Perfect Match
Dara Girard
They’re perfect for each other… They just don’t know it yet.Desperate to save her family home from foreclosure, Hannah Olaniyi takes on a seemingly unwinnable case…for a substantial fee. But her new client is testing the North Carolina attorney in ways she never imagined. As tempers ignite over conflicting strategies, Hannah fights a desire that’s taking her from the boardroom and into the bedroom of the town’s most notorious playboy.Amal Harper needs a lawyer fast…someone willing to go up against a powerful family. But there’s a shocking secret in this hard-driving businessman’s past. Amal doesn’t want to lose Hannah, especially after she starts working her seductive magic.Is it too late to mend his bad-boy ways and claim his future with the woman who’s his total opposite—except when it comes to love?
They’re perfect for each other…
Desperate to save her family home from foreclosure, Hannah Olaniyi takes on a seemingly unwinnable case…for a substantial fee. But her new client is testing the North Carolina attorney in ways she never imagined. As tempers ignite over conflicting strategies, Hannah fights a desire that’s taking her from the boardroom and into the bedroom of the town’s most notorious playboy.
They just don’t know it yet.
Amal Harper needs a lawyer fast…someone willing to go up against a powerful family. But there’s a shocking secret in this hard-driving businessman’s past. Amal doesn’t want to lose Hannah, especially after she starts working her seductive magic. Is it too late to mend his bad-boy ways and claim his future with the woman who’s his total opposite—except when it comes to love?
“I know all about you. I know how you think getting a woman into bed should be an Olympic sport.”
“I’ve never said that.”
“There’s no need to—your actions speak loudly enough.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”
“Or everything you hear.” She folded her arms, wanting to look unmoved, although she was feeling so many emotions, she could hardly keep still. “Why did you lie?”
“I wanted to make you stop crying.”
Hannah paused, hating how he was a constant surprise to her. “I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged. “It’s the truth. Did the contractor give you a good estimate?”
“No.”
“Oh. Look, a friend owes me a favor. I can get your parents’ house fixed so they’ll get insured.”
Hannah held up her hand and shook her head. “I don’t need your help—you’re the one who needs mine.”
Amal shrugged and leaned against her desk. “I don’t see why you’re so upset. It was a harmless diversion.” He continued before she could reply. “Did I try to get your number or address?”
“No.”
He folded his arms. “You’re lucky I didn’t have to resort to Plan B.”
“Plan B?”
“Yes.” He came around the desk and lifted her to her feet. “I was going to kiss you.” And then he did just that. She expected to be repelled, alarmed, violated, but instead the touch of his lips on hers was like coming home. Like the sweet smell of cinnamon pancakes on a Sunday morning, or the sound of a crackling fire on a still winter’s night. He felt safe, secure, right.
DARA GIRARD
fell in love with storytelling at an early age. Her romance-writing career happened by chance when she discovered the power of a happy ending. She is an award-winning author whose novels are known for their sense of humor, interesting plot twists and witty dialogue. When she’s not writing, she enjoys spring mornings and autumn afternoons, French pastries, dancing to the latest hits and long drives.
Dara loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at contactdara@daragirard.com or P.O. Box 10345, Silver Spring, MD 20914.
Perfect Match
Dara Girard
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader,
Have you ever had to work with someone you couldn’t stand? That’s the situation Hannah finds herself in when she’s forced to take on playboy Amal Harper as a client in order to save her parents’ home.
I really enjoyed working with the premise of dealing with people who aggravate you. I once had a boss who kept calling me by the wrong name and another who just referred to me as “the girl.” Those personalities really helped me develop Mrs. Martha Walker, the one person who, unwittingly, unites Hannah and Amal.
And then of course there’s the secret Mrs. Walker is desperate to keep that Hannah is just as determined to uncover.
Soon both women will learn that Amal Harper is not all that he seems and hearts will be broken and healed....
Enjoy,
Dara Girard
Contents
Chapter 1 (#u6b94b322-30ba-56b2-8dc5-d00d61fd03b0)
Chapter 2 (#u1290d021-ebcf-5f2b-b19a-5515b83c1a5f)
Chapter 3 (#uae585245-37aa-5c73-a735-deae83ffba34)
Chapter 4 (#u63d5e650-7d71-547b-a014-397b56805324)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1
“We’re going to be homeless.”
“No, you’re not.”
“We’re going to be tossed out in the street and left to starve.”
Hannah Olaniyi bit back a sigh as she switched her cell phone to her other ear. Her older sister, Abigail, always tended toward the dramatic. In the distance she heard children squealing with delight as they raced about the playground. A few feet away a jogger darted past and a dog tugged on its leash while attempting to sniff the trunk of a tree. She felt the warmth of the late-spring sun as she strolled through the park on her lunch break. She saw its rays cascading over the green grass, but it did little to lift her spirits. It was just proof that life went on while her world fell apart. “That’s not going to happen. How’s Dad?”
“He’s coming out of the hospital tomorrow.”
Hannah felt some of her tension ease. Her parents’ financial woes had so stressed her father that he’d been rushed to the hospital two days earlier due to trouble breathing. Her mother and sister had been certain he was suffering a heart attack because of his weak heart, caused by a construction accident over eleven years ago that left him unable to work. A shady contractor had cut corners on materials used at a site where her father had been working. He ended up falling through two floors of the structure and seriously injuring his back and left hip, leaving him in constant pain. Since then, hospital visits had become part of their lives, as had countless physical therapy sessions.
Fortunately, this time it was just a panic attack, although his blood pressure was dangerously low and he was dehydrated.
Hannah glanced at a tree whose leaves swayed in the slight breeze. “I’ll come visit after he’s rested a day or two.”
“There’s no need trying to hide from the inevitable. You can’t face them, can you?”
“Of course I can,” Hannah said, fighting to take hold of her temper. Her sister was good at igniting it. “I saw them just yesterday. They were fine.”
“They were just pretending to make you feel better like they always do,” Abigail said, as though her sister was dense. “They don’t want to worry the baby of the family.”
There was only a five-year age difference between the two sisters, but most of the time it felt like much more. Abigail had wanted to stay an only child and had never welcomed Hannah’s arrival. For twenty-eight years she had convinced herself that Hannah was their parents’ favorite although they worked hard to treat their daughters as equals—same birthday gifts, same holiday gifts, but nothing seemed to change Abigail’s opinion.
