Zeus (Contemporary Mythos Book 6)

“This isn’t going to be easy. Did you say who I think you said is on the defense?” I asked my paralegal and best friend, Olivia, through the phone as I paced back and forth in my apartment.

“Eric Carter, yes. But you shouldn’t be so bloody nervous, Keira. You’ve never lost a case. Why would who’s on the defense change that?” Olivia murmured something, sounding like she held the phone away from her face.

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you with someone right now?”

It was three in the morning, but given Olivia and I were both night owls, her calling in the middle of the night to relay the news wasn’t surprising.

“No…” Her answer sounded more like a question.

I knew she was lying, not only because of the lilt in her voice but because I had what some would refer to as—empathic powers. Anyone I was near, I knew all the emotions they were feeling, the emotions they projected versus bottling up, and when only hearing them versus seeing—the truth fluttered through my ear like static raindrops. It was the main reason I stayed at the office late and arrived super early. The fewer people I encountered on my walk to work, the better. Ironically, I’d ended up in one of the continent’s most populated, bustling cities.

“Ollie, you know you can’t lie to me.” I zig-zagged through the boxes strewn about my living room floor. Boxes I hadn’t unpacked since I moved in after my divorce. I was rarely in my apartment except to sleep anyhow. Work was my significant other—which was undoubtedly the main reason Tyler left me.

“How is that exactly, hm? Do you have ESP?” Olivia’s “you” sounded more like “ya” given her Australian accent. She’d been in the country for over seven years, but her accent remained thick as molasses.

With a deep sigh, I moved to my window that faced the luxury apartments across the street. The apartment building that Zane Vronti, a slimy criminal defense lawyer, lived in. The universe’s idea of a cruel joke. “Go hang with your man of the hour. We’ll talk about this in the office tomorrow.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Olivia said with an American drawl. She giggled and told someone to “stop it” before hanging up.

I rested my chin on top of my phone, watching a woman with long black hair walk from the apartment building’s lobby barefoot, letting her heels dangle by the strap from her finger. The woman hailed a cab at three in the morning, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind she was one of Zane’s regular fuck toys. On many late nights, I’d see him with a variety of women on his arm, waltzing them up to his penthouse apartment. And every morning, they’d leave, never staying long enough for breakfast.

Typical New York playboy—always dressed in a pristine suit, hair slicked back with gel and a swagger that suggested he owned the world. I’d only ever seen him from afar and the occasional blips on the news that I mostly ignored. I loathed defense lawyers. I’d be lying if I said what I had seen wasn’t attractive, but honestly…how could any self-respecting person be perfectly sound with a revolving door of partners?

I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had sex. It wasn’t because I didn’t enjoy it, nor because I wasn’t capable of seducing someone. Not only was my brain far too wrapped in casework up to my ears to care, but sensing every passing emotion from your partner during the act could be overwhelming and borderline exhausting.

Scooping the Melissa Daniels case folder into my hand, I slipped off my heels, scrunching my toes into the carpet as I paced and read. As a criminal prosecutor, especially in New York, it took every bit of cunning and finesse a lawyer had in their arsenal to win cases like this. Wife kills husband. Jury, making preconceived judgments that the husband had to do something to drive her to such a state, sympathizes with woman. And maybe the husband did do something. But it also took a special kind of evil to shove a human being, living or not, in acid and shove the barrel in a storage locker.

Not looking down, I stepped over the box I knew rested between where the carpet ended, and the tile began, leading to my kitchenette. I set the stack of papers on the counter as I grabbed a bottle of water. My eyes felt heavy, and sleep tugged at my brain. Half-past three in the morning. An hour of sleep and then straight to the office.

The obnoxious alarm sound chimed from my phone at four-thirty in the morning, and I rolled out of bed, showered, styled my hair, slapped on some make-up, and slid into my work uniform—pencil skirt, heels, an eggplant-colored button-down shirt, and jacket. With my briefcase strap tossed over one shoulder, pea coat draped on my back, I made for the street, walking the four blocks to the courthouse. The subway or bus was almost always out of the question. No matter what time of day or night, public transportation seemed to be perpetually packed with people. Walking allowed me to pick alternative routes if the current one suddenly grew too busy for comfort.

As I stopped at a crosswalk, the emotions started flowing like a ruptured dam. The man on my left talking a mile a minute on his cell phone was anxious, panicky, and confused, making momentary jitters flutter over my skin. I shrugged the feelings away and an overwhelming sadness seeped into me from a woman behind me. Her eyes were dark and sunken, hair greasy and disheveled, pieces sticking straight out from her low ponytail. A deep depression nestled into my bones, weighing on my brain like cement.

