"And one that will attract the attention of the powers that be."

His broad shoulders rose and fell. "C'est la vie. C'est la guerre. To the victor go the spoils."

"I know how the game is played, Mr. Danjermond," Laurel said in a cool tone. "I'm not naive."

"No, you're an idealist. A much more difficult lot in life. Better to be a cynic."

"Is that what you are? A cynic?"

"I'm a pragmatist." He held her gaze and let the silence build between them until Laurel had to fight herself to keep from stepping back. "Will you consider my offer?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm flattered, but I can't think about work yet."

"But it's not just work to you, is it, Laurel? The pursuit of justice is a calling for you, an obsession," he said. "Isn't it, Laurel?"

The question was too personal. She was feeling too sensitive. He stood a little too close, watched her too intently. He looked relaxed, and yet she had the impression of leashed power beneath his calm facade. He was too… everything. Too tall, too handsome, too charming. Too still.

She glanced at the platinum Rolex strapped to his wrist, and relief flooded through her. "I'm afraid I have to be leaving now, Mr. Danjermond. I promised my aunt I'd help her with some things this afternoon. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Until we meet again, Laurel."

When donkeys fly, she thought. She hadn't come home for challenges or entanglements or trouble. She backed away another step, some primal instinct keeping her from turning her back too quickly on Stephen Danjermond. He watched her, calm amusement lighting his green eyes, and she turned then, simply to escape looking at his too-handsome face, turned just as Savannah walked in the door.