He doesn’t stand there and trail my car to find out which house I end up at, which makes me assume they realized where I live before today, but claps his hands, ready for the ball to be thrown his way.

Just like that, their game resumes.

I pull into the garage and step inside, heading for the shower right away. I’m in no hurry, so I throw a deep conditioning treatment on my hair. By the time I’m out, fully dressed, and ready, it’s time to leave again.

Before I know it, I’m gliding into a reserved parking spot, slipping from my car, and climbing a half dozen steps toward a seventeen-story glass building with a wicked ocean view.

Walking into Admiral Law is equivalent to the swimwear segment of a beauty pageant, all eyes on me, judging and sizing me up at a glance... as they do every time I stroll in. They know why I’m here, or at least they know it’s not for a conference or consultation.

It helps that it’s only the main partners and their assistants here on the weekends and not the full staff. Regardless, I’m here every week, a rewind and repeat mirage of myself with the ever-requested flushed lips, ‘look at me’ big barrel curls, and borderline Elle Woods wannabe wardrobe—gag. Add in how I’m the only body allowed to slip right past the Valde desks, and crystal-clear understanding is the result.

Still, I enter with my head held high, smile bright and never waver, as my mother coached.

Okay, I guess the entire process is full-on pageant mode—thank you to my fifth-grade nanny for the small, horrifying experience.

As I tap my knuckle on the large russet double doors, it’s instantly opened from the other side.

Anthony smiles, reaching for my hand. “I’ve told you, sweetheart. You never have to knock.”

My lips curve and I offer a one-shoulder shrug as I allow him to lead me closer.

He kisses my cheek, his lips lingering there a moment before he draws back to take me in further. “You look stunning, as always.”

“Your suit’s not so bad either.”

A deep, low chuckle leaves him, and he leads me toward the cherrywood table in the corner. “That’s nice to hear, considering it only comes off for bed.”

I pull my lips in, and he nods, his chin falling slightly, but his eyes stay on mine. “I’m sorry, that was... inappropriate.”

A demure grin slips over his face, but I don’t buy it.

He’s a successful, respected, and incredibly handsome twenty-nine-year-old man with a hefty bank account. There’s no way he’s timid with a woman.

“Hardly.” I paint on a flirty smile. “And I get it, you’re here more than you’re not.”

His hand still holding mine, he lowers us into the chairs. “Will that be a problem?”