SENTENCED TO YOU

Her name was Emilia Fawkes, 29. Star sign: Scorpio — cold hands, hot blood. A corporate baddie with a mind sharper than the Cartier tank on her wrist, and right now, she was dangerously close to losing control. The restaurant hummed around her—soft jazz pouring from hidden ceiling speakers, polished cutlery glinting under warm amber lighting, and diners whispering over delicate entrees on white-linen tables. The scent of aged wine, saffron risotto, and fresh truffles curled through the air like expensive secrets. “Please tell me you’re not the man I’m supposed to be meeting…” Emilia glanced at the sapphire crystal face of her Cartier, fingers tapping the polished gold bezel, voice tight with disbelief. “Right about now.” She was standing near the entrance, heels clicking against the marble floor, her gaze locked on the man lounging in a velvet booth halfway across the room. “Sorry, sweetie pea. Can’t do that.” Michael Rourke. The Michael. Managing Partner at Rourke, Kensington & Pierce — Boston’s most elite white-shoe law firm, and the apex predator in the legal jungle. We all knew him as the Surgeon — surgical with his words, ruthless in his moves, and utterly untouchable. Now, under the low amber glow of the lobby’s Baccarat crystal chandelier, the dark mahogany panels surrounding us whispered secrets of power and privilege. His bespoke Zegna suit clung perfectly to a frame that spoke of command and cold precision. Emilia understood why he earned that nickname. However, this afternoon, she intended to slice right through him. She smiled — all teeth, no warmth. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t just use that inane endearment on me. I’m also pretty sure you’re about to come to your senses and explain why I’m standing here, enduring your presence.” A waiter in a crisp white shirt and black apron passed by, glancing curiously as tension sparked off Emilia like static. At a table nearby, an older couple briefly looked up from their wine, eyebrows raised at her clipped tone. “Emilia—” “It’s Miss Fawkes to you, sir.” Her voice cracked like a whip. “Now, before I break out my very rusty but very real karate skills, I suggest you explain what’s going on. You have two minutes before this restaurant blacklists our entire bloodlines.” “Sit down.” “Oh, no. You don’t get to order me around.” She whipped out her phone, turning away slightly, the fabric of her sapphire gown whispering against the chair as she dialed. “Mum, you must have the restaurants mixed up. I just walked in to find the slimiest douchebag in history playing host like this is a normal Tuesday. What gives?” The low murmur of dinner service carried on around her — the clink of glasses, the hiss of a freshly opened bottle of red — but Emilia’s voice was sharp enough to draw attention. A waiter hesitated by the next table, pretending to refill water as he clearly listened in. Priscilla Fawkes sighed on the line. Emilia could practically see her mother reclining with her usual glass of Chardonnay, rolling her eyes with regal disappointment. “I knew you were going to pitch a fit over this.” “Over what, Mum?” She narrowed her eyes at Michael, who seemed utterly unbothered, casually perusing the menu like he wasn’t the reason she wanted to commit a felony. “You know Elaine — Mike’s mother. The one who brought that god-awful casserole the day you returned from France?” Priscilla’s tone was maddeningly composed. “Well, we talked. And I think you should listen to what Mikey has to say.” Emilia’s laughter was low and bitter. “Mikey? Are you serious right now? You know what they did to me. You were there. Picking up the pieces.” Priscilla’s voice cooled, sliding into steel. “And if we’re being honest, this whole thing is half your fault. So don’t start pretending to be the victim.” That took the air right out of her lungs. Michael glanced at her, reading something in her face. A smirk — just the edge of it — curled at his lips like he knew she was unraveling. They told him she was fire. And he was glad to see she was living up to her reputation. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get under my skin,” she bit out, turning back to him, ending the call. “But since we both know you don’t care about my well-being, I’ll get myself out of this mess. Thank you, Mum.” The call ended with a soft beep that somehow felt like a slap. Emilia balled up the fury, aimed it like a dart. Turning back, she gave him a smile meant to draw blood. “Well, Mr. Devilspawn, I don’t know what scam you and my mother concocted or how you got her to give you the time of day but that’s where your little ploy ends.” She wanted to reach for the glass of water on the table and hurl it. Barely restraining the urge, she adjusted the strap of her gown with queenly grace and squared her shoulders. “I’m just going to go.” “Emilia, sit down. Get over yourself.” The world turned red. The jazz, the dim lighting, the quiet clatter of cutlery — all dimmed behind a crimson haze. Did he just—? “Simmer down, young woman. Trust me, you want to listen to me.” “I do?” Her tone could crack bone. She took a step forward, slow and deliberate, like a lioness stalking prey. Her eyes scanned the table for a suitable weapon — wine glass or porcelain plate? His large hands settled calmly over the plate. “It’s about your brother. Jameson.” Her movement paused. The fury in her eyes didn’t die. But it changed shape. “What about him?” Michael crossed one leg over the other, the motion sleek and unhurried. “It’s my understanding he’s in a delicate situation.” She folded her arms, tilting her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Michael placed one long leg draped in dark pants over the other, his body stretching out the fabric of his office suit. “Court case. Wire fraud transfers, offshore bribery schemes. Front-running trades . Any of these ring a bell?” “I cannot confirm or deny…” “Let’s not revert to kindergarten, shall we? We are both highly intelligent and have hundred other places we’d rather be. Do you want my help or not?” Emilia scoffed, looking down her nose at him. “I didn’t ask for your help.” “Alright, then. You’ll be hearing from my team of attorneys on Monday concerning your brother’s case.” He rose to his feet, buttoning his jacket and standing to his full height. Lord, was he broad! And fine, damn it. She should not be noticing