The Kiss Plot by Nicole French

Thirty

“The board of directors for De Vries Shipping Industries is proud to announce that we have unanimously elected Eric de Vries, the son of the late Jacob de Vries and grandson of the late Celeste de Vries, as chairman of the board. The board has total faith in Eric’s ability to continue his family’s legacy of guiding DVS toward new horizons of innovation and success. Congratulations, Eric, and welcome.”

Photography flashes of the several press agents who had been invited to the party went off like fireworks, and the crowd assembled in front of the mainstage erupted with applause as the announcing board member finished his short speech. Eric tipped his glass toward the ceiling, and I just did my best to smile and not cry again. While his eyes sparked with clear pride, the shadow of a smile at his lips whispered of a bashfulness I found utterly endearing. Pride sung through me at this man that I could finally call my own.

He took my hand and raised it to his mouth while he smiled around, then finally looked at me and truly beamed. I couldn’t help but beam back.

“Can I tell them?” he murmured through the shouts in front of us.

I didn’t have to ask about what. His eyes flickered to my stomach, which seemed to flutter in response to how crazy proud the man obviously was of the fact that we were going to have a baby.

Holy shit. Eric de Vries and Jane Lefferts. Polar Opposites. Married couple. Now expecting?

I should have been freaking out, but right then, I couldn’t have been happier.

Celeste must have been crowing in her grave.

Still, I shook my head. “It’s a little early, yet, don’t you think?”

A part of me wanted to keep our secret to ourselves. You know, at least until we got used to the idea.

Eric shrugged as the hubbub died down, and we exited the stage as the band started playing again. It was only a few minutes to midnight, and it still felt like the party had just begun.

After accepting congratulatory handshakes of at least twenty people, Eric swept me into an easy two step.

“I’ve had at least five separate people ask me tonight why you aren’t drinking champagne, Lefferts,” he said. “Honestly, I should have already figured it out. I don’t think you’ll be able to hide it long.”

“Tell them I’m a recovering alcoholic,” I suggested. “There are enough of them here. New York’s upper class is lousy with drunks.”

Eric snorted, but he couldn’t stop smiling either. Our joy was infectious.

“Fine,” he said, pulling me closer. “But I’m not keeping this to myself forever, Mrs. de Vries.”

His smirk told me he was trying to get under my skin with the name. But it didn’t work. Instead I tipped my head up for a kiss, allowing him to be as public with his affection as he wanted about our news. He kissed me for a few beats longer than strictly necessary, ignoring the flashes of cameras.

“I wish Celeste could see this,” I thought out loud.

Eric looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. “She would have been very, very satisfied,” he said, chuckling. “But you know, I think maybe she died knowing she was going to get what she wanted anyway.”

“I think what she wanted was to make you happy,” I replied.

Before we could ruminate too long on Celeste, we were interrupted by several other people wishing Eric good tidings and best of luck on his new position. The announcement wasn’t a surprise for anyone, but I got the feeling that most people probably thought Eric would be more of a figurehead than an active member, or else wouldn’t assume the position until the beginning of the next fiscal year.

“Congratulations, Triton.”

At the sound of the familiar voice, Eric paused mid-conversation with an investor from Connecticut. He rearranged his smile, bid the man good night, then slowly turned around.

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve seriously got a death wish, Jude.”

The man otherwise known as “Hermes” stood in front of us wearing a nose brace that covered most of his face. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here at the moment, and I couldn’t help but notice that he kept a solid three feet between himself and Eric.

Eric’s hand sought mine, and he pulled me securely into his side.

Jude’s eyes roved over my body. “Your little China doll cleans up well. She’s almost unrecognizable in that finery.”

“Careful.” Eric’s voice was steel.

“What are you doing here?” I snapped. I wasn’t nearly so circumspect. “If it’s not obvious, you’re not fucking welcome, you neutered GI-Joe.”

Eric snorted, but the squeeze of his hand told me he wanted me to be quiet as people glanced at us curiously.