Hannah rolled her eyes. “I’ll talk to the bank.”
“They’re going to take the house.”
Hannah knew it wasn’t that simple. Their home insurance policy had been canceled because the house needed major repairs. She remembered the contractor they’d hired to inspect the house and his quote of over forty-five thousand dollars. If they did not have the repairs done they’d lose their house, and with her father’s medical needs that would mean a rehabilitation center or senior residential facility for him—and nobody wanted that.
“I won’t let that happen,” she said.
“Did you suddenly get rich?”
“No, but—”
“Then how will you stop them?” Abigail’s voice cracked. “This is all your fault anyway.”
Hannah paused, not sure she’d heard right. “M-my fault?”
“Yes,” Abigail said with feeling. “Dad refinanced the house to help you with your education so that you could get your fancy college degree. But instead of graduating and getting a job right away you decided to start your own company. If you had joined an established law firm or something you’d have the money to help. While you were having fun at college I was working to support the family, and now that you’re out you still can’t do anything.”
Hannah gritted her teeth. Her sister knew how much earning her degree meant, but every chance she got she belittled her efforts. Abigail knew that Hannah had applied for several jobs and, despite her stellar grades and work experience, hadn’t gotten hired. These factors had been part of the decision to start her own law practice. “That’s not true, and you know it.”
“Why didn’t you just join Uncle’s business like we all wanted you to? You’ve worked there since you were sixteen and ran the office like no one else.”
“I didn’t want to be a secretary.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being an office assistant.”
Hannah kicked a pebble, imagining it was her sister’s shin. “I didn’t say there was.”
“You could have gotten married to Jacob. He has money.”
“I’m not ready to get married, especially not to him.”
“You’re just selfish and—”
“Okay, that’s enough. It’s not my fault that you’re miserable.”
“What?”
“You keep blaming me, but in reality you’re miserable because you’ve never left home. You stayed there and watched the house slowly fall down around you and you did nothing. After Dad’s accident you had an opportunity to travel and didn’t. Even though you’d saved your money for a two-week trip to France. Something you’d been talking about since you were nine and saw the movie An American in Paris. Dad was doing well then and you could have gone. We all told you to, but you made a choice to stay.”
“I couldn’t have gone then.”
“What about years later?” Hannah continued before her sister could argue. “You chose to stay home and help Mom with Dad. I chose to become a lawyer so that I could help both my parents and others. So if you’re unhappy, that’s not my fault. Okay, so I didn’t expect things to work out this way. I thought after graduation I’d get a great job and soar high and fast. That didn’t happen, because in the real world lots of graduating lawyers don’t get work right away. That’s the dirty little secret they don’t tell you before you enter the profession and get thousands of dollars in debt. I know a guy who graduated top of his class who’s waiting tables, and another who’s working at his father’s car lot. I’m doing the best I can. My business is slowly growing and I’ll show you what I can really do, but for now get off my back and find someone else to blame for your unhappiness.”
Silence followed and then she heard sniffling. “I didn’t mean to make you mad,” Abigail said in a tear-soaked voice. “It’s just been so hard. Mom and I have done our best to maintain the house, but you know Dad was always the handy one. I’ve never been good with repairs and things like that. I’m doing all I can, and I’m so scared.”
Hannah gripped her phone. With her sister, if it wasn’t insults it was tears. “Yes, I know,” she said, trying to soften her tone and keep the irritation out of her voice.
“I’ve spent my life supporting our parents, and I’m helping to take care of Dad. I’ve done more for them than you ever have....”
Hannah sighed, knowing that she’d never convince her sister to see her in a different light. She knew her sister was as dependent on her parents as they were on her. She’d never ventured out alone, had few friends and had never had any romantic interests. Only in her early thirties, Abigail was resigned to living at home and being provided for. Most times Hannah felt like the older sister because Abigail was never one to offer advice or encouragement.
“It’s going to all work out.”
“Mom is so worried. We can’t imagine having to put Dad into some kind of facility, but if we lose our house no other place will be able to address his needs.”
“Look,” Hannah said, trying to sound strong, although she didn’t feel she had any strength left. She rested against a tree. “I said I’ll handle it.”
“When?” Abigail pressed, as if she expected her sister to provide a miracle at that moment. “How?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
Hannah closed her eyes and sighed. “I’ll get back to you. I need to go.”
“Of course you do. You always have something more important to do than worry about us.”
Hannah disconnected and put her phone away, wishing she could do the same with her parents’ troubles and her sister’s false accusations. She knew what Abigail said wasn’t true, but her words hurt anyway. Hannah wanted to be the one to rescue them, and she couldn’t. She wanted them to be proud of her, but after graduating from law school she’d ended up with a mountain of debt and no job prospects, and starting her own company was her last-ditch effort. She was getting some clients but not enough to meet all of her financial obligations. Her father’s brave smile burned in her memory.
She knew her parents tried to protect her from all their worries, but she’d seen the strain in her mother’s eyes and her father had lost a lot of weight. She felt like such a disappointment. When her father had gotten injured on the job, everything changed overnight. She’d been comfortable with the life her family had planned for her. She would work in her uncle’s prosperous business, get her degree in business management and perhaps own it one day. But that all changed. She’d returned home from school one day and seen her mother drop the phone and crumble to the floor. She had rushed over to her.
“Is it father?”
“Yes.”
“Is he okay?” she asked hesitantly.
“No, he’s badly injured.”
After her father was hospitalized for over six weeks and had undergone months of physical therapy, they learned that the company he worked for refused to pay for his loss of wages and inability to hold a job. While the lawyer they hired had helped get some compensation for her father, he hadn’t been aggressive enough, and her father ended up having to apply for permanent disability, three lawyers later. That’s when Hannah decided her new path. She gave up her dream of getting an MBA and running an office. Instead, she’d get justice. She remembered the shock on everyone’s face when she told them her plans, but no one would stop her.
She saw what a lawyer could do and knew then that that was what she wanted to strive for. She wanted to use the law to help people get justice. But now she had a law degree, and she couldn’t help the ones she cared about the most. Her parents had left Nigeria and worked hard so that she and Abigail could have all the opportunities they couldn’t. They had sacrificed for the American Dream, only to be faced with having it all slip away.
