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Dani started when the door lock clicked shut beside her. Had he just locked her in? Panic jumped in her gut. Was Cam a creepy serial killer, after all?

Her door opened, and he stood there, smiling, holding a hand down to her to help her out of the low seat.

“Why did you lock me in?” she challenged nervously.

“You strike me as the kind of woman who wouldn’t wait for me to come around and open your door for you. Thing is, my grandmother would tan my hide if I didn’t do it for you.”

“So, you’re motivated by fear of her?”

“You have no idea. She’s a formidable woman.”

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t a serial killer.

She laid her hand in his warm, strong palm. He grasped her hand lightly and lifted her out of the low seat with powerful ease that managed to feel entirely safe and non-murder-y.

She almost forgot her bag of clothes and turned around to grab it out of the car. He led her up a steep, narrow set of stairs and unlocked the door at the top. He went ahead, opening the door with a gallant gesture for her to enter.

She stepped into the coolest kitchen she’d ever seen. Tiny stainless steel tiles lined the walls and gorgeous black, cream, and gold granite swirled on the counters between top-end stainless steel appliances.

“Sorry I didn’t let you in through the front door,” he murmured over his shoulder, “but it’s still raining cats and dogs out there.”

“I didn’t need to make a grand entrance,” she replied, looking all around in wonder behind him.

He led her down a wide hallway lined with painting after painting like a mini-museum. She would’ve loved to stop and examine a number of the pieces, but Cam was moving swiftly in front of her.

They went past a dining room with a large modern painting on the far wall. The piece was so stunning she did stop to stare at the life-sized nude woman. Her face was depicted in hyper realistic detail, but her body was just a series of sketched outlines and a few shadows, not otherwise completed.

The simple lines of her figure were bold, though, sensuous and evocative. A confident hand had drawn the woman’s lush curves with quick, slashing strokes of a brush that left Dani breathless with the realism the painter had managed to capture in a nearly abstract depiction.

Cam’s steps stopped down the hall. Came back toward her. Stopped beside her. So mesmerized was she, though, that she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the mesmerizing woman and the way the model’s dark eyes smoldered down at her and Cam.

“Like her?” Cam asked quietly.

“She’s incredible. Who’s the artist?”

“It’s probably by Gustav Klimt. This piece is thought to be a study for another portrait he completed. But the provenance on this piece was lost during World War Two, so no one can say definitively that she’s a Klimt.”

“Wow,” Dani breathed.

“It’s a good thing for me her papers were lost or I couldn’t possibly have afforded her.”

Dani blinked. No freaking way had he bought a painting by a modern master on his ADA’s salary. This guy must come from some serious money or have some other gigantic source of income besides his day job.

Stunned, she followed him into a living room decorated in shades of white on white with plush area rugs, a simple but elegant sofa, sleek leather chairs and light wood end tables. But the walls—they exploded with color and texture from a half-dozen dynamic pieces of modern art.

“Wow again,” she said lightly, praying she didn’t sound intimidated. She walked slowly around the spacious, high-ceilinged room, taking in the paintings.

He went to the white quartz fireplace and turned on a gas valve. Flames danced between what looked like real logs in a shockingly credible semblance of a real fire.

He said quietly, “This was my grandparent’s place. When they passed, I inherited it.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said quickly.

He shrugged, his expression closed. “They mostly raised me. Were more like parents than my real parents. But they both lived long, full lives.”

“Did you pick out the art in the house, or did your grandparents do the collecting?”

“A little of each. Every time we came to the city, my Gram dragged me to an art museum. But to her credit, she always made it fun and interesting. I learned to love art from her.”

He headed over to a carved white oak bar that was traditional in style but fit in seamlessly with the room’s simple décor. This space was achingly tasteful, managing to be both sleek and welcoming, modern but comfortable.

“You both have great taste in art.”

He lifted the shopping bag out of her fingers and replaced it with a small crystal liqueur glass. “Speaking of taste, try this.”

Even a sniff of the amber liquid was potent and noticeably cleared her sinuses. “You know, I never drank before I came to New York City. Now, people are pouring alcohol down me all the time.”

He moved around the bar to stand rather closer than politeness dictated. He lifted his own liqueur glass and took an appreciative sip before saying casually, “It’s because they all want into your bed.”