“I was invited,” Jude said as he bared his teeth in an ugly parody of a smile. “A plus-one, as it were, since Triton—sorry, Eric, since we’re using our given names now—couldn’t be bothered to send his brothers proper invitations. My date…let’s see, where is that little imp…she’s an old family friend. Ah, there she is.”

He pointed across the hall, and Eric and I followed his gaze to a woman watching us from her spot at one of the tables. The sight of those honey-brown tresses and the twinkling, tasteful jewelry that delicately accented her ice-blue dress made me want to scream.

Eric stiffened.

Caitlyn fucking Calvert.

“I believe you know Catie,” Jude said. “So many of us do, don’t we? She’s a regular Becky Sharp, isn’t she? Even more than this one.”

I frowned, recognizing the reference to the social climbing heroine of Vanity Fair. “What is he talking about?”

“Caitlyn is originally from Paterson, New Jersey,” Eric clarified to me. “She was a scholarship student in school with us when she was younger, and at one point, Violet took her in for a while. Celeste sponsored half her education.”

“Ohhhh.” So much made sense now about that conniving little bitch’s behavior. Her strange obsession with the de Vrieses. Her almost maniacal desire to shove me out of the way. She had wanted nothing more than to become one of them herself, at nearly any cost.

And that included infiltrating, whether knowingly or not, one of the most illustrious societies at its heart.

“I think you should return to your date,” Eric said. “I won’t kick you out, but you should know that Jane’s right. You’re not welcome. Neither of you are.”

Jude shook his head. “I really came to see if you had changed your mind since our last…altercation.” He cocked his head. “On Titan’s orders. He’s really so much more generous with you than I would be.” His green eyes gleamed with even the possibility of vengeance, but instead he pulled a chain out of a coat pocket and dangled a necklace in front of Eric. One bearing a familiar gold coin.

“Your choice, Triton. But it’s your last chance.”

Eric took the coin, fingering it gently. Then he clenched it in his fist and tossed it roughly back at Jude.

“You can tell John Carson that he needs to stay away from me and mine. And that includes my company. Or else he’s going to suffer consequences too, and he has not yet experienced how creative I can be with my vengeance. Can you deliver that message…Hermes?”

Jude’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment he held his hands up in surrender. “You’re an idiot, Triton,” he said. “I always thought so. Carson gave you more credit than you deserve.” He stepped backward into the crowd. “Still. I’m going to enjoy this.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

But the big man just turned and walked away.

Eric turned to me, and for a moment his hands hovered protectively around my waist.

“Should we call Tony?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I’m not scared of that asshole. Let’s just enjoy the party. I want to dance some more with my wife.”

I grinned. But something else was bothering me.

“I want to call my mom first,” I said, already maneuvering through the crowd to find a place where I could actually hear. Eric followed, giving polite nods and waves as we went.

“Will she be up?” he wondered after we found a relatively quiet corner.

“Chicago is an hour behind us,” I said. “And it’s New Year’s. She’s probably at her cousin’s guzzling soju. She’ll be up.”

Eric nodded and was pulled into a nearby conversation, keeping an eye on me as I swiped over my mother’s number.

“Please answer, please answer,” I repeated as I listened to it ring.

I gazed down at my left hand. The rings looked good there. Felt right. In two days, Eric and I could file the papers before our deadline passed and be officially married in the eyes of the state of New York. My mother had been begging me for grandchildren for years. I wasn’t in a hurry to announce it to the party, but this was just the thing to put our drama to bed.

But, to my utter disappointment, the call went to voicemail. I tried again, and the third time, finally left a message.

“Eomma,” I said, my voice uncharacteristically small. Once again, I was battling tears—Lord, this pregnancy was going to be an emotional nightmare, I could already tell. I figured I should just name the kid Catharsis and be done with it.

I turned toward the corner, smiling weakly at some curious onlookers. For a lot of people, this was the first time Eric and I had been seen in public since the wedding.