I turned around to face her. “Ma’am, are you alright?”

“Excuse me?” The woman’s chin lifted along with her eyebrows, and a tiny spring of hope bubbled in her chest.

“I asked if you were alright?”

“I—” The woman pulled her shirt sleeves over her hands. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”

Oh, dear.

Quickly glancing at my analog watch, I canted my head at her. “Would you like a cup of coffee? Maybe a chat? I have some time before I need to be at work.”

It would mean walking the remaining two blocks during peak hours, but the heavy cloud hanging over this woman frightened me.

“You’d do that? For a complete stranger?” The woman’s eyes glazed over as if she were about to cry.

The gratitude and sheer surprise beaming from her made my chest tighten.

“Absolutely, come on. There’s an outside café right on the other side of the street.”

Part of my abilities allowed me to inherently know what a person needed—how they wanted to feel but may not have been able to get there on their own. Some closed themselves off with a mental shield, and although I could still sense their emotions, it was challenging to help them. I don’t know how or why I’d received this gift, but I’d make the most of it in any way I could.

Choosing a corner table outside nestled under the dimly lit sky, I motioned for the waiter as we took seats across from each other. The woman ordered a plain black coffee, the same as I.

She wasn’t used to someone caring and simply needed someone to listen. I couldn’t read minds, so I never fully knew why they felt the way they did, but I gave them every opportunity to explain—if they wished.

“Do you always randomly buy coffee for strangers at crosswalks?” The woman folded her hands atop the table after smoothing the disarray of her hair with a palm.

I extended my hand. “My name is Keira.”

“Beth.” A warm smile slid over her lips as we shook.

“There. Now we’re not strangers.”

The waiter returned with our coffee, and Beth curled her hands around it, relishing the warmth.

“Life hasn’t exactly dealt me the best hand lately.” Beth lifted the cup to her nose, letting the steam collect on her cheeks.

I sipped my coffee, keeping quiet, not pressuring her to elaborate.

“I lost my job last month, and I’m weeks away from losing my apartment. I’d moved here for a now ex-boyfriend. Left everything and everyone I knew in Nebraska.”

This story sounded familiar. I’d given up my life in Canada to move to New York for my now ex-husband. The only saving grace has been taking the bar to practice law in New York and building an image that would last me a lifetime. It didn’t mean I didn’t miss a steaming pile of delicious poutine now and again.

She sipped her coffee, wincing when the heat passed her lips. “It took me months to find a job, and we argued about it almost every waking day. And finally, I got a waitressing job at this little diner. The tips weren’t great, but I made enough to help with the bills.”

With each moment, her demeanor calmed and brightened. I could never be sure if I could pass emotions from myself to another. It was always a fine line to tell someone about my abilities, let alone ask if I could use them as a guinea pig. Still, it never stopped me from trying. With Beth, I dug into every vibrant memory I could bring to the surface—showering her with positivity and warmth.

“One day, I came home from an overtime shift. Two o’clock in the friggin’ morning and there was George, packing a suitcase.” Beth’s eyes glazed over.

I reached a hand across the table, lightly touching her forearm but still saying nothing.

A small smile crept at the corner of her lips, and she patted my hand before leaning back. “He said he needed more out of life, and neither this state nor I was going to be part of it.”

A knot formed in my stomach, and I wanted nothing more than to sucker punch this “George” in the gut. As a wrinkle formed between Beth’s eyes, I pushed the thought away, concentrating on the moon still looming in the sky above us instead.

“He left me with a rent I couldn’t afford on my own, in a place where I knew no one, and with a broken heart.” She scraped her thumbnail over the side of the ceramic mug. “I tried to explain it to my work, to get more hours, and they informed me the diner was losing business and shutting down. I also tried to talk to my landlord to work out some kind of payment plan until I could find another job and all he could do was make snarky comments about other ways I could ‘pay’ him.”

A hope fluttered from her, settling over my skin like warm fleece.

“Will you let me help you, Beth?” I peered at her over the rim of my mug.

Beth shifted in her seat before her spine straightened. “I—you’d do that?”

“We all need a lifeline now and again. I have the means to help, so I will if you let me.”

Most would never come right out and ask for it, but the decision to allow help still needed to be theirs.

“I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve such kindness, but I will gladly take whatever help you’re willing to give.” Her eyes glistened from built-up tears.

Resting my mug on the table, I slipped a business card from my pocket and slid it to her. “I work for the state. A prosecutor. There are several jobs open, and I’d be happy to give you a reference if you’re interested.”

I’d sensed enough of her good character to vouch for her. The poor woman just needed a break.

