Page 40

JAMES

“ M r. Hawthorne, there’s someone here for you,” Andrea, my assistant, says over the line.

A frown tugs at my lips. My body goes on high alert. I don’t remember having a four o’clock meeting.

Besides, Andrea never says someone is here. She always takes names.

Could it be Ophelia? Could she have broken free somehow and stormed into my office? Did she stride past the other offices, reaching my corner one, demanding to be let inside?

I imagine her out there. Next to Andrea’s desk, wearing whatever clothes she chose from her closet. Furious. Gorgeous.

She could’ve missed me.

Motherfucker.

I’ve missed her too.

And I’m scared out of my mind.

Topher could see her. He and Camden have been tagging along with our associates when their academic schedule allows it. Both of them are here today, spending the afternoon in one of the cubicles. Learning and watching.

He’d kill her in a heartbeat.

Ophelia. Ophelia. Ophelia.

The need to protect her is a vise around my throat. It’s fire singeing my blood.

I’ve protected other women before.

Never felt this way about it. This invested. This out of my mind with concern for their well-being.

If my son doesn’t kill Ophelia, Oliver will. He’s been strolling outside my office the entire day, even though we’ve had back-to-back meetings since this morning. He hasn’t been subtle about stalking me.

I’m out of my chair, crossing the sitting area next to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

My heart is in my throat.

I swing the door open.

I step back, preparing myself to yell at Ophelia. To haul her inside. Put my goddamn body between her and the world.

I’ll die if that means saving her. I absolutely will.

“James, so nice to see you.”

It takes a long moment for my eyes to focus. To register who’s standing in the doorway of my office.

Short blond hair. Demonic blue eyes.

Young and reckless in a dark, expensive suit.

Parker Langley.

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.

“You said you needed our help.”

They stare at me, shocked that I put such an abrupt end to their conversation.

Being away from Ophelia for hours does that to me.

My self-restraint has been stretched so thin it’s about to snap.

It’s been like this ever since I left home. It got worse when Topher offered to go out to dinner with me earlier today. He wanted to discuss this thing we talked about .

I declined, but it’s never stopped bothering me.

“I said I might.” Parker places his empty tumbler on my desk. The ice cube is gone. Melted. Unlike Parker’s confidence. His devious grin. “I covered my?—”

I raise a hand to stop him, at the same time Oliver says, “Hold it right there.”

We can’t be accomplices to a felony. Which, obviously, there was. No number of connections and threats would save us from being disbarred. This is bigger than any of us.

“All right, all right.” He chuckles, the prick, leaning back.

One foot over his knee shows just how at ease he is. How he’s grown with the knowledge that Daddy’s money will save him from anything. Same as the men in our families.

Not Ophelia.

Brave, resilient, strong Ophelia.

Perfect Ophelia.

On her knees.

Or here at my side. As my partner.

Maybe both.

Shut up.

“Came here to give you guys a heads-up, that’s all.”

Oliver chuckles, shaking his head. “Kids these days.”

Kids. He’s twenty-fucking-five.

A murdering twenty-five year old.

Yes, I might be the devil for defending demons like Parker. Never said I was a saint.

I might not even be a lawyer by the time the dust settles.

And what exactly are you planning to be?

The question is as disturbing as it’s redundant.

At the present moment, Parker is my client. I have to do what I can to defend him. I’m ticking items off the list of shit I have to do to prepare my line of defense for this motherfucker.

Shit will hit the fan soon, by the smug look on his face.

It might even happen before I go through with the plan of bringing down the other man sitting across from me.

But not before I get to go home, to Ophelia.

Our games aren’t over.

They never will be.