“Eomma, I’m sorry,” I whispered emphatically. “But I think this has gone on long enough, don’t you think? I’m so sorry we missed Christmas…but I have things to tell you. We need to make this right.” I sighed and worried my lips, contemplating. “Look, I’m going to come to Chicago. This week, okay? I just…Eric and I have to take care of something on the second, but after that, I’ll be on the first flight there. Eomma, I love you.”

My voice cracked on the last statement. My mother and I hardly ever said I love you, so it felt cheap somehow to be saying it to a machine. But for some reason, right now, I needed her to know it more than ever.

“I just want to make sure you’re all right,” I said just before hanging up. And then I stared at the dark screen of my phone for a long time.

“Everything all right?” Eric unwittingly repeated my last phrase, approaching with a worried look.

“You know,” I said. “I don’t think it is.”

Before he could ask why, I was overcome with sudden urgency.

“I need to go to Chicago,” I said as a strange, chilly sensation crept up my spine. “Something’s happened. Something is wrong.” I looked up. “Eric, I haven’t heard from my mother for almost six weeks. No voicemails. Just texts. She hates to text, I…” I shook my head. “Something happened. I know it.”

He examined me for a moment, but my concerns must have been written all over my face. The car. The house in Evanston. Her ongoing lack of communication. I didn’t know what was going on, but I had absolutely no doubt that John Carson had something to do with it.

This was why we had felt so blissfully unbothered for the past month. We weren’t the ones he was bothering. My mother was.

“I’ll get the jet,” Eric said immediately.

I blinked. “The jet?”

He nodded, no sign of a smirk. “Chairman of the board comes with certain privileges. Like use of the company plane.”

Ten minutes ago, I might have had a sharp comeback about Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, but right now, I was just grateful we had the resources.

“I need to go home and change,” I said, suddenly moving around awkwardly in my gown. “I’m not going to look for my mother in Jessica Rabbit cosplay.”

Eric nodded. “I’ll tell Tony to bring the car around.”

But before we could do anything, a sudden commotion disturbed the party. People scattered as a horde of police officers flooded down the stairs, fronted by several men in black suits who looked, if Hollywood was correct, an awful lot like federal agents.

They plowed through the crowds, and the band stopped playing. A hum of voices remained, but otherwise, most people stopped talking to watch the squad make their way to us.

“Eric de Vries?” A tall man with a barrel chest addressed Eric with an utterly no-nonsense tone.

Eric frowned. “Yes. Is there a problem?” He glanced around. “Can’t be disturbance of the peace. I own the building, and it’s New Year’s Eve. The entire city is up right now.”

The man pulled out a badge—just as I suspected, he was a bona fide G-Man.

“Charles Dryden, FBI. Mr. de Vries, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit securities fraud.”

Eric’s jaw dropped. “Insider trading? Are you kidding me?”

“This has to be a misunderstanding,” I said, stepping in front of him. “Eric would never do something like that.”

But Eric took my arm and pulled me to the side. Dryden raised a hand, and a rush of officers came forward to grab Eric by the arms.

“Easy!” Eric protested. “Do I look like I’m resisting here?”

They ignored him, wrenching his arms behind his back in order to handcuff him roughly while Dryden proceeded:

“Eric de Vries, you have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed at no cost.”

“Jane.” Eric’s eyes zeroed in on mine, begging me to watch him. “Jane, call Skylar. Find Nina, and call Skylar and Brandon. Take Tony with you anywhere you go, and do not trust anyone else, do you understand? No one else.”

I nodded, my lower lip trembling as I walked alongside while they escorted my husband to the street. I fumbled with my phone, unable to make my fingers work as the icy wind caused shivers to sprint violently all over me.

“I’ll be out tomorrow,” Eric called over the gusts screaming from the Hudson Bay.

I nodded, unable to speak. This was crazy. I needed to call Zola. Find out what the hell had been happening. Was this what he was trying to tell us?

