Martin. The founder of Pastore Legal. Champion of the people.
As long as the “people” weren’t an associate named Nell Brewster.
Quit or be fired.
Those had been her choices. She’d figured that out quickly enough even though she hadn’t been so quick to see everything else.
She hated knowing how oblivious she’d been. Hated knowing that she’d been such an easy pawn. Really, really hated facing the fact that for so long she’d put her trust where it didn’t belong.
At thirty-six, she was no smarter than she’d been at twenty-six. Or sixteen, for that matter.
“I’m sure.” She slid off the seat where she’d been tensely perched as those who had stopped by for birthday cake and adult beverages said their goodbyes, and kept the tall metal-backed stool between them. Casually dating a work associate was fine and dandy. Until it wasn’t. “Thanks, though.”
Scott shrugged, ever good-natured. “Next time.”
She kept her wooden smile in place as she waved toward the slab of cake that remained on the long table. “Take some cake. There’s plenty.”
It was sized for the crowd Ros had initially expected. The crowd that hadn’t panned out.
At another time, the two of them would have laughed about it, just figuring that left more cake and wine for them. Neither of which was ever a bad thing.
But it wasn’t another time.
Still, what was a copious amount of leftover cake when the rest of Nell’s life had landed in such an unexpected mess?
No job.
No best friend.
She stifled a sigh, then nearly jumped out of her skin when a tall man brushed against her as he took the barstool next to hers and greeted the bartender by name.
She automatically shifted aside with a murmured apology, but pressed her lips together when she realized who the man was.
Well, this was just the icing on the cake, wasn’t it? Proof that she really was oblivious.
One portion of her pathetic mind heard the newcomer order a drink while the rest of her bristled with fresh awareness.
It was always that way when it came to Archer Templeton.
Bristling nerves. Bristling irritation. Bristling...whatever.
The last time she’d seen him had been almost a month ago, in a small courtroom several hours away from Cheyenne.
Now, before she could even ask what he was doing here, Archer turned to her, the squat glass Cheri the bartender had given him clasped in his long, square-tipped fingers and said, “Happy birthday, Cornelia.” His lips were curved slightly as he lifted the glass in a toast.
Even though she knew better, she couldn’t help feeling a secret thrill at the notion that he was there at The Wet Bar because of her. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a vague but inevitable cymbal crash. And it annoyed the daylights out of her. “Why are you here?”
The faint lines arrowing out from his vivid green eyes deepened with obvious amusement. “Ah, Nell.” He waved his whiskey glass slightly in the direction of the table and the leftover cake. “Is it too hard to believe I’m here to wish an old friend a happy birthday?”
She steeled herself against the charm that he’d no doubt been radiating since birth. He’d certainly had it ever since they met half her lifetime ago. But it was dangerous to be sucked into that charm. She’d had too many of her own court cases decimated because of Archer’s charm, which made it so easy to forget how fiercely brilliant he was.
“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve heard, haven’t you.” It wasn’t a question. “That’s why you’re here.”
His tawny eyebrows rose a fraction. “Heard what? That you and Muelhaupt are a thing?” he goaded, his eyes glinting. “You always did go for the mousy type. What’s he in charge of again at Pastore Legal? Keeping the flowers fresh in the conference room?”
Her jaw tightened. Scott was a very competent tax lawyer and she knew the more she defended him to Archer, the more he’d make of it. And Archer never had anything good to say about her law firm and particularly the man who’d founded it. “Go away, Archer.”
He smiled and a dimple flashed in his lean cheek. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”
She dragged her eyes away from the dimple and the cheek. Not without noticing it was smooth. Freshly shaven. Which meant he had probably been in court that day. Otherwise, he would have sported the unshaven look.
She’d seen him both ways so many times over the years and it was a toss-up which was more appealing.
And now, because of him, she felt too warm in her suit jacket. And she’d rather chew glass than let it show. “Just because we’ve known each other for years doesn’t mean we’re old friends.” Her voice was flat. “You’re just Ros’s brother.” Stepbrother, technically.
Was it her imagination or had his smoothly charming smile become a fraction less smooth? He lifted his hand and tucked an escaped curl behind her ear. “Your understanding is as faulty as your allegiance to Martin Pastore,” he drawled, with the usual anti-Pastore edge in his voice.
Then his hand dropped away and he lifted his glass again in salute.
Only the salute wasn’t for her any more than the relaxed smile that crossed his face was. The aim was off entirely. Instead, both were directed toward a smashingly attractive blonde who was crossing toward Archer, a brilliant smile on her beautiful face.
Her name was Taylor Potts. Judge Taylor Potts.
Nell hid a grimace as the judge offered her cheek for Archer to kiss when he stood to greet her. She settled her palm on his chest with the familiarity of a lover. “Sorry I’m late,” she practically purred. “Got caught up on a new ethics case. Hope I was worth the wait.”
Nell practically choked. She slid back onto the barstool
