James, Julie: Love Irresistibly

As with all my books, I owe thanks to several people who, out of the kindness of their hearts, continue to answer every pesky e-mail from me bearing the words “Quick question” in the subject line. I’m particularly grateful to Kevin Kavanaugh for all his expertise and anecdotes that helped me create the world of Sterling Restaurants, and also to Andy Lansing, who graciously took the time to chat with me about life as a general counsel in the restaurant industry.

Continuing gratitude goes to John, assistant U.S. attorney extraordinaire, whose advice has been invaluable to the FBI/US Attorney series. I also owe a special mention to Diana Phung for getting me hooked on

Friday Night Lights

—which, in turn, inspired me to add a story line about a former football player to this book. Thanks as well to Chris Ernst and, particularly, Tom Fleming, for sharing their knowledge of the game.

I am truly fortunate to work with a fantastic editor, Wendy McCurdy, who understood what I wanted to do with this book and knew exactly how to push me to get there. Thanks to Erin Galloway, my fabulous publicist, and the entire team at Berkley, and to Elyssa Papa and Kati Brown, my awesome beta readers, who roll up their sleeves and do what they do even when working under some very tight deadlines.

Thanks to my friends and family for all their support, and to my husband, son, and daughter for putting a smile on my face every day.

Finally, thanks to you, dear readers, for the e-mails, the tweets, the Facebook posts, and the readers’ choice nominations and awards. You guys are awesome, and I wish I could thank every one of you.

Oh, wait—I just did.

BROOKE PARKER STEPPEDup to the bar at The Shore restaurant, ready to place her lunch order. The bartender, however, beat her to the punch.

“Hey, it’s my favorite customer—Chicken Tacos, Extra Pico.” He flashed her a grin. “That’s my nickname for you.”

Yes, she got that. “I suppose I’ve been called worse,” Brooke said as the bartender moved to the cash register to ring her up. She was indeed a regular, and she took pride in that. The restaurant was only two blocks from her office, right on Oak Street Beach, which made it the perfect midday escape. And it had the best chicken tacos in the city. Not that she was biased.

Okay, maybe she was a little biased.

She handed over a twenty-dollar bill. “I’ll take a strawberry-mango smoothie, too.”

“Ooh, a smoothie. Getting a little crazy today, are we?” In his early twenties, with blond hair and a tanned face, the bartender had the look of a recent college grad who planned to spend a lot of time playing beach volleyball this summer.

He called Brooke’s order back to the kitchen, and then looked her over. “I’m starting to feel like I should know more about you, Chicken Tacos, Extra Pico.” He winked. “Since we’ve been seeing each other on a weekly basis for nearly a month now.” He took in the tailored gray suit she wore. “I’m thinking that you are a . . . lawyer.”

“Good guess.”

“I knew it. I bet you’re one of those ballbuster types in court.”

Brooke fought back a smile. Really, she should just spare the poor guy the embarrassment, but this was kind of fun. “Actually, I’m not a trial lawyer.” She decided to give him a hint. “I’m general counsel for a company based here in Chicago.”

He made a big show of being impressed. “Look at you, Ms. Thing. What kind of company?”

“Restaurants and bars.”

“What a coincidence. We’re both in the restaurant business.” He leaned his elbows on the bar, giving her a smoldering, sexy look that likely helped him rake in big tips with the female clientele. “It’s Kismet.”

Or . . . maybe not so much. Brooke raised an eyebrow. “Are you supposed to be flirting with the customers?”

He brushed this off with an oh-so-cool smile. “Probably not. But for you, Chicken Tacos, Extra Pico, I’ll break the rules. Just don’t tell any of those stiffs in corporate.”

Brooke had to bite her lip to hold back a smile at that one. Aw, she definitely couldn’t clue the poor guy in now. Then a voice called her name.

“Playing hooky for the afternoon, Ms. Parker?”

Brooke turned and saw Kurt McGregor, one of the managers of The Shore. “Unfortunately, no. Just sneaking out for a quick break.”

Kurt gestured to the bartender. “I hope Ryan here is treating you well.”

“Ryan has been most charming,” she assured him.

The bartender pointed between them. “You two know each other?”

Kurt chuckled at that. “You could say that. Ryan, this is Brooke Parker from corporate. She’s general counsel of Sterling.”

The grin on the bartender’s face froze, replaced by a look of panic. “Oh, shit. Sterling Restaurants. As in, the people who sign my paychecks?”

“The one and only,” Brooke said.

The bartender looked like he’d swallowed a bug. “I just called you a stiff.”

“And Ms. Thing.”

“Please don’t fire me,” he whispered.

Brooke pretended to think about that. “It’s tempting. But firing someone involves a lot of paperwork. Not something I want to do on a Friday afternoon. I’ll hold off until Monday instead.” She saw his eyes widen. “I’m kidding, Ryan.”

Kurt cleared his throat pointedly. “Ryan, maybe this would be a good time to check on Ms. Parker’s order?”

The bartender straightened up, clearly relieved to be dismissed. “Good idea. One order for Chicken Tac—uh, Ms. Parker—coming right up.” With that, he bolted for the kitchen.

Kurt turned to her after the bartender left. “Okay, seriously. Should I fire him?”

“Nah. He sneaks me extra pico on the side. He’s a keeper.”

Kurt chuckled at that, then gestured to the terrace. “Are you sticking around? I’m sure I can finagle you a table with a view of the lake if you want to eat in.”

Brooke looked out at the umbrella-covered tables on the sunny terrace, tempted by the idea. It was a gorgeous June day, and the view from the terrace was undeniably one of the best in Chicago: skyscrapers towering majestically against the shimmering blue of Lake Michigan. Today, however, duty called.

Actually, duty called every day. Duty had her on speed dial.

“Wish I could. But I’ve got a conference call in”—Brooke checked her watch—“yikes, twenty minutes.”

Ryan the bartender came out of the kitchen with a carryout bag and a smoothie. With a sheepish look, he set both on the bar in front of Brooke and scurried off.

“By any chance would this conference call have anything to do with a certain deal you’re negotiating with the Staples Center?” Kurt asked in a sly tone after Ryan disappeared.

Brooke’s face gave nothing away. “I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of any such deal.”

“Spoken like a true lawyer.”

Brooke winked as she grabbed her smoothie and tacos and headed for the door. “Always.”

BROOKE BRISKLY WALKEDthe two blocks from Oak Street Beach to the elegant eight-story building on Michigan Avenue that was home to Sterling’s corporate offices. Tacos and smoothie in hand, she pushed through the revolving doors and waved hello to Mac, a retired Chicago police officer who manned the front security desk, as she passed through the lobby and headed toward the elevators.

When Ian Sterling, CEO of Sterling Restaurants, had approached her two years ago about coming on board as general counsel—or “GC” as the position was commonly called—he’d been very candid about his vision and plans. He’d started the company with one restaurant, an American bistro in the heart of downtown Chicago, and within eight years had opened six more restaurants that ran the spectrum from summer hot spot The Shore, to an Irish pub on the south side of the city, to Sogna, the company’s “crown jewel” that had just this year earned a coveted three-star Michelin rating.