“Are you ready?” I ask, my voice thankfully sounding calm in a way that doesn’t match the way I feel when she’s near.

“You actually showed.” She treats me to a smile. Her lips are full and natural, without any gloss or lipstick, and her teeth are straight and white.

“Of course I did.” Placing one hand against the door frame, I lean in close. I catch notes of citrus and something floral on her skin. She smells freshly showered, and good enough to eat. “I’m a man of my word. You may have heard some unsavory stories about me, but don’t you think you should decide for yourself?”

She lifts her chin, meeting my gaze head-on. “I always decide for myself.” Then she bends down to pick up what I assume is a yoga mat—it’s rolled into a neat cylinder—and a bottle of water, before closing and locking her door.

“Let’s go. I have just the place.” I help Emery into my BMW while she shoots me curious glances.

She buckles her seatbelt and tucks her hands in her lap before turning to face me. “Why are you doing this?”

As the engine roars to life, all 445 turbocharged horses, I say, “Just relax, okay. I’m not going to try and get into your panties, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You’re not?” She sounds almost offended, and I can’t help but smirk.

“Not unless you ask very, very nicely.” And that’s the honest-to-God truth. For me to betray Hudson like that, she’d have to be literally begging for it. I don’t think I could stop myself if that were the case.

“It’s good to know the option’s there.” She smirks back at me, and I can’t tell if she’s joking or serious. She’s unlike any lawyer I’ve ever met before, and I like that.

“What kind of law do you practice?” I ask as I drive.

“M&A,” she says, staring straight ahead as though she’s trying to take in every detail of the palm-tree-lined boulevard we’re cruising down.

I give her a blank stare as my fuzzy brain tries and fails to make meaning of those two letters.

“Mergers and acquisitions,” she says, helping me out.

“Ah. The good ole M&A. What do you enjoy about it?”

She thinks for a moment, those wide blue eyes never straying over to mine as she watches the landscape change when the Santa Monica Mountains come into view. “I like the challenge of getting the best deal I can for my client. Mostly I like the fun of negotiating and winning. I’ve never been very good at sharing—I was an only child—and I think it’s served me well in this field so far. I work hard and I play to win.” She smiles, and I want to kiss that grin right off her face.

“You said you’re just an intern this summer . . . ,” I say, encouraging her to tell me more. For some reason, I like hearing her talk. With most women, I’d be happy to sit in peaceful silence without having to listen to their incessant chatter.

Emery’s not like that at all. When she speaks, it’s because she has something to contribute. I’ve always liked that Gandhi quote: “Speak only if it improves upon the silence.” And in this moment, I understand what he’s saying. Hearing her talk, learning about her and what makes her tick, it’s fascinating. It most definitely improves on the silence.

“Yes, it’s not uncommon for the top students in law school to be offered positions before they’ve passed the bar. I take my exams later this summer.”

“So basically, you have to pass a test to keep your job?”

She nods. “It’s three days of tests, and yeah. No pressure, right?”

Suddenly I admire her even more. She’s set a lofty goal for herself, moved across the country, and has to prove herself to just keep her job.

“Are you from around here?” she asks, turning the topic away from herself.

“Born and raised. My parents live up north now, but I have an older sister who lives in the valley, and a younger sister who lives downtown. I attended UCLA, and after graduating, I saw no point in moving from a state with near-perfect weather and plenty of opportunity. Plus it’s great working every day with my best friend, Hudson.”

She nods. “It sounds perfect.”

I chuckle. “It’s not. Trust me. But I enjoy it, and like you, I work hard, and play even harder.”

She turns toward me, treating me to a warm smile just as we reach our destination.

I like how things are already so comfortable between us. It’s unexpected, and while she keeps me guessing about what will come out of her mouth next, I’m certainly not bored.

“You ready to get your yoga on?” I ask, parking the car near the studio’s entrance.

Emery steals glances over at the unimposing building. “Deep Connections,” she says, reading the sign hanging above the door. “I’m ready if you are.”

I shrug. I’m game for an adventure. How difficult can yoga be? Isn’t it just breathing and stretching?

I soon find out no, no it is not. Fuck, I’m going to kill my sister. After we paid our fee and enter the studio, I find out that we’ve signed up for Advanced Hatha Techniques III.

The instructor asks the class if everyone has completed the level-two course, and there are nods all around the room, while Emery and I share an apprehensive look. I’m about to try to talk her into leaving with me. A big plate of eggs and pancakes and a cup of coffee sounds way better than doing god-knows-what for the next sixty minutes. But she unrolls her mat and looks ready to do this.