Sleeping with the Enemy (Phoenix Ridge Billionaires #1)

Chapter 1

The rain hadn’t started yet, but Miller could smell it coming—that particular tension in the air, the way the light flattened against the harbor outside Rachel’s corner office windows.

She stood in the doorway, legal pad in hand, watching her mentor flip through a manila folder with the kind of focused attention that meant something interesting had landed on her desk.

“Close the door,” Rachel said without looking up. “And sit.”

Miller did both, settling into one of the worn leather chairs across from Rachel’s desk.

The office was quintessential Rachel Hartwell: clean lines, law books organized by practice area rather than alphabetically, and framed commendations from the Oregon State Bar tucked between family photos.

The largest frame held a candid shot of Rachel’s wife, Sydney Hartwell, and their twin boys at what looked like a soccer game, all four of them laughing at something off-camera.

Six years at Hartwell & Associate, and Miller still felt a small flutter of nerves whenever Rachel summoned her like this. It wasn’t quite anxiety, but more like the anticipation before a test she’d studied hard for.

“Valerie Shepry-Dane,” Rachel said, finally looking up. Her thick reading glasses sat perched on her nose, making her look more like a university professor than one of the sharpest family law attorneys in Phoenix Ridge. “Ring any bells?”

Miller searched her memory. “Shepry as in Shepry Global? The real estate company?”

“The sustainable luxury real estate empire, yes.” Rachel slid the folder across the desk. “Valerie was married to Astoria Shepry for fifteen years. She filed for divorce six months ago, and she’s looking for new representation. Her previous attorneys weren’t aggressive enough, apparently.”

Miller opened the folder. The intake form was sparse: name, contact information, a few scribbled notes in Rachel’s handwriting.

But clipped to the inside cover was a printout from the Phoenix Ridge Business Journal, a photo of two women at some kind of gala—one dark-haired and striking, her face composed, betraying nothing, and the other warm and smiling, leaning slightly toward her companion.

“Let me guess,” Miller said. “Her wife is the one not smiling.”

“Astoria Shepry, founder and CEO.” Rachel leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled.

“Built the company from nothing starting about seventeen years ago. Sustainable luxury developments, eco-infrastructure, boutique hotels, the works. The business press loves her. ‘Ice queen of green real estate’ and that kind of thing.”

Miller studied the photo. Astoria Shepry looked like someone who’d learned early in life that showing emotion was a liability. She had the kind of controlled, impeccable presence that probably served her well in boardrooms…but made her hell to live with.

She’d seen this pattern before: successful spouse, powerful career, everything buttoned up tightly, and somewhere behind closed doors was a partner suffocating under the weight of it all.

“What’s Valerie claiming?” Miller asked.

“Emotional abuse, financial manipulation, and fifteen years of being made to feel invisible and incompetent.” Rachel’s voice was neutral, but Miller caught the slight tightening around her eyes.

They’d both worked enough domestic cases to know how that story usually went.

“She says she contributed significantly to Shepry Global’s success, but Astoria took all the credit, controlled the finances, and isolated her from friends and family.

The final straw was apparently some kind of public humiliation at a charity gala. ”

The rain started then, a soft patter against the windows that would no doubt build to something heavier by afternoon. Miller watched droplets streak down the glass as she thought about the smiling woman in the photo.

“She came in last week for an initial consultation,” Rachel continued.

“I found her credible. She gave specific details about the marriage and was consistent emotionally. She documented everything she could get her hands on.” She paused.

“But this is going to be complicated. Astoria Shepry has resources, and she’s not going to roll over.

We’re looking at divvying up significant assets, potential company control issues, and a lot of public scrutiny. ”

“Why are you telling me this?” Miller asked, though she already suspected but refused to let herself hope too much.

Rachel smiled, just a small, upturned curve of her mouth. “Because I want you as the second chair.”

The flutter in Miller’s chest sharpened into something brighter.

Being second chair on a case like this meant endless hours of discovery research, drafting, and client support, but it also meant being given real responsibility.

It was the kind of case that could accelerate her path to junior partner if she played her cards right and handled it well.

