As managing partner, Farnsworth scored the best office in the firm. Extending across the entire length of the building, it is larger than most family homes. Why he needs a wet bar, two lounges, three worktables, and a media center to manage a law firm, I don’t know.

Someday, maybe, I’ll find out.

He smiles. At least I think it’s a smile. With his lips peeled back and his teeth bared, he could be a predator about to spring.

“How did it go with the new client?”

“Um.” I twist my silver chain-link bracelet around my wrist, a present from my late grandmother, and suck in my lips.

Farnsworth raises a combed and manicured eyebrow. “Lost for words? I hope this doesn’t happen in court.” Although he laughs as he speaks, there is no humor in his voice. Everything at Farnsworth & Tillman is a test. A missing comma on a document. A misspelled word in a pleading. A miscalculation of damages. A missed lunch. There are myriad ways for an associate to lose her job, clearing the way for the more competent lemmings to throw themselves off the cliff.

Taking a deep breath, I spit it out, “Mr. Donovan requested a different attorney on the case.”

Incredibly, he shows no signs of shock or surprise. Instead, he leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. “Did he now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

The question I hoped to avoid is the first question any good litigator worth his salt would ask. And Farnsworth isn’t just a good litigator. He’s one of the best in the state, the other bests being my parents, both partners at Sawyers, Saunders, and Solomon LLP, and good friends of Farnsworth and his wife.

“I have a…personal conflict. I assured him you would find someone to take my place.”

Farnsworth’s lips curl into a sinister smile—the type of smile usually seen on television and accompanied by the twirling of a black mustache. With no mustache to twirl, Farnsworth flips his pen across his fingers instead. “What kind of personal conflict?”

My cheeks heat and my knees wobble. Although it’s against protocol to sit in front of the managing partner unless specifically invited to do so, I choose the protocol breach over an undignified collapse on the floor. With an apologetic smile, I slip into one of the comfy leather chairs across from his desk.

“We were in a relationship a few years ago. And it ended. Badly.”

“Hmmm.” Farnsworth drums his fingers on his desk. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. I was expecting this type of conflict to arise much earlier…given your reputation.”

My breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh. Given my reputation? What the hell is he talking about? I have conducted myself with absolute propriety at Farnsworth & Tillman. I’m one of the few associates who hasn’t had sex with any of my colleagues or clients. I’ve used the sleeping pods solely for sleeping. I haven’t even overbilled. “What reputation would that be, sir?”

Farnsworth snorts a laugh. “You don’t need to put on the act with me, Amanda. And you’re far from stupid. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Not exactly, but I can guess. Sure, I’ve dated a lot of guys. Slept with a fair number too. I had to do something as a teenager, home alone night after lonely night. And in those sweaty kisses and fumbles in the dark, I found a sort of happiness. For a few hours, someone cared for me, touched me…loved me. I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to spell it out for me.” I return his cool, calculating stare as bile rises in my throat.

Farnsworth shoves a thick, blue file folder across the desk.

Paper. How quaint.

“Here it is in black and white,” he says evenly. “I’m surprised you didn’t realize it would come out in the morality check we do on all associates we are considering for partnership. We’ve had a private investigator following you for the better part of a year. I have to say your file has made for the most entertaining reading. You go through men faster than my wife goes through money, and that’s saying something.”

Breathing slow and deep, I fight the instinctive urge to flee. Blood pounds through my veins, the rush so loud in my ears it drowns out the rest of Farnsworth’s words. My stomach clenches and roils. I’m going to be sick.

“Take a look.” Farnsworth stands and rounds the desk, perching his ass on the lip in front of me as he holds out the file.

My mouth waters with horrified fascination as I stare at the blue folder in his hand. But if I let Farnsworth know I care about what’s in that file, I give away what little power I have, and right now I don’t even know what he wants.

Although I’ve had enough experience with men that I can guess.

With a shrug, I wave the file away. “If there’s something you want me to know, you’ll tell me.”

Damn I’m cool. No one would ever know I am a total wreck inside.

The look he gives me is speculative, thoughtful, and sends a chill down my spine. He turns and places the file on the desk beside him.

“There is something I want you to know. I think you’re one hell of an attorney. Probably one of the best damn junior associates in the firm. There is no doubt in my mind you are partnership material. But the morality check is a problem. I’ve always been quite relaxed about these things. Not so much the other partners. If any of them saw the file, it would be a deal killer.”

Threat heard and noted.