The courthouse doors clicked shut behind you, heels dragging across stone, your breath barely held together by the threads of restraint. Today’s trial had been brutal. Not because of the case—no.

Because he was on the other side.

Dane Ashford

Always pristine. Always prepared. Armani suit cutting through the courtroom like a scalpel. Every rebuttal like a punch to the throat. Your throat.

You tugged at your collar. “I need dinner. Or a massage. Or a lobotomy.”

Rina, steps behind you, laughed. “Or a night with him. God, the tension between you two? I swear I saw the judge sweating.”

You shot her a glare. “Hell no.”

“I’m just saying,” she singsonged. “If I wasn’t so sure you’d bite his face off, I’d assume you were seconds away from pinning him to the evidence table.”

You rolled your eyes—hard—just as a low chuckle drifted in behind you.

That voice.

You froze.

Rina turned first, eyes wide. “What is Ice in Armani doing here…”

“Dinner,” Dane said simply, stepping into your peripheral vision like the last boss in some legal thriller. His tie was loosened—just barely—and the top button undone, but still crisp, still clean.

“Better for insurance, less messy” he added, deep voice cutting clean through your pulse. “Than a lobotomy, I mean.”

You hated how calm he sounded. Like he hadn’t just spent the last four hours dismantling your argument with that perfectly infuriating logic and unreadable expression.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Rina, in full fanfiction-mode, practically vibrated beside you. “Well I’m going home,” she whispered, eyes gleaming. “This feels like the ‘who did this to you’ scene. Call me if he kisses you or threatens to destroy your career, whichever comes first.”