We should have run, I thought, over and over again. We should have kept running and never stopped.

“Jane!” Eric’s voice rang out over the din as he stood in front of the waiting car.

Our eyes met—brown to gray, earth to steel. His flashed like the stars hidden by the city’s aura.

“I love you,” he shouted. “The both of you! Don’t forget it.”

I nodded frantically, but my voice was stuck.

“I love you too,” I called back, fighting over the crowds and the drum of my own heart to get the words out. The words I desperately wanted him to know, beyond the shadow of a doubt.

But it was too late. The cars pulled away, a caravan of police.

Eric de Vries.

My lover.

Fighter.

Husband.

Father-to-be.

Was already gone.

Legally Yours

An Excerpt

It wasn’t until I was about halfway through the park that I heard a voice echoing behind me.

“Wait! Miss! Fuck, I don’t know your name, but will you just stop!”

I turned around to find Sterling bounding doggedly through the snow. He stumbled, nearly fell on a crack in the sidewalk, but rebounded with the reflexes of a trained athlete and caught up with me in a few more steps. A few more errant locks fell across his forehead, and I was faced with a smile that made my legs feel as if they were immersed in a hot tub, not the frigid New England air blowing up my skirt.

“Do you always go wandering through the Commons after midnight?” he asked as he regained his breath. “It’s not exactly safe. Especially for someone like you.”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant by that, considering my size and gender. Instead, I flushed, suddenly embarrassed by my idiocy. I wasn’t some hayseed from the hills. In my desperation to escape that house and the very disturbing effect that, well, this man seemed to have on me, I had done what every city dweller knows not to do: wander a public park at night.

“You left without saying goodbye,” Sterling said with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Or what you were doing in my house.”

“God,” I said, finally finding my voice, but able to look everywhere but directly at him. Like the sun, he exuded energy so bright I couldn’t see clearly. So instead, I rambled.

“I’m so sorry about that. I’m a friend of Ana’s, your housekeeper. She just let me in for a minute but had to go, uh, deal with something in her room. I didn’t have any cell reception down there, so I came upstairs to find a signal. She had no idea, really, so please don’t blame her. I didn’t mean to intrude in your, space, truly, and, um...”

I didn’t stop babbling until Sterling placed his hands on my shoulders and bent down so his chiseled features were level with mine.

“It’s okay,” he said slowly, and I found myself rolling my eyes at his playful tone before I could stop myself.

“Sorry,” I repeated, but the babbling stage was over.

“Your name?” he prompted again, releasing my shoulders and standing back up straight.

It was then I realized again just how very tall he was. A frame that must have been close to six-four filled out a charcoal-gray suit in a way that made me wonder just how much time he spent wearing a suit and how much time he spent at the gym.

“Yum,” I whispered before I could stop to think.

“Your name is Yum?”

“Oh, no,” I said, flushing an even deeper red. “Christ. Sorry. It’s Skylar.”

“Skylar Crosby?” he asked quickly.

I frowned at him. I wasn’t cold like Bostonians, but as a New Yorker, I had a deep suspicious streak. A stranger knowing my name definitely qualified as suspect.

“Yes…” I said, taking a few steps backward. “How did you know that?”

“I make it a point to know all of my employees’ names,” Sterling said with a brief, white smile. “Even the interns. Skylar’s a memorable one.”

Even though it was snowing outside, that was when I truly froze. The dots connected, and I suddenly realized who this was: Brandon Sterling, the elusive name partner at the firm he also founded. He was a legend in the office, but hadn’t been seen once by any interns. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual—we were disposable labor, so most of the partners were unlikely to take much interest. But even most of the junior associates who oversaw our work had never met him personally. He was a phantom.

“Oh, Jesus,” I breathed. “Jesus Christ.”

