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Kane Zegas is going to be my brother-in-law.
SHATTERED SECRETS
CHAPTERONE
KANE
“I need a lawyer.”
I stopped writing.
What the hell?
I hadn’t heard that voice in years, but I’d remember it anywhere.
I lifted my gaze to the doorway of my office. A floral print dress took up most of it, that feisty expression was still there, if not more pronounced. And a red scarf was tied around dark hair.
I took off my glasses and set them on the desk with an exasperated sigh. “No one ever comes in here and says they’ve brought me lunch, or have extra tickets to the Knicks game, or bought a yacht they don’t have time to use and would love for me to have it.” I sighed again. “They always want a lawyer.”
“According to the plaque on your office, that’s your profession,” she said crisply.
And the smile that threatened almost broke free. She still had that fire.
I glanced out the window. “Has hell frozen over and no one bothered to tell me?”
“You’re the devil. You should know.” She remained in the doorway, her fists in that ridiculous dress.
My grin broke loose at that. “And yet you’re here, willing and ready to make a deal with me.”
Her nostrils flared, and she muttered something to herself I couldn’t hear. “Trust me, you were my last resort.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Do you know how long the waiting list is for my services?”
“No, and I don’t care.” Her chest rose and fell like she was quickly losing her patience.
It was so much like the first time we’d met. Familiar, as if we’d been doing this regularly for the last twenty-two years.
“The friends and family discount no longer applies. We aren’t friends, sweetheart, and by the grace of God, we aren’t family anymore either.” I couldn’t resist calling her the endearment.
And judging by that pissed-off look on her face, I’d hit my target. Why I drew such satisfaction from irritating her, I’d never know, because I still didn’t concern myself with the why of the things. It just was. And I’d enjoy the moment.
“I’m not your sweetheart,” she said through her teeth.
“Are you keeping count of how many times I call you that?” I leaned back in my chair.
This was an unexpected visit. One that if I’d seen coming I would have avoided. But I was actually enjoying myself.
“Are you going to help me or not?”
I scowled. “If this is about Alma, I don’t—”
“It has nothing to do with my sister,” she snapped.
The thought of my ex—well, soon-to-be ex-wife—had me pulling open the middle drawer for an antacid. At the time we’d wed, she’d had more assets than I did, so her father had ensured we’d had an iron-clad prenup that protected her against me.
Oh the irony. Said prenup didn’t do me much good now.
I knew I’d make a hell of a living as a defense attorney, but had never guessed business would be so . . . lucrative.
