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“Toast?”
“Sure, thanks.”
He popped four slices into the toaster and poured her a cup of coffee, pushing it across the counter, followed by cream, sugar and artificial sweetener. “Wasn’t sure how you take it.”
“Black is fine.”
“That’s how I like it, too. Not sure why people put all that garbage in it when it’s perfectly good as is.”
“My sentiments exactly.” She took a seat on one of the plush stools that lined the longest island countertop she’d ever seen. It had to be twenty feet.
“Did you find everything you needed?”
“And then some. How did you know all my sizes?”
“My assistant is very good at these things. I have to give her full credit.”
“Please tell her thank you for me.”
“I’ll do that.” He served the eggs and toast with butter, jam and a bowl of fruit.
“This is lovely. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.”
He brought his plate with him and sat next to her.
They ate in companionable silence, which she appreciated. She’d grown weary of men who felt the need to be entertaining every minute they were with her out of fear she might lose interest. What they’d failed to realize was that she’d never been interested in the first place. So there’d been nothing to lose but her patience with their endless yammering about themselves.
This man knew how to work the silence, which made her even more intrigued.
After they’d finished eating, he cleared their plates and offered her more coffee.
She nudged her mug forward.
“We need to talk about your case,” he said gently after he’d refilled both their mugs.
Her bubble of contentment burst with those words. “Must we?”
“I’m afraid so. The DA has reached out with a possible deal that would keep you out of jail.”
“What kind of deal?”
“The kind where you might have to turn over your client list.”
She gasped. “Never.”
“I understand your reluctance, but here’s the thing. Your business is dead. The only way you can save yourself is to deal with the prosecutors. They’ve offered to clear the charges from your record in one year, provided you’re not charged with the same crimes again, in exchange for the client list. It’s a very fair deal, Nicoletta.”
“Fair to whom? To save my own skin, I have to sacrifice thousands of other people?”
“That’s about the gist of it.”
“I can’t do that, Collins. I simply cannot.”
“Then you’d have to take your chances at trial, which would be a national media circus the likes of which you can’t begin to fathom.”
The thought of that was unbearable, even if she did relish being the center of attention. That kind of attention, however, was not the kind she enjoyed.