“No, just me, I’m afraid,” Sterling replied with another bright smile. “Although it’s a nice comparison.”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” I spluttered. “Oh my God, oh God, I was intruding on your home, and I really shouldn’t have. A friend of a friend invited me to wait for a car inside because of the weather, but it was completely inappropriate. I only went upstairs to find cell reception, I swear, and then you walked in…”

Shut up, shut up, he already knows this, shut up!My inner dialogue went crazy trying to censor the blather again pouring out of my mouth. When I looked back at Sterling, I was mortified to see him trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.

“Ms. Crosby,” he interrupted gently with yet another knee-weakening smile. “Really. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m just…very sorry for intruding,” I said lamely. “And for babbling. It’s something I do when I’m…”

“When you’re what?”

“Um, nervous,” I admitted.

“You’ll have to fix that if you want to be a litigator,” he joked, causing me to turn bright red all over again. Fuck, could things get any worse? Although I wasn’t sure I wanted the job at Sterling Grove, it would have given me a springboard to any other I wanted. I could kiss that opportunity goodbye.

“It’s all right,” Sterling said yet again, patting me gently on the arm.

In the cold, his touch seared through the heavy wool of my jacket. He shivered, and for the first time, I realized he had chased me into the snow in just his suit and very expensive-looking leather shoes, which were already getting watermarks from the snow around the tips. I looked down at my feet. My Manolos were also as good as ruined.

“I’m going to head back inside,” he said, tossing back toward his house. “Care to join me?”

“Oh no, sir, I’m really fine,” I said. “The T is just down this path, and it goes right back to Cambridge.”

Sterling glanced at his watch, which also looked very shiny and very expensive, but not flashy like that fool’s from the bar. Subtle. Tasteful.

“It’s almost one,” he said. “You probably already missed the last train, if you don’t get robbed in the park on your way there. Come on. My driver’s out of town, but I can call you a car while you wait.” When I hesitated, he reached out and squeezed my hand before letting it go, an intimate gesture that seemed to surprise him a bit too. “What kind of boss would I be if I made my interns stay until after midnight and didn’t give them a ride home?”

“Um…” For some reason, I couldn’t quite tell him that his office wasn’t the reason I was out so late.

“Let’s go,” he said again in a tone that brooked no argument and started to make his way back through the snow.

* * *

Someone (most likely Ana) had wised up to Sterling’s arrival. A large fire was alive in the fireplace when we reentered the house through the double-door entrance. There was no sign of his three companions. The house appeared to be empty but for him and me.

Sterling slipped off his shoes and carried them over to the fireplace. He set them down on the hearth while I loitered awkwardly in the foyer.

“Have a seat,” he said, nodding at one of the overstuffed couches I had been eyeing earlier. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He disappeared upstairs while I sat down. When he returned, he carried a newspaper and a small box covered in scratches and paint splotches. He had removed his jacket, vest, and tie, and was decidedly more informal, with his white shirt unbuttoned at the throat and rolled up to his elbows. Though it was practically identical to the outfits of just about every other man I’d seen that night, there was something about the way the tendons in his forearms tested the limits of his rolled-up sleeves that made my mouth water, as if his casual regalia were trying to tame an animalism that was literally splitting seams to escape. Padding silently across the thick carpet, he reminded me of a lion tracking its prey.

“May I?” he asked, kneeling in front of me and taking the heel of my shoe in his hand.

Wordlessly, I watched as he slid my pumps off each foot, then carefully set my stockinged feet back onto the sheepskin. When he looked up, our eyes caught as they had when I had first seen him. The moment quickly passed. He cleared his throat and stood up.

“Manolos,” he said, holding up one of my prized pumps. “The lady has expensive taste.”

“The lady has only one pair,” I responded sadly. “So I hope you’re not going to throw them in the fire.”

“Hardly,” he said, the “r” of the word flattening with a surprisingly thick Boston accent. He set both pairs of our shoes down on the hearth and proceeded to stuff them with crumpled newspaper.

“They’re not too wet,” he said. “I don’t think the fire will damage them at all, just help them dry. I’ll put some oil on them, though, if you’re all right with that.”