Her cell phone rang again and pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced at the number and groaned. It was Jacob. She couldn’t deal with him now. She still felt guilty about their last meeting, when she’d halted several feet from her apartment door trying to figure out how best to handle the man who stood before her holding a bouquet of flowers.
Hannah thought of running but he’d already seen her, so she inwardly groaned and then plastered on a smile and walked toward him. “Jacob, you shouldn’t have,” she recalled saying to him.
He extended his arm and handed her the flowers. They were beautiful, but the sight of them depressed her. She’d told him that their relationship was over, but he still carried hope and no rebuffs, no matter how hard she tried, could convince him otherwise. He still remembered her and sent her expensive cards on holidays and her birthday. “I told you to stop this.”
“I knew you’d be upset about your dad’s health scare so I wanted to cheer you up.”
It was a likely story, but Hannah didn’t completely believe him. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Okay, I promise. No more flowers.”
“Or cards, or teddy bears, or baskets or...”
“Okay,” he said, flashing a crooked grin. His smile was both shy and friendly at the same time, and it was one of the reasons she’d fallen for him in the first place. She’d been attracted to his vulnerability. “I get the hint.”
Hannah wiped her forehead in an exaggerated gesture of relief. “At last.”
“How’s your dad?”
“He’ll be out of the hospital tomorrow.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I care about them like they’re my own parents.”
Hannah hesitated and then opened her door and turned to him. “They know that, and I’m sure they’d love to see you.”
“I needed to see you first.”
Hannah rested against the door frame and shook her head. “Jacob, don’t do this.”
“You know how I feel.”
“I really wish you didn’t.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You haven’t given yourself a chance to. There are many women out there, all much better than me, who deserve a great guy like you.”
Jacob hung his head a moment and then smiled at her. “Perhaps if you say that enough times I’ll start to believe you.”
“Good, because I won’t stop.”
“So I still don’t have a chance?”
“I’m going now.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Because you already know my answer, and it’s not going to change. Thanks for the flowers.”
“I’d give you a whole lot more if you’d let me.”
“Goodbye, Jacob,” Hannah said and then closed the door. She set the bouquet on the side table in the foyer and then collapsed on her couch. It had been a hectic day, and she didn’t want to end it thinking about how her life may have been different if she’d married Jacob as everyone had expected her to.
She would have lived a life of privilege. Jacob Omole’s family was very politically connected in Nigeria and enjoyed state dinners and mingling with the upper crust of society both in Nigeria and among the diplomatic core in Raleigh and D.C., where his parents frequently visited. She’d started dating him in high school. Their families were close. Marriage seemed inevitable to everyone but her. When she’d completed her undergraduate degree she had opted to study abroad in Tanzania, where she worked in a microloan office helping provide needed counseling to women hoping to start a business. Upon returning to the United States she worked as a paralegal for a legal aid program in a poor town in Georgia, where she saw the law work to impact lives. She had had an opportunity to see a bigger world and had larger dreams for her life than the one others had prescribed for her. She chose to follow her heart. Now she just wished she didn’t feel so guilty because of it.
Hannah put her phone away, also dismissing the memories of Jacob. She then stumbled over to a park bench and sank into it, feeling as if she was being crushed by the weight of the world. Pain, raw and primitive in its intensity, spread through her, overwhelming her until her throat felt dry and her eyes were blinded by tears. She covered her face and sobbed.
“Hey! I didn’t expect to see you here,” an exuberant deep voice said from above her.
Her head snapped up and she saw a large, blurry dark figure. She quickly wiped her tears away so she could see him better. The light behind him put him in shadow. She squinted up at him. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s good to see you again.” He took a seat beside her.
As she brought his face into focus, she realized it was very good to see him, as well. She found herself staring into the caring brown eyes of a handsome man: the man of her dreams.
Chapter 2
He smiled. “How have you been?”
Hannah frowned, wondering why this stranger was smiling so warmly at her. “I’m afraid you’ve got me confused with someone else,” she said, hating to admit it but needing to be honest.
He shook his head. “Impossible. I never forget a pretty face.”
Hannah’s frown deepened. She was certain she didn’t look pretty now with her eyes and nose red from crying. Was he crazy? He didn’t look it. He wore a casual pair of khakis, a dark red polo shirt and a gray wool coat draped over one shoulder.
Hannah held up her hand. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Five.”
“Strange. I thought you were blind.”
Instead of being offended, the man only smiled more broadly. “A rose with a little dew on its petals doesn’t make it any less beautiful.”
“You’re a poet?”
The man studied her for a moment. “Are you sure you don’t remember me?” he asked, sounding disappointed.
“Yes,” she said. “I doubt you’re the kind of man anyone would forget.” She wasn’t flattering him. It was a certifiable fact. He was definitely the type of man people noticed. The type who walked into a room and commanded attention. Not because he was the tallest, although he was tall with broad shoulders that exhibited a sleek, taut strength; or the most handsome, although he was that, too. He had a square jaw, dazzlingly brown eyes, warm mocha-brown skin and a bright smile. He had charisma. The kind that exuded from politicians, con men, magicians and playboys. But strangely he didn’t seem to be any of those. His interest appeared sincere and genuine, and Hannah found herself falling under his spell even though she didn’t want to.
He snapped his fingers. “I know what would jog your memory.” He glanced up and saw an ice cream cart. He nodded toward it. “Let me treat you to something sweet.” He stood and took her hand, giving her no chance to protest. “Come on.”
“But—” Hannah began in a weak voice, shocked not just by his action but also by how comfortable her hand felt in his.
He stopped in front of the vendor and took out his wallet. “Order whatever you want.”
She wouldn’t say no to free ice cream, even if the man had confused her for someone else. Hannah ordered an ice cream sandwich and he ordered a cone.
His cell phone rang. He glanced at the number.
“You should get that.”
“No, it’s okay,” he said, handing her the sandwich.
“I don’t want to keep you.”
“You’re not. Isn’t it a great day?” he said, leaving the vendor a generous tip and walking in the opposite direction.
Hannah fell in line with him. “For some.”
“Who’s pissing on your parade?”
She laughed. “My sister.”
“Older, right?”
Hannah blinked, surprised. “Yes.”
He frowned. “That’s hard. Any way to get around her?”