She managed not to choke on the sip of liqueur she was taking, but just barely. “What is this stuff?” she asked.

“My college roommate called it liquid panty remover. It’s vanilla- and chocolate chip-flavored liqueur. I’ve never met a woman who didn’t like it. Which reminds me. Let’s have a look at what constitutes sexy lingerie in your world.”

He picked up the shopping bag, but she snatched it out of his hands. “Let’s not!”

“Aww, c’mon. Just a peek?”

“No peeking!”

His right eyebrow sailed up. “Planning to model it for me, are you?”

“Leon Whitney would love that,” she retorted a shade bitterly. Oops. All that wine from dinner was talking too much.

“Excuse me?” Cam asked lightly.

Oh, he’d heard her perfectly well the first time. And he was no dummy. He would leap to the logical and correct conclusion about exactly what she’d meant by that comment about Leon Whitney. Particularly since Raspy Voice had spelled out her role at the firm so clearly to Cam already.

What the hell. The cat was out of the bag now. She said bluntly, “The senior partners want me to have hot monkey sex with you so you’ll jump off the bridge.”

That sent his eyebrows sailing up practically to his hair line. “Come again?” he blurted.

She huffed. “They want you to be a jumper. That’s what we call prosecutors who leave the D.A.’s office and go to work for private criminal defense firms. You know. You jump across the aisle to the defense side of the courtroom.”

“Ahh.” He paced a lap the room, gathering speed as he went. He took another lap.

She frowned as his demeanor become more agitated with each lap he completed.

Finally he stopped directly in front of her to glare at her. His voice was clipped, angry even, as he bit out, “Are you telling me you’re here tonight with the intent to seduce me? On WMP’s orders? Are they paying you for this?” Outrage vibrated in his voice.

“Why are you getting all offended and bent out of shape? I’m the one they’re trying to prostitute out to you. And it’s not as if you loudly protested when Raspy Voice floated the idea, big guy.”

“I…who…what?” He looked dumbfounded.

Which pissed her off more than a little.

She snapped, “I heard you talking with one of the partners at the WMP cocktail party. He told you they hired women like me especially to throw at guys like you.”

“Jesus.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “You heard that?”

He didn’t deny having had the conversation.

She squeezed her eyes shut in mortification. She hadn’t misheard it. And she hadn’t misinterpreted what she’d heard. Somewhere deep inside her, she’d held out some small hope that she’d been wrong about what she’d heard that night.

Odd. She’d expected rage from herself when she finally got him to confess to talking with Raspy Voice about her. But she hadn’t expected this soul-stealing, achingly awful, feeling of betrayal and emptiness that hurt all the way down to the bottom of her heart.

If only the two of them hadn’t had such a great time at dinner. If only she hadn’t glimpsed the really decent guy he was capable of being.

She reached for her purse, which she’d set on the bar, rummaging through it for her cell phone as she blinked away a haze of threatening tears.

“What are you doing?” Cam asked cautiously.

“Worried I’m going to whip out a gun and shoot your balls off?” she popped off.

He took a quick step toward her, his expression concerned.

“I’m looking for my phone to order a ride home,” she managed to choke out without her voice breaking on a sob.

“Come here.” Big hands closed on her upper arms, turning her around to face him. He wrapped his powerful arms around her in a comforting and completely platonic hug that she had a hard time squaring with the jerk who’d barged into a ladies’ room to give her a tonsillectomy with his tongue.

“Listen to me, Dani. I don’t sleep with lawyers. Ever. I never want to end up across the aisle from an ex. Everybody who knows me knows that about me.”

She sniffed against his soft wool suit. “There’s got to be a punch line in there somewhere, but I’m too upset to think of it, right now.”

Cam’s arms loosened a little and he leaned back. She felt him looking down at the top of her head, but she wasn’t feeling brave enough or composed enough to look him in the eyes.

His finger gently tipped her chin up, lifting her unwilling gaze to his. He said quietly, “Jerks like that guy at WMP say dumb shit to me all the time in their efforts to steal me away from the D.A.’s office.”

“You didn’t tell him to stuff it when he offered me to you as a…job incentive.”

