Page 12 of Shiver

“Luca De Laurentiis.” She beams at me, entirely ignoring Samara.

My stomach drops to my toes. “Lacey, hi.” I nod at the petite blonde staring down at me seductively. Her eyes are hooded as she twirls a lock of hair around her finger. What she doesn’t appear to realize is that when I turned her down and gave her a ride home the last time I saw her here, I hadreallymeant that I wasn’t interested. I didn’t want her driving home drunk, though she had been working at the time, so I’m not even sure if that was the truth or if she had been hoping she could get me to change my mind. In either case, it makes me extremely uncomfortable that she’s ignoring Samara. What if we had been here on a date?

Internally, I scoff at the thought. There’s not a single soul in sight who would misinterpret our meeting for a date, not with the daggers Samara’s shooting my way.

“What can I get you to drink?” Lacey rushes to ask—again, keeping her eyes plastered on me.

I turn my attention to Samara, who’s scowling at us, with a neatly trimmed, dark brow arched in my direction. “What would you like, Samara?” I ask her, hoping to break some of the tension and remind Lacey that I’m not alone.

“Pinot grigio,” she tells her, shifting in her seat to cross one leg over the other as she glares at me.

I glance back over at Lacey, whose eyes are still trained on me, not paying Samara any mind as if she weren’t here at all. I tap my foot against the dark vinyl flooring, and my stomach twists in knots. “Just water for me, thank you.”

A relieved sigh passes my lips when she takes my dismissal for what it is and heads back for the drinks.

“Let’s get to business. I only have till four thirty.”

I work on a swallow, sinking back into the leather seat.Straight to the point, I see.

Over the next hour, she outlines what the process will look like, alternative options for what may happen when we get to court, and timelines for how quickly this kind of stuff can get put together.

I can’t say I’m not overwhelmed. Because I most definitely am, but at least Samara has a game plan, so while she clearly isn’t my biggest fan, she knows what she’s doing. I’ve got to trust the process…and her.

Chapter ten

Samara

As we walk out of the restaurant, I turn to look at my new client, taking in his bad-boy demeanor. His dark waves give off the impression that he wakes up looking like this even though he likely uses product to style it that way. Those perfectly muscled arms bulge under his suit jacket, and the tattoo on his chest peers out from beneath his unbuttoned white shirt, practically screaming “bad decisions.”

He thanks the middle-aged man standing beside him, giving him a clap on the shoulder after having agreed to take a selfie. For some reason, it disappoints me. I’d been hoping that the rumors were just that, and thatmaybehe’d grown up since many of the remarks made about him were written online, but that clearly isn’t the case.

He turns back to face me, his smile falling when he sees my grimace. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes.

“You have to work with me here, Luca,” I tell him, shaking my head in disbelief. “If you want to be taken seriously, you have to at leastpretendto be serious. I’ve seen endless photos of you online, always leaving the bars with someone new. That stops now. As long as you’re my client, you play bymyrules. I won’t have you making a mockery of me in a courtroom.” I huff.

He rears back as if I’ve slapped him, his dark brows pulling together over those multicolored eyes of his. If he weren’t such a player, I might even find him attractive.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Luca says, his tone flat and nostrils flaring slightly, “that man was afan, not some woman I’m taking home for aconsensualnight of fun. Wouldn’t it bemore embarrassingfor you had I ignored him?” he asks, tossing his hands up. “I’m confident you, like the press, have misjudged me. I’m not doing anything to mess with my chances of keeping my daughter.” He speaks confidently, keeping his head held high. “Have a good evening, Samara. I look forward to hearing from you,” he says before heading to his SUV without another look in my direction.

Unease churns in my gut, but I don’t think I’ve misjudged him at all. He’s a playboy. Simple as that, and I wouldn’t be taking this case if it weren’t as a favor to a good friend of mine. Ifanyoneelse were asking, I’d have told themnoto taking on one of the most infamous goalies in the league right now.

It sounds like a recipe for disaster, and much like in my personal life, I prefer to only play games that I can win. That most definitely extends to the courtroom, though I’m not entirely sure Iwanthim to win based on what I’ve seen so far.

I don’t need the extra stress, but I trust Rome’s opinions, and unfortunately, that little girl is probably better off with Luca De Laurentiis than she is in the system. The younger they are, the better their chances of finding a home, but there are no guarantees.

Hoisting my bag over my shoulder, I turn in the opposite direction to him. Anger simmers below the surface of my skin as I retrieve my cell, opening it up to a message thread with Rome.

I unlock my car door, place my bag on the passenger’s side, and hoist myself into the leather seats of my Range Rover.

Typing out a quick message to Rome, I let him know how I’mreallyfeeling about this little situation he’s gotten me into.

You’re officially on my shit list, Roman Wilde.

Three little bubbles play across my screen, but I don’t wait for his response before tossing my phone in my bag and pulling out of my parking space.

I need another glass of wine, like yesterday.

Chapter eleven

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