money to launch a business on her own. I have no personal debt, and I own one hundred percent of my business.”
“Do you not like owing favors?”
“I don’t like taking from others.”
He sits back again and lifts his coffee off the table, drinking it in long sips. “Yet you’re here.” He grins, and I purse my lips in response. “You knew who I was when I walked in here today,” he says as he crosses his leg, resting his foot on his knee. “You looked me up.”
I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t going to ask a stranger for help unless I knew who he was.”
“You must have been impressed enough.”
“I was moderately taken aback by how accomplished you are.”
“You need me.”
It totally sucks that he’s right. I can’t explain why, but I have a feeling Sebastian will be able to get me out of my situation quickly. Plus, not being charged is a huge bonus.
“Tell me about yourself,” I ask, not quite ready to answer him.
He raises a brow. “What would you like to know?”
“Name three things about you that are more important than what’s on your résumé.”
His eyes light up, showing he’s intrigued. “I’m an only child. My father is an orthopedic surgeon, and my mother is an English professor at Yale. When I was in elementary school, I had one buck tooth that was sideways. My friends used to give me tin cans to open with my teeth. God bless the orthodontist who gave me braces. I’m a black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and I’ve run four marathons, all for charity. My favorite book is George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four, I’m a huge Coldplay fan, and Lake Como, Italy, is the most beautiful place I’ve ever traveled to.”
“That’s more than three.”
“There’s a hell of a lot of things more important about me than what it says on my résumé. I’m an attorney and a good one. I’m also a man who happens to like doing the right thing.”
“Why make me the offer? The way we met was wildly unconventional. I could have been an insane person.”
“You still could be,” he jokes. “Just so happens, I won a seventy-million-dollar verdict yesterday, right before you called, so it very much feels like fate.”
“Fate. Right,” I say rather sarcastically. I don’t particularly believe in fate.
“Plus, I was curious to meet the woman behind the text messages.”
“And?”
“You’ve surprised me immensely. Though I have a confession to make. I also wanted to see if you were half as pretty as you were entertaining on the phone.”
I look down, not wanting to know the answer to that. Well, actually, I do. I look up and stare into his eyes and take a deep inhale.
A slow smile builds on his face. It reaches his eyes, which crinkle as he stares at me with a Cheshire grin. “I’m gonna save that opinion for a rainy day. So, what do you say?” He reaches out a hand in offering to make a deal. “You need a lawyer?”
I bite my lip. This could be a terrible idea. The worst. And yet I find myself extending my hand and shaking his.
“You’re hired, Mr. Blake.”
“Oh. So, we’re formal now. I could get used to that.”
Chapter Three
Whenever I go to my office, I feel like I’m going on a covert mission. There’s a nondescript door in a dark back alley that leads directly into my kitchen, or you can access it through Ben Franklin Gym, Where Real Men Go to Work Out—their slogan, not mine.
Ben Franklin Gym and Amy Morgana Chocolatier are cotenants in an old brick building that used to house a restaurant that closed down. The building’s owner now rents the front half of the building to the gym while I get the back half, which is where the actual kitchen used to be.
The space I rent is not ideal. Some might even call it a shithole. Doesn’t matter to me. It has a commercial-grade kitchen and decent-sized office, and it’s all mine.
When I started this business, I was on a less than shoestring budget, and it was all I could afford. If and when my loan gets approved, I’ll be able to move into a large space that doesn’t smell like moldy, sweaty socks.
During gym hours, I use the main entrance because it’s way easier to access than the alley. As I make my way through the weights section, I head toward the dumbbell rack, where there’s a door covered in mirrors. The gym owner purposely put the mirrors