Cam sighed. “I’m the first person to admit I slept around a lot for a while after law school. I’m embarrassed to say I’ve still got a reputation in certain circles in this town for being a...” He searched for a word.

“Fuck boy?” she offered.

He winced but didn’t contradict her.

She would’ve stepped back, out of his arms, but the bar was behind her blocking any potential retreat.

Cam said more urgently, “I repeat, I don’t sleep with attorneys or anyone who might end up in court with me. I would never, ever, let some law firm throw women at me and then actually sleep with them. That’s just…”

“Disgusting?” she supplied.

“Yes.” He said that firmly, without hesitation. He added with conviction, “And grossly unethical.”

“Well…hell,” she declared fervently.

She didn’t know if she was more disappointed to hear he wasn’t the born-again bastard she’d thought he was or that she had no chance whatsoever of ending up in his bed.

He stared quizzically at her. “Care to expand on that expletive, counselor?”

“Umm, not particularly.”

“What the hell’s going on over at WMP, anyway?” he burst out. “Where does a partner get off throwing young women of any kind at male attorneys as if that’s all women are good for?”

She shook her head, mutely refusing to answer.

Who’d have guessed the humiliation tying her stomach in knots would be this sharp or painful? She’d been so freaking na?ve. Stupid. She’d walked headfirst into a terrible job at a terrible law firm and hadn’t seen what had been right in front of her face about WMP the whole time.

No women attorneys had spoken with her or even been introduced to her when she’d interviewed at WMP. A couple of the partners who’d interacted with her during the hiring process had definitely checked out her chest, legs, and/or ass. She’d brushed it off at the time because it never even occurred to her the bastards might try to take advantage of her in that way.

Zoey had even told her outright that she was expected to wear sexy lingerie and do it in a way that the partners could catch glimpses of it. How much clearer could her friend have been in letting her know what the culture at WMP was like for women attorneys?

She’d heard the words but had totally missed the real message beneath what Zoey had been telling her.

“Well?” Cam prompted. “What’s going on with you at WMP?”

The frosting on the cupcake of her idiocy would be to air her firm’s dirty laundry outside the office. Trashing one’s employer was bad form for any worker, but especially so for law firms whose good reputations were absolutely necessary to their survival, not to mention their profitability. Particularly when she was secretly gathering evidence for a potential lawsuit against said firm that Cam might be called to testify in.

It didn’t help that she had no reason to believe he would testify on her behalf. WMP was clearly on the verge of offering him a gigantic salary and benefits package to come to work for them.

Having spent the past few hours debating law with him, she could see why WMP wanted him so bad. He was a quick thinker, an eloquent speaker, had encyclopedic knowledge of the law, and was extremely likable. All of which added up to him being a fantastic lawyer?—

He interrupted her turbulent train of thought by stepping back from her. As his comforting arms fell away, the little voice in the back of her head wailed in disappointment.

She groused at it, Oh, now you’re egging me on and encouraging me to throw myself at this guy? Where were you that night in the ladies’ room when I was fully prepared to have sex on the counter with him?

Cam gestured politely for her to sit on the sofa and he sat down next to her. He faced her, their knees almost touching, frowning. Then he surprised her by pivoting to face the television mounted above the fireplace. He grabbed the remote lying on the coffee table and pointed it at the TV.

Without looking at her, threw his arm across her shoulder in an almost brotherly gesture. He was clearly offering no-strings-attached comfort as opposed to anything romantic or sexual. He tucked her against his big, warm, safe side as the screen flickered to life.

Its sound was apparently muted, for deep silence enveloped the room. Only the dull, pattering thud of rain pounding against the tall, floor to ceiling windows broke the silence.

Without warning, Cam asked, “Have you got a dollar in your purse?”

“As in cash?” she replied, confused.

“Yes.”

“Umm, I think so. Why?”

“At some point tonight, you need to dig it out and give it to me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re hiring me to be your lawyer. One dollar is my retainer fee.”

“I’m…what?”

“I’m letting you hire me to be your personal legal counsel. Which means this is now a privileged conversation.”

“Why?” Color her confused. What was he doing?

“Will you talk to me now ? Not one word you say can or will go beyond the walls of this room.”

“And why do I need privilege with you?”

“Because you’re about to tell me what the hell’s going on at your firm.”