“I—” Beth started, but the words caught in her throat. She launched from her chair and hugged me, sobbing. “I can’t thank you enough.”

I wasn’t what you’d call a “hugger.” But for those I’d helped through the years, embracing seemed to be the only form of gratitude they could muster. It still was enough to make my body stiffen at their touch and triggered a mental game of suppressing the discomfort leaking from my pores.

“Everyone deserves a chance to be happy, Beth. Especially when life puts us through trials, attempting to derail us.” After throwing several bills on the table, covering both her coffee and mine, I stood. “When you apply, be sure to add my name. I guarantee with my recommendation, they’ll hire you so long as you show the bright side of you in the interview.”

“Yes. Absolutely. I’ll do you proud, Miss Keira.”

I slipped my briefcase on my shoulder and offered her a warm smile, and after pocketing several sugar packets from the dispenser on the table to consume later, I left.

The walk to the office was borderline nauseating. There was so much anxiety seeping from everyone I passed, I felt antsy and dizzy by the time I’d made it to the foyer. I needed to make it to my office to decompress. Everyone and their mothers greeted me when I entered, and I offered small waves and meager smiles in return.

I breezed into my office, whisking the door behind me. Instead of the gratifying clicking sound it should’ve made upon closing, it muted against a fleshy palm.

“There you are. I was about ready to send out a search party, and then I thought—” Olivia gasped with a hand over her mouth. “Maybe she got laid last night and needed to sleep in from hours of nastiness.”

After tossing my briefcase on the desk, I flopped into my chair with a roll of my eyes. Olivia considered my sex life, or lack thereof, a side mission to her everyday life. Why she cared so much about the fate of my vagina was beyond me.

“Only one of us got lucky last night, and that one of us wasn’t me.” I shuffled the papers on my desk, attempting to force my brain to focus and work past the stir of emotions I’d soaked in like a sponge during my walk.

Not bothering to shut the door, Olivia strode in with a manila folder pressed to her chest and her face glued to an e-reader. Olivia had accentuated curves in all the perfect places with a confidence about her that could make any woman envious. My admiration for her never failed, and I’d hired her on the spot the day she applied for the position. I’d have called it a done deal within five minutes but prolonged the interview to checkmark all the necessary boxes. Not to mention, having her around with the glowing positivity she gave off, always refreshed me.

“What are you so intently reading?” I pointed at the tablet.

Without even cutting her eyes to me, she replied, “A book.”

“A book? I thought you were reading a paperback. The Hating Game or something?”

“Yeah. That’s my subway literature because it’s got the cute illustrated cover. My e-reader now that is where all the filthy, dirty smut lives.” She popped her glance to me long enough to give a sidelong grin.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What are you reading?” Tapping my pen against the desk, I rested my chin in my hand.

She bit down on her plump bottom lip, smiling. “It’s a cyberpunk romance called Rescued by Her Enemy. Action, intrigue, and the best part? Sex. Lots and lots of sex.”

“You? Reading such explicit content? Shocking.”

She flipped the cover shut on the tablet and rested it on my desk. “I know, right? Speaking of lucky, it’s one thing not to want to deal with the peskiness of getting a man involved, but it’s another to ignore her completely.” She pointed below her belly button. Slipping the folder under her arm, she gave one toss of her light blonde bangs and removed her phone from her dress pocket.

Raising a brow at her, I paused mid-flip through a stack of papers.

“Look. This one has a Fifty Shades theme, vibrates, and has this little rabbit deal-y that stimulates your—” She’d held her phone screen out to me, showing a picture of said sex toy, but paused when I nudged my chin behind her at a group of men leaning in their chairs, straining to listen.

“I appreciate your concern, Ollie.” I lowered the phone from view. “I really do, but the last thing we need is one of them filing a complaint about us talking—devices—in the workplace.”

Ollie pursed her full lips together, those bright green eyes narrowing before tipping her chin over her shoulder. “They should be taking notes. Maybe you blokes will learn a thing or two.”

“I’m going to assume that the folder shoved in your armpit is the acid case?” I pointed with a grin.

She jumped to attention and removed the folder, fanning her palms over the crease down the middle. “Rest assured. I did put on deodorant this morning.”

“How fortunate for the entire building.” I smirked and snatched it from her.

Olivia’s jaw dropped as she slid into the seat across from me. “Someone’s fiery this morning.”

“If you say it’s because I’m horny, I’m kicking you out of my office.” I offered a small smile but kept my gaze on the case files.

“ESP. I told you. I bloody told you.” She snapped her fingers before taking out her cell phone again. “Don’t forget you have your client’s wedding soon.”