“She blames me for everything. My parents might lose their house, and the stress of it put my father in the hospital.” Tears welled in her eyes. She sniffed and quickly blinked them away. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, since I don’t know you.” However, even as she said the words they no longer seemed true. She felt as if she’d known him her whole life. There was an affinity. She trusted him and it felt good to talk to him, to be with him. Suddenly, she was happy that the sun was shining and she could hear the laughter of children in the distance. She noticed the bright white of the spatter of clouds as they slowly drifted across a blue sky that showed no threat of rain.
His phone rang again and he absently turned off its ringer and put it on vibrate.
“What’s your name?” she asked, eager to learn more about him.
“Take a guess.”
Hannah stroked her chin as if in deep thought. “I know.”
“What?”
“Rumpelstiltskin.”
He laughed. “That’s right. People rarely guess that on the first try.”
“Right now I could really use a man who could spin straw into gold,” she said, feeling her good mood fading.
The man playfully nudged her with his elbow. “I’m a man of many talents. What do you need?”
“Not me. My parents.” Soon she was telling him all about her parents’ housing trouble.
“Did you get a second opinion?”
“No.”
He wrote down a number. “Call this guy. He’s trustworthy. He might be able to give you a lower estimate.”
“Thanks. Whom should I say referred him?”
He winked. “Rumpelstiltskin. Call me Rum for short.”
Hannah shook her head. “You’re impossible.” She paused. “Wait. What do you think my name is?”
He hesitated and then suddenly looked sheepish. “I don’t remember your name, just your face.”
Hannah laughed. “Perhaps I have a twin somewhere.” She glanced down at his hand. “Your ice cream is melting.”
He looked down and saw the vanilla ice cream leaking from the bottom of his cone onto his hand. He sucked the bottom of the cone until all the ice cream was finished. “There, that’s better.”
“There’s still ice cream on your hand.”
“I don’t have any napkins.”
“Just lick it off.”
“Sure.” He raised a sly brow. “Want to help me?”
Definitely. She felt her face grow warm. She could imagine licking, sucking, teasing and anything else he asked of her. She bet he tasted sweet, too. She remembered watching the sight of his pink tongue against the chocolate-covered vanilla cone, and just for one wild moment she imagined that chocolate was her skin melting under the warm assault of his tongue. She brushed the thought aside, the day suddenly feeling hotter than it really was. “I still don’t know your real name.”
“You’ll remember it soon.”
“Even though you don’t remember mine?” she countered.
“At least I remember your face. Your name will come back to me eventually. Of course, you could give me a hint.”
Hannah shook her head. “You first. Where did we meet?”
His phone buzzed insistently, as if the caller demanded a response.
“Saved by the bell,” she teased, and then she saw an expression of frustration and guilt cross his face. “You really should answer that,” Hannah said, seeing his jaw twitch in annoyance. “I’m fine now...really. Thanks for everything.”
He glanced at the number and then put the phone away. “I didn’t do anything.” He lifted her chin with his forefinger. “Keep your chin up.” He smiled and then started to walk away.
“Wait. At least tell me your name. What is it?”
He bent down and plucked a buttercup and handed it to her. “You already know it. Just say my name four times and I’ll come.”
“That’s not how the story goes.”
“That’s how our story will.” His mouth spread into a smile that was as intimate as a kiss, and then he turned and walked away.
Hannah watched him go, holding the flower close to her chest, wishing she could hold on to him instead.
* * *
“And you didn’t get his name?” Hannah’s assistant, Bonnie Li, said in disbelief. They sat in Hannah’s new office, which was still not completely furnished but serviceable. At least the front receptionist’s area looked impressive. She’d had a stroke of luck because one of the tenants in the building where their office was located had just been evicted. They had left behind several pieces of furniture and lamps, which she and Bonnie had eagerly snatched.
The two women had met in college and become fast friends. Like Hannah, Bonnie hadn’t lived up to her parents’ expectations, either. Small and lithe, she’d trained to be a dancer until a torn ligament ended that dream. Bonnie had a mind to go into sports medicine, which was a profession frowned upon in her Chinese family of three doctors and two university professors. But she’d jumped on board with Hannah despite the low pay, discovering a love for organization and helping people. She looked young for her age of thirty, but she dressed up to appear older. After reading several books on how to make over oneself, she had cut her waist-length black hair short and colored it a striking reddish-brown. She had lovely almond-shaped brown eyes and an attractive slender figure. But there was nothing delicate about her—she liked dirty jokes and the occasional Jack Daniel’s. Bonnie pointed at her friend. “What is wrong with you?”
Hannah threw up her hands, helpless. “At first I thought he was crazy. I mean, I looked a mess and he was going on as if he was so happy to see me.”
“Tell me how good-looking he was again.”
“I’ve already told you twice.”
“Tell me again.”
“No, there’s no point. I’ll probably never see him again.”
“Maybe he’ll call you.”
“He couldn’t remember my name, either.”
“Maybe he was teasing you.”
“Perhaps,” Hannah said, doubtful. “But he definitely made my day brighter, especially after my call from Abigail.”
Bonnie feigned a shiver of fear. “So, how is the queen of horror?”
Hannah laughed at her friend’s description. “She’s not that bad.”
“No, she’s worse. In a horror film she’d be the monster.”
“Well, right now she’s preparing to be homeless.”
“And it’s all your fault,” Bonnie said, mimicking Abigail’s tone.
Hannah nodded, her spirit dimming. “Yes.”
“Does she have a reason to really worry this time?”
Hannah sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. It’s really looking bad, but I have another option I’m going to try. The guy I met in the park gave me the phone number for another contractor to try. Maybe he can give us a lower estimate.”
“It’s a start. I hope you get to see him again,” Bonnie said, returning to what she was doing.
“Me, too,” Hannah said in a soft tone.
* * *
“Where have you been?” Hector Ramirez demanded when Amal stepped into his office. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
Amal walked past him. “I was busy.”
Hector followed him and then paused and studied him with a knowing look. “You met a woman, didn’t you?”
Amal shook his head and sat. “It wasn’t like that.” Hector was a man of thirty-seven with dark eyes and prematurely gray hair that gave him a distinguished look despite his boyish features. Amal liked him, trusted him and rarely kept anything from him. But this time was different.
“I knew it would be a woman.”
Amal didn’t care what he thought. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss it with him. Hector was his trusted friend, but somehow the meeting in the park was something Amal wanted to keep to himself. There was something special about it. He just wasn’t sure what yet.
