# Chapter 9: Breakfast, Bargains, and the Dangerous Art of Being Seen
Hello everyone, it’s me again! How are you all doing? Today I will continue to walk with you and review Chapter 9 of "Seduced By My Ex's Divorce Attorney audiobook free". And oh, what a chapter this is. It’s the kind of chapter that begins with bare feet on cold floors, a half-wild heartbeat, and the terrifying possibility that the man you swore you’d never trust has already made himself at home in your life.
We open with Hannah creeping down the hallway on the balls of her bare feet, trying to assess the situation before she is forced to face it. Her eyes land on the sunglasses she has seen Roarke wear before, and a suitcase that screams expensive, silver, black, and entirely too masculine. For one brief second, her shoulders relax. Then she stiffens again. Because since when has Roarke Baldwin ever made her feel safe?
She hides behind the wall where the hallway opens into the living space and watches him move around his kitchen with his back to her. His hair is less gelled, his suit replaced by a short-sleeve shirt and jeans. The blinds are open, early morning sun spilling across the water outside, glinting like something out of a dream. His view is ridiculous. Seriously, what did he pay for those windows?
Music drifts from a small speaker on the counter: “Crash Into Me” by Dave Matthews Band. Hannah silently swallows the feeling that she is glimpsing a rare, real version of Roarke Baldwin—one completely at odds with the ruthless divorce attorney she has spent so long despising. Was this what favor number two was for? Some trick to get her to share a meal with him? Did he come home early on a Sunday just to make her breakfast and force her to spend time with him?
He turns to grab something from the fridge, and she cannot pry her eyes away fast enough. He catches her. A slow smile warms his face. “You’re up,” he says, as if she lives there, as if breakfast with him is expected.
“I am,” she manages, her feet stuck in cement. She does not dare move closer.
“Hungry?” he asks. Before she can answer, a knock lands on the door. He holds up a finger and answers it. Hannah’s eyes remain fixed on him, still trying to reconcile this jeans-and-V-neck version of Roarke with the lawyer who helped dismantle her marriage. He glances back at her. “It’s the dog walker.”
Ned steps inside and waves. “Good morning, Ms. Crowley.” A click of the leash, and four stomping paws come barreling down the hallway. Lucy skids to a stop in front of her new favorite guy, practically ignoring Hannah. Ned says he’ll be back in forty minutes or so, then leaves. Lucy never gives Hannah a second look. Traitor.
“Hungry?” Roarke asks again, pulling Hannah’s attention back to him.
“Um.” She silently curses herself for letting Ned take Lucy. That was the perfect excuse to leave.
“Come and sit. It’s going to be at least forty minutes until you can leave.” His smile is friendly and kind, but Hannah reminds herself that he staged this sneak attack. “You planned this,” she says, closing the distance from the hallway to the kitchen.
“What?” he asks, but the truth is written all over his face.
“You got me here knowing you’d be home early this morning.”
He dishes pancakes onto a plate. “Not true.” A small kitten, Nickel, jumps onto the chair beside her and toddles into her lap. Roarke points with his fork. “He likes you.”
“Don’t change the subject.” Hannah keeps her gaze on him. He turns, opens the fridge, takes out soft cat food, and heads to the laundry room. Nickel scurries after him. Roarke asks if the food in the Ziploc is Lucy’s. Hannah confirms it. A moment later, she hears food hit bowls and water running. He returns, washes his hands, and pulls a quiche from the oven.
“Just so you know, I’m not a breakfast person,” she says.
“Everyone’s a breakfast person.”
She follows him to the dining table. “Not me. I’m going to get dressed and be ready when Lucy returns.” He leans his shoulder against the wall between the dining room and kitchen. “Please don’t make me use a favor.”
His low voice, the undercurrent of pleading, softens her when it absolutely should not. Her mind is cloudy from being around him all weekend—not him exactly, but his scent, his space, his life. She has glimpsed the organized world he keeps, except for one chaotic drawer full of batteries, screws, and odds and ends. His sheets might have been washed, but his smell seems permanently embedded in them. She betrayed herself yesterday by smelling his shampoo and body wash in the shower. There are not many personal pictures, but enough to know there is a family who loves him somewhere and friends he vacations with often.
