Somehow, Anders managed to fall asleep on the trip home from Amsterdam, exhausted by the events that had plagued him for the past two days. When he woke, his plane was descending into Teterboro airport. He blinked and gazed at David, who sat white-knuckled against the seat.

“What’s wrong?” Anders asked, his brow knit in confusion. “You look like you’re going to throw up.”

“Nothing. I’m just a little frazzled after our last flight,” he muttered, avoiding Anders’ gaze.

“David, if flying is going to be too much for you going forward, I can see to finding another assistant.” He watched as David’s face turned opaque, but his assistant did not meet his stare.

“That’s not necessary,” he mumbled. Anders felt a small prick of shame, knowing that the man had every right to be afraid of what he had seen.

Imagine what it would be like to be a mortal and see a dragon for the first time, Anders thought, trying to recall how sickly full of awe he and the rest of the castle had been when the transformation had occurred. It was so long ago, so much had happened and changed since then; it seemed impossible that he had ever been afraid of anything in his life.

Of course you were, he growled to himself. You were afraid once that they would find a way to kill us all, but you learned that we can’t be killed… no matter what Opal said. Even still, some nights, Anders could see the wretched hag’s face if he closed his eyes, warning them with her snaggle teeth and glittering eyes that they could be killed. She just took too much glee in holding horseshit over our heads. There is no way to kill us, or it would have been done by now. Bullets, arrows, fire, freezing—we can’t be stopped, and we won’t be. Not even by one of our own.

Anders could not stop wondering where they had come from. He could only figure that he had to be from Misty Woods, one of the women or children from the turret. He was sure it was not a female, and the dragon had been far too large to be a child. Last Anders had heard, they had retreated to the alps to live their days in peace and quiet, anyway. Could it be a large boy from the turret that night? If so, why? They had always protected them. He would have Max check on it; he was closest to the area.

Finally, the plane stopped moving, the runway stairs locking at the door, and Anders rose from his heated leather chair, unfastening his seatbelt as he did.

“What time do you have, David?” he asked as they made their ascent toward the tarmac.

“Ten to seven, Mr. Williams.”

Anders stifled a sigh. “If we hurry, we’ll get to the penthouse before the leeches show up, and we can collect Connor and be gone before we have to compliment anyone’s hideous hipster bowtie.”

To his relief, his assistant half-grinned at the image.

He’ll come around, he thought. I just have to stay on him for a bit and make him forget. It’s what you do, after all. You’re a magician. Smoke and mirrors.

“Anders Williams!” a voice boomed as his soft Italian shoes touched the ground. Anders turned, his go-to smile on his face. He didn’t recognize the voice, but he knew the tone well enough to sense a pompous ass at midnight. When he spun, he noted smugly that he was right.

At his back stood Vander Kinrade, a bemused expression on his face as he extended his hand from his walking stick like he expected Anders to kiss the weathered skin. For a fleeting second, the attorney could envision him in a technicolor overcoat, but he shoved the image aside before he burst into full laughter.

His eyes shifted to the woman at his side, and suddenly Anders forgot to breathe, his stare falling squarely on the seemingly uncomfortable woman who accompanied him.

Her shoulder-length hair was a rich, dark chestnut, like strands of a silken waterfall cascading along the olive skin of her bare shoulders. Sloe-eyed and long-lashed, her full lips had lost the pale pink lipstick, but even without the gloss, they shone almost hypnotically. The girl looked anywhere but directly at him or Vander, as if seeking a place to run and hide as she shifted uncomfortably from one discount store shoe to another.

Outlet shopper, not perfectly coiffed, and extremely ill-at-ease, Anders thought. I’d guess she was a lower end call girl, but she doesn’t look the part. What would Vander Kinrade want with a female hooker, anyway?

Nothing about the scene fit his highly skilled eyes, and the mismatched facts intrigued him as much as the woman’s beauty captivated him.

“Hello, Vander,” he said. “I haven’t seen you since the Met gala last September. I thought you had retired to Florida by now.”

Vander chortled, smacking him on the back with too much enthusiasm, but Anders found it impossible to take his eyes off his companion. “Ah, you joke about my age, dear boy, but you forget I have more money than God.”

“And I see it has been working out for you,” Anders replied teasingly, gesturing toward the girl subtly. “Although someone should have warned the poor girl about her taste in company.” He extended a hand to the girl, and she took it, appearing surprised that he would introduce himself. “Anders Williams.”

“Sawyer Sylvester.” She didn’t add anything else, quickly releasing his hand as if it burned her and shuffled back on her heels.

“And this is my noble assistant, David,” Anders continued, nodding toward the younger man. David seemed just as enraptured with Sawyer as he had been. He felt a foreign pang of jealousy when Sawyer looked at him. Woah. Keep it friendly, you freak. For all you know, she really is a call girl.

But he didn’t believe it. It was clear that she was much, much more than that.

“What brings you to New York, Vander? Dubai isn’t doing it for you anymore?”

“Oh, you know me, Anders. I like to keep things fresh,” Vander chuckled, maintaining his friendly clasp on the lawyer’s shoulder. Anders swallowed a grin, casting Sawyer a look to see if she noticed what her date was doing. The girl did not look at him, and he was beginning to take it personally.

Who is she?

Anders prided himself on understanding interpersonal relationships. It was part of his job, after all: learning the quirks of others, reading their mannerisms, and figuring out their weaknesses. But this dynamic woman had him stumped, and his desire to know was growing like a cramp in his side.

“But I thought you would suspect I came here to see your wife.”

