Legal Attraction: A Romantic Suspense Novel (Legally Suspenseful Romance)

Chapter One

The video chat opened up on Anders Rossi’s wall monitor across the room. The King of Torren’s super-large face appeared, calling, “Anders! Anders, my prince, answer me.”

He laughed at his friend. “I’m here, Nico. It’s an unholy hour in the morning, but I’m here.”

“You’re going to work in ten minutes and we both know it. So I’ll be quick. We need you at the regatta.” He shifted his phone so that Anders could see he was on the docks in front of his boat. He peered closer. If Nico shifted just a hair, he’d see his beautiful boat, the Lucinda. His heart ached, literally caused pain, at the thought that he was not there, out on the water, in his boat.

But he shook his head. “New job, remember? Leaving in ten.” He pointed to his watch. “Can’t be late for the first day.”

“Can’t you take off a week? What kind of job is this?”

“A law firm. They don’t believe in vacations.”

“Remind me again why you don’t just live here? We need lawyers. Every day, there’s a reason for one of our legal team to work.”

“I know. I’ll look into it, but don’t hold your breath. Let me get my feet wet, prove my worth, all that.” He shrugged into his suit coat. The firm had a more casual atmosphere but he didn’t care. He dressed how he wanted to dress.

“They’d be insane not to make you a partner tomorrow and triple your pay.” He adjusted the phone so Anders was now looking at the gloriously blue-green water. “They would if they knew who you are.”

“They don’t. And I’d like to keep it that way. Gotta run. See you this summer. Maybe.” He turned off the video and picked up a new leather attaché, adjusted his suit coat again, eyed himself in the mirror, and then stepped out of his home office.

Anders kissed his mother on the cheek. “I’ll be late tonight.”

She squeezed him extra tight, a few more wrinkles showing up around her eyes. “You don’t need to be telling your mother when you’re coming and going. Your curfew never really stood for much anyway.”

He shifted his leather bag on his shoulder. It was empty now, but by the end of today, it would be full of legal-sized folders and case descriptions, rough drafts of motions and casework.

His first day as an attorney.

“It’s good manners, Mom. Don’t want you worrying, staying up, or trying to cook me dinner.” He winked, and she laughed.

“You know I’m not one for too much cooking. You find yourself a woman who loves to cook.” She grinned and shook a finger at him.

“I’ll marry when you do.” This was a game of theirs. Mother always playfully suggesting marriage and him always politely deferring. They got on well together, and he would do anything for the woman who’d done everything for him.

But he cursed his dad for leaving her to live alone all day. He lifted his hand, a genuine smile on his face, and then stepped outside the door. She’d never remarried, never wanted to, and there were times, when she didn’t know he was looking, that the weariness showed.

For a while, he’d thought his parents were getting back together. Late nights on the phone, murmuring in her bedroom, gave him hope. Not hope for himself. He’d long lost any love for the man who’d sent them away. Hope for his mother. But then the calls had stopped, right around the time she’d insisted they make a sudden move to Virginia. Turned out to be provident, because their Cape Cod home was located remarkably close to the University of Virginia, where he’d gone to law school. And still close to his law firm, where he’d just been hired.

He clicked his car on and rolled down all the windows as he approached the new Tesla parked in front of their house. The AC started up automatically. The shiny black car got hot in the sun no matter what season of the year.

Their neighbor across the street pulled mail from his mailbox.

Anders nodded like he did every morning and the man ignored him per the usual. But his neighbors on the other side, a group of women—second-year law students—peered out from their windows per their usual.

The monotonously boring and repetitive routine of his life was hopefully about to change.

He whistled a tune he heard on the radio sometimes and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Then a black car with tinted windows pulled out from a parallel parking spot and crawled down their narrow street lined with cars. Just outside of Richmond, they didn’t see many government-type cars. One time, the president’s motorcade passed him on the opposite side of the freeway. All ten lanes had been blocked off so the motorcade would not have company on what appeared to be a leisurely drive. This car looked just like the ones driving on either side of the president. Down here in Richmond, it stood out like a flamingo would on the Potomac.

He tried to ignore the car. He pulled out like it was perfectly normal to see black cars with tinted windows in their little neighborhood. The car slowed behind him, but stuck unusually close to his bumper.

A glance at the driver’s seat through Anders’s rearview mirror told him nothing about the driver. The tinted windows hid everything but a vague shadow of a person.

Coincidence, he told himself. But he couldn’t help but keep a sharp eye on his mirror.

He turned on some music—country—and rotated his head around, trying to loosen the tight strain in his shoulders.

