Chapter 1

On a hot sunny day in June, Kate Madison drove her ten-year-old Mercedes station wagon through Greenwich, Connecticut, until she reached Mead Point Drive, and followed the directions she’d been given until she arrived at tall iron gates. She pressed a buzzer and said her name when a male voice answered. A moment later the gates swung open, and she drove slowly onto the property. The grounds and gardens were impressive and there were beautiful old trees lining the driveway. She had been in the area many times before, though never to this particular estate. The woman who had owned it was a well-known society figure who had only stopped going out shortly before she died, at ninety-two. Before that, she had been one of the grande dames of New York society, a generous woman who was best known for her philanthropy. She had no children, and had been on the best-dressed lists for years, mostly for her vast collection of French haute couture, which looked fabulous on her even at her great age.

The woman’s clothes were being disposed of by two nieces, who were finding the project far more tiresome than they had expected. Both were in their sixties and lived in other cities, and their husbands were executors of the estate.

They had already made arrangements with Sotheby’s to sell the jewelry, had consigned the furniture to Christie’s to auction, and were keeping some of the more important art. The rest was either being donated to museums or sold privately through a dealer in New York. And all that remained to deal with now was their aunt’s wardrobe, which filled three enormous rooms that had previously been bedrooms in her spectacular house. The deceased had been a small, very thin, elegant woman, and her nieces couldn’t imagine who her clothes were going to fit. The coats maybe, many of which were voluminous, and she had some magnificent furs, but the dresses were minute.

They had contacted Kate’s store, Still Fabulous, after reading about it on the Internet, when a friend in New York recommended it to them. Kate had disposed of the friend’s mother’s wardrobe too, and she’d been very pleased with the results. Kate herself and Still Fabulous had a golden reputation in New York as the best, most elegant resale shop in the city, located in SoHo. She sold clothing that she bought outright occasionally at auctions, or she sold things on consignment, so she had no initial investment. She only sold clothing which was in impeccable condition or brand-new. She had some wonderful vintage pieces, but most of what she sold was current and still fashionable. Her customers loved her store.

Opening it had been a dream Kate had had for many years before she finally could. She was adept at combing resale stores herself, out of necessity, and she loved the hunt for beautiful things. When Kate’s husband died when she was twenty-nine, leaving her with four young children, she had worked at Bergdorf Goodman for five years, first as a salesgirl, then as a buyer of designer clothes. She was well versed in new designer clothing too, but the thrill for her was in finding unique pieces, some vintage, some recent. And in the eighteen years she had owned Still Fabulous, she had gone to Paris many times to buy exceptional items at auction that others often overlooked. She bought only the most pristine items, in perfect condition, and they had to be still wearable and look chic. She liked older, more historical vintage pieces as well, but she bought them judiciously or took them on consignment, in case they didn’t sell. If they looked ridiculous, were out of style, or in poor condition, she didn’t want them in her store. She remembered many of the really beautiful and exceptional pieces she had sold, where they came from, and kept meticulous records of who she had sold them to. Her prices for important designer clothes were high, but fair.

Kate got out of the car in Greenwich, pounded the heavy brass knocker smartly, and a moment later, a butler in a starched white jacket opened the door. Kate felt a blast of cool air from inside, and was relieved to realize the house was air-conditioned. It would have been too hot to go through the closets otherwise, examining heavy winter clothes and furs along with the rest. It was obvious that she was expected, and she was respectfully led into a wood-paneled library by the butler. She could see at a glance that the walls were lined with rare leather-bound books, many of which were probably first editions and worth a fortune. The family was selling them at Christie’s too. They were keeping very little of their aunt’s estate. Kate was enjoying looking around discreetly, and was standing at the open French windows, with a view of the exquisitely manicured gardens. It was not the first time she had been in a home like this to evaluate and buy items from an estate.

A secretary appeared a few minutes later, apologized for being late, and led her to the locked rooms that were the woman’s closets. They were any woman’s dream, and a sight to behold, as the young woman turned the lights on. There was row after row of impeccably hung garments, many of them in individual cloth bags, and several racks of fabulous furs. And there were specially built cupboards for hats, handbags, shoes, and drawers for her custom-made underwear, satin nightgowns, scarves, and gloves. There was one entire closet of evening gowns, many of which Kate knew she couldn’t use. Nowadays most of her clients, even the most social ones, led more informal lives. She might be able to take a dozen or so of the beautiful gowns, but there were at least two hundred there, in black, pastel, and brilliant colors, and always with evening bags and shoes to match.