“What line did you use with her?” Hector asked with a smug grin. “How pretty is she? Wait, don’t answer—with you they’re always gorgeous. Was she a model? An actress? A nurse?”
“No.”
“Did you just get her name and phone number, or did you get her address, too?”
“What did you want to tell me?”
Hector paused, flabbergasted that his questions had been ignored. That wasn’t typical of Amal. “What? You’re not going to tell me about your latest conquest?”
Amal sat back in his chair, keeping his expression neutral. “I told you it wasn’t like that.” He held up his hand before Hector could speak. “What’s the news?”
Hector sighed. “You’re serious? You’re not going to tell me anything about this woman?”
Amal slowly blinked and waited.
Hector loosened his tie. Amal was a fun and easygoing guy when he wanted to be, but he could also be a hard SOB when the mood struck him—such as at this moment. He sat and bounced his leg up and down, trying to control his pent-up anxiety and gather the courage to tell him what he knew Amal didn’t want to hear. “It’s bad.”
Amal blinked again, his gaze narrowing slightly.
Hector cleared his throat. His tie was loose, but it still felt as though it threatened to strangle him. “The thing is I—”
“Just tell it to me straight,” Amal said, his tone too quiet to be natural.
“The Brenton Law Firm said no.”
“I see.”
Hector stared at him for a long moment. “That’s it? ‘I see’? What’s wrong with you? It’s not like you to be this calm. Are you still thinking about that woman? At least tell me her name in case she calls.”
“She’s not going to call. Who else is there we can hire?”
“No one.”
Amal began to tap a beat on his desk, holding on to his temper. “What do you mean ‘no one’?” He wasn’t going to let them win. He couldn’t. The Walkers wanted to take away everything he’d built with Jade Walker, his former girlfriend. Their business, The Eye of Jade, an art import/export business, had been a success, but unfortunately their relationship had not. He hadn’t realized how unstable she was in the beginning. He’d taken her mood swings as part of her vibrant personality and quick mind, although soon her addiction to painkillers following a series of surgeries for a back injury she’d suffered while skiing got out of control. He’d stood by her as she tried rehab after rehab, but nothing helped.
Finally, he had to break free, but it had been hard to leave her. Amal remembered the day they met. He had attended a local fund-raiser for the Raleigh Philharmonic Orchestra’s mentoring program that provided musical scholarships to underserved youth in North Carolina. As part of his philanthropic work, Amal donated to several causes and was used to attending these types of functions. On this particular afternoon, he was struck by the striking woman who caught his eye. Now she was dead from an overdose, sixteen months after their breakup. He’d read about it in the papers. It was ruled a suicide, and the Walkers blamed him and wanted him to pay for their loss. But he wasn’t going to let them steal away their business. They claimed that the collection of art found in Jade’s private storage unit was hers and did not belong to the business. Unfortunately, the last shipment of art she had purchased abroad had been sent to her private storage instead of the company’s warehouse, where they usually stored items. This arrangement had been an exception to their normal protocol because Jade had wanted to have pictures taken of the items prior to having them shipped off to the gallery where they were to be displayed.
Unfortunately for Amal, nothing had been put in writing to explain this arrangement, and the Walkers had taken legal action banning him from taking what he believed was his. The gallery owner in New Mexico, where the show was to be held, and the artist, an up-and-coming sculptor, were both threatening to sue. He needed to go to court to refute the Walkers’ claim if he didn’t want to lose everything.
Hector shifted, uneasy with Amal’s silence. “We’ve gone through twenty law firms and no one will take your case.”
Amal started tapping two fingers. “Someone will. Keep digging.”
“You want someone ethical, right?”
Amal tapped faster. “I want someone who will win.”
Hector swallowed. “All the lawyers in this city know it’s career suicide to go up against the Walkers.”
“Did you tell them how much I’d pay?”
“They’re not interested.”
Amal flattened his palm on the desk, his voice low. “Find someone who is.”
Chapter 3
At home, Hannah turned on the TV and then glanced at the bouquet of flowers from Jacob sitting on the dining table. When she pulled out her wallet and a crushed flower floated to the floor, she smiled and picked it up. It was the buttercup that the stranger had given her. Its yellow blossom seemed more beautiful than all the flowers in Jacob’s bouquet. It made her feel as if she wasn’t alone. She took the flower and gently placed it in a page in her journal that she kept nearby. She’d always remember him.
That night Hannah dreamed. She didn’t dream about winning the lottery and saving her parents’ house or finally convincing Jacob that he was better off without her, or finding a way to get along with her sister. No, she dreamed about him. The Stranger. She’d tried to come up with a name for him, but nothing seemed to suit him. Paul seemed too pedantic. Armando too exotic. So to her he was just The Stranger. The Handsome Stranger, that aspect of him she couldn’t refute—those captivating brown eyes and beautifully etched features.
She imagined walking and talking with him in the park again.
Hannah dreamed about him the next night, too, and the one after that, each time her dreams becoming more detailed and more intimate. Dreams were safe, and she couldn’t get hurt. Soon she no longer met him in the park, but for dinner and then she was in his arms. There she always felt safe. Cared for. It was nice to have someone to lean on. And he always said the right thing, encouraging her as he had in the past. Lifting her up. Making her feel like a success when only seconds before she’d felt like a failure. She remembered the feel of her hand in his, the touch of his hand on her skin. She imagined it on her arm, caressing her face, sliding down her body.
She hadn’t noticed a ring, but a guy like that wouldn’t be single. Even if he was...with her luck she’d likely never meet him again. A week later she went back to the park on the same day they’d met, hoping it was a habit of his to be there. She waited two hours on the same park bench with no luck. She felt foolish knowing that part of her wanted to see him so that her dreams could stop and she could face the reality of him. Still, a part of her liked him just being her dream man. Relationships weren’t her specialty anyway, and not seeing him again was probably for the best.
* * *
Across town Amal was also thinking about her, but not in the same way or for the same reason. She came into his mind quite unexpectedly as he tried to gently break up with his present girlfriend, Evie, who’d convinced herself that they were destined to be married. There had been signs early in their relationship. After the first date, she’d already started talking about marriage, babies and how “Mrs. Evie Harper” would look great on personalized stationery and matching towels.
