Page 9

My inbox pings with another email.

Miss Charlotte,

I’m sorry to hear that. May I ask if it’s your time or interest level that’s keeping you from hearing out the case details?

Lucas Price

I glance at the clock. It’s 12:17 a.m. Why is this guy sending work emails this late? And why is he responding in place of his assistant?

Mr. Price,

If I may be frank: does it matter? I cannot help you. Best of luck with your case.

Charli

I’m not surprised when his response comes instantly. We might as well be chatting right now.

Charli,

If I may also be frank, it does matter. Your answer determines how I solve for the obstacle keeping you from the most interesting investigation you’ve ever worked on.

Lucas

For the second time in so many minutes, I snort.

The most interesting investigation? I doubt that. Unless you consider figuring out your client is lying to you about the money he has squirreled away in the form of paintings “interesting.”

Charli

This time, there’s a delay of a few minutes before his response comes through.

I don’t let myself think about how I spent those minutes staring at my screen, chewing on my bottom lip.

Charli,

In my defense, the paintings were hideous. No one in their right mind would have thought they’d be worth something.

Also, ouch.

Won’t you even hear me out? What’s the harm?

Lucas

P.S. Pretty please?

To my surprise, the postscript has something flashing through my body.

When was the last time I heard a lawyer say please?

Suddenly, I’m desperate to know what he looks like. I have no idea why I haven’t already looked it up. I know everything about his firm, but I don’t know anything about him.

A quick internet search tells me everything I need to know: this man gets everything he wants.

Leaning forward for a better look, my gaze travels over the professional headshot on my screen. Styled brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a smile that could probably convince a nun to leave the convent. Paired with a perfectly tailored blue suit, and yeah, Lucas Price knows exactly what he can get away with.

I drum my fingers on my desk. I should abandon this conversation. I already wasn’t a fan of his firm—their clients aren’t the types of companies I typically align myself with—but now seeing what he looks like, it’s probably a safe assumption that we might have some opposing opinions. I shouldn’t entertain his case.

But then my computer pings again.