She knocked on his door. “Got a minute?”

Sitting in front of his computer, he waved her in. “Absolutely. Just checking out the Bears’ schedule in advance of your big meeting and making sure I have all the home games on my calendar. Kidding.” He paused when he saw her expression. “Oh, boy. I know that look.” He turned in his chair and faced her, never one to beat around the bush. “Tell me.”

“We think Dave Lyons has been stealing from the Stadium Club.”

Ian’s expression went from surprise to disbelief. “No way. Dave and I have known each other for years. He was the manager I hired to run my first restaurant.” He shook his head. “There must be some mistake.”

“Keith is heading over to the United Center now to talk to him. But he’s already done an internal audit and it looks pretty incriminating,” Brooke said. “I’m sorry, Ian. Keith said he’s hearing rumors about Dave possibly having some financial issues, maybe a gambling problem. But that part is just speculation at this point.”

“Aw, hell.” Ian ran a hand over his face. “I knew about his gambling habit, but he never said anything to me about having money problems.” After a moment, he looked at her. “How much do you think he took?”

“Roughly fifty thousand dollars.”

Ian went silent, hearing that. “All right,” he finally said, his tone having turned noticeably more businesslike. “Assuming this turns out to be true, what are our options? I can’t believe I’m going to ask this, because I probably shouldn’t give a crap what happens to Lyons, but . . . I don’t know, if it is a gambling thing, can we have him resign quietly and then work out some kind of private arrangement? He gets himself into Gamblers Anonymous and agrees to pay the company back every penny, that kind of thing?”

And this was one of the reasons Brooke believed in Ian, both as a person and as a CEO. Even when he’d likely been stabbed in the back by someone he’d considered a friend, he cared.

Unfortunately, that didn’t change the fact that their hands were tied in this particular instance. And, as general counsel, it was her responsibility to advise Ian of that. “If it were one of Sterling’s independent restaurants, that might be something we could consider. But the United Center owns the Stadium Club, and as part of our contract with them we’re obligated to report all known instances of employee theft to the police.”

And the news didn’t get any better as the afternoon progressed.

Two hours later, Keith called Brooke from the Stadium Club to let her know that he’d met with Dave, and that the general manager had broken down and admitted everything. Over the course of the last six months he’d lost a significant amount of money in gambling, a fact he’d kept from all his friends and family. Not knowing where to turn, he’d started pocketing cash from the restaurant’s POS machine—small amounts at first, and then he’d grown bolder in his desperation.

Hearing the whole story just made Brooke feel . . . bad. For once, she thought she’d actually prefer another oops-I-hired-a-murderer moment. At least with that one, she’d been able to laugh eventually.

“Dave’s in pretty bad shape,” Keith said. “As soon as I confronted him, he started crying. Sobbing, actually. I think part of him is relieved to have gotten caught—he keeps saying he feels terrible for doing this to Ian. I assume you want me to call CPD and let the police handle this from here?”

Brooke tiredly ran a hand through her hair. That would be the normal procedure, yes. And she knew what would happen from there: two Chicago police officers—likely detectives from the financial crimes unit given the amount at stake—would show up at the Stadium Club, throw Dave Lyons in handcuffs, and then would very publicly escort him out of the restaurant.

Unless . . .

She debated for a half second, and then thought about whether she would pick up the phone and call Cade if they were simply friends and not sleeping together. When she decided that, yes, she would, that put an end to her hesitation.

“Hold off for a couple of minutes, Keith. Let me make one call before we bring in the cops.” Brooke hung up with the VP of security, then dialed a now-familiar cell phone number.

“Ms. Parker,” Cade answered, his voice low and rich. “An actual phone call instead of a text message—I’m honored.”

“I have a favor to ask of you. Work related.”

Instantly, he turned more serious. “What do you need?”

“We caught one of our general managers stealing,” she said. “To make a long story short, he’s confessed to everything and we’re turning this over to the police. For various reasons, I’d rather not make a spectacle of the guy’s arrest. I was wondering if maybe you had, you know . . . a guy at the Chicago Police Department who could handle this quietly.”

Cade seemed amused by her question.

Of course he did.

“Yes, I have a guy,” he said teasingly. “You’re in the eighteenth district—you want to talk to Sergeant Joe Ross.”

Brooke quickly jotted this down on a piece of paper. Secretly, she was in awe of the fact that Cade had come up with a name so easily, but given the already-quite-healthy size of his ego, she’d rather go jogging naked through Millennium Park in her red high heels before admitting that.

“I’ll give him a heads-up that you’ll be calling,” he continued. “I don’t know where the GM works, but if your goal is to handle this quietly, I wouldn’t do the arrest at the restaurant. Your best bet would be to bring him to Sterling’s corporate office. Sergeant Ross will be in plain clothes—if it’s a voluntary surrender, and it sounds like it is, he can escort the guy out without handcuffs and put him in an unmarked car. Doesn’t get much quieter than that.”

No, it didn’t. “This is very helpful,” she said in all sincerity. “Thank you.”

“Have I impressed you again, Ms. Parker?” he asked coyly.

She smiled for the first time that day. “Maybe. Then again, it has been a really strange afternoon.” She exhaled raggedly, thinking about the not-so-fun task ahead.

“You sound tired,” Cade said, his voice deepening. “Long day?”

