Annie O’Toole is St. Louis Public Defender, passionate about fighting for the underdog and determined to prove herself as the badass trial lawyer she knows she can be. Getting assigned to defend the kid charged with shooting billionaire businessman, Michael Grayson, is a big step up for her career. At least until the hot guy she seduced at the Justice for All Ball shows up at her office in response to her deposition subpoena. Turns out the sexy stranger who introduced himself only as ‘Mick’, the guy she’s been fantasizing about since slipping away while he slept — is none other than the billionaire himself, Michael Grayson.She’s horrified. He’s furious. He thinks she set him up. She thinks he’s an arrogant ass in a Savile Row suit. Sparks, intrigue, and bullets fly in a mix of swoon and suspense as the two battle each other, the bad guys, and an off-limits attraction neither can ignore. When the evidence leads back into Michael’s inner corporate circle, the two are plunged into a world of international intrigue, corporate espionage, and murder — with a side dish of unresolved family drama as Annie is forced to turn to the only expert in corporate intrigue she knows, her own uber-wealthy, estranged grandmother. Now all she has to do is solve the case, escape her grandmother’s plans to take over her life (again), and save her client, her career, and the man whose lifestyle she despises . . . and whose touch she can’t forget.
Annie opened the manila envelope of media coverage the office investigator had pulled together and fished out the thumb drive hiding at the bottom of all the newspaper clippings. She plugged it into her computer, and more than a dozen video files popped up. Seriously? Shootings happened every day in St. Louis. Most got barely a line or two of news coverage, if that. But let one of ‘the money guys’ get scratched by a bullet and the media machine practically wet itself.
Grinding her teeth at yet another example of the ever-present double-standard, she opened the first video file on the list. The low, musical voice of Tina Hoff, Channel 7's busty, blonde news anchor filled the room.
“And this just in—founder and CEO of Grayson Aeronautics, St. Louis philanthropist Michael Grayson, was shot tonight in the city's Central West End. Police say the shooting appears to have been the result of an attempted robbery. Mr. Grayson was rushed into surgery. There is no word yet on any suspects.”
Annie froze. There, in the corner of the screen behind Tina's talking head, was a headshot of the man who’d had her tied to his bedpost. The same silky, charcoal hair. The same smoky grey eyes. And beneath the photo the name, “Michael Grayson, Grayson Aeronautics CEO.” A rushing noise in her ears drowned out the voice of the police chief giving his take on the situation.
Mick. Michael. ‘I design airplanes.’ CEO of an aeronautics company.
She flashed on the fresh scar above Mick’s left hip. Michael Grayson had sustained a through and through gunshot wound to his left side just above the pelvic bone.
Hyperventilating, she dumped the envelope of news articles on her desk and scrabbled through the clippings until she found one with a picture. There he was again. Her mystery man, her fabulous one-night- stand man, her 'no-last-names' man. Her ever-so-charming prince.
'Mick' was Michael Grayson.
‘Let's not bring all the family skeletons to the party.’ It hadn't been some playful game. He really hadn't wanted her to know his name. He was too important, too privileged, too goddamned special to let her know his real identity. After all, what was she? Some low-level public interest lawyer. Just a night's free entertainment. He didn't want any entanglement, any messy follow-up with the likes of her. A quick lay and out, free and clear. That’s all she was to Mr. High-and-Mighty so why bother getting to know last names?
Anger bloomed as the rant in her mind picked up steam. Never mind that she'd been the one to suggest their one-night stand. He was the one who'd lured her away from the ball with his slick, sneaky invitation to get away from Kurt Cochrane. He was the one who'd seduced her with that sexy eyebrow and bad-boy gleam in his eyes. Guess he thought he didn't have to worry about running into the likes of little Ms. Nobody again. Well, Mr. Hotshot was in for a bit of a surprise now, wasn't he?
Her anger vanished as the reality of that surprise rushed back. Oh. My. God. She had slept with the victim in the case of her career. She'd had sex with the state's star witness against her own client—after she'd been assigned the case. For God’s sake, she'd kissed the scar that was her client's handiwork. Allegedly.
And Monday morning, he was showing up in her office for her to take his deposition.
Cat Jameson is a writer of contemporary romance novels packed with equal parts suspense, snark, and spice. A native Missourian, she moved to St. Louis to attend law school, sure only that she didn’t want to practice criminal law or be a trial lawyer. So of course, she became a career criminal defense lawyer who spent decades teaching trial techniques to other criminal lawyers around the country. (“We make plans. The gods laugh.”) Cat spent most of her legal career in St. Louis and the city features prominently in her books, as does her experience in criminal law. Today, she resides in Columbia, Missouri — ‘the middle of the middle of flyover country’ — where she is deep into her second act as co-owner of a metaphysical bookstore.
When not writing, shopkeeping, or playing with grandkids, Jameson is most likely to be road-tripping with her best friend and business partner in a ten-year-old van named Woo — stopping at every bookstore and thrift shop along the way, loading up on things they do not need and have no room for.
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Oh, this sounds fun! Adding it to reading list!
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