One of the closets contained mostly French haute couture, from important designers, many of whom no longer existed. The collection was worth a fortune, and had cost an even bigger one when the woman bought the clothes hanging on the racks. It was a treat to see such magnificent pieces. Kate asked the secretary for permission to take some photographs. She agreed without a problem, and told Kate she was welcome to stay as long as she liked. Kate smiled as the secretary said it. She would have loved to spend a week there, not just a few hours, but she couldn’t indulge herself just for the fun of it. She had to single out the items she could sell, and think about her more important private clients, as well as what she wanted in the store. Her shop was also a valuable archive for famous designers, who came to do research sometimes, when they were looking for inspiration for their next collections.

Kate had another segment of clientele as well. She had long attracted movie stars and celebrities who borrowed and rented evening gowns to wear to press events, premieres, and award ceremonies like the Oscars. The evening gowns would work well for them. And she had rented clothes as costumes for several movies over the years.

On a more human scale, while she still worked at Bergdorf’s, she had acquired clients she consulted for, helping them to build their wardrobes or finding special items for them. It had given her extra money she needed for her children and inspired her to open a store of her own. The steady additional income she made from fashion consulting had given her the seed money to open Still Fabulous, along with loans her best friend, Liam, helped her obtain at the bank where he worked. Still Fabulous had produced beyond expectations, and within three years she had repaid all the loans. She started her business on a shoestring and watched her budget closely, and it grew rapidly in a relatively short time.

Kate was strikingly chic, and always dressed simply. She had worn a black linen Chanel suit, with white piqué collar and cuffs and matching white camellia on the lapel. She looked trim and elegant as always, and had an innate flair for fashion, for herself as well as others. She was tall, slim, and had long straight blond hair she wore in either a sleek ponytail or a bun. At fifty-three, she looked ten years younger than she was, and went to a gym five times a week to maintain her figure. The secretary in Connecticut was impressed when she saw her, but not surprised. Kate Madison had been highly recommended as the best in the resale business, and supposedly had an unfailing eye for what would sell, and women would still want to wear. She never picked the trendy pieces that were a flash in the pan and had gone out of style almost as soon as they were made. Her clients loved finding things they could wear forever, some of them iconic pieces from the designers who had made them.

Kate carried a lot of Chanel at the store, Yves Saint Laurent from Paris, and Dior from the days when Gianfranco Ferré designed it in the eighties and nineties. She also had Balmain from when Oscar de la Renta had done their haute couture, and Christian Lacroix before they closed, both haute couture and ready-to-wear. And Givenchy, from both the days of the great designer himself, and its more recent incarnations by Alexander McQueen and Riccardo Tisci. There were designers others had forgotten, the many young designers who had died in the seventies and eighties, and some later, at the height of their talent, Patrick Kelly and Stephen Sprouse among them. And she sold the American brands of ready-to-wear that everyone loved, Donna Karan, Calvin Klein, Michael Kors, Oscar de la Renta, Carolina Herrera, and here and there a nameless brand that she bought not for the label, but because it had style, or gueule or chien, as the French called it. That ephemeral something you couldn’t really describe but that made a woman look special when she wore it, if she had the guts to pull it off. Kate also found wonderful basics like simple little black coats, pea coats, expertly cut Prada, and skirts and pants and sweaters that were timeless.

The secretary came in to check on her as Kate was photographing several beautiful evening gowns from Paris. She had made her way through the first closet, with two more to explore.

By three o’clock, Kate had seen all she needed to of the woman’s collection, and had photographed the most important pieces. Kate thanked the secretary and promised her a list of the prices she would suggest in the next few days. With many of the pieces, she had to guess what they sold for originally, but she knew the market well. The rule of thumb was that she charged clients half of what the items had originally cost, and Kate split what she made fifty-fifty with the seller. So the seller got 25 percent of the original purchase price, and so did Kate. And in the case of exceptional items, or something truly iconic, she might charge more, and the price she sold it for was always negotiable. It was a very fluid business, and with rare and important pieces, she recommended donating them to museums for a tax deduction for the donor. She loved finding special things for her clients, and her merchandise often came to her in unusual ways, sometimes from estates like the one in Connecticut. What she had seen that day was a remarkable collection, and Kate knew just what she wanted from it, which pieces she felt her clients would want to wear and would sell well. There was an editor at Harper’s Bazaar who was always anxious for beautiful furs, and there were great ones in that estate. The elegant dowager in Connecticut was going to make some people very happy with the treasures she had left.