The words slipped out of Brooke’s mouth before she thought about them.

“Long year.”

* * *

EARLY THAT EVENING, Brooke stared out her window, looking at the people below as they shopped, met friends for drinks, or headed off to dinner reservations. And then there were the couples, leisurely walking hand in hand, who seemed to be simply enjoying the Michigan Avenue scene with no particular plans at all.

She wondered what it felt like to be one of those people.

“I see that you’re still leaving the front door unlocked when you’re alone.”

Brooke started, hearing the voice. She turned around and saw Cade standing in her office doorway, looking as handsome as ever in another one of his tailored suits. His dark brown hair was a little mussed, presumably from being outside, and her first thought was that she wanted to sink her fingers into it and get him mussed even more.

She cleared her throat.

“I see you’re still sneaking up on people when they’re working,” she said. “And for the record, I’m not alone. Ian’s here, too.”

Appearing somewhat appeased by this, Cade stepped into her office and shut the door behind him. “I thought I’d see how things went with the arrest. Did everything go okay with Sergeant Ross?”

“Sergeant Ross was very professional and discreet. Thank you again, for that.”

“Why the need for discretion?” Cade asked curiously. He sat on the edge of her desk. “I would’ve thought you would relish the idea of publicly setting an example of someone who stole from the company.”

Normally, yes. “I heard the guy was sobbing. I’ve hung out with his wife a few times . . . I guess I just wanted to do something.” She leaned her head against the chair. “I don’t know how you hear these stories every day, Morgan. Clearly, I would make a terrible prosecutor.”

“Probably.” He reached out and ran his thumb along her cheek. “But I like your soft spot, anyway.”

Their eyes met and held until Cade spoke. “You look burned-out. Maybe you should call it a night.”

She looked at the clock, and then stared at him in bewilderment. “At six thirty?”

“At six thirty.”

He held out his hand.

“It’s not even dark out,” she said. “I can’t leave now, especially after the day we’ve had. It would be unseemly.”

Cade’s mouth curved at the edges, but he still said nothing.

She bit her lip, contemplating. “Can I at least bring work home for later?”

“Nope.”

“You expect me to leave my briefcase behind?” Impossible.

“Yep.”

Maybe she was out of sorts after having a rough day. Or maybe it was his matter-of-fact tone. But suddenly . . . going home sounded really appealing. “Okay.”

With that, she slid her hand into his, grabbed her purse, and left.

She made it all the way to the reception area before panic set in.

“I forgot to shut down my computer,” she remembered.

“It’ll be fine in sleep mode for one night.”

“I think I saw something in my mail inbox on the way out. It could be important.”

“It was just the new ABA Journal.”

Brooke exhaled as they stepped into the elevator. “Right. So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

“You’re going to relax and do nothing.”

She laughed, then saw that Cade was serious. “Oh . . . see, I don’t do ‘nothing’ so well.”

“You’re a smart woman. You’ll figure it out.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why did you make me take the ibuprofen the other night?” he asked.

Still, with the ibuprofen? “Because you needed it. You were just too stubborn to admit that.”

With a satisfied smile, Cade held her gaze.

“Exactly.”

* * *

BROOKE STARED SKEPTICALLY at the rising water.

She was not a bath kind of girl, hadn’t been a bath kind of girl since she was, oh, about seven. Baths were so . . . idle.

And, apparently, they were also part of Cade’s “evening of nothing” plan.

She was not on board with this.

There was a knock at the door, then Cade stuck his head inside and saw her standing there in her bathrobe. “Oh. See, you’re supposed to get in the tub.”

Ha, ha. “Can I at least bring my phone in with me?”

“No. But you can have this.” He handed her a glass of wine.

“How long do you expect me to stay in there?” she asked.

Cade shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe twenty minutes? Now stop stalling and get in.” He smacked her rear on his way out the door.

Stop stalling and get in, Brooke mimicked to herself as she slipped off the robe and climbed into the tub. Pushy, bossy man, expecting everyone to just fall in line with whatever he—

Oh my God, the water felt good.

She set her wineglass on the edge of the tub, sinking in deeper. Okay, fine. She supposed maybe she could survive twenty minutes of this.

She leaned back and rested her head against the basin. The hot water wrapped around her like a cocoon, relaxing her muscles as steam filled the air in the tranquil, quiet room.

So this was what it felt like to do nothing.

Brooke reached out with one hand and took a sip of wine. Then she set the glass back down and closed her eyes.

Maybe thirty minutes.

* * *

BROOKE BLINKED AWAKE, realizing that she’d dozed off in the bathtub. An actual nap. Something else she probably hadn’t done since she was seven.

She was definitely off her game tonight.

She climbed out of the tub, and had just wrapped a towel around herself when she remembered—uh-oh—Cade. She’d left him . . . come to think of it, she had no clue where he was right now. She hurried into her bedroom and threw on a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. She spotted her clock on the nightstand and saw that she’d been in the tub for forty-five minutes.

Oops.

She walked down the hallway, expecting to find one of two things: either he’d be annoyed that she’d disappeared for nearly an hour, or he’d smile smugly, thinking he’d been proven right in his assertion that she’d needed to relax tonight.

But when she rounded the corner into the kitchen, she discovered something else entirely.