“No, just some really good pot.”

Cade laughed out loud at that. “You are a funny one, Pierce. I’ll say that.”

“So does that mean we’re still on for Starbucks later today?”

He studied her suspiciously. “You’re not going to want to talk about Kyle Rhodes the whole time, are you?”

“Actually, yes. And then we’ll go shoe shopping together and get mani-pedis.” She threw him a get-real look. “We’ll talk about the same stuff we always talk about.”

With a grin, he finally nodded. “Fine. Three o’clock, Pierce. I’ll swing by your office.”

AT SIX THIRTY that day, Rylann packed up her briefcase and left the office, one of the last people there that Friday evening.

As it turned out, the world had not ended with the revelation that she was dating the Twitter Terrorist.

Granted, only two people in her world—other than Rae—actually knew this information, but seeing how they were two of the people whose opinions she cared most about, she was willing to call that a victory.

But she wasn’t naive. As Cade had mentioned, there was going to be gossip. A lot of it. From this point forward, her claim to fame would no longer be that she’d once climbed into a hatch and scaled down a rickety fifteen-foot ladder in a skirt suit. Instead, people would have a far juicier tale to tell.

Nevertheless, while Meth Lab Rylann may have been a little sad to see her legendary status go, Prosecutrix Pierce had no regrets about her decision. Despite the inevitable whispers in the hallways and the raised eyebrows, nothing changed the fact that she was a damn good lawyer. And now she was a damn good lawyer who could come home after a long workday, good or bad, to a man she admired, who challenged her, and who made her heart beat faster with one smile.

And that was something Meth Lab Rylann never had.

As she pushed through the revolving doors and cut across the plaza in front of the Federal Building, Rylann decided to treat herself to a cab ride instead of taking the L. She texted Kyle with the message that she’d talked to Cameron and would call him with the details when she got home.

Twenty minutes later, when the cab was a block away from her apartment, Rylann’s cell phone rang, and she saw that it was Kyle.

“How did it go?” he asked after she’d answered.

“Better than expected,” she told him. “I only told Cameron and Cade, but they were the two people I was most worried about.”

“Please tell me the look on Morgan’s face was as priceless as I’m imagining it.”

“Does that mean you two won’t be drinking beer together at the U.S. Attorney’s Office annual Fourth of July picnic?” The cab pulled in front of Rylann’s apartment, and she pulled out her wallet.

“Is there actually an office Fourth of July picnic?” Kyle asked.

“So I’ve been told. Kids, spouses, significant others—the whole nine yards.” Rylann handed cash to the driver. “Keep the change.” She stepped out of the cab and shut the door.

“Ooh, I saw a flash of leg there,” Kyle said slyly in her ear.

Quickly, Rylann looked around.

Across the street, there Kyle stood, leaning against an obscenely expensive-looking silver sports car.

That was…quite a sight.

Rylann hung up the phone and walked over, briefcase in hand. With his arms folded across his chest, Kyle watched with obvious appreciation as she approached.

“You do wear that trench coat well,” he said.

She stopped before him and pointed. “This is your car?”

“It is.” He watched as she checked it out, then grinned. “Well, look at that. You like the car.”

Damn skippy she liked the car.

“It’s not bad,” she said nonchalantly.

“Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.” He pulled her closer, so that she stood between his outstretched legs. “So do they allow significant others who have prison records at the U.S. Attorney’s Office annual Fourth of July pic-nic?”

She chuckled at the thought. “Let’s get through next week first. See how things go after the Time article comes out.”

Kyle cocked his head, as if realizing something. “You’re worried about what I’m going to say during the interview.”

Well…yes. “You say whatever you want.” It was his job, his business, and thus his right to handle it his own way. Just as the same rules applied to her career.

He touched her chin. “I’ll be circumspect, counselor. We’re in this together.” His blue eyes were warm as he peered down at her. “So what would you say to going out for dinner tonight?”

“A second date? This is getting serious,” she said coyly.

“Just name the place. The sky’s the limit.” He slid his hand to the nape of her neck. “I could spoil you rotten, Rylann. If you’ll let me.”

Heady words, indeed. As they leaned against his super-fancy sports car, she brushed her fingers across a lock of dark blond hair that had fallen across Kyle’s forehead. Then, suddenly, she realized she had one mea culpa left.

Oh, boy.

He saw her look. “What?”

“I’m wondering how I’m ever going to explain you to my mother. If you think I’m a burr up your ass about the ex-con thing, just wait until you meet her.”

“Maybe we could take a lesson from my parents and give her the sanitized, wholesome version of the story. One that emphasizes my numerous fine qualities.” Kyle mused this over. “Something like…’Once upon a time, I met a guy in a bar who was wearing a flannel shirt and work boots, and he turned out to be a prince in disguise.’ “