He smiled at me. “You know I take Todd to court with me at least once a week. It’s not that big a deal.”

I slapped my hands over my ears. “Don’t tell me that! I barely got over that fact the first time he rubbed it in my face!” I glared at him, his damn mouth twitching in response.

He leaned forward, tugging my hands away from my ears, holding them in between his. “What do you want to do?”

I leaned back, snatching my hands away from him before his damn sexuality hijacked my common sense. “I don’t know. I want the additional experience and money without worrying about death by a Broward staff firing squad.”

“So work for me instead.” His impossible-to-read eyes stared at me, a relaxed expression on his face as he signaled for the waiter.

“Like that would work. We both know you wouldn’t be able to keep focused on clients when my delicious self was in the same wing.” I grinned at him confidently.

He laughed. “Right. That’s me. Easily distracted by beautiful women.”

I twisted my mouth at him. “No. One beautiful woman. Remember? You’re committed now.”

“Oh, that’s right. How could I ever forget?” he asked, snaring my hand and bringing it to his mouth for a quick kiss. “So. What’s your decision?”

I sighed, trying to decide whether the risk was worth the reward. The issue was, I was dealing with multiple risks and multiple rewards. Broward’s wrath, a law school recommendation and my professional reputation all hovered menacingly above me. But those threats paled against the danger that had been worrying me the most lately. My heart, and the danger those inexplicable dark eyes brought to it.

MONDAY MORNING, I waited in Broward’s office, watching the top of his head as he scribbled on a notepad. He paused, processing my sentence, before responding. “That’s great, Julia. Good to hear.” His voice did project an air of enthusiasm, an emotion I was grateful for, though my mind was still filled with trepidation about my decision to accept the job. “Human Resources will send you the paperwork, and you may have to take another drug test, but we’ll get you in the system by next Monday. How many hours a week can you give me?” A loaded question, since I had no doubt he would push the limits of whatever answer I gave him.

“Twenty hours, sir. I have classes on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, so I can work on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” It wasn’t my fault that those were the days he frequented the courtroom. Okay, so maybe I had shifted my classes around a bit.

“Great. You’ll work out the rest of this week?” He looked over his calendar, making a notation.

“Yes, sir. And in a few weeks I’ll have a form from my professor that I will need you to complete.” I shifted in front of his desk, the new heels I wore rubbing a blister on the back of my ankles.

“Great. Just print it out for me when you get it.” He nodded at me, a quick smile crossing his features. Then his cell rang. He looked at it, the now familiar stressed look returning to his face. I gave him a quick wave and backed away from his desk, turning and stepping into the hall.

“Julia, please shut the door,” he called out. I obliged, grabbing the knob and pulling it tightly closed. The instant the door clicked, I leaned down, loosening the strap of my shoes and unbuckling them, anxious to get the damn things as far away from my ankles as humanly possible. I was working on my second stiletto when I heard Broward’s voice, cold and irritable, a hateful tone that I had never heard from him, seep out from underneath his set of double doors.

Brad had dialed the number unsure if Kent Broward would answer. It had been years since they had had a civil conversation.

“My wife’s not here, if that’s who you are looking for,” Kent answered.

Talk about holding a grudge. Brad sighed heavily. “Cut the shit. We need to talk about your work.”

“Unlike you, I’m in the middle of it. Bring up any complaints you have at next quarter’s meeting.”

Brad spun in his chair, looking out on the city view. “Not CDB work, Kent. Your extracurricular clients.”

Kent’s voice tightened. “What about them?”

“I came to you three years ago, when I first found out what you were dealing in. You told me then, in simple enough terms, to stay the fuck out of your business.”

“I remember it, quite clearly. What’s your point?” Kent’s voice was hard, a tone that didn’t match the spineless intellectual that was on the other end of the line. A man who was playing tough with the wrong person.

“This is the Magiano family you’re dealing with now. And I’m telling you to stay out of their business. You were being stupid then, but you’re being suicidal now. You will never be good enough for them, and you are just one mistake away from them no longer needing your services.”

“Your compassion for me is heartwarming. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told you three years ago. The last thing I need from a piece of shit like you is advice. Don’t be pissed just because some of the biggest names in town are coming to me for representation. The Genovese turnover was handled perfectly, and I haven’t heard any complaints from the Magianos so far.” His smugness was infuriating, if only for its stupidity. It was unbelievable that this level of self-destructive egotism came from someone with an Ivy League education.

“This isn’t a dick-measuring contest, Kent. This is about being smart. Fuck our history, forget your hatred for me for one humbling, intelligent moment. You need to get out. Before they take you out.”

Kent snorted, and then there was pure silence for one long, sobering moment. When he finally spoke, there was an equal level of sadness and disgust in his tone. “I don’t know if that’s even possible.”

Brad didn’t know if Kent was referring to his ability to forget their history, or his ability to quit his current clients. It was a moot distinction, because he was right on both counts. It probably wasn’t possible.

THE SECOND SHOE off, I crouched in my bare feet on the soft carpeting, my head tilted toward the door. My blistered ankles forgotten, I tried to understand what Broward was so angry about. This man speaking, the cold, scornful tone, wasn’t the Broward that I knew. And he had mentioned the Magianos as though he was working with them—or for them. I realized it had been a while since Broward had spoken, and I rose, suddenly panicked, and moved silently down to my office, settling in behind my desk and placing my heels on the floor. Then I leaned back in my chair, looking up at the ceiling and thinking.

The Magianos. It could be a different family. It was probably a common enough name, but in this town, that name translated to one thing: sleeping with the fishes. Broward, with his fastidious flossing, his perfect 2.5-kid family, was as far from a mob attorney as I could ever imagine. Must be a different client, or I had misheard the conversation. I pushed aside my fears and sat up, unlocking my computer and diving back into work.

SINCE IT WAS the last week of interning, the eight of us decided to grab lunch together on Tuesday. Broward had left at ten that morning, stopping briefly in my office on the way out. His face had been hard, no reason offered for his departure, and I had nodded meekly and returned to my work, waiting for the sound of the wing doors to close. Then I had stood, trotting down the hall to his secretary Sheila’s desk.

“Mr. Broward just left, but he didn’t say how long he’d be gone. Do you know when he’ll be back?”

She turned, her face scrunched, an expression that amplified all of her wrinkles. “Julia. I don’t know where he headed. He had me clear all of his afternoon appointments. Why? Do you have a question regarding one of the files?”