Page 7 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

“Mind? No, I—thank you.” The words taste strange, foreign on my tongue. Thanking Adrian Cole isn’t in my usual repertoire.

“Great. So no drinks then,” Amelie interjects, her words laced with humor.

“Actually, I’ll need the case files for tomorrow,” I muse aloud, more to myself than anyone else. “I left them in my office.”

“Of course you did.” Adrian rolls his eyes theatrically. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the office.”

“Are you sure, Isabella? I can go with you instead. Our Uber’s going to be here in less than a minute,” offers Amelie, concern creasing her forehead.

“Positive,” I assure her, though I’m not sure I am. Being alone with Adrian is like juggling knives—exhilarating until you get cut.

She gives me a skeptical look but nods as her Uber stops at the curb. “Be safe then. Text me when you get home. Adrian, great to meet you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he counters, mimicking her sarcasm from earlier.

Amelie’s cheeks flush a shade of rosy pink as she gets into the backseat of her Uber. The traitor.

The Beverly Hills sidewalks are almost deserted, the click of my heels a staccato rhythm against the pavement. Adrian walks beside me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his tailored suit pants.

“Why the Henderson case?” I blurt out, unable to contain my curiosity any longer. “I mean, this morning you practically chewed me out for less.”

Adrian’s gaze doesn’t waver from the path ahead. “I was harsh,” he admits with a sigh. “First days can be brutal. There’s a lot you’ll need to learn about how we do things.”

I duck my head, cheeks warming with a mix of pride and embarrassment. My fingers twitch at my sides, resisting the urge to fidget. “I’ll get the hang of it. I’m not afraid of a little hard work.” That’s an understatement—I thrive on impossible challenges.

“Clearly.” His tone is dry, but when I glance up, there’s a hint of something softer in his eyes.

The night air is crisp, making me pull my coat tighter around me. In response, Adrian exhales loudly, as if my attempts at warding off the cold are personally offensive to him. He unwinds hisscarf—a luxurious blend of wool and cashmere—and drapes it over my shoulders without asking.

“Los Angeles may not freeze over, but it gets colder than most people expect come nightfall,” he lectures.

The scent of tobacco and vanilla wraps around me, both comforting and unnerving. I should thank him, but instead, I bristle. “For your information, I am 27 years old. Not seven. I know how to dress myself for the weather.” The words snap out sharper than I intend.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by my outburst. “Of course you do.”

I don’t wait for any further commentary. Pivoting on my heel, I stride toward the office building with renewed purpose. It’s not just the cold I’m trying to escape—it’s this confusing proximity to a man who oscillates between infuriating and ... whatever this new, scarf-lending behavior is supposed to be.

I clutch the fabric, fighting the urge to toss it back at him, and press forward. The sooner we can get those files and go our separate ways for the night, the better.

***

“Is this a filing system or a crime scene?” Adrian quips, surveying my scattered papers and opened law books with mock horror as we stand in my office.

“Mind your business, Cole,” I snap, heat creeping up my neck.

He laughs, a deep rumble that makes something twist uncomfortably in my stomach. “Your business is my business,” he reminds me, smugnessoozing from every syllable.

“Ugh!” Frustration surges, and I pivot too quickly, my heel catching on the edge of the rug. Time slows as I start to fall backward, but Adrian’s reflexes are quicker, his arms wrapping around me, stopping my descent.

“Clumsy,” he murmurs, but there’s no bite to it.

“Overbearing,” I retort, our faces inches apart. Then, as if pulled by some magnetic force beyond my control, our lips crash together. It’s rough, hungry, a clashing of wills, and I’m lost in the storm.

I can’t stop myself. My hands, traitorous and eager, slip into Adrian’s suit jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. He shrugs it away without breaking our kiss and it lands on the floor with a soft thud—a casualty of our sudden, unexpected passion.

My fingers trace the contours of his chest through the crisp white shirt, and I’m rewarded with the solid feel of muscles that have only ever been outlined by tailored suits until now. Curiosity had gnawed at me about what lay beneath his professional armor. And damn, reality does not disappoint.

With an ease that sends a shiver down my spine, Adrian lifts me by the hips, his touch scorching through the fabric of my skirt as he sets me atop the cold surface of my desk. The papers underneath me crinkle in protest, but I couldn’t care less.

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