Chapter Five
SHAYLA
––––––––
T HE COURTHOUSE FEELS like a pressure cooker, but as much as I want to think it's because of the high stakes involved in the whistleblower lawsuit we're handling—
It's not.
And I'd only be fooling myself pointlessly if I said it was.
I slide into the bench and place Adriano's briefcase precisely where he likes it—right side, handle facing outward. I arrange his notepad and pens in perfect alignment. His coffee (black, boring, and scalding hot, just the way he likes it) on a black marble coaster to the left.
It's been a couple of days since the night he found out about my fake marriage (and divorce, but let's not be petty and start counting lies). And since then, we've both avoided looking into each other's eyes and doing our best to act like nothing's changed.
Because nothing has.
Really.
And then I feel it.
His presence.
Even before the courtroom starts buzzing, I already know he's arrived, but I keep my eyes on my notepad even as he reaches his seat.
"Good morning, Mr. Kontides."
"Shayla."
Hearing him say my name startles me into looking up—
Ugh.
I regret it immediately, with the way my heart starts banging so loudly, I'm afraid it will get people to wonder if the courtroom's haunted, and we have with us some ghostly judge pounding its invisible gavel in condemnation of our poor unfortunate souls.
Control yourself, self!
But the opposite happens as I hand him the case folder, and our fingers accidentally brush.
Yikes!
I barely keep myself from flinching as electricity jolts through both of us.
Stop sparking, sparks!
"You look pale," my boss observes broodingly.
"I'm fine."
"Did you eat breakfast?"
Since when does Adriano Kontides care about my eating habits?
"I had coffee."
"Coffee isn't food."
"Says the man who considers espresso a food group."
He almost smiles. Almost . But because I'm suddenly terrified of what could happen if he does.
"The judge is in a mood today," I relay under my breath.
"And you trust your sources about this?"
I nod.
"Thank you." I'm pretty sure he'll find a way to use this to his advantage, just like how he always does. He's the kind of man you never want to lower your guard around. Give him an inch, and he'll end up taking a mile.
"Anything else?"
I consider his question seriously, and that's when I see it.
Double ugh.
But...I've done this a thousand times before, and so all I can do is croak out the truth.
"Your tie's crooked."
So please, please, please just fix it yourself.
But instead, my boss keeps his gaze on the documents as he says, "Fix it then."
Grrrr.
I reach for his silk tie with hands that stupidly tremble. I do my best to ignore the muscular heat of his chest.
C'mon, fingers. Move faster, will you?
I find myself needing to move just a little closer to knot it at the perfect angle.
Ugh.
But this also means being close enough to have me biting my lip at the scent of his aftershave.
Why does he always have to smell so...yummy?
I end up yanking his knot a little too tight in my anxiety, and his dark head lifts up sharply.
Oops.
I adjust the knot and take a step back. "All done."
"Thanks."
Then he goes back to reading his case file, and I go back to obsessing-not-obsessing over my boss.
"All rise."
The bailiff's booming voice nearly makes me jump, but it's also a distraction I desperately welcome. Something to occupy my mind, finally.
"The Honorable Judge Conchita Samson presiding."
For the next three hours, I watch Adriano do what he does best—command a courtroom. While the other counsel seems to have an arsenal of tricks up in his sleeve (and doesn't hesitate to use it), Adriano's voice remains perfectly cool. Not once does he raise his voice. He never does, actually (except for the time he found out I lied about being married. And divorced. But again, that's a completely different thing.)
Adriano in lawyer mode has always been a secret joy of mine. It's like watching an episode of Suits, but live. And just in case you're wondering, the answer is no.
I never saw myself as Meghan Markle...since she never had the hots for Harvey.
But I digress...again.
When the lunch recess is called, Adriano tells me he's invited the opposing counsel to lunch (typical) and that he needs me to join them (also typical... not ).
"Lissa wants you there," he says simply.
"I understand." When he puts it that way, it's not like I have any other choice. I turn to leave, but he suddenly catches my wrist, and his touch is pure and forbidden...fire.
I yank my hand out of my hold and pretend not to notice the way my boss stiffens at my reaction.