The success of Kate’s business was legendary, from a tiny little storefront when she first opened in SoHo, before it was as fashionable as it became later. In time she had taken over a bakery on one side of her and a small restaurant on the other, and her shop was a good size now. She rented three apartments above it to use as storage for the items she either didn’t have space for in the store, or chose not to display to random clients, and saved for special people and events.

An editor of Vogue had discovered her in her second year, which had helped her a lot. And little by little her reputation grew, through magazines and by word of mouth. She became one of the best fashion finds in New York.

In the years since she opened, she had put four children through college with scholarships and without student loans, and had put them in private schools also on scholarships before that. Her mother had been a high school English teacher, and helped her obtain the scholarships, and tutored the kids when needed. Kate had always been adamant that she wanted her children to have a good education that would give them a great foundation for life, and they had all done well in school and had good jobs now.

Kate had dropped out of college herself in her junior year to marry Tom Madison. Her parents had objected vehemently to no avail when she gave up school. Kate was headstrong and determined and sure of what she was doing, and madly in love with Tom. He was twenty-six and in law school at the time, they had no money to live on, and Kate went to work at Bergdorf’s for the first time, selling designer clothes. She worked right up until the day she delivered Isabelle, their first child, a year later, when she was twenty-one, and was back at work four weeks later. Her salary just barely fed all three of them, paid the rent and daycare for Izzie while Kate worked. She had begun combing resale shops then for clothes she could wear to work.

Two years after Izzie was born, she gave birth to twins at twenty-three, Justin and Julie. She gave up her job at Bergdorf’s then, to stay home with them, and eked out what they needed by consulting with private clients. Tom graduated from law school when the twins were born, and got a good job with a major law firm. He supported the family then, after Kate’s three years of hard work, and the consulting money she continued to earn helped make ends meet. They didn’t live lavishly, but they managed, and somehow with some juggling they always had enough. Kate knew how to stretch their money and was creative and resourceful, and Tom worked hard and did well at the firm. They lived in a cramped apartment in the Village, with the three children in one room, and Tom and Kate in the second bedroom, which was tiny, but they were happy and felt blessed.

They had another baby, William, six years after the twins were born, when they were a little less strapped. But halfway through Kate’s pregnancy, Tom developed mysterious symptoms no one could figure out for several months. He was diagnosed with a rare, exceptionally aggressive form of pancreatic cancer a week before Willie was born. He lived the agonies of the damned for three months, and died when Willie was three months old, the twins six, and Izzie eight. Tom’s death had blindsided them completely, they had remained hopeful to the end, and Kate was suddenly a widow at twenty-nine with four children. Tom was thirty-five when he died, and the insurance money he left had kept them going for a year, and then Kate had to go back to work full-time at Bergdorf’s, as a salesgirl. She rose to buyer quickly by working many extra hours while her mother babysat for the children, and the rest was history.

After five years at Bergdorf’s, she took a chance and opened Still Fabulous. She was thirty-five and very brave, and with her consulting jobs and salary at Bergdorf’s, had saved enough to start out on next to nothing, with loans. She only took items on consignment then and couldn’t afford to buy anything. Looking back on it at times, she didn’t know how she’d done it or had the guts, but she had and it had worked. She never forgot those hard years when she was building her business and bringing up her children at the same time. But somehow, they always had what they needed, and now they were all adults, had been well educated, and had good jobs. As far as Kate was concerned, her real success had been her kids. They were all still very close, and she was proud of them.

Izzie had followed in her father’s footsteps. She had gone to NYU on a full scholarship and lived at home then, because they couldn’t afford the dorms, followed by Columbia Law School, and now, at thirty-two, she worked at a prestigious Wall Street law firm.

Justin had gone to Brown, on a scholarship as well, and was a freelance writer, doing magazine pieces and writing a novel. He was thirty and living in Vermont. Both he and Izzie had held jobs all through school. Julie, Justin’s twin, had had a harder time in school than her siblings. She had moderate dyslexia, and her grandmother had tutored her for her entire school career, and helped her keep up her grades. Julie had a remarkable artistic talent and her mother’s love for fashion, and had gone to Parsons School of Design. She was working for an up-and-coming young designer now who paid her well. She got none of the glory for the clothes she designed, but she earned a decent salary she could live on. In her early years after Parsons, she had had four roommates, but at thirty she could finally afford a loft she loved on her own.

