She should depart boldly, but leaving early was frowned upon by the partnership powers-that-be. They might even think she needed another assignment. She definitely did not. She had just landed Popflicks. She had stayed until 11 p.m. every night this week. Okay, so I’m not always very good at saying no. But now was not the time to say no to a partner—not when she’d been working so hard for seven years, her life on hold. Now that she was in the homestretch, she could practically see “Audrey Willems, Partner,” embossed on her law firm’s business card.

She’d promised Eve that she wouldn’t stand her up—again—tonight. Best friends were supposed to be reliable. Especially when she’d promised said best friend and neighbor to be the guinea pig for her new catering business.

The towering stacks of papers on her desk made her hesitate. But … Promises to Eve. Promises to herself, her career. Promises to the senior partner. She could taste-test for Eve and then review the files … The mental image of her laughing with Eve morphed into her pale face lit by a fluorescent lamp reading a legal opinion. Her shoulders slumped.

She peeked out her doorway. No one was in the hallway. It was clear. With the Mission Impossible theme song running through her head, she snuck down the carpeted hallway and darted into the rarely used interior stairwell. Better odds to escape unseen than to chance the elevator. She jogged down several flights of stairs. So far, so good.

She was a few steps from the twenty-fifth-floor landing when the hard snick-crack of the crash bars sounded below on her left. The metal door swung open and the wiry figure of Lawrence Malaburn appeared. He leaned against the emergency exit door as it softly clicked shut behind him. Audrey stopped short, gripping the cold railing with one hand.

“Audrey. I didn’t realize you took the stairs.” Malaburn raised his face, and his thin lips pursed slightly.

Malaburn. Her least favorite partner. Eight months of working for him had made her seriously consider ending her law career. Demanding and critical, he’d brought her to tears more than once—in the office, but not in front of him. It was every working woman’s motto to never let them see you cry.

Note to self: Do not take the stairs.

Second note to self: Never let them see you sweat.

“It’s my exercise for the week,” Audrey said wryly. Maybe even for the month.

He waved for her to precede him down the cement stairway. Audrey stepped forward, her skin crawling. He was just about breathing on her neck. How about leaving the space of one step behind someone on the stairs? The jerk didn’t even practice common courtesy. No way was she going to make small talk with him for twenty-five more floors. She quickened her pace.

He matched her steps.