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THE COURTHOUSE FEELSlike a pressure cooker, but as much as I want to think it's because of the high stakes involved in the whistleblower lawsuit we're handling—

It's not.

And I'd only be fooling myself pointlessly if I said it was.

I slide into the bench and place Adriano's briefcase precisely where he likes it—right side, handle facing outward. I arrange his notepad and pens in perfect alignment. His coffee (black, boring, and scalding hot, just the way he likes it) on a black marble coaster to the left.

It's been a couple of days since the night he found out about my fake marriage (and divorce, but let's not be petty and start counting lies). And since then, we've both avoided looking into each other's eyes and doing our best to act like nothing's changed.

Because nothing has.

Really.

And then I feel it.

Hispresence.

Even before the courtroom starts buzzing, I already know he's arrived, but I keep my eyes on my notepad even as he reaches his seat.

"Good morning, Mr. Kontides."

"Shayla."

Hearing him say my name startles me into looking up—

Ugh.

I regret it immediately, with the way my heart starts banging so loudly, I'm afraid it will get people to wonder if the courtroom's haunted, and we have with us some ghostly judge pounding its invisible gavel in condemnation of our poor unfortunate souls.

Control yourself, self!

But the opposite happens as I hand him the case folder, and our fingers accidentally brush.

Yikes!

I barely keep myself from flinching as electricity jolts through both of us.