“Ex-wife,” Anders said automatically, heat rising up his neck as he inadvertently looked at Sawyer again. This time, she did look up, a mildly surprised expression on her beautiful face.

“Right. I always forget,” Vander purred, but Anders knew he had done it on purpose.

“Well, don’t tell Henry that. He has a hard enough time with Amelia as it is. I fear that her being in a bigamous relationship might put the poor bastard over the edge.”

Vander chuckled and glanced behind him, where David and Sawyer seemed to have lagged behind. Anders wished the man would stop pushing him forward. He wanted to revel in the beauty of his friend.

“And even though you’re divorced, you still allow her to use your penthouse. Isn’t that so gentlemanly of you,” Vander continued.

“I am nothing if not a gentleman, Vander. You know that.” This time, Vander’s laugh was genuine, and he finally released Anders’ arm to wait for Sawyer to catch up.

“Anders is an attorney, Sawyer. I daresay, he’s the best one in the world.”

“That’s saying something,” she replied, a slight smirk forming on her lips, as if she didn’t believe a word coming from Vander’s mouth.

Could she be his illegitimate daughter? Vander only came out of the closet in the late nineties. Before that, he was known to have some relationships with women.

Anders hoped his theory was wrong, shuddering slightly at the thought of being so smitten with the product of Vander Kinrade’s loins. Yet Sawyer seemed to have a disdain for his words, the same way a rebellious teen might disregard her father’s advice.

Anders was absolutely fascinated, not only by her remarkable attractiveness but by the stunning aloofness she carried with her, as if she did not care that she was among the wealthiest men at that moment.

I think I love her, Anders thought with bemusement as they entered the airport through a private gate.

“Should we travel together?” Vander asked. “I have a car waiting if your driver is not already en route.”

“Connor should be here,” David offered, speaking for the first time since stepping from the jet.

“I’ll ride with you,” Anders replied, hardly noticing the look of shock on his assistant’s face.

“But Connor—” he choked.

“You can ride back to the penthouse with Connor. I am going to join Mr. Kinrade and Ms. Sylvester in their car. Is that a problem, David?”

The young attorney shook his head, a dumbfounded expression on his face. Anders was sure that he couldn’t remember a time that he’d been on duty and not glued to the legendary attorney’s side.

“That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” Sawyer piped up. “Why would you bother having your driver come all the way down here to get you if you aren’t going to ride with him?”

“David is going to ride with him,” Anders replied, his appreciation for the girl growing with each passing second. She’s not afraid to speak her mind. She’s comfortable being an outsider and doesn’t thrive on attention. Where did she come from?

It was almost more than Anders could bear.

“Oh, David!” Anders called as they stepped into the early evening air. “Change of plans. You and Connor are not coming with me to the house in Connecticut.”

“Wh-why?” David stuttered. “Did I do something wrong?”

David, on the other hand, demands constant approval. “I have company coming, and I would rather you didn’t join. I’ll put you up at the Mercer if you don’t want to stay on your floor. I doubt Amelia’s people will venture onto the main floor once the balcony doors open and the champagne starts flowing.”

“Oh, you’re right about that!” Vander chuckled boisterously. “We have no use for the lower decks once the ship has sailed.”

“We’ll be fine,” David muttered, waving as the town car appeared. He disappeared into the vehicle before Connor even managed to stop the car, but Anders had already forgotten about him, turning his attention back to the surly vixen at his side.

“They have their own floor?” Sawyer demanded, her eyes wide with a combination of disgust and awe.

“Not exactly. The staff lives on the main floor in their own suites,” he explained as Vander led them further up the sidewalk toward his stretch limo.

“They have their own suites on their own floor?” she repeated. “Wow.”

Again, Anders wasn’t sure if she was impressed or filled with contempt.

Possibly both, he reasoned. Contemptibly impressed.

“I give up,” he finally said.

“Were we playing a game?” Vander asked as his driver opened the door.

“How do you two know one another?” An ominous silence seemed to fall over the car, and the lawyer could see the duo purposely avoid eye contact with one another. “Is it a secret?” Anders teased, hoping to lighten the mood. A question like that shouldn’t cause so much friction. What are they hiding?

But Anders knew that pushing them would only result in a misdirection, and instead, he changed the subject.

“You know, Vander, I was thinking about buying a place in Dubai. Lately, I’ve been earning a reputation in the Middle East.”

Vander snorted, but he seemed relieved by the shift in topic. “You’ve earned a reputation for yourself everywhere, dear boy. Both good and bad.”

“I think you’ve mixed yourself up with me again,” Anders retorted, but again, he could not help sneaking a glance at Sawyer to see what she thought. For the first time, she appeared to be paying attention to what they were saying, though Anders had to wonder if it was because she was genuinely interested or because she was trying to learn something about Vander.

You have enough shit to worry about right now without trying to unlock the mystery of the sulking girl, he reminded himself. That, however, did not stop him from rampantly speculating.

By the time they reached Anders’ Park Avenue building, Sawyer was meeting his eyes, a half-smirk forming on her pouting mouth. He wanted nothing more than to make the wry grin a grin of pleasure. His mind went to dark and kinky places, despite Vander’s endless rambling at his side. Anders was far too lost in the coffee of Sawyer’s eyes and the promise of her long, shapely legs to pretend to listen anymore.

What is it about you? he wondered. For a moment, he thought she had read his mind, a pink tinging her high cheekbones as she turned, running a hand through her dark mane to cover the expression.

When they entered the sprawling three-story apartment, Anders had all but forgotten about his plan to meet his brothers at the country house later that night.

He knew he wasn’t going anywhere until he’d gone somewhere with Sawyer Sylvester.