And at twenty-four, Kate’s youngest, Willie, was the family techie they all teased and called a geek. He’d gone to UCLA but came back to New York when he graduated. He had a great job with an online start-up that they hoped would become a big success.

None of Kate’s children were married. Izzie had suffered a broken engagement two years before. Her fiancé had dumped her for a debutante from a fancy New York family, and they had recently gotten married. Izzie hadn’t gotten over it yet, and had an edge to her now that she’d never had before, which Kate hoped would dispel in time. She hadn’t dated anyone seriously since, and worked hard at the law firm. She was hoping to become a junior partner soon.

Justin was gay and lived with his partner, who taught history and Latin at a local high school in the town where they lived in Vermont. Richard was thirty-six, and they had met at a writing workshop four years before. Kate had realized that Justin was probably gay when he was eleven, and was supportive when he came out at sixteen. Richard’s family was still in denial. They were a conservative family in the South, and disapproved of everything about his life, in contrast to Kate’s loving acceptance of both of them.

Julie had had a series of relationships, though none serious. She said most of the men she met in the fashion world were gay, and she worked too hard to date much. She had always been shy, and didn’t mind spending time alone. She was a gentle soul, with a huge talent. She put all her time into designing four collections a year, not romance. And at thirty, she wasn’t worried about getting married.

Willie, the “baby,” was unofficially the family “slut,” according to his sisters. He went out with one girl after another, and as many as he could at the same time. At twenty-four, he just wanted to have fun, and didn’t want a serious relationship, and was honest about it with the girls he dated.

Justin and Willie had both suffered growing up without a father, despite Kate’s efforts to be both parents to all of them. But it was harder with the boys. Once in a while she heard from teachers that the boys lied about their father being dead, and pretended to their friends that he was working in another city or on a trip. Justin suffered from it less than Willie, and always had Kate take him to the father-son dinners at school. He still remembered his father, though the memories were dim now. Willie didn’t, since he’d been only three months old when Tom died, but they had photographs of him in their rooms when they were growing up, and Kate talked about him frequently to keep his memory alive.

Kate had made her peace with being a widow, the children had kept her busy for many years until they grew up and left for college. She’d had some romances but was too frantic trying to keep their collective heads above water and provide for them to get seriously involved with anyone for a long time. Most of the men she met didn’t want the burden of four children not their own. And the few who seemed to like the idea were never the ones Kate was drawn to. She always said that she and the children were doing fine, and for the most part she was right. But it was lonely for her at times now, not having a husband or partner, with her kids on their own, with busy lives. She made the best of it, and in recent years there were only casual dates from time to time. She often thought it was ironic that now that the children were grown up and doing well, she would have had time for a man but never met anyone who appealed to her. The men she met now were either married or commitment phobic. And she was busy with her store, and loved what she did.

Days like the one she had spent going through the estate in Connecticut were still fun for her. It was exciting to find beautiful clothes, often knowing their provenance and who had worn them. Clothes like the ones she had seen and sold in the course of her business were pieces of fashion history, and it still thrilled her to make special discoveries.

Her family mattered more than anything to her and her children were the joy of her life. And Still Fabulous gave her tremendous satisfaction, was something to be proud of, and had fed them well.

She could hardly wait to get back to the store now and figure out what she was going to agree to sell for the estate, and which pieces she wanted to buy outright and keep to offer special clients.

Isabelle Madison was in a hurry as she left her office. She’d had to reorganize all her appointments for the afternoon in order to accommodate the pro bono assignment she’d been given. She always thought that it was inconvenient that attorneys in her firm had to accept pro bono work as part of their giving back to the community. She had done an internship in the district attorney’s office years before, when she was in law school, and had discovered how much she hated criminal work. She was a business attorney who specialized in mergers and acquisitions, but she was conscientious, and would do the best she could with the case. She knew only the bare bones of the charges. The defendant, Zach Holbrook, was accused of possession of a large amount of marijuana and cocaine with intent to sell. He had no previous arrest record, and his last name was that of an illustrious family in New York, but she had no idea if he was related or if it was just a coincidence. And whatever his name, the defendant sounded badly behaved to her. He had been drunk and disorderly and had resisted arrest. She had to remind herself to keep an open mind as she got out of the cab in front of a seedy bar where he had offered to meet her. She didn’t want to have him come to her office, so had agreed to meet him at the bar. She’d had no idea how bad he’d look.