For the entire length of a long residential street, Anders tensed, over and over. Why did he even care? It was a random car. There was probably some suspicious character, someone hiding out on their street, someone besides him. Maybe even someone in the witness protection program.

The car inched closer.

Ordinary cars on residential streets did not do this.

As soon as they reached the first intersection off Willow Court, he turned away from work and pulled into the nearest gas station.

Holding his breath, he stopped at an open pump, got out of the car, and made a show of searching for his wallet, with one eye on the road.

The car drove right on by, its speed picking up until it passed Anders with a light squeal.

“What the . . .” He whipped around. But there were no plates.

He measured his breathing.

He had flashes of memories. His mother’s face white with fear, their own car squealing out toward the small strip of a runway. The green-blue water of the Mediterranean surrounded them. The fur on his stuffed dog tickled his chin. His beloved puppy, the real one, had been left behind.

Their small plane had taken off over the water and out across the Mediterranean.

Mother had never gone back to the life on that beautiful water. But Anders had. Nico and the guys had kept in contact. His friends were all princes, or kings now, of Mediterranean countries, mostly small islands, some larger, all powerful in their own way. Anders was technically a prince as well. But he hoped that title would die with his father.

He turned to get back in the car, ready to at last head to his first day at Goldstein and Smithson. A car pulled up behind him, a pale yellow bug, waiting for his pump.

Grateful for the interruption from morose thoughts, he waved his hand, indicating he’d be pulling out.

But she just grinned. A pale-eyed, clear-skinned woman stepped out of her car and shrugged. “No hurry. You gonna get gas?” Her slight Southern accent and cheerful wave matched the yellow convertible VW bug perfectly.

The tightness in his chest eased, and he found a ready smile answering her own. “Looks like I’m good to go.” He stepped closer and leaned up against the back of his car. “Only now I want to stick around for a minute.”

“Do you?” She checked her watch. “Maybe y’all could inch forward a titch and I can fill my gas while you stick around?” She widened her eyes.

He lifted his hip off the car. She wasn’t as interested as he’d thought. This day was getting worse. He hoped the down trend didn’t continue, or all his hopes for a great first day would slip away.

But instead of driving away, he stopped and called out, “Real nice to see such a friendly face.”

She grinned again and then returned to her phone with a hand up.

Well, that was that.

He pulled out onto the street and headed to the main headquarters of Goldstein and Smithson.

As soon as he walked in the door, the lady behind the desk lifted a file and held it out toward him while speaking into the phone. She nodded and made a tight little smile while saying into the phone, “I’m sorry, Mr. Smithson just isn’t available right now. He comes in at nine. If you like, I can send you back to his voicemail.” She clicked a button and replaced the phone on its dock. Then she turned back to Anders. “You can fill out the paperwork in that conference room over there.” She pointed back over his shoulder.

“Thank you.” He turned and then stopped.

Sunny-yellow-car woman was sitting in there already, chatting up the whole room while filling out her papers.

His grin started small but then grew. Once again, his day was back on track.

He stepped in the door. Four sets of eyes turned to him. One brilliantly blue on the beautiful woman from earlier, the rest deep brown like his. They were men, the competition. Law firms were not full of pleasing yellow personalities. They were the red, black, stark grays in the world. It was a race to the top, and these men were going to be serious contenders.

But then one of them waved a hand. “We’re in a bit of a race. They already told us the first one to finish these papers is going to be put on a high-profile case.” His British accent was entertaining and made Anders feel less self-conscious about his slight European one.

The friendly Brit bit the end of his pen. “I’m Caleb. You might want to take a seat.” He patted the spot at the table next to him. Which also happened to be next to Yellow.

“Thanks.” Anders glanced at the others, but they were furiously writing on lines, checking boxes, and signing things.

“What’s all this? Human resources stuff?” He glanced down at the papers, frowned, and then flipped through them to the end. “Is this . . . a personality test?”

Caleb nodded but kept writing.

Anders fell into the seat and lifted the cover letter. He was about to dig in, but instinct sent him back to that cover letter. “Welcome to Goldstein and Smithson.” Blah blah. He tried to skim the rest, hardly noticing the words until they popped off the page in bold, flashing in front of his eyes. “Please disregard the rest of the paperwork and make your way to the corner office on the east side.”

He jumped to his feet and ran out the door.

Which corner? The east side had two corners. He read again. Was there a name? Any indication on the letter? Nothing. He slowed his steps so he wouldn’t run anyone down on the first day.

But then someone came at him from behind, ramming through his shoulder and past him in the hall. Yellow rounded the first corner and booked down the next hall.