They hadn’t been dating long. Unfortunately, Amal hadn’t realized that it was a rebound relationship to help him forget about Jade. He did not love Evie and did not want to lead her on much longer.
“What do you mean I’m too good for you?” she demanded, tears streaming down her face, her nose red. Clearly, her makeup wasn’t waterproof, because two black streaks stained her cheeks. She was still a beautiful woman with hazel eyes and curly short hair who was a magician at event planning and worked for a company that organized national conventions held in Raleigh.
Amal quickly glanced around, aware of heads turning, sending him curious and judging glances. He’d thought that by taking her to a restaurant it would stop her from creating a scene. He’d guessed wrong. “Just that,” he said, keeping his voice soft and measured, “I’m not ready to settle down. I told you that.”
Evie dabbed at her eyes, smudging her makeup more and making her look as if she had a black eye. “I thought I could change your mind.”
“I’m no good for you.”
“You’re perfect for me. I knew I’d lose a guy like you. You can get any woman you want. Is there someone else?”
“No.”
“Then just give me another chance.”
“It’s not going to work.” Amal tried to get the waitress’s attention, but she was busy checking out her lipstick in the reflection of a spoon.
“I love you, Amal.”
“You hardly know me.”
“I know you enough.”
Amal glanced up again, wanting to throw a bread roll or something at the absentminded waitress so that he could pay the check and leave. He stopped another passing waiter. “I want to pay my bill.”
The waiter glanced at Evie, concerned. “Is everything all right?”
“My life is over,” Evie whined.
Amal gritted his teeth. “The food was so delicious, it made her cry. Now, I’d like my bill, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re angry with me,” Evie said.
Amal drummed his fingers on his thigh. “No, I’m not.”
“I can always tell when you’re angry. Your eyes narrow and your jaw twitches.”
Amal counted to ten.
“I hate when you’re angry with me,” she said and then burst into tears.
Amal silently swore, wishing he’d gotten a private booth instead of just a table. He moved his chair closer and pulled her near his side to hold her. He didn’t care what those around him were thinking. Let everyone stare. Most already were. “It’s okay.” He hated to see a woman cry. And that’s when his mind floated to the woman who’d been crying alone, sitting on the park bench. For some reason her tears and misery bothered him more than Evie’s. Maybe because with Evie, he was relieved at finally letting her know there was no chance of them being together, or the fact that he knew she’d get over him quickly.
The woman in the park smelled sweet and there was a heaviness he understood. She didn’t seem like the type to normally cry in public, although he could be wrong. But he’d felt helpless and had come up with the story that he knew her just to make her feel better. He was happy he’d been able to make her smile. He wondered how she was doing and if she’d been able to save her parents’ house.
“Amal?”
He blinked and glanced down. He’d totally forgotten about Evie even though she was wetting his shirt with tears. “Huh?”
“Did you even hear a word I said? Don’t you care about me at all?”
“Of course I do. But this is for the best.” He glanced at his watch. It was time to go. Besides, he was hoping to drop her off before the evening news started. And he’d make sure to never come to this restaurant again.
* * *
“How did it go?” his mother, Doreen Harper, asked the moment he walked through the door. She sat on the couch holding a glass. A plate of cookies sat on the coffee table. She noticed his pointed look and smiled. “Relax. It’s just water, dear.”
“Mixed with what?”
“Nothing.”
“Hmm.”
“And I’m not using it to wash anything down, either.”
Amal was relieved but didn’t say so. His mother lived with him because he didn’t trust her on her own. She’d overcome an addiction to prescription pills, but was still susceptible to drinking more than she could handle and men attracted only to her money. She even looked like an easy target, with wide brown eyes, a petite build, easy smile and expensive clothing and jewelry. “I don’t wear paste,” she claimed when he’d once scolded her for wearing a ten-thousand-dollar necklace on a Manhattan subway. She’d been pampered and sheltered all her life until her husband decided to leave her with a small son. She always had money, but never had to manage it on her own.
At age ten, Amal became in charge of the household finances, stopping anyone, from the gardener to the chef, from robbing his mother blind. She’d gotten into prescription pills to deal with the stress of her divorce. Thankfully, she’d conquered it by the time he was in college. But four years ago when a pool maintenance guy had convinced her to marry him, which did not happen thanks to Amal’s swift intervention, she had gone back to drinking. Amal had to step in again to keep an eye on her. Luckily, his then-girlfriend, Jade, hadn’t minded. He knew he couldn’t have her close by forever, but Amal had the space and didn’t mind the company, especially when everything else seemed to be going against him.
Doreen took a sip of her water and then set it down. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“How do you think it went?”
“From the look on your face, not well.”
Amal sat on the couch in front of her and then took a cookie from her plate. “She thought we were going to get married.”
“And of course you’re never going to get married.”
“I’ve never said that.”
“You don’t have to. If she’d had half a brain, she would have seen it written all over your face. Didn’t I tell you that you should have married Jade when you had the chance? Then you wouldn’t be in this mess. Marriage makes things legal.”
Amal rested his head back and gazed up at the ceiling. “Thirty-two.”
“What?”
He sat up and stared at her. “That’s the number of times you’ve said ‘I told you so’ over the past year.”
Doreen set her glass down with regret. “I’m sorry. I just hate seeing you keep making these mistakes. I told you Evie was no good.”
“Yes.”
“And that she was desperate.”
Amal drummed his fingers on his thigh. “I know.”
“And that pathetic woman before her. I said she was only after your money.”
He sighed and drummed faster. “I know.”
“Since Jade, your taste in women has taken a dive.”
Amal stopped drumming and shook his head. “No, not my taste. Just my luck. Don’t worry. I’m not interested in another relationship. I’m through with women for now.”
Doreen started to laugh.
“You think that’s funny?”
“I think that’s impossible. The moment you started nursing I knew you were straight.”
Amal squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed. “Mom!”
“It’s true. You’ve always loved women and everything about them.”
“From now on I promise I’ll enjoy them from afar.” He pointed at her. “Stop laughing. I’m serious.”
“You’re trying to be, but it’s not working.”
“I mean it. My only focus is winning this case against the Walkers. Until it’s through I’m off the market.”
“Unless she has the right dimensions,” Doreen said, cupping the air.
“Don’t be crass. You’re my mother.”