He opened up the box, which contained a rudimentary shoe shining kit.

“Where did you get that?” I asked. “It looks like an antique.”

“It was my father’s,” Sterling replied absently as he rummaged around and finally located a container of clear balm. He proceeded to dip a stained brush into the jar and rub it onto his shoes, one at a time.

“Oh, are you close?”

The question came out before I could help it. Sterling glanced up sharply for a half second before returning to his work, now brushing the polish into my shoes with vigor.

“He’s not around anymore,” he said quietly.

“Oh,” I said. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I shouldn’t intrude. Again.”

He looked up again, this time kindly.

“Skylar,” he said, and it was then I realized how much more I liked hearing my given name roll off his tongue. Much like before, the ‘r’ at the end wasn’t fully pronounced, rolling open with a subtle New England cadence that betrayed a working-class background he hadn’t quite erased.

“Yes?”

“You apologize too much.”

“I’m so—” I started before catching myself. Sterling gave me a cheeky half smile, and I couldn’t help but grin back. “Right,” I amended. “Okay.”

“Exactly,” he said with a wink before turning back to our shoes.

Ana entered the room with a tray bearing a teapot and a cup. When she noticed my presence on the couch, her expression briefly morphed into surprise before sliding back into easy affability.

“I believe you know Ms. Crosby, Ana,” Sterling said from his seat by the fire.

“Ah, yes, sir, a bit. I, um…”

“It’s all right, Ana,” Sterling said, echoing his words from before. I wondered if he tired of constantly having to reassure all the women he met. Clearly, he was disruptive to many of us. “You’re done for the night.”

“Yes, sir,” Ana said before leaving. “Good night.” With a quick, unreadable glance at me, she was gone, no doubt to gossip with Eric, if he was even still here, about what I was doing upstairs.

“Please,” Sterling said, indicating the tea. “You look frozen, so help yourself. I’ll call for a car and get another cup.”

He lifted himself easily from the hearth, and I couldn’t help but watch his finely shaped form as he strode out of the room. No wonder he kept himself such a secret at the office. With an ass like that, he’d have associates camped outside his door.

He returned shortly with his cell phone held to his ear and another teacup, which he set down on the tray. A woman’s voice said clearly that she would call him back shortly about the car.

“Cab companies call you back now?” I asked after he hung up.

“No, but personal assistants do,” he said with another impish half smile. My gut clenched. “How’s the tea?”

I took a sip. It was delicious, a sweet jasmine that I’d never had before. “Wonderful.”

He nodded. “It’s a blend I picked up the last time I was in Beijing. I’m no aficionado, thought it was pretty good.” His phone buzzed in his hand. “Sterling.”

The woman’s voice was more muffled this time, so I couldn’t understand what she was saying. “Really?” Sterling asked at one point. “All right. No, no, that’s fine, Margie, I’ll take care of it. You have a good night.”

He ended the call and slid back down to his seat on the hearth, elbows perched easily across his knees.

“Well, here’s the deal, Ms. Crosby,” he said.

“Skylar,” I corrected him. I didn’t want him to stop saying it now that he’d started.

Sterling rewarded me with another slow, soft smile that made my stomach flip. “Skylar. Well. It’s past one. The subways and buses are most likely done. Margie tells me she called four different car companies, but it appears that everyone in Boston is trying to get someone to drive them home in this weather. I’d drive you myself, but my car is being detailed. So, you’ve got a choice. You can wait here until about four a.m. for the next available car, which will make me grumpy since I’ll have to stay up with you, and I’m dog-tired. You can take your chance with the T, in which case I’ll walk you to the station. Through a blizzard, by the way. But I doubt you’ll do anything but spend the night there. Or you can take advantage of my hospitality and stay the night in one of my guest rooms.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” I started to say, but received the same brusque flick of the hand that Ana had gotten.

“Stop,” Sterling ordered. “This place is practically a hotel anyway. It’s no trouble, I promise.”

