Mad About the Man by Tracy Anne Warren

a chance to sample such exquisite cuisine nearly impossible to resist, or had it just been a stroke of luck on his part? Knowing what she did of him, she guessed the former. First he tempted her with a partnership at her law firm and now a meal made by one of the best chefs in the United States and possibly the world.
    What a bastard.
    â€œYou and I are strictly business,” she said, staring him in the eye. “I am your attorney and only your attorney. Understood?”
    â€œCompletely.”
    â€œThere’ll be no asking me out and no more talk of sex. Ever.”
    His face was smooth and serious. “If you prefer.” He motioned toward the dining room with a hand. “Shall we?”
    She was a little surprised by his sudden, easy agreement but accepted it anyway. Letting her nose lead her toward the delicious scents of freshly baked French bread and some sort of bacon derivation she suspected might be braised pork belly, she walked on.
    It was only later, after she’d eaten one of the best meals of her life, had put the signed representation agreements back into her briefcase, and had just climbed back into the company Escalade, that she realized Monroe hadn’t actually promised anything when it came to not pursuing her on a personal basis.
    Because, as a lawyer, she ought to have realized that the words “if you prefer” did not mean “yes.”
    *   *   *
    A vacuum whined somewhere in the distance, the evening cleaning crew busy sweeping, emptying trash cans, and switching off lights as they finished their work.
    Brie paid them no attention, her thoughts focused squarely on the motion she was preparing. Her fingers moved swiftly over her computer keyboard, pausing every so often to flip through her notes to locate a pertinent citation or other necessary piece of information.
    She was reconsidering a section of the paragraph she’d just written when the theme music to
Mad Men
started playing on her cell phone. She didn’t need to check to know that it was her older sister—the advertising executive—calling.
    Smiling, she hit “answer” and put the phone up to her ear. “Hey, Madelyn.”
    â€œHey, yourself,” her sister said in a cheery voice. “What are you up to? Home having dinner, I hope.”
    â€œNope, I’m still at work, and yes, I know it’s nearly”—she paused and flicked a quick glance at the clock on her credenza—“eight. I’ve just got a little more to do. Then I’m shutting down for the night.”
    â€œYou ought to shut down now, but you already have a mother, so I won’t nag. Just promise you won’t stop by the deli and take a sandwich home for dinner.”
    â€œPromise,” Brie said, leaning back in her chair. “I’ll order Chinese takeout instead.”
    Madelyn laughed and groaned.
    â€œHey, don’t turn your nose up at Chinese takeout. The place I go is authentic Szechuan and delicious.”
    Brie arched her spine, only then becoming aware of the stiffness in her neck and shoulders. Maybe she should pack it in and go home. For more reasons than she wanted to think about, it had been a really long day.
    â€œSo, what’s up?” Brie asked. “Or are you just calling to check on me?”
    â€œOf course, but we’ll get to that part in a minute. First, I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me tomorrow. It’s one of my non-telecommuting days, so I’ll be in the city.”
    â€œSure. I’d love to. Let me just check my calendar.” Clicking a couple of buttons on her computer, she brought up her daily planner. “I have a client meeting at eleven thirty, but it shouldn’t run more than a hour. How about one?”
    â€œOne sounds great. Now, what restaurant?”
    They batted around a few possibilities before settling on a trendy new Italian spot that had recently gotten a slew of