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Anne, my assistant/therapist/right hand. I paid her very well to do all those jobs.

“Any calls?” I asked.

“I put the messages on your desk.”

“Thank you, Melissa.”

I strolled through my office. Mine. I could be working for some big firm with ten different names on the door but I didn’t need the names. I had the only one that mattered.

Three years out of law school and I had this office. This view. A client roster that read like a who’s who of Hollywood elite. Some people might call that luck. I called it busting my ass.

I took off my jacket, hung it on the hook, and picked up the coffee that was still nice and hot. I sipped, testing the termperature, and found it to be exactly the way I liked it.

I leaned back in my Herman Miller chair. The twelve-hundred-dollar one that my brother Callum had called an unnecessary extravagance until he sat in it. Some things were absolutely necessary, like my cherry wood executive desk.

The Corwin file was closed, but I had a stack of new cases demanding attention. A pop star whose ex-boyfriend was shopping around a tell-all book. A cheating husband that got himself into some trouble.

Hollywood never ran out of problems. Which meant I never ran out of work.

I was halfway through drafting a cease-and-desist letter when my office door swung open without so much as a knock.

“Surprise!” Cleo breezed in like she owned the place. Her smile was the one that meant she was up to something. She was dressed like she was prepared to hop on a runway should the need arise.

“You know,” I said, not looking up from my laptop, “most people knock.”

“Most people aren’t your favorite sister.”

“You’re my only sister.”

“Exactly.” She dropped into one of the chairs across from my desk, crossing her legs with the elegance of a queen. “Which makes me the favorite by default.”

I finally looked up, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I told you. Surprise.” She gestured toward the door with a flourish. “Ta-da.”

Jeremy walked in.

My youngest brother looked like he’d just stepped off a magazine cover, which made sense considering that was literally his job.

He was all tanned skin from whatever exotic location he’d been shooting in. Hair artfully tousled thanks to the thousand-dollar haircut. Designer clothes that he probably jacked from his latest shoot for our cousins’ Blackwell Couture label.

“Holy shit,” I said, pushing back from my desk. “When did you get back?”

“Last night.” Jeremy grinned, spreading his arms wide. “Miss me?”

“Australia, right?” I stood and pulled him into a hug, clapping him on the back. “How was it?”

“Hot. Sunny. Full of beautiful women with sexy accents.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “You know how it is.”

“I really don’t.”

“That’s because you’re boring. And stuffy.” He dropped onto the leather couch against the wall and stretched out. “All you do is work.”

“Some of us have real jobs.”

“Standing in front of a camera for twelve hours is a real job.”

“Standing in front of a camera while people do your hair and makeup and tell you you’re pretty,” I corrected. “Very strenuous.”