“Grow up. I’m also a woman who knows how men think,” Doreen said with a smirk. “Especially you, my dear boy. I know all your weak spots.”
Yes, he had weak spots, and one of them had been Jade. He’d made mistakes, but he wouldn’t let the Walkers exploit them. What his mother hadn’t realized was how much winning meant to him, and no woman would stand in his way. “I’m not going to let the Walkers take away everything Jade and I built together. She wouldn’t want that.”
“So you’ve finally found a lawyer?”
“I will.”
Doreen picked her up her glass and finished its contents as if it were a lot stronger than water. “I’ve asked around and no one is interested. I’m not sure you can win this with your inventory tied up. The Walkers are going to play hardball. It’s going to cost you a lot of money. I can take care of you until you get back on your feet.”
“No way. I’m not having you bail me out of this. I’m going to win. I’m offering a lot of money. I’ll find someone who will bite.”
* * *
Hannah looked at the prices on the menu and winced. The only things within her budget were the water and breadsticks. She knew the price didn’t cover just the cost of the food, but also the ambience and the waterfront view. She glanced up at her two friends, glad that they were focused on their orders so she had more time to decide what to do. Dana Wentworth had a name that hinted at white Anglo-Saxon Protestant breeding and generations of wealth, but she was born in Queens to a Jewish deli owner and his Catholic Italian wife. She had olive-toned skin, dark green eyes and a full figure that she always dressed well. She’d worked her way from New York City into the suburbs of North Carolina, although none of her family could understand her interest in living in the South. She’d made a nice life as a corporate lawyer in a prestigious firm. Natasha Petrov was a Russian immigrant whose poor parents had sent her to live with wealthy relatives in Missouri, who had adopted her as their own. Blonde and slender, she’d married a wealthy man, so price was never an issue. Although she didn’t need the money, she worked part-time in family law. They’d remained friends after law school, although their lives had taken divergent paths. Hannah wondered if she’d be able to meet with them anymore.
“The salmon salad looks delicious,” Dana said.
Natasha shook her head. “No, I think I’ll have the chicken primavera.”
“What about you, Hannah?”
“Oh, I’ll just have tea and um...”
“The risotto.”
“No, I—”
“You’ll love it,” Natasha said. “Trust me. I had it here before,” she said with a quick flick of her wrist, the light catching her large diamond wedding ring.
Hannah only smiled, imagining twenty bucks she was going to use to pay an overdue bill bursting into flames.
The food arrived and the three friends discussed different topics, including Natasha’s recent visit to Russia, Dana’s work woes and Hannah’s family troubles, although she didn’t reveal too much.
“Oh,” Dana said. “You won’t believe what news has been circulating in the legal gossip chain. Some crazy playboy is in an estate battle with the Wild Walkers.”
“An estate battle?” Hannah asked.
“Yes, but here’s the kicker. He doesn’t have a lawyer and he’s been going around town offering a boatload of money for anyone to take his case.”
“And no one will?” Hannah asked with interest. The new contractor the stranger from the park had referred had given her a lower estimate for fixing her parents’ house. Unfortunately, it was still too much for their budget, even with what little she could help them with.
“Not if you want to have a career in law. The Walkers are brutal.”
“Yes,” Natasha said. “Remember the case The Walkers versus Baldano Flooring Company? They put them out of business.”
“What’s the guy’s name?” Hannah asked.
Natasha grabbed her friend’s arm. “You’re not thinking of—”
Dana shook her head. “Hannah, I know you want a juicy case, but this isn’t the one to start with.”
“Just tell me his name,” Hannah said.
Dana looked at Natasha, who shrugged. “She’d find out anyway,” she said.
“It’s Amal Harper.”
“Amal Harper. That name sounds vaguely familiar.”
“It should be more than familiar. He’s the owner of The Eye of Jade, the classy art company that has extravagant art shows and sells unique art pieces from around the world.”
“So he has a lot of money.”
“For now. Once the Walkers are finished with him, he may have to move out of state just to get a job working in a fast-food chain.”
“Don’t do it,” Natasha said.
“I didn’t say I would,” Hannah replied. “I’m just curious.”
“Said the cat on the last day of her nine lives,” Dana said in a grim tone.
* * *
Usually Hector didn’t like surprises, but that Thursday afternoon was an exception. He stared at the phone, picking it up and putting it down twice just to make sure it was real and that he wasn’t dreaming. He felt like dancing around the room. But he knew he couldn’t get too happy because he had to find out more about Hannah Olaniyi before he told Amal. She was interested in handling his case. What if she wasn’t up to the task? Or what if she was just in it for the money? Then it would be a wasted effort. But at least this was a start.
“Who is it?”
He spun around and stared at Amal, who’d come into the office carrying a large brown folder. “What?” he said, feigning innocence.
A grin tugged on Amal’s mouth. “Don’t try to hide it. You’re happy about something.” He pointed the folder at him as a thought came to mind. “You found someone.”
“I may have,” Hector said, determined to temper his joy with caution.
Amal sat on the edge of the desk. “You did. Who?”
“I got a call from the assistant to Hannah Olaniyi. She’s interested in helping you with the estate battle. I was going to tell you, but I thought I should find out more about her first. She wasn’t on my list, and few people know about her.”
“Which means she is new and hungry.”
“Or new and naive,” Hector corrected, not wanting Amal to get ahead of himself. “Or better yet, doesn’t have the skill we need to win. First let me—”
“Did you say yes?”
“I thought we should meet with her first and—”
Amal lifted the receiver and handed it to him. “Call back and accept.”
Hector set it back down. “But—”
“There are three things I already like about her. She heard about the case and called us about it. She offered her services without you trying to persuade her.”
“And three?”
“She’s a woman.” He grinned. “I like to work with women.”
Hector groaned. “You told your mother you were staying away from women to focus on the case.”
“You’ve been talking to my mother?”
“She wants me to keep an eye on you.”
“And?”
“And what?”
He waited.
Hector sighed. “All right. We have a little wager that you’ll be involved with a woman within two weeks maximum.”
“Nice to know you have such faith in me.”
“I said three, but I know you.”
Amal held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. “I’ll be able to look but not touch.”
“Right,” Hector said, hoping Ms. Olaniyi wasn’t Amal’s type, or he’d be out a hundred dollars.
* * *
“He said he’d get back to us,” Bonnie said as Hannah paced the room.