“I’d be honored,” Miller said as she straightened in the chair.

“Don’t be too honored yet.” Rachel nodded toward the folder.

“Valerie’s coming in at two-thirty to meet with us both.

I need you to review what’s there and get familiar with the basics of the case.

You’ll be her primary point of contact for day-to-day matters.

I’ll handle strategy, but she needs someone she can trust who will actually listen. ”

Miller heard the subtle compliment underneath the assignment. Rachel had told her once that her greatest asset was her ability to make her clients feel heard. “You have a gift for empathy,” Rachel had said. “Don’t let anyone convince you that’s a weakness in this field.”

“I’ll be ready,” Miller said, her voice steady.

“I know you will be.” Rachel pulled off her reading glasses and set them on the desk, a signal that the formal case briefing was over.

“Miller, this woman has been through something. I don’t know the full shape of it yet, but I know the signs.

She’s scared and angry and trying very hard to hold it together. She needs to know we’re on her side.”

Miller nodded. She thought about all the clients who’d sat across from her in conference rooms, their hands shaking as they described years of being diminished, dismissed, and controlled. The ones who apologized for crying, the ones who couldn’t cry at all anymore because they had nothing left.

“I’ll make sure she knows,” Miller vowed.

She gathered the folder and stood, already running through the list of what she needed to review before the meeting: asset structures, company filing, and whatever she could find on Shepry Global’s operation and the woman at the head of it all herself, Astoria Shepry.

Miller would need to understand her opponent if she was going to help Valerie fight her.

At the door, she paused and turned around. “Rachel? Thank you for trusting me with this.”

Rachel was already reaching for her next file, but she looked up long enough to give Miller a small nod. “Earn it.”

Miller closed the door behind her and headed for her own office, the folder pressed tightly against her chest. She knew Astoria Shepry was out there going about her day, probably unaware that her ex-wife had just hired new attorneys and that Miller Scott was about to spend nearly every waking moment of the next several months building an iron-clad case against her.

And Miller didn’t feel sorry at all for her. You didn’t get to spend fifteen years terrorizing someone, making them feel invisible and insignificant, and then complain when they finally fought back.

She looked at her wristwatch. Only forty-five minutes before Valerie arrived, and she had lots of work to catch up on.

Valerie Shepry-Dane arrived seven minutes early, which Miller noted with approval. Punctuality suggested someone who respected other people’s time—or someone who’d spent years walking on eggshells, always making sure she couldn’t be criticized for being late.

Miller met her in the reception area and was struck immediately by how different she seemed from what she’d expected.

The woman in the gala photo had been polished, yes, but distant somehow, as if she’d been performing a role.

The woman now standing in Hartwell & Associates’ modest lobby was warmer and more present.

Valerie wore a cream silk blouse and tailored gray slacks that were expensive but not garish, and when she smiled at Miller, it reached her eyes.

“You must be Miller Scott.” Valerie extended her hand, her grip firm but not too tight. “Rachel told me you’d be working on my case. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have someone else in my corner.”

“We’re glad you’re here,” Miller said, meaning every word. “Can I get you anything before we start? Coffee, water, tea?”

“Water would be lovely, thank you.”

Valerie’s voice had a slight tremor underneath its composure, the kind of micro-shake that came from holding yourself together through sheer willpower. Miller recognized it, had heard it dozens of times in this office.

She led Valerie to the conference room where Rachel was already waiting, legal pad open and reading glasses on.

The rain had picked up while Miller was reviewing files, now drumming steadily against the windows.

Through the gray wash of water, downtown Phoenix Ridge was barely visible from the skyscraper’s windows: brick buildings, the distant spire of City Hall, cars crawling through slick streets with their headlights on.

“Valerie.” Rachel stood and shook her hand. “Thank you for coming in. Please, sit wherever you’re comfortable.”

When Miller came back from the break room with a fresh glass of cool water, Valerie chose the chair closest to the window, angling herself so she could see both attorneys and the door without craning her neck.

A small decision, but Miller noticed it, the instinct to keep everyone in her line of sight.

Another tell. She handed the glass to Valerie and took her seat.