these things right now. Shooting out a hand to stop him before she realized, she let out a small frustrated sound. “Just hold on, will ya? What do you mean I’ll be hearing from your attorneys?” “Your mum didn’t tell you? RKP will be representing Thaddeux Group aka your brother’s company aka the Claimant.” “Uhm…” “What was that, sweetheart?” She glared. “Mr Rourke, I don’t understand any of these. I thought Wesley B was repping.” “Well, no longer.” The smugness on his face was mortifying. Her eyes narrowed into slits. “If you are trying to sabotage my brother’s case in any way, you’ll have a war on your hands. Remember how that felt like months ago when we were both dragging each other to court. Well, this will be ten times worse. No one comes for my family. No-one.” “Perhaps if you’ll let the good sense you’re known for take the front seat for just a minute, you’ll come to ask the question I’ve been expecting you to for the past ten minutes.” Her glare could have boiled the wine on the table. “Alright. Why are you here?” “I’m here to offer you a solution. But first things first, do you have a preference?” “Preference? For what?” “Rings. Engagement rings. Do you have a preference?” Emilia watched him now. Was he alright? She did hear one time that he was having some personal issues. They couldn’t have meant his health, could they? “Mr Rourke, I’m an eye-roll away from walking out of here.” “My time is extremely valuable to me, Miss Fawkes. I’m simply jumping to the end of this conversation.” “What conversation?” “The one where I woo you and we toast to our engagement.” “Did…did my mom put you up to this? Or my brother?” Jameson was known for his insane shenanigans. Michael sighed. “My apologies. I can see how confusing all this would be to you.” His tone flattened. “Here it is. I have a situation on my hands, and you’re uniquely positioned to help. It took me nights to come up with this plan, and even longer to stop laughing at myself for it. Safe to say, I’ve done a lot of reflection this past week.” “And?” His hands interlocked on the white-tabled surface, drawing Emilia’s attention to them. “You’re the only one who can help.” “Oh really?” Her voice rang out, deceptively mild. “Please, let’s hear it. I’m just dying to help you out.” Gray eyes bore into hers. “By the time I’m done with my explanation, you will be.” Jerk, she cursed him but remained quiet on the outside. “Did you hear about the merger deal with Novazen Pharmaceuticals?” She lifted her fingers clutched against her right arm in response. “What can I say? I’ve been out of the game.” Animosity stirred within her when she recalled what she had gone through these past months. “Right,” he said dismissively before proceeding. “RKP was given that deal eighteen months ago and things are only just now coming to an head. I’ve spent hundreds of millions into securing the merger. If RKP gets this deal, it’s a game changer.” Taking a drink from the tray of a passing waiter, she took a sip. “Cheers to you then. I’d say I’m happy for you but we both know I’d lying so…” Once again, he dismissed her snark. “I cannot let this deal slip through the cracks. I can’t afford to.” “Mister, you’re failing to make me see how any of this is my business.” He closed his eyes briefly before plunging. “Emilia, I need your help. But this time, it will benefit us both. The case you did with Verixon—the one that cost you your job?” He paused to watch her expression. She remembered Verixon all too well. But she remained impassive, nudging him to carry on. “That case is resurfacing again. Not as a lawsuit. But as a red flag in this merger I’m trying to close. Regulators are combing through our past deals. They think foul play was involved.” She scoffed. “Of course, foul play was involved. Caleb set me up.” “But since you’ve been unable to prove foul play since day one, you only have yourself to blame for the situation you found yourself. Not me. I’m only trying to help.” “Well, I don’t need your help. And what could possibly be worse than what’s already happened to me? I lost my job, my reputation’s in shambles. Why on earth would I want to tangle myself in this trainwreck of a scheme?” “Let me list all the reasons why.” Michael calmly unfurled his fingers, ticking each point off one by one. “First—your brother. Second—your brother. Third—your brother. Want me to keep going?” He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head just enough to look smug. “Bonus round: you get to scrape together what’s left of your reputation. What little there is.” “You are absolutely infuriating.” “That’s not a no.” “It’s not a yes either. You know what I think?” A bitter laugh slipped past her lips. “I think you’re desperate. If this pathetic lunch is any indication, you’ve run out of options. You’re flailing, Michael. Drowning. And now you’re clawing at anyone nearby just to stay afloat—even if it means pulling innocent bystanders like me down with you.” His expression didn’t shift, but his voice dropped like a blade. “Say no—and your brother goes down. Hard. RKP is already positioning to go after him. What we haven’t decided yet is whether we prosecute or defend. That choice is yours.” His eyes were dead calm, his tone colder than steel. “And you know we have the reach. This isn’t a bluff. So ask yourself—do you want us as your enemy… or as your ally?” For the first time since entering the restaurant, she sat up to properly assess the man. Michael Rourke was known to be extremely shrewd. With those dagger gray eyes and dark locks, he possessed a heady masculinity whispered behind closed office doors. Right now, she was more interested in what was happening behind those shuttered eyes. “You don’t have to answer right away.” He rose to his full height. Over six feet, she was sure. An height as intimidating as his profile. Reaching for his jacket, he shrugged into it effortlessly, signaling to the waiter. “Order whatever you want. I have it covered.” Her eyes dropped on the card he threw on the table. The nerve of this man. “That’s my card. My personal line is at the back. Let me know whatever you decide.” And with that, he strolled out of the restaurant, leaving her to seethe. She would not be going ahead with this hare-brained, destructive scheme of his. But she reached for the card. It would be her absolute delight to call him and throw his offer back in his face.