If he were a normal person, and not a senator, she would have thought he was flirting with her when he smiled at her like that, and also when he talked to her just now. But politicians were charmers in that way—everyone must think Max Powell flirted with them. That was probably how he’d managed to win the Senate seat in the first place.

She tried to put Max Powell out of her mind and made her slow way out of the ballroom. She hated that she couldn’t accept Bruce’s invitation to be on the board; it was exactly the kind of thing she’d love to do, and would be a great way to get to know her new city. But nonprofit board seats meant hefty donations, and she had to be careful with money right now. She wasn’t in a position to give any more than a nominal amount until she and Ellie truly got this firm off the ground. However, luncheons like this were prime networking opportunities—before she left the ballroom, she’d given out over twenty business cards to other lawyers and made coffee dates with three people she hadn’t seen in years. You never knew which connections could bring some sorely needed business to Monroe & Spencer.

She got back to the office to find Ellie in the middle of hanging up artwork on the walls. Olivia looked around at the frames on the floor, the tools on the bookshelf, and the glee on Ellie’s face as she banged hooks into the wall with a hammer.

“Having fun?”

Ellie paused, hammer in the air.

“Absolutely.” She brushed her immaculate hair back. “I love a chance to use a hammer in the middle of the workday. I’m going to have to keep this and a piece of wood and a pile of nails in my office, just to work off my rage for those times opposing counsel tries to talk down to me.”

Olivia laughed.

“ ‘Tries’ is the operative word there, Ellie. I don’t think anyone has actually gotten away with that in years.”

Ellie lifted a painting and hung it carefully.

“Oh, I know, but I still have to be diplomatic and all honey voiced as I hand their asses to them. Sometimes I just wish I could tell them to go fuck themselves—when those impulses come over me, I’ll just look at this hammer and feel better.”

Ellie looked like the gentle, blond, polite, perfectly coiffed Southern girl that she was. Which is why it was all the more fun when people underestimated her.

She and Olivia made an excellent team.

Olivia sat down at her desk and spent the next few hours jumping back and forth between emails and phone calls with potential and existing clients, tinkering with their brand-new internal filing system, updating their website, and jumping on a quick call with their accountant. Back when she was a big-firm lawyer, she’d have only done the client work and nothing else; all of her administrative work was done for her like magic by her secretary and the firm. But she and Ellie had decided not to have any support staff, at least at the beginning, so they were learning how to do all of this themselves . . . some of it better than others.

Just before five, Ellie knocked at her open office door with a twinkle in her eye.

“Delivery for you, and it looks fun.”

Olivia looked away from her computer screen for the first time in over an hour and blinked.

“Ooh, is it the pens I ordered?” It made her feel very boring to be so excited, but she really had been looking forward to those pens.

Ellie shook her head.

“Nope.” She held up a big white handled bag. “Looks like something from a bakery.”

Olivia stood up from her desk and frowned.

“I didn’t order anything from a bakery. It must be some mistake.”

Ellie held up the delivery slip.

“It says Olivia Monroe, Monroe and Spencer, and our address, right here.”

Olivia took the bag from her and set it on her desk.

“That’s weird. Maybe my sister sent me something?”

Ellie’s phone rang, and she rushed to pick it up.

“I’m coming back to see what that is!” she shouted on her way into her office.

Olivia took the bakery box out of the bag. There was an envelope taped to the top, and she pulled it open with a smile on her face. What a nice thing for Alexa to do.

To Olivia Monroe—just in case you’re still in search of some excellent cake. Good seeing you today. Maybe we can do it on purpose next time?

Max

213-555-4857

No.

This could not be.

This was her sister playing a trick on her, right?

She flipped open the box. Inside was a big layer cake, covered in chocolate frosting, with “Welcome to California” written on it in blue.

She looked from the cake, to the note in her hand, back to the cake.

This must be her sister. Except her sister didn’t know she’d seen Max today. No one did, as a matter of fact, except for the people who’d seen them talking for about forty-five seconds in the ballroom after the luncheon. And none of those people knew they’d met before. Or what they’d talked about.

Olivia walked back around her desk and sat down, still staring at the note clutched in her hand.

Had United States senator Max Powell really sent her a cake?

And, in his note along with the cake . . .

He couldn’t be asking her out, right?

Yes, when she’d walked out of that elevator, she sort of thought that the hot white dude in the baseball cap she’d been flirting with for the past hour or so had been about to ask her out, sure. But that’s when she didn’t know the hot white dude in the baseball cap was Max Powell, hotshot junior senator from California.