Page 21 of Dial L for Lawyer (Curves & Capital #2)

Caleb

I 've been in love with the edges of disaster since law school.

For years, disaster meant taking the cases everyone said were unwinnable, billing more hours than anyone thought possible, building a fortune that dwarfed my father's entire career—all to prove I'd earned the Kingsley name.

That I wasn't just riding on three generations of legal legacy.

By thirty, I'd surpassed him in every measurable way: more wins, more money, more power.

And still, he'd ask when I was going to do something meaningful with my law degree.

As if the empire I'd built was just an expensive way of acting out.

But with Serena, disaster has a different meaning.

It’s the thought of her walking out that door and not coming back.

It’s the image of her panicking in that conference room, looking fractured under the weight of a lie I haven't dismantled yet. She’s recalibrated my entire definition of risk, ruined me for the kind of risks I used to crave.

Losing her would be worse than losing everything I’ve ever fought for—it would gut me, destroy me.

And for the first time since my father told me I was a disappointment, I feel the raw, terrifying edge of something I can’t control, something I might not be able to win just by outworking everyone else.

It’s the most dangerous and alive I’ve ever felt.

When I’m finished with my meeting, I find Logan waiting in my office, hunched over his laptop with the concentration of someone disarming a bomb.

Three empty Red Bull cans sit in a neat row beside him.

I close the door behind me and toss him a fresh one from my mini-fridge.

He catches it, but doesn't look up, just continues typing.

"Where's Serena?" I ask, looking at my empty couch but still scenting the faint perfume of her hair lingering in the air.

"In the bathroom. Heard you nearly got walked in on by three paralegals and a guy selling copy machines."

"That's bullshit. No one said that to you."

He snorts, eyes flicking up at me with undisguised amusement. "You're right. But that door isn't soundproof, and people definitely heard."

I start to pour myself two fingers of Macallan, but stop halfway, some weird impulse to save it for when Serena's back. "What have you got for me?"

He finally lifts his head, eyes bloodshot from too many late nights. "The badge timestamps aren't altered. So someone was physically there each time the breaches happened."

"Someone cloned her badge," I say, stating the obvious. "Meaning we need the building's footage to see who was actually using it."

"Exactly." He frowns at his screen. "Problem is, their security company just upgraded to some new encrypted system. My usual backdoors aren't working."

"Since when can't you hack anything?"

"Since they started using military-grade encryption for a fucking office building." He opens the Red Bull. "I'll get it, but it's going to take time."

"That's not like you."

"Yeah, well, whoever set up their new system actually knew what they were doing. It's annoying." He glances at the closed bathroom door. "How's she holding up?"

"She's..." I consider my words. "Frustrated. Angry. Trying not to show how scared she is."

"You really think someone on her team did this?"

"Has to be. The timing's too perfect, the access too specific. Someone who knew her schedule, her passwords, her habits. David mentioned it was a call made from C-suite that claimed they saw her with Chase. So either we have an exec and a team member in cahoots. Or we have a team member who’s willing to clone badges and make anonymous calls from executive offices to cover their tracks. "

Logan takes a long pull of his Red Bull. "My money's on the team member. An exec wouldn't risk getting their hands dirty with a physical badge clone. They'd hire someone. This feels personal.”

Personal. The word detonates inside me like a live charge.

Someone out there hates Serena enough to want to erase her—and that makes it war.

I don’t just want a name. I want a target.

I want to grind their life down to dust until the only thing left is their screaming regret for ever touching what’s mine.

The bathroom door clicks open. Serena steps out, looking flushed and impossibly beautiful in that blue dress. She’s reapplied her lipstick. The slight flush on her cheeks is the only evidence of what we did in the conference room. She looks between us. "Why do you both look so serious?"

"Logan's having trouble with the building's security footage," I explain.

"I'll figure it out," Logan insists, hunching toward his screen.

Serena comes closer. "How did your meeting go?"

"They wanted to discuss risk strategy for two hours." I hand her the glass I just poured. "I gave him forty-seven minutes of half-attention and charged him for the full hour."

"That seems unethical." She takes a sip, her lipstick leaving a mark on the rim that I'm definitely going to think about later.

"That seems like a Tuesday. He'll get better service when his case doesn't bore me to death."

Logan makes a gagging noise. "You two are disgusting."

"You're just jealous," I say, sliding my arm around Serena's waist and guiding her to the couch where we sit.

"When's the last time you had a date, Logan?" she asks.

"I date." His defense is instant.

"Your laptop doesn't count," I point out.

"I have prospects."

"Audrey doesn't count either unless you actually ask her out."

His ears go red. "I don't—that's not—we're friends."

My phone buzzes.

Bennett:

Mandatory fun tonight. Layla insists Serena needs alcohol and dancing. Violet Room, 10 PM. Don't even think about saying no.

I show Serena the text. "Your friend is demanding you have fun."

"Layla doesn't demand. She orchestrates situations where resistance is futile."

"You should go," Logan says, not looking up from his screen. "Both of you. Let me work on cracking this system. Sometimes it's easier without distractions."

"I don't have anything to wear to a club," Serena protests.

"The dress you're wearing is fine."

Logan finally looks up. "She can't wear cashmere to Violet Room. She'll get drink spilled on it within five minutes."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Speaking from watching drunk girls destroy expensive clothing every weekend." He pauses. "Not that I go there every weekend. Just... sometimes. When Dominic drags me."

My phone buzzes again.

Dominic:

As if I'd ever say no to a night out. Someone make sure Logan is there. Watching him try to flirt is better than Netflix.

"You're coming tonight," I tell Logan.

"I have work to do?—"

"You just said you need hours to crack the system. You can do that tomorrow."

"But—"

Serena cuts him off. "Audrey will be there. She's been doing some new tests on NeuraTech's cross-applications. Something about using the neural mapping for predictive behavioral modeling in addiction treatment?"

Logan's head snaps up so fast I'm worried about whiplash. "She cracked the dopamine pathway problem?"

"I... maybe?" Serena looks confused. "She mentioned something about isolating neural patterns during craving episodes?—"

"Holy shit." Logan's eyes go wide. "That would mean she could theoretically predict relapse triggers before they happen.

The applications for addiction medicine would be revolutionary.

We could save thousands of lives, maybe millions if we scale it globally.

" He's practically vibrating. "How did she solve the noise-to-signal ratio?

The last papers I read said the neural static made it impossible to get clean readings during emotional dysregulation?—"

He slams his laptop closed and starts shoving everything into his bag with manic energy.

"Ten o'clock, right? Violet Room?" He's already heading for the door. "I need to review the latest journal articles on neural pathway mapping. And shower. And find something clean to wear. Fuck, I hope she brings her data models?—"

He's gone before we can point out that's not how dates work.

"That was..." Serena starts.

"Easier than expected."

"I've never seen him move that fast."

"You weaponized neuroscience." I pull her closer. "I'm genuinely impressed."

"Audrey's going to be thrilled. She's been dying to talk to someone who actually understands her work." She finishes her scotch. "Now, are you taking me home to change or not?"

"Definitely taking you home. The changing part is negotiable."

She laughs, grabbing her blazer. "Non-negotiable. I'm not wearing this beautiful dress to a nightclub."

"Fine. But I'm watching you change."

"We're not at that point in our relationship yet, pervert," she teases, digging her elbow into my side.

"Relationship," I repeat, guiding her toward the door. "I'll take it."