One day, Taylor vowed silently to herself. One day.

She straightened her suit and knocked on Sam’s door. He looked up from his computer and smiled warmly in greeting.

“Taylor! Come on in.”

She took a seat at one of the chairs in front of Sam’s desk. In the style of all shrewd attorneys, the guest chairs were positioned six inches lower than Sam’s own, giving him the advantage of looking down on his visitors.

“Settled in yet?” Sam inquired.

Taylor grinned guiltily at the question, thinking of the unpacked boxes scattered along the hallway outside the living room of the two-bedroom apartment the firm had rented for her. “Almost.”

“Moving’s a pain in the ass, isn’t it?”

“It keeps me busy when I’m not here.”

Sam studied her. “Yes, I’ve seen you burning the midnight oil already. You should take some time to settle in before your case gets going full throttle.”

Taylor shrugged determinedly. For her, there was no speed other than full throttle. And Sam Blakely—the head of the litigation group in Los Angeles—was a man she very much wanted to impress.

“I just want to hit the ground running, that’s all.”

Sam had sharp, fox-like facial features that became even more pronounced as he grinned approvingly at Taylor’s all-business style.

“Then tell me how the case is going.”

Taylor eased back in her chair as she gave Sam her summary. “It’s going very well. We have the call for our motions in limine this week—I think we’ll be able to keep out nearly half of the EEOC’s evidence. And one of their lawyers called me this morning to discuss a settlement.”

“What did you say?”

Taylor tilted her head coyly. “Let’s just say they understand we’re not interested.”

Sam chuckled. “Good. Keep me posted, and don’t hesitate to stop by if you need any guidance.”

Taylor nodded agreeably, appreciating Sam’s hands-off approach to their case. So far since she’d come to L.A., he had been more than happy to let her take the ball and run with it—a management style she thrived under.

She assumed that would be the end of their meeting. But instead of dismissing her, Sam shifted in his chair as if he had more to say.

“Something else on your mind, Sam?”

His body language right then seemed a little . . . odd. She didn’t know Sam all that well yet, so she couldn’t read him like she could the partners back home in Chicago. She waited as Sam eased back in his chair and stared at her with a poignant pause, creating the dramatic buildup for whatever he was about to say. Like so many trial attorneys Taylor had come across, Sam appeared to believe in acting out his entire life as if in front of a jury.

“Actually, there is another matter on which I was hoping to get your assistance,” Sam began carefully. “I know we only have you on loan from Chicago for the harassment case, but this wouldn’t be a full-time assignment.”

Taylor was intrigued by this lead-in. She was already working nights and weekends, so she figured this mystery assignment had to be a great opportunity if Sam thought she should squeeze it into her schedule.

“Is it a pro bono matter?” she asked.

Sam leaned back in his chair as he considered this question carefully, like a trapped witness at a deposition. “Well . . . not exactly. I’d call it more of a favor.”

Taylor’s bullshit radar instantly went into high alert. So-called “favors” for partners generally meant wasted non-billable hours preparing a bar association speech or researching the DUI laws of Natchitoches, Louisiana, to help out a wayward-but-good-hearted nephew.

“What kind of favor?” Taylor asked, although she already knew exactly what Sam’s response would be. “It’s a very interesting situation . . .” he’d begin. All partners described the criminal activities of their ne’er-do-well relations as “interesting situations.”

Sam leaned forward in his chair. “It’s a very interesting situation . . .” he began.

Bingo.

Taylor tried to appear enthusiastic as he continued.

“It’s a favor to one of the partners here, Bill Mitchells,” Sam said. “I’m sure you’re familiar with him—he’s head of the tax group. One of his clients asked him for a favor.”

Taylor could barely keep from rolling her eyes. Great—client criminal relations. The only thing worse than the spoiled prep-school offspring of rich partners was the spoiled prep-school offspring of insanely rich CEOs. She steeled herself for the rest of Sam’s pitch.

But what he said next surprised her.

“As you likely are aware, Bill does tax work for most of the big names in Hollywood. One of his clients, an actor, is about to start filming a legal thriller. He’s asked to work with one of our litigators to get a feel for how real lawyers act in the courtroom. You know, demeanor, where to stand, those kinds of things.”

Sam paused once again for dramatic effect. This provided Taylor an opportunity to digest what he was saying.

Babysit an actor when she was just three weeks from trial?

Preposterous.