He shook his head and lengthened his strides. He didn’t need to run like a reckless maniac, but he could certainly rush. What had his mother always said? Hasten. Don’t run. But Yellow was way far ahead. And he couldn’t let her win. He needed this day to get better. Some high-profile cases made people’s careers. Having his career made on the first day sounded pretty great to him.

He sped up and almost caught up to her. He glanced at the paper and saw something he hadn’t before: an arrow sending him to the back side. He scanned the page and looked closer while trying to catch up and not run into a wall or a person.

A tiny diagram of what looked like a hall and two corners. An X marked the far one. He stretched his legs further, and when Yellow ran into the first office, he laughed out loud and booked past her. Too easy.

He went as fast as he could without hurting someone. Just as he reached the door, she rushed in at his side.

A light-haired man sat behind a huge desk, his eyebrows up close to his hairline. Then he checked his watch. “You’re both speedy.”

“Who won?” Anders breathed out.

“From what I could tell, this young lady was ahead.”

“He was the first to run out the conference room door.” She nodded.

Anders’s mouth dropped. An honest competitor. “True.” He eyed her, his respect growing. “But she would have beat me if she hadn’t run into the wrong corner office.”

She crossed her arms. “How did you know not to stop there?”

He held out the paper and flipped it upside down.

“Wow, you’re really something, aren’t you?” She traced a finger over the tiny diagram showing which corner office. “And actually reading the cover letter.” She shook her head.

“Anders, come with me please?” The man behind the desk—Conner Smithson, according to the nameplate— waved for him to follow through an inner door in his office.

Anders could almost feel the surging disappointment behind him, but didn’t turn to see it for himself. He walked through the door and bit his tongue to stop the laugh. This side office didn’t have an entrance from the hallway. It was a smallish room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a large pool table. The room was lined with old-fashioned video games, a fish tank, and a long bar. A conference table filled the space at the end.

“Sometimes I need to relax. Do you play pool?” Conner held up a stick.

When I’m messing around with teenagers. “Sure. This is great.” Suddenly, whatever productive meetings were going on outside this office seemed way more interesting. But Anders grabbed the offered stick and determined to finish up in here as soon as possible.

Conner started off with an incredible break. He sent five balls into pockets. “Looks like I’m solids.”

“Yes, you are.” Anders sent one stripe in a corner but then gave Conner a perfect shot.

“I’ll take it! We have mutual friends, you know.” Conner ran a chalk square all over the tip of his stick.

“Excellent. Who?” Anders rested his hip up against the table.

“The King of Torren, for one.” He leaned forward, resting his stick against the table, aiming carefully. He skipped right to the good stuff, apparently.

Anders stood. He had just talked to Nico that morning. And something was different about Conner. “Did you just change your accent?”

He nodded. “Or rather, I stopped forcing my American on you.”

Anders tipped his head. “So you know that group? The Valdezes and the others?”

“Oh yes. That regatta they run? Amazing. They say it’s just for fun, to prepare them for the real thing in Spain. And when I say that, don’t misinterpret fun to mean the competition is lower. No way. It’s just not the international race.”

“Ah yes, I received a phone call about it this morning, in fact. I haven’t been over there in years.” When he hit his early twenties, and his father had started showing up in the tabloids for ridiculous displays of partying and womanizing, he’d spent the summer there. Maybe he’d hoped to run into him? Get a drink? Punch him in the face? He’d made some good friends, but not seen his father at all. In fact, the tabloid articles and pictures disappeared while he was there. And his father was nowhere to be seen.

Conner leaned forward to eye a particular angle between the balls. “I’ll be heading over, not with a boat, but maybe I can find a spot on one.”

Anders nodded, hiding his surprise. Just how well did he know the princes? “Nico sent me an encouraging video chat.”

Conner’s smile broadened. “So, you’re coming?”

“Coming?”

“To the regatta. We’re calling in all the princes.”

Anders stiffened. “I’m not a prince.” He hit the ball overly hard. It jumped into the air, didn’t hit a single ball, and landed nowhere near anything helpful.

“Last I checked, your genealogy says you are. Thirty generations of Andrettis going all the way back to the ancient civilizations along the Mediterranean.”

“We go by Rossi now, my mother’s maiden name.”

“Come back.” Conner stopped and leaned toward him. “Now is a really good time to come back.”

Anders tilted his head. “Hey, it’s getting a little serious and personal in here. I’m not a prince. I’m not inheriting a throne. How about we switch over and talk about my new high-profile client?”

“That’s what I’m talking about. Your dad.”

Anders choked. “My . . . dad?”

“He’s your client.”