Holbrook had already been arraigned, and was out on his own recognizance because he wasn’t considered a flight risk, and Izzie met him at the bar he had suggested. A public defender had attended the arraignment before she was assigned to the case. She was already planning to ask for a continuance of the proceedings, so she could do some research into the case. But according to the police report, he had been caught red-handed with a fairly large amount of cocaine, and he was clearly guilty. It was going to be difficult to come up with a credible defense.

She arrived five minutes early for the appointment, and her client showed up half an hour late, and was not what she had expected. She’d expected him to look slightly derelict, and maybe like a drug addict, despite the fancy family name. He was thirty-five years old, strikingly handsome, and was wearing a clean white tee shirt, black jeans, a black leather biker jacket, and motorcycle boots. The jacket had obviously been expensive, and he was covered with tattoos, including on the backs of his hands and crawling up his neck. His hair was shoulder length but clean, and he had several days of beard stubble. He looked sexy and stylish and was friendly and relaxed when he sat down at her table. He could guess immediately that she was his attorney. She looked the part. She was relieved to see that there was nothing ominous about him. If anything, he was charming, which annoyed her as he explained that he was sorry he was late, he had just flown in from Miami, where he’d spent the weekend, which concerned her, since she wasn’t sure he was allowed to leave the state. What if the flight had been late or canceled? He seemed very casual about the charges he was facing. She didn’t think the marijuana charges would be hard to beat, but the large quantity of cocaine in his possession would be. She told him that he could go to prison, and he insisted that was unlikely since he’d never been arrested before. He didn’t seem worried at all as he sprawled in the chair across from her, and drank a beer, while Izzie drank water.

She wondered if she could get him to show up in court in a suit for future appearances, even a sport coat, instead of like a rich boy’s version of a Hells Angel in a movie. He had a very studied “bad-boy” look. There was something theatrical about him, and much too smooth. He joked through the meeting, which Izzie didn’t find amusing. He admitted to her within the client-attorney privilege that he had, in fact, sold cocaine and marijuana. It wasn’t the first time but he’d never been caught before. She was not pleased to be representing him. It seemed like a waste of her time. She had better things to do than defend the black sheep from a wealthy family. He had told her immediately that he was part of the family whose name she had recognized, not that it mattered.

“Why did you ask for a pro bono attorney?” she asked him bluntly, “instead of just paying for one?” She was surprised he qualified as indigent. He seemed like he could pay for his own, and his family surely could have. The district attorney’s office had exercised their right to ask the judge for a pro bono attorney in order to move the case along, since all the public defenders were currently overworked, and the judge had agreed.

“I’m dead broke. I have no money,” he said easily. “My family cut me off when I turned thirty. They don’t approve of my lifestyle.” He smiled broadly, seemingly undisturbed by it. Further conversation with him told her that he had never had a job and didn’t want one. He didn’t see why he should work, since no one else in his family did. He had dropped out of high school after being kicked out of all the best boarding schools in the East. “I deal coke sometimes when I’m broke,” he said with an ingenuous look, as though that were an acceptable form of part-time employment. And he said he thought it served his family right for not supporting him. He explained that all of his relatives lived off a family trust, but the trustees would no longer disburse funds to him, at his father’s request, since he had dabbled in drugs when he was younger. So he had no money, but didn’t work. Isabelle wondered how he lived, other than occasional coke deals. From what he said, he was living hand to mouth but had just gone to Miami. She wondered how he had paid for that. He was obviously resourceful.

Holbrook volunteered that his father was married to his fifth wife, who was twenty-two years old, and his mother to her fourth husband, and lived in Europe. He said his parents had divorced when he was five, and had been marrying other people ever since. His mother lived in Monte Carlo and he never saw her, and his father alternated between various homes in Aspen, L.A., and Palm Beach, and he ran the family investments from wherever he was.

“I’m the black sheep,” Izzie’s client said proudly. He had a sister who had been in and out of rehab and was living in Mexico, and a flock of step- and half siblings Izzie couldn’t keep track of and he wasn’t close to. He was the proverbial rolling stone from a dysfunctional family with money but no stability. He seemed to be without anchor or foundations, acted more like a kid than an adult, and had clearly never grown up. And what bothered Izzie most about him, other than his obvious irresponsibility, was that he was so appealing and occasionally funny that even she smiled several times at what he said. He was totally without remorse but not without charm, by any means. And he was obviously intelligent. It was hard not to be somewhat seduced by him, and despite her best efforts not to be, she was, but gave no sign of it to him.

