I arrive with time to spare and take a moment to get my bearings. My opponents on the case have their office in a classy brownstone on a quiet tree-lined street that just screams ‘money.’ I climb the steps and reach for the buzzer, but there is none: just a discreet brass plaque on the door. Venture LLP.
The whole building belongs to them? OK then.
I push the door open and step into the lobby. It’s a bright, sun-drenched area with bare wooden floors and bold abstract art on the walls. Striking, modern. There’s a hush of concentration, and everywhere I look, I see designer furniture and important-looking people in designer suits. Part of my job is reading the opposition, and everything about this place says they have deep pockets, and aren’t afraid to show off.
My nerves bubble up, but I push them down. Nobody here knows this is my first time flying solo, I remind myself. For all they know, I’m a hot-shot attorney who eats the other side for breakfast.
I walk boldly up to the receptionist, who’s lounging behind a solid marble desk, looking like an art exhibit with impeccable cheekbones.
“Hi,” I say with a smile. “Justine Jenkins, here for the VideoMine meeting.”
Without a word, she rises to her feet and walks down the hallway away from me. I pause, thrown, then realize she’s waiting by the elevators for me to follow.
I quickly catch up. “I love your shoes,” I say, as she stabs the elevator button. The door closes. Silence.
Is it me, or is it cold in here?
She leads me down another hallway, to a plush seating area. My client, Adam Granger, is waiting, bouncing his knee with nerves.
A look of pure relief flashes across his face. He leaps up. “You’re here!”
“Hey,” I greet him with a warm smile. “You look good. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen you out of those hoodies and jeans,” I tease, trying to put him at ease. He’s still wearing his trademark geeky T-shirt, but he’s scrubbed up for the meeting since I saw him last in LA. Now he’s clean-shaven with his blonde hair buzzed close to his head, and a hip pair of square-rimmed glasses. Much closer to how he probably looked as an undergrad at Stanford.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ll be handling the case, not Carter the Jackass,” he says.
My former boss didn’t exactly make many friends.
“I know you must be nervous, but I know this case inside out,” I reassure him.
“There’s something else. This showed up at my hotel this morning,” he says, pulling out an envelope from his satchel. “What does it mean?”
I scan the papers. A cease and desist letter and summons for a lawsuit, demanding Adam drop his case.
“They're just trying to intimidate you. Don't worry. These are normal scare tactics,” I explain.
“But they say I could be liable for a nuisance lawsuit,” Adam looks terrified. “I can’t afford to pay that kind of money.”
“They know it, that’s why they filed. Look, this is a big case with a lot riding on it, so we shouldn’t be surprised if they play dirty.”
‘A lot’ is an understatement. Adam invented a computer application called VideoMine. I’m not really into technology, but basically it’s a new YouTube that could revolutionize the internet – and make its inventors overnight billionaires. Adam developed it with his college roommate, Kellan. Which is where it gets messy. Six months ago, they had a huge fight about the future of the company. Kellan walked out with his laptop and the backup drives with the half-finished code, and went straight to the nearest venture capital firm to get funding for what he claims is his idea.
Now, Adam is suing Kellan and the company for intellectual property theft. I’m determined to win him credit for all his hard work—and a fat share of the profits once the app launches.
“I just want what’s rightfully mine.” Adam twitches nervously again. “I spent two years working on that program, and now Kellan’s acting like he’s the mastermind who came up with the whole thing.”
“Don’t worry,” I calm him. “They know we have a strong case. That’s why they’re resorting to bullying tactics.”
“There's something else.” Adam frowns, looking around. He lowers his head so the receptionist can’t listen in. “I overheard two guys in the bathroom talking. Venture's CEO has flown in just for this meeting.”
“You mean the silent partner?” I ask, surprised. I’ve been researching Venture for months, but I still don't know who’s backing Kellan. The only evidence we have that this silent partner even exists is an unreadable signature on a few documents the courts made Venture turn over to us.
Looks like the ghost is coming out of hiding.
Finally, another thin, perfectly polished assistant appears and leads us down the hall and into the boardroom. If the décor in the lobby was meant to impress, everything about this room is designed to intimidate. The walls are painted a dark, crimson red, the conference table is chrome and glass, and there’s a bank of windows facing us with a stunning view of Central park. The clouds shift outside, sending a ray of sun shining right into my eyes. I blink, dazzled.
“Welcome. Please take your seats.”
My eyes adjust, and I realize that the other side of the conference table is completely full. A row of six frowning attorneys flank a smug-looking guy I recognize as Kellan, Adam’s old partner.
The seat at the head of the table is empty. When I look around, I see a man by the windows. He’s tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair, his back facing the room as he stares out at the view.
That must be the silent partner.
I decide offense is the best defense. “Good morning, everyone,” I say, striding forward. I take the empty seat at the head of the table and look around. “My name is Justine Jenkins, and I'm representing Adam Granger. Shall we get started?”
There’s a pause, and I can tell from the surprised looks that I’ve shocked them.
Good.
I look around. Kellan is still lounging with a conceited smirk on his face, looking every inch the Californian pretty boy. The other guys at the table are all WASPs in expensive suits.
I blink. “Greyson,” I say coolly, recognizing one of the lawyers across from me.
He sneers back. Charming as ever. He was a few years ahead of me at Stanford Law, and rumor had it his parents bought his acceptance letter with a healthy donation to the alumni fund. Guess he landed on his feet.
I pull out my case files and give them all a big smile to show them I’m not intimidated. “Shall we start?” I repeat.
The answer comes from the man at the window.
“Of course, Ms. Jenkins. Let’s get down to business.”
Chills roll down my spine. I catch my breath, feeling a sick twist in my stomach.
No. It can’t be.
I know that voice.
The deep tone. The crisp British accent. But I don’t believe it's true, not until he turns around and I see his gorgeous face—the face that’s haunted my dreams for the last three years.
Ashton Pierce.
My best friend, my closest confidante. And for one amazing night, the most mind-blowing sex of my life.