It had to be a practical joke. Ha ha, yank the chain of the new associate from the Midwest who thinks everyone in Los Angeles is obsessed with celebrities.

Taylor smiled and shook her finger at Sam to let him know she was in on the gag.

“I’m guessing you’re joking.”

But Sam’s face turned serious, and he gave her that “what’s the problem?” look partners give associates when assigning a three-month document review.

He wasn’t joking.

Balls.

“Let’s be honest, Taylor,” Sam said in his best we’re-all-buddies-here tone. “I’m not going to put a partner on this. I’ve got better uses for those of us that bill out at eight hundred dollars an hour.” He winked at her. In public and around clients, partners loved to put on a big show of feigning embarrassment over their ridiculous billing rates. But behind closed doors, they were a source of great pride.

“However, it’s an excellent client development opportunity,” he went on, “so I need an associate who will make a good impression. You.”

Taylor folded her hands in her lap and thought quickly of the best way to graciously decline Sam’s offer. She knew he meant the opportunity as a compliment, but working with some prima donna actor on his overly melodramatic “You can’t handle the truth!” courtroom scenes was hardly her idea of serious lawyering.

So she flashed Sam her best soft-rejection smile.

“Sam, I’m flattered. But don’t you think one of the associates from this office would be better suited for this kind of project? I’d hate to waltz in here as the new girl and steal their opportunity to work with a Hollywood actor.”

That didn’t sound half bad, she mused. Apparently, she had a bit of a flair for acting herself.

But then Sam topped her with his trump card.

“Well, Taylor, Chicago assures me that you’re the best litigation associate this firm has. If that’s true, then don’t you think it should be you representing us?”

A direct challenge to her skills as a lawyer. Taylor’s kryptonite.

She sighed, having only one answer to that.

“When would you need me?”

Sam grinned victoriously, looking ever fox-like once again. “Thursday.”

For a brief moment, Taylor saw a possible way out of this situation. “Oh . . . that’s too bad,” she said. “I have to argue those motions to compel on Thursday.” She snapped her fingers. Damn.

But Sam was not about to let her off so easily.

“And as much as I know it will kill you to miss a chance to be in court, I’m sure you can get someone else to cover it.” Then he folded his hands politely, indicating that the discussion was over.

And so Taylor stood up to leave. She gave Sam her best team-player, I-couldn’t-be-more-thrilled-to-squeeze-this-shit-into-my-schedule grin.

“No problem, Sam, I’ll work it all out.”

She turned to leave and had made it all the way to the door before she realized something. She glanced back over her shoulder.

“I didn’t even think to ask—who’s the actor?”

Sam peered up distractedly from his computer, having already turned his attention back to $800-per-hour work.

“Um . . . Jason Andrews.”

And with those words, Taylor’s hand slipped just the slightest bit on the doorknob.

She turned back toward Sam, trying to appear nonchalant. “Really. I see.”

But unfortunately, her initial reaction had not gone unnoticed. Sam’s face turned serious as he rose from his desk and crossed the room to her.

“You know, Taylor, I told his manager that your reputation in this firm is that you can go head-to-head with any man. And win.” Sam paused meaningfully and stared down at her like an army drill sergeant.

“Do not get starry-eyed on this,” he lectured firmly.

Taylor’s eyes narrowed at the mere insinuation. After Daniel, her days of being starry-eyed, dreamy-eyed, or any other-eyed over any man, celebrity or not, were finished.

Sam was right; she was more than capable of going head-to-head with any man. She had, essentially, been raised that way. Growing up, her father, a police sergeant, worked double shifts and her mom, a nurse, often worked overtime, so Taylor had frequently found herself being watched by her three older brothers. And in their minds, the only way to handle being stuck after school and on weekends with a girl was to pretend that she was, in fact, a boy. (Albeit one who had pigtails.)

One of Taylor’s favorite movies was A League of Their Own, and in that movie Tom Hanks’s character had a line that had always resonated with her: one of his girl ballplayers was crying after he had chewed her out for missing a play, and Tom Hanks told her, “There’s no crying in baseball.” That could have been the mantra for Taylor’s youth, except in her world apparently, not only was there no crying in baseball, there was also no crying in kickball, hide-and-seek (even when her brothers forgot about her and left her in the neighbor’s shed for two hours), climbing trees, falling two stories out of said trees and breaking her arm, and even fishing when her brothers used her pet caterpillar collection as bait.