She was trying to think what defense she could use for him, and was hoping there was some improper technicality about the arrest or the charges that she could use to have the case against him thrown out. Otherwise he was screwed and would go to prison. She told him not to ever wear the leather biker jacket for court appearances, to put on a proper shirt, and get a haircut and shave before they went to court. He laughed at what she said, and obviously didn’t take it seriously, while she tried not to notice his broad shoulders, and how toned his body was in the tee shirt under the leather jacket. He was visibly amused by her instructions and intense look.

“You’re cleaning me up?” he asked her.

“Trying to,” she said tersely. “Judges don’t like that look.”

She didn’t want him appearing and acting like a juvenile delinquent, or wasting her time, if he expected her to win his case. He had pleaded not guilty at the arraignment and got a three-month continuance while he waited to be assigned a pro bono attorney, and she intended to extend it so she could research the case. She had made all the notes she needed to at the bar, and he smiled at her as they stood on the street for a minute. She found his cocky attitude irritating. He was arrogant, although the family history he had given her sounded pathetic. She almost felt sorry for him, in spite of herself, and he clearly wasn’t doing anything with his life and never had. He was one of those people where everything had gone wrong right from the beginning, and still was. He seemed foolish and immature, not evil.

“Can I take you to dinner sometime?” he asked her with a mischievous look, and Izzie frowned. She was his attorney of record, not a date.

“No, you cannot. You’re facing very serious charges here, Mr. Holbrook, and I strongly advise you not to do anything foolish before we get this resolved. Where are you staying, by the way? Do you have an apartment?”

“I was staying with friends, but I got kicked out,” he said, grinning sheepishly, which made him look younger than he was. “My grandmother lets me stay at her summer house in the Hamptons when I’m in New York. But I’m going back to Miami tonight.”

“I am fairly certain you are not allowed to leave the state with this case pending.” She was also wondering how he was going to pay for the plane fare if he had no money, but she didn’t ask.

“Probably not, but my grandmother has a house in Palm Beach too, so I can stay there if I need to.” He didn’t seem to be without comfortable lodgings in posh places, only without a work ethic and a conscience about what he’d done to get arrested. It was trivial to him. And justified by lack of family financial support, which he felt was his due.

“I’ll be in touch,” Izzie said soberly. He had given her his cellphone number and email address to contact him. “I want to review some of the details of the arrest and see if we can make a deal, or even get you off on a technicality.” She thought it was her only hope of keeping him out of prison.

“I’m sure you’ll find something,” he said, seeming relaxed and confident. “I’ll call you when I’m back in New York.” She had given him her business card and planned to see him at her office next time. She hadn’t wanted to bring a criminal to her office, but he looked respectable enough despite the biker jacket and tattoos. They would have three months before the next court appearance. And she hoped to get another continuance then too, to drag it out and give her time to prepare their case. “We’ll do lunch,” he said, and hailed a cab.

She stood staring after him as he rode away, still stunned by how nonchalant he was. She had never seen anyone as cavalier, but the details he had told her about his early life, divorced parents, many remarriages, no stable family, growing up in a series of boarding schools, with no parental involvement in his youth, and no work ethic as an adult, probably explained his attitude. It was a recipe for disaster, which he was heading for now and didn’t seem to know or care. She couldn’t imagine him surviving in prison. He was much too spoiled. And he was obviously used to getting whatever he wanted, or somehow making his life work. It didn’t bother him how haphazard it was. He had practically undressed her with his eyes, and yet there was an innocence to him too. But she had no intention of having lunch with him or falling prey to his charm. She was much smarter than that, she thought, as she took a cab back to her office, relieved to be returning to the real world. The world of Zach Holbrook disgusted her. Wasted lives.

Two hours later, her paralegal staggered into Izzie’s office with an enormous vase with three dozen long-stem bright pink roses and a card that said “Thanks for everything. See you soon. Love, Zach.” Izzie almost groaned when she read the card. This was not the relationship she wanted with him. She was angry instead of pleased.

“New admirer?” her paralegal asked her with a smile, as Izzie frowned and shook her head.

“No. New client.” She offered no further explanation, but she wasn’t happy about it, and her paralegal left the room with no comment after depositing the roses on a table behind Izzie’s desk. Izzie went back to work without glancing at them, annoyed at Zach Holbrook all over again. He was completely inappropriate in every way, no matter how beautiful the flowers were, or how attractive he was. All she wanted was to get rid of the case. And she hoped she’d be lucky enough to get him off or make a deal so she didn’t have to keep seeing him over the next few months. He was a headache she didn’t need. There was no room for a charming, unruly black sheep in her life.