He lifted his eyebrow again in that way that dared me to argue otherwise, and I bit my lip as a snarky comment rose up my throat. His eyes zoomed straight to my mouth, and I quickly released my lip from my teeth.

“Ah,” he said, somewhat huskily this time. “So. Sleep on thousand-thread-count sheets in a warm bedroom? Or on a concrete bench with a bunch of homeless guys who probably haven’t showered since August? Tough decision, I know.”

I looked at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was really as altruistic as he seemed. Or as confident. He was nice, but how many men invited strange women to stay the night without having ulterior motives? In my (admittedly limited) experience, approximately none.

“Do you, um, live here by yourself?” The place was silent other than the fire and our voices.

Sterling smirked.

“Yes,” he said. “Is that a problem?”

“Well, you’re not going to try anything, are you?” The question flew out before I could stop it.

“I’m pretty sure welcoming yourself into my house and wandering my halls removes any liability on my part of sexual harassment, Skylar,” he said with a grin. “But I applaud your contempt nonetheless. First I’ve seen that you could be as cutthroat as my associates tell me.”

“They talk about me?”

“They talk about everyone,” he said. “But yes, I’ve heard of you.” He looked up at the ceiling as though reciting the conversation from a file. “Quick with words, extremely competent, doesn’t take shit from the male interns. Smart. A lot of promise.” He raised an eyebrow. “Colletti said she wanted to recruit you for a junior associate position, but you weren’t interested. Is that true?”

I felt another flush rising up my neck. “I suppose so. I mean, I’d be happy to make some coin, but that’s not why I’m in law school. I already went down that road once before, and it wasn’t really for me.”

“What road was that?”

“The ‘making money for money’s sake’ road. Before law school, I spent some time working for Goldman Sachs. It was just before they took the big bailout. Seeing all those executives take that money after stealing so much more from their investors and clients…it just made me sick. I’d rather be someone who could help people like that get some of it back. Or at least make sure they get what’s theirs in the end.”

Sterling raised a dusky eyebrow. “Almost sounds like you’re interested in advocacy. But I’ve seen your transcripts; your grades are too good for that. You should be clerking for the Supreme Court, not mucking around at a litigation firm.”

I sighed. “I’m...having a hard time choosing what I want to do.” It was hard to admit to someone who would be a potential reference, but it was the truth. “Family law is interesting, but I don’t want to do divorce work. I might also like to help some of the families who normally fall through the cracks get representation. Orphans, or kids whose parents are incarcerated, for instance.”

He tensed visibly. “Foster kids?”

I nodded. “Or abused women. People like that.”

“And why is that?”

I paused. I didn’t want to tell him that I came close to being one of those orphaned kids myself—he wouldn’t be interested in that sob story, not that I told it much anyway. “I’ve seen enough of those types who need help,” was all I said. “I’d like to be one of the people who can help them.”

Sterling didn’t answer, just gazed thoughtfully and chewed for a moment on his lower lip. I dug my toes into the rug and took another long drink of tea. When he stood up, Sterling looked pointedly at my cup, now empty.

“So?” he asked. “It’s late. What’s it going to be, Skylar? Have a nice long sleep in one of my guest rooms? Or do you need some more tea to help you decide?”

His tone dared me to say no, but his eyes twinkled in a way that told me he was enjoying the give and take. I set my cup down on the tray.

“All right,” I said. “You win.”

“I always do,” he replied with a grin. “Up one flight, second door down the hall on your right.”

“Aren’t you going to sleep too?” I asked, already standing up. I tried to stifle a yawn, but the thought of a warm bed was turning out to be more of a siren’s call than expected.

“I’ve got some more work to do tonight,” he said as he walked to the tea tray to fix himself a cup. “You have a good night, Skylar. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, um, Mr. Sterling,” I said, already on my way up the stairs. It felt strange to address him by his last name after he had removed my shoes, but he hadn’t instructed me otherwise. “Good night.”

* * *

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