“Give me one reason I should stay,” she says.
Her subconscious screams the obvious: *You’re asking a lawyer to give you a reason? Just stay, you obviously want to.*
“Well, I could list a lot,” Roarke says, “but I had a shit time yesterday, and I just want to get my mind off of it. You owe me nothing, but I’m asking you to stay.”
That is not what she expected. She thought he would offer some sexual innuendo, some promise to have her sprawled across his counter with his face between her legs. Instead, he is asking her to distract him from something that hurt him emotionally.
“Let me go get presentable,” she says.
For the first time since waking, she looks down at her cami and shorts. Not super skimpy, but not nearly enough fabric for a platonic relationship. “You look perfect if I ask me,” he says. She touches her messy ponytail and imagines her two-in-the-morning makeup. “Just when I thought I was safe from your seduction.”
He walks around the kitchen island, hand extended. She doesn’t fight it when he captures her hand and tugs her lightly forward. “You’ll never be safe from my seduction. Sorry to disappoint you.”
It should disappoint her. Newsflash: it doesn’t.
“Come,” he says, weaving his fingers through hers. An electric current runs up her arm, fueled by lust, not anger. She goes willingly, and he leads her to the seat with the best view of the water. “How much did you pay for this place?” she dares to ask.
He laughs from the kitchen and returns with two plates and silverware. “I suppose you think that’s fair?”
“You know every bit regarding my financial status.”
He sits and dishes out quiche, pancakes, and bacon for her. “This is way too much food for just us,” she says, wide-eyed. “More people should be here any minute.”
“What?” She plants her hands on the armrests to rise. He chuckles. “See now my company doesn’t seem so bad.” Then he winks. That wink should annoy her, but for some reason it makes her feel more like a teenager than anything.
She shakes her head, falls back into her chair, crosses her legs, and leans back. He pours two cups of coffee and sets one in front of her. “Sugar, right?” He spoons one teaspoon above her cup. She nods. “Is there anything you don’t know about me?”
He stirs the sugar into the dark liquid. “I admit, I know a lot. I know your routine, or at least I did. You might have changed it since then. I know where you live, the addresses to your cabin in Wisconsin and your condo in Vail. On the way to work, you grab a coffee with one sugar, and every Friday you treat yourself to a pastry. I know your schedule is usually jam-packed with events where you have to wear a cocktail dress and a fake smile. You work out, but only in your home or your friend Tad’s gym. I know you have a membership to Torrio’s. I know the amount of your trust fund when you turned twenty-five. I know how much you’ve inherited, how much your parents are worth. Where your dad golfs and where your mom shops. I know you don’t buy any games for your phone and only have a select few contacts you regularly call, even though you have fifty times that amount of numbers in your phone.”
He sets the spoon down on the napkin between them. Hannah stares at him, unable to decide whether she is impressed or put off. “That being said, there’s a lot I don’t know. I don’t know what makes you start a foundation like RISE. I don’t know what your late night snack is or your favorite type of sushi. I don’t know what makes you laugh or smile or what little things drive you crazy. So I might know a lot about your habits, but I want to know *you*. Hannah Crowley, the gorgeous, intelligent woman in front of me. That’s all.”
She pops a piece of bacon into her mouth and tries to act like he didn’t just make the foundation of the wall she built between them shaky. “You so practiced that.” She sits up straight, letting her gaze fall from his because she is about two seconds from launching herself over the table on top of him. “I’m a lawyer, Hannah. Half my cases are won from my ability to string together a series of meaningful sentences.”
She shakes her fingers in the air and sips her coffee. “Why do I feel like you have more to add?”
“That was just my opening statement. I have more to add.”
She playfully rolls her eyes. “I can only imagine what you’re going to say now.”