I groaned. “I did forget about that. Who invites their lawyer to a wedding? Honestly.”

“Keira, you kept him from falsely going to prison. I’d say he’s, I don’t know, grateful?” Olivia stuck her bottom lip out.

“Where is it again?”

“Argentina.”

“Jesus. They couldn’t keep it more local?”

Her face fell, deadpan. “Only you, of all people, would complain about having to go to Argentina for a wedding.”

“I’m in the middle of a case.”

“That won’t go to trial for at least lord knows how long. We both know this.”

I grabbed a pen from the holder at the corner of my desk and tapped it. “Did you already book the flights?”

“You’ll leave the morning of and fly back the day after. In and out.”

I twirled the pen between my fingers. “See if you can reschedule for the red-eye flight the same day. That way, I’m only wasting twenty-four hours.”

She stared at me wide-eyed, her jaw dropping. “Are you human? I swear sometimes you’re an actual robot.”

Chewing on the tip of the pen, I ignored her question and raised my brows. “Ollie.”

“Red-eye. You got it.” She nudged me with her elbow. “Who knows? Maybe some hot Argentinian guy will tango with you.”

“Tango?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you say you took ballroom dancing classes at university?

Sighing, I shook my head. “One course. One. It was an elective, and it was required. Trust me. I would’ve taken something English-y or science-y if they’d have let me.”

“Alright there, Buzz Killington.” Olivia folded her arms in a huff.

“I still can’t believe the defense hired Eric Carter.” I bit my thumbnail, stopping on the paperwork that outlined preliminary evidence.

“You’re telling me. If I can manage not to drool a lazy river and happily float down it in his presence and actually get some work done, it’ll be a miracle.”

The lust wafting from her like vapors made the small space of my office suddenly cave in.

“I’m sorry, what?” I snapped my gaze to hers.

She leaned forward, slapping her palms on my desk, making her six Alex and Ani bracelets jingle together. “Don’t play coy with me, Keira. Any woman in her right mind knows that man is attractive. Gross defense lawyer? Sure. But still wouldn’t stop me from riding him like an ostrich.”

I scrunched my nose and let the papers fall to the stack. “Oh, come on. I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

Olivia’s phone chimed from the desk outside of my office, and she leaped for the door. She talked, but I was far too busy rummaging through the case file paperwork to concentrate on what she said.

Her head poked out from the doorframe. “Um, apparently, the defense wants to have a pre-pre-trial conference to discuss their client and any evidence currently held.”

“We can have a pre-trial conference with the judge same as any other trial as soon as I’ve had the time to look through the damn case.”

“They want to meet within the hour.” Olivia scratched the side of her deeply slanted nose with a nervous smile.

Sighing, I slammed the folder shut. “It never fails. It’s always the prosecution that has to bend over and take it in the ass.”

“Until The Blonde Bulldogs wipe the floor with them in the trial itself,” Olivia added with a brightened grin.

“And this is why you’re my wing woman, Ollie.” We fist-bumped as we made our way through the cubicles.

On the cab ride over, I’d pored through as many of the files as I could. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d had to come prepared on a whim. My heart thundered against my ribcage as we neared the conference room. These conferences were never easy and most often a struggle to maintain professionalism. I’d never cracked under pressure or lost my cool with a defense lawyer, but I’d be lying if I said there hadn’t been numerous points of temptation. They were the enemy in that courtroom, and it all started here—the pre-trial conference.

The room was empty when we entered, and I took a brief moment of reprieve to calm my nerves, regain composure, and browse through the evidence folder one last time.

“You’re bloody adorable,” Olivia said, taking the seat next to me.

Concentrating on the list of audio recordings, I dragged my finger down it. “Why do you say that?”

“You’ve gone over the evidence a dozen times. You know it. You’re fine.” She closed the folder with my hand still on the paper.

“How long have you been my assistant?” I didn’t move my finger, saving my spot on the list.

Olivia puckered her plump, glossy lips. “Years? I’ve lost track. Time flies when you’re havin’ fun, right?”

“Two years, six months, and eleven days.”

Olivia sat up straight and counted on her fingers, mouthing numbers to herself with a perplexed brow.

“My point is, we’ve known each other a long time. This is my system. It works, and—”

A deep, masculine voice from the hallway seeped through the window. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d heard it.

The door opened, and a man entered the meeting room—a man who was not the assigned defense lawyer. This man was infamous. One of the best. The nerves I’d fought to calm ramped into overdrive at the thought of going up against him.

I locked gazes with a pair of deep-sea blue eyes, luring me in to hurl me to the depths and crush me.

Zane Vronti.

What was worse?

The man. Was. Gorgeous.

Shit.