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The office was filled with wall-to-wall bookcases, stuffed to the brim with binders, reference books, and boxes.
Yikes, this guy must live for nothing but his job.
He’d left his large wooden desk mostly clear. A small photo of two women and a lamp decorated the space. The fountain pen in the centre was the only sign of recent use. Everything else was safely tucked away onto the shelves or in the desk drawers. But I’d find what I need.
Snapping on a pair of latex gloves from my backpack, I started pulling open the desk drawers and feeling around. No false bottoms that I could see, but the bottom drawer required a key to open. Very promising, but better to check the shelves first, rather than waste time picking the lock if I didn’t need to.
The shelves appeared to be arranged by date in some sections and alphabetised in others. Clenching my jaw, I scanned over the F’s. The client mentioned the Miranda Fisher case, a huge trafficking operation being tried locally. It was safe to assume she was my client, or at least, someone related to her. The last I’d heard was she’d been detained somewhere, but I couldn’t be sure. I made it a point not to look too deeply into the cases surrounding my jobs, or I’d never get anything done.
Having no luck in the L’s, I grabbed the first box dated for this year and began rifling through the contents. A lot of files, but nothing I was looking for. Next box.
As time ticked on, my frustration grew, and I yanked my lock-picking kit out of my backpack. Sometimes the obvious solution was the best one.
Taking a deep breath to cool my head and slowly releasing it, I carefully inserted the tension wrench and got to work.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
Damn it, this was taking too long. I supposed I could just break the drawer open, but the client did request stealth. If brute force was more their thing, Leo would’ve had the job over me. What he lacked in brain cells, he made up for in pure muscular power. Fucking alphas.
This book had better be in this drawer. No one had a desk lock like this for nothing.
I nibbled the corner of my lower lip, focusing hard on the lock that continued to defy me until I finally heard the perfectCLICK. The drawer rolled open.
Beep.
I froze, carefully listening for whatever that second sound was. As I heard the distinctive sound of the front door opening, then closing again, my stomach sank to my arsehole.
Chapter Two
Emerson
Ihatedworkingintheoffice. As much as I understood the need for collaboration within a legal team, I’d always been more comfortable in my own space. Having people surrounding me was a distraction.
“No, I didn’t do anything fun over the weekend.”
“Yes, I am still single and perfectly content that way.”
“No, I don’t need you to find me a cute little omega to settle down with.”
“Yes, I would like you to leave my office so I can get some work done.”
My partners at the firm understood my way of working and granted me the flexibility to work where needed, knowing I’d achieve the expected results. But it meant I had to go in for larger meetings at least once a week, on top of my regular in-person meetings with clients.
Luckily, today’s client meeting had been unexpectedly cancelled, and I could take my remaining calls from my home office.
I nodded a greeting to Wilson, an older gentleman working as my building’s concierge, and stepped onto the elevator. Relief flooded my body. The gentle jingling music soothed my nerves and relaxed my shoulders. Pretty soon, I’d be able to focus in peace.
I slipped my penthouse keycard from my wallet and tapped it against the lock.
Beep.
Home at last.
Wait. Why was there a bag next to the door? Were those cleaning supplies? They looked brand new, still sealed.
Suddenly, my senses were on high alert. Abby usually worked later in the week, so who the hell was wandering around my penthouse?
I quietly placed my satchel on the ground, listening for any movements. Nothing else seemed out of place in the foyer, but as I moved down to my office, I could hear a faint rustling noise and a zipper.