He clears his throat. “I’ll make it short.”
“Short doesn’t seem like your style.”
He winks, and it starts up the slow-burning hum between her legs. “We’re here today to talk about Roarke Baldwin pursuing Hannah Crowley. Yes, he was the divorce attorney for her ex-husband. Yes, he did do what was in the best interest of his client. Yes, he had a private investigator follow Ms. Crowley to see if he could obtain any dirt on her. He wants an opportunity to get to know Hannah on a personal basis. He’s offered her a deal because Ms. Crowley would never agree to a date with him otherwise. I’m sure by the end of the five favors, Roarke Baldwin will prove how worthy he is of Hannah Crowley’s time. Whether it’s one date or a million. Whether he gets a kiss or something more. He thinks that by the end of this period, court will see his side of this case.”
“What could that possibly be?” The light humor in her voice surprises even her.
“That Roarke Baldwin really is a good guy.” He smiles so wide that double dimples crease his cheeks. Hannah practically melts into his expensive dining chair. “Good luck with the judge,” she comments, forking quiche into her mouth to stop herself from doing something stupid.
“I think the judge is softening a little bit.”
“The judge thinks you’re full of shit,” she replies.
His only response is another chuckle that tells her she is going to need to up her game if she wants to come out of this one a winner.
Later, at the office, Chelsea asks, “You had to actually sleep in his bed?” Her eyes are narrowed. What happened to the girl who was jumping around and cheering for Hannah to get together with Roarke?
“Yeah, he doesn’t want the kitten in the guest rooms. Something about allergies and stuff.” Hannah sorts through the messages Victoria handed her when she walked in.
“That’s weird and sneaky,” Chelsea says.
“It can be considerate, too.” Victoria picks up a folder with the venue’s name on it. “So, at three today we’ll see the venue?”
“Yeah,” Hannah says, setting the messages aside.
Chelsea sits in Hannah’s office with her mid-morning snack, a cupcake today. “The considerate thing would have been to let her sleep in a guest room.”
“Technically, the considerate thing would be to give her the venue without the five favors,” Victoria says. “So, in this case, I think we shouldn’t be surprised.”
Chelsea nods in agreement. “How did Lucy and the kitten do?” Victoria asks.
Hannah falls back into her chair. “Oh, they’re the best of friends. The cat slept in Lucy’s bed with her both nights. I think Lucy might have adopted the kitten as her own.”
And just like that, the chapter leaves us tangled in a delicious mess: a woman who swore she would never fall for the enemy, a man who knows too much and yet wants to know more, and a kitten who may have just become the unlikely bridge between them.
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## Reader's Impressions & Star Rating
As a reader, I absolutely adored this chapter. It slows down the heat just enough to let the emotional tension simmer, and that is where Roarke becomes dangerous—not because he is manipulative, but because he is honest. The breakfast scene is intimate without being overly dramatic, and Hannah’s internal war between suspicion and attraction feels real. The way Roarke admits he knows her habits but wants to know *her* is the kind of line that makes you close the book for a second and stare at the wall. The office scene with Chelsea and Victoria adds a much-needed breath of humor and friendship, reminding us that Hannah has a life and a support system beyond Roarke. This chapter is a turning point, and it earns its emotional weight.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4.8 / 5 Stars
## Next Chapter Prediction
Based on the venue appointment at three, the five favors, and the growing chemistry between Hannah and Roarke, I predict Chapter 10 will throw them into close proximity again—perhaps at the venue viewing, where Roarke’s presence will either annoy Hannah or become unexpectedly useful. Chelsea will likely voice more suspicion, while Victoria may continue to quietly see the truth: Hannah is softening. I also suspect the kitten and Lucy will create another excuse for Hannah to spend more time at Roarke’s condo, and Roarke’s “shit time yesterday” may be revealed in more detail, giving us a deeper look at his vulnerable side. The biggest cliffhanger? Hannah may start to wonder whether the five favors are really a game she can win—or a trap she wants to lose.
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