THE PROSECUTORS: An Accidental Love Story

Seven a.m., Seattle District Attorney's Office.

Emily Sullivan took a deep breath, gazing up at the imposing glass and steel building that would be her new workplace. The morning sun reflected off its modern facade, the scales of justice emblem gleaming above the entrance. Twenty-eight years old, and she'd finally made it here—though later than most.

Three years at a private law firm defending white-collar criminals had taught her plenty, but this was what she'd really wanted all along. To prosecute, not defend. To stand on the side of justice, not just the side that paid better.

"You've got this, Sullivan," she muttered to herself, adjusting her black-rimmed glasses before pushing through the revolving doors.

The lobby was all polished marble and serious faces. She approached the security desk. "Emily Sullivan, first day as Assistant District Attorney."

The guard checked her ID and handed over a temporary badge. "Welcome aboard. Human Resources is on the third floor. And, uh—" He lowered his voice conspiratorially, "fair warning, Carter's in a mood today."

"Carter?"

"Ethan Carter. Your new boss. Word to the wise: stay out of his way when he's like this."

Emily filed that information away and headed for the elevator. The HR paperwork was efficient and impersonal—fill this out, sign here, there's your permanent badge. Then Joan from HR personally escorted her to the Major Crimes Unit.

"You'll be working under Ethan Carter," Joan said, and there was something odd in her tone. Sympathy, maybe? "He's... demanding. Brilliant, don't get me wrong. Youngest Chief ADA in Seattle's history. But he has high standards."

"I can handle high standards," Emily said confidently.

Joan gave her a look that said, "We'll see about that."

The Major Crimes Unit was an open floor plan with glass-walled offices around the perimeter. Emily spotted him immediately—the man sitting in the corner office, hunched over case files with an intensity that seemed to create its own force field. Even from across the room, she could see the sharp angles of his face, the perfectly tailored charcoal suit, the way his jaw clenched as he read.

Ethan Carter. Thirty-six, according to the file she'd reviewed. Harvard Law. Three years in the Manhattan DA's office before moving back to Seattle. Undefeated trial record for two years running. And apparently, insufferable.

Joan knocked on his open door. "Ethan, your new ADA is here."

He didn't look up. "Give me a minute."

That minute stretched into five. Emily stood there, briefcase in hand, watching him make meticulous notes in the margin of whatever document had his attention. Finally, he set down his pen and looked up.

The first thing she noticed were his eyes—steel gray and assessing, taking her measure in one sweep. The second thing was that he was annoyingly attractive in that classic, severe way. Strong jaw, dark hair with just a hint of silver at the temples, broad shoulders that filled out his suit jacket perfectly.

The third thing she noticed was that he was already unimpressed.