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hallway, just as a young girl was walking by with an armful of magazines. “We’ll get one of the interns to answer the phones. Which is what she should have done in the first place.”
    Interns? We had interns? My blood began to boil. Jasmine could’ve had the interns help with the phones. She didn’t need me to. The bitch.
    He grabbed the girl’s attention and told her to head to the reception desk. “What a perfect opportunity for Kassie. She needs more phone experience.”
    Well, that settled that. If Jasmine found out that I’d left the office and fired me, at least I wouldn’t need an excuse to quit. I grabbed my purse before he could change his mind. “You’re the boss.”
    He gave a killer smile that set my soul on fire. “Yes. I am.”
    We settled in at our table at Frank, a hot Italian eatery in the East Village, which overlooked Tompkins Park. It had been written up in all the trendy New York magazines, most of them giving glowing reviews about the delicious fifty-layer lasagna and knotted garlic breadsticks. They were only open during certain hours and getting a table was supposed to be harder than getting into Harvard. And here we were sitting at a prime table in a cozy little corner.
    Everywhere I looked, there were carved white Italian marble, majestic columns, quirky colorful artwork splashed on the walls, and red and white checkered linen tablecloths draped over tables with candle-holding Chianti wine bottles dripped with red wax. The waitress fawned over us, setting out ice-cold Pellegrino water and those famous garlic breadsticks. Nolan must have called ahead because the next thing I knew, we had a bottle of Chianti Classico Riserva on the table, and a huge platter of antipasto appetizer.
    The heavenly scent of red wine, garlic, basil, and oregano was making my mouth water. I tentatively broke off a piece of breadstick, lifted it to my mouth to take a bite, and had to chew with my mouth firmly closed to keep from moaning in delight. I just happened to look at Nolan, who for a half of second had a look of amusement on his face. “Is it that good?”
    I wondered if I’d moaned out loud. I shook my head, my mouth too full of garlic deliciousness to speak.
    “I take it you like Italian,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smile.
    “I like food.” I shrugged, trying not to let on how much I enjoyed being here with him, eating the melt in your mouth fare. I was getting tired of Ramen noodles every night. “I figured if Jasmine is going to fire me, I might as well enjoy it.”
    He looked confused. “Why would she fire you?”
    I rolled my eyes. “After the fake marriage fiasco, and now the possible paternity suit, I don’t think she likes me too much. Jasmine and I don’t see eye-to-eye on how to handle legal matters.”
    “Well, despite what you’ve heard, I haven’t knocked up anyone.” He leaned in closer. “I didn’t even have sex with that girl.”
    “So the suit was filed under false pretenses?” I asked.
    “If that means she lied, yes. I hate to disappoint you.”
    I must have looked confused or, more likely, dubious because he started to laugh.
    “I know I have a playboy reputation, but I can assure you that I had nothing to do with that girl. Do you know how many times I get sued?”
    “No.” I blinked, dreading being enlightened. “But I have a feeling I should be brought up to speed since I’m your lawyer.”
    “When certain people get wind of how much money you have, they think you owe them something.” Nolan took a sip of his wine. “Why do you think I asked you to lunch?”
    “Because of my brilliant mind?” I teased him.
    Before he could reply, a cry rang across the room like a child walking into a giant candy store. “Nolan!”
    A gorgeous woman draped in Michael Kors glided over to our table. She ignored me, focusing her dazzling blue eyes on Nolan as she ran her well-manicured red nails down the back of his shirt. He stiffened. “You’re