"Yes, Mr. Kontides?"
"We need to talk."
"About what?"
"Do you have plans tonight?"
"I do." I absolutely have zero qualms about lying right now. Anything to escape being alone with him, and especially after office hours.
"Cancel them."
Typical Adriano.
The courtroom door swings open, and Ms. White enters with her junior associate. Saved by opposing counsel. That's a first.
"Adriano!" She extends a well-manicured hand. "That was quite the performance this morning. But don't think I'm rolling over."
"I'd be disappointed if you did." His charm switches on instantly. "We have a table at Rufino's. Shayla will join us, as requested."
Lissa turns to me with a warm smile. "Excellent! I've heard so much about you. The woman who keeps the great Adriano Kontides on schedule and on his toes."
"If you're interested in pirating me right under my boss's nose, I would love to consider—-"
"Shut up, Shayla."
Lissa laughs. She obviously thinks I was just joking, but I wasn't. And so did my boss, apparently, if his glare is anything to go by.
ADRIANO
A private room is ready for our use when we get to Rufino's, and Lissa doesn't even wait for us to get seated when she starts talking.
Typical.
Lissa has a reputation for being a shark...and proud of it.
And normally, even though I've already made up my mind on the kind of settlement I'd like my client to accept, I'd still be paying attention to what Lissa's saying, in case she slips up.
Normally speaking, that is.
But nothing's normal right now. Nothing's been normal since the night I found out my secretary has been lying to me all along.
Everything's changed since then, and it's why my secretary has all of my attention at the moment.
Look at me, dammit.
She's been avoiding my gaze since that night. And she's still doing it, with her gaze fixed determinedly on her tablet as she jots down notes.
Shayla has always been good at that. It's why Lissa wants her here. She never misses a thing.
Well, except for this.
She's been doing her best to act like she doesn't feel it.
This mix of tension and heat that's just burning hotter between us moment by moment.
Does she really think she can keep this up forever?
"Adriano? Your thoughts?"
Lissa looks at me in askance, and even though I haven't heard a single thing she's said, I only have one answer to give her.
"You can't afford to hear them right now, considering what you're offering to my client."
Lissa isn't insulted. "You need to be realistic. The evidence is circumstantial at best."
We're used to playing this game, no hard feelings.
But what I'm not used to?
At all?
Shayla shifts in her seat at that moment, and her leg accidentally brushes against mine under the table.
Shit .
She immediately pulls away, but the damage is done. I've lost my train of thought.
"Talk to your client," Lissa urges.
"I'll do you one better, and speak to Ms. Tolentino about this."
Lissa looks at me in interest. "Since we are dealing with gender-sensitive issues here, I'll indeed consider that a positive." She then looks at Shayla, saying, "Do stop dilly-dallying, Ms. Tolentino. You were born to be one of us. I look forward to going up against you next time."
Silence stretches between us when Lissa leaves, and Shayla still refuses to meet my gaze.
"She's right, you know."
Shayla glances up. "About what?"
"You should be one of us."
She shrugs. "Not everyone wants to be a lawyer, Mr. Kontides."
"Indeed. But you do."
She rises to her feet, and so do I.
"We should head back to office—"
"I've already told Milos to drive you home," I interrupt her. "Take the afternoon off. I'm sure you'll need time to prepare for tonight's ball."
Her eyes widen. "Are you talking about the fundraiser—"
"Yes."
"But you're supposed to attend that alone," she protests. "And I already told you I had plans—"
"I bought that for a second," I acknowledge, "but then I remembered that I've known you for nine years—"
"Eight and a half."
"Is that really the hill you want to die on?"
"Actually—"
"Do not push me on this," I warn her coolly. "I expect you to be with me this evening. And that's my final word on it."
"Fine." And then she just leaves.
Typical.
All the other secretaries who had worked for me before Shayla were either crybabies, sycophants, or gold-diggers. Sometimes, all of the above.
Shayla was the only one who dared speak her mind to me, to the point of being rude. The only one not to flinch even no matter how many times I lost my temper. And unfortunately for both of us—
She was also the only secretary I've come to realize was a woman.
And a very desirable one at that.