I step off the elevator onto the twenty-first floor and turn left toward the civil superior courtrooms and the judges’ chambers that are ensconced in the hallway behind said courtrooms. Leary and I are supposed to meet with Judge Henry this afternoon for our pretrial conference to go over our final list of issues for the jury to decide as well as the witnesses and exhibits. The judge will also try to lean on us to settle the case, but good luck with that. Tom Collier is barely speaking to me, but there’s one thing he relayed loud and clear.

There will be no settlement offers made to Jenna LaPietra.

Not ever.

I take a quick peek through the glass cutouts of the wooden doors to courtroom 21C and see that Judge Henry is still on the bench, listening as an attorney stands at counsel table and makes his argument. Judge Henry’s secretary sent word over to my office—as well as Leary’s, I assume—that he got called in to an emergency restraining-order hearing and would be running about fifteen minutes late to our pretrial conference. I still show up on time, mainly hoping Leary would, too, and I could just hang with her for a little bit. She left my house seven hours ago and will be back at my house tonight, yet I still want to take as much opportunity as possible to be near her.

During the trial I’m going to destroy Jenna’s case and Leary in the process. It’s a thought that keeps me awake at night, makes me snap at the tiniest of provocations at work, and makes me desperate to steal every precious moment with Leary that I can.

She’s promised me that she won’t hold my job and what I have to do in the courtroom against me, which I might have believed at one point, but not after she took me to Lauren’s grave.

Not after she shared with me the nature of her relationship with Jenna.

Not after I learned what Jenna did for Lauren.

Turning away from the courtroom, I head through a set of double doors and enter into the back halls of the civil superior court division. Pulling out my phone, I try to call Rhonda Valasquez again.

As expected, I get her voice mail.

“Ms. Valasquez, this is Reeve Holloway again. I’d really, really like to talk to you. I do represent Dr. Summerland, but even if you know something that could hurt my case, I’d still like to hear it. It could help settle the case, spare Jenna LaPietra a stressful trial. Please call me back. You have my number.”

I hang up, knowing deep down that this woman won’t call me back. I have no clue what she knows about Dr. Summerland, but she knows something. The funny thing is, I’m not seeking the information hoping I can use the knowledge to protect Dr. Summerland. I think I’m really hoping she’ll tell me something that would help Leary’s case. Not that I could ever disclose that to Leary. That would be as big of an ethical violation as if I told her about the rebuttal witnesses I’m going to call to attack Jenna. I have no clue what I’m hoping to accomplish, but I feel that Valasquez is important for some reason.

I walk into Judge Henry’s office suite and smile at his secretary, who sits at a small cherrywood desk outside the judge’s chambers.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Holloway,” she says with a warm smile.

Sneaking a quick look at the nameplate on her desk, I say, “Good afternoon, Mary.”

“Judge Henry is still hearing a motion right now, but Miss Michaels is already in his office. You can go in. He shouldn’t be but ten more minutes or so.”

I nod at her and head into the interior office, knowing that in about two seconds I’ll be looking at Leary’s beautiful face, and my oxygen will feel a little sweeter once I’m in her air space.

I’ve been in Judge Henry’s office before. It has typical dark paneled-wood walls, commercial-grade burgundy carpet, and dark-cherry furniture that matches his secretary’s desk. He has two leather wing-back chairs, also in burgundy, that sit opposite his desk, and at the sound of my entrance, Leary leans to the side and peeks her face around the side of one. Her eyes rake over me quickly, and her lips curve upward in a sinful smile.

I close the door and she says, “Hey, stud.”

Striding over to her, I don’t bother with a response. Instead, I place my left hand on the back of her chair and lean over the top. Her face tilts up and I give her an upside-down kiss. “Hey, beautiful.”

She snakes a hand up, and it curves around the back of my neck, pulling me back down. She kisses me this time, slipping her tongue deep in my mouth, and the sweet sensations of pleasure and peace run through me.

This woman riles me up like no other, yet makes me entirely calm at the same time.

Unreal.

I pull slowly away from her, loving the way her eyes are closed and a satisfied smile is left behind.

Stepping to the side of the chair and squatting down beside her, I bring my hand up and rest it on her knee. “What are you doing the rest of the day after we finish this conference? Want to knock off early and go do something?”

“I have a partners’ meeting at four p.m. We’re voting on next year’s partnership candidates,” she says, a wistful tone in her voice.

“Bummer,” I say with a sad smile. “Are you coming over tonight?”

“You know I am,” she says, and the promise in her voice has me wishing for time to go wonky and fast-forward by about five hours.

Looking back over my shoulder at the closed office door, I slide my hand up just a little higher on her leg. When I turn back toward her, I lean in a little closer and squeeze her leg. “Why don’t you give me a peek of what you have under that skirt? Give me something to think about the rest of the day?”

She snickers at me and tries to bat my hand off her leg. “We’re sitting in a judge’s office, Reeve. Show some decency,” she admonishes without any real censure in her tone.

Grinning, I slide my hand up a little higher. “I have no decency where you’re concerned.”

Her hand slams onto my wrist and grips it tightly, trying to halt my momentum. “Stop it,” she growls—or is that a purr?

“Just a peek, baby,” I cajole. “Black lace, right?”

“You’re not looking,” she says primly.

I straighten my fingers out, turn my wrist slightly, and they find her bare skin just above the lace of her stockings. “If you won’t let me look, how about a touch?”

“No,” she hisses and attempts to slam her legs together. I anticipate this, though, and shove my hand all the way in between her thighs until I cup her pussy. Grinding the heel of my hand on her, I whisper, “Touch or look, baby? What’s it going to be?”

“Reeve,” she says in a moan, “Judge Henry could walk in any moment.”

“Maybe,” I say. “And that would be really awkward. So quit fighting me and give me just a look or a touch and I’ll leave you alone.”

Leary’s eyes flash hot at me with both annoyance and lust. “Fine,” she snaps. “A quick touch.”

Chuckling, I pull my hand back a tad so I can angle a finger under the elastic band that rests in the crease of her leg. Just as I get the tip of my index finger inside, I hear Judge Henry’s booming voice out in the office area. The walls must be paper-thin, because I can hear him tell Mary, “Here are my notes on the restraining order. Go ahead and type me up a rough draft and print it out double spaced.”

“Reeve,” Leary says in panic and starts to push at my hand lodged between her legs.

Mary’s voice comes through the door, “Right away, Judge Henry. But first, can I ask you a few questions about your accommodations for the judges’ conference next month? I’m having trouble booking your flights.”