“Are you sure you sold me enough?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him I was called the barracuda on my debate team and that—”
“I said all the right things. I think he sounded really excited but tried to hide it. I’m sure he’ll call back tomorrow, but he doesn’t want to seem too eager.”
Hannah chewed her lower lip. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it.”
The phone rang. They stared at each other and then Bonnie picked up.
“Yes? Okay. Okay. That’s fine. Thank you. Goodbye.” She hung up.
Hannah stared at her with her heart pounding. “Well?”
Bonnie jumped out of her chair. “You’ve got the case. They want to meet Monday and discuss the details.” The two women screamed and hugged each other and then Hannah sobered.
“Hmm...shouldn’t we have scheduled the meeting?”
“He says his boss likes to be in charge.”
“Fine. As long as his checks don’t bounce he can schedule to his heart’s content. This is great. This gives me time to find out more about him and the Walkers.”
Finding out about the Walkers wasn’t hard. They were from old money and had lived in the area for over one hundred years. Their money had been earned through the banking industry and investment in real estate, including the ownership of several high-rise buildings in the middle of downtown Raleigh. They were the cornerstone of the establishment and were known for their philanthropic activities, including donating to the development of a new wing at the local children’s hospital and the new Ronald McDonald house for parents of children being treated with life-threatening illnesses. The annual Walker golf championship, held in the spring, was an event Hannah and all of the citizens in the community were aware of. The event brought together a variety of dignitaries and stars and raised several million dollars for not-for-profit organizations in the area. Hannah exhausted herself poring over the unlimited news articles and pictures she found online.
“He’s a real good-looking guy,” Bonnie said, staring at the computer screen. “Come and look.”
Hannah brushed the comment away with a wave of her hand. “I don’t care what he looks like. Just give me the facts.”
Bonnie did. He liked the nightlife and the company of beautiful women. Attended charity events, but whether out of philanthropy or to be seen wasn’t clear. He’d never married and clearly didn’t seem ready to march down the aisle anytime soon.
“I don’t care who he is.... He’s the answer to my prayers.”
* * *
Hannah dressed her best that Monday. She wanted to make a good impression even though she knew she had the upper hand since no one else wanted the case. She felt the case itself would be a struggle based on the information she’d read about the Walkers and since it was her first, but she was ready for the challenge. She sat at her desk and waited.
Then she heard voices and a knock on her door. She straightened, and in walked the man from her dreams.
Chapter 4
Amal halted in the doorway when he saw her. He noticed the surprise and amazement on her pretty face and nearly took a step back. He had to play it cool. He didn’t want anything to jeopardize her representing him. He had to remain in control even though he didn’t feel as if he was. Instead, he felt as if his world had tilted on its axis and that nothing would be the same again. His throat constricted, his mouth felt parched and his heart acted as if it wanted to beat out of his chest. He took a deep breath, glad he still knew how to breathe. He fought not to remember the scent of her perfume or notice how the color of her lime-green suit looked against her skin. He tried to ignore how the light revealed reddish highlights in her hair and how when she licked her lips he wanted to lick them, too. No, he had to focus on the case. That was all that mattered right now.
He held out his hand, pleased by how firm and steady it looked. Yes, he could do this. “It will be a pleasure to work with you.”
“Yes,” Hannah said in a rush. “Will you excuse me?” She darted out of the room, pushing past him on her exit, allowing him another whiff of her floral scent. He gripped his hands into fists.
Hector spun around, sending him an accusatory look. “What have you done?”
Amal took a seat, setting his briefcase down. “I haven’t done anything.”
“She looked at you as if she’d seen a ghost or something. Please don’t tell me she’s a former conquest you’ve forgotten about.”
“I never forget a woman.”
“It can happen.”
“Not to me. Besides, she’s never been one of mine. And will you stop calling them conquests?”
“I say it out of admiration.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fine,” Hector reluctantly conceded, “but something’s wrong, and I need to find out what. I don’t like surprises. They are never good.”
Amal tugged on his cuffs and grinned. “My little optimist.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“She’s the only one willing to help us. We can’t lose her.”
The thought made Amal’s stomach clench. Now that he’d found her again, he didn’t want to lose her, but he wouldn’t think about why. “We’re not going to,” Amal said with a confidence he didn’t feel.
* * *
Hannah locked herself in the bathroom stall, wanting to jump up and down and scream. She just kicked the door instead. He was here. The man she’d been dreaming about for many nights was here and was quickly becoming her worst nightmare. He wasn’t the caring, generous and wonderful man she’d imagined him to be. Instead, he was a conniving playboy who went through women as he did his shirts. He’d likely used one of his lines to get her attention that day in the park. She wondered how often he used that line. Obviously it was effective; she’d fallen for it—and him—completely. From Bonnie’s research she knew he never settled with one woman for too long, especially after breaking up with Jade Walker. She felt like a fool. She banged her head against the door, welcoming the pain in her head. It was better than the one seeping into her heart.
He’d probably laughed about how easy it had been to manipulate her. But she wouldn’t think about that. She needed the job. She didn’t need to like him. And he didn’t need to know how she’d felt about him. What he thought about her didn’t matter as long as she got paid. He’d probably forgotten all about it anyway. She’d be professional and distant.
She heard a knock on the door and then Bonnie’s worried tone. “Hannah? Are you all right?”
Hannah wiped her eyes and came out. “I’m fine.”
“Did he say something? Do you want me to be in on the meeting?”
“No, I can handle Mr. Harper.”
Hannah returned to her office and stared at Amal—seeing the steely jaw and cunning gaze. She hadn’t seen that before, but she wouldn’t forget it now.
“Okay, let’s get to work.”
They discussed the case and then finished for the day.
“Will you excuse us?” Amal said to Hector as they prepared to leave.
“Are you sure?” Hector said.
Amal sent him a cutting look. Hector hesitated and then left.
Once he’d closed the door, Amal leaned forward and softened his voice. “It’s nice to see you again, Hannah.”
“Is it?” she said, sounding bored.
“I think so.”
“So now you remember my name?”
“It suits you.”
“Stop playing games with me.”
“I’m not playing games.”
“You lied to me. In the park you said we’d met before, but when I just saw you, you were just as surprised to see me as I was to see you. Why is that? You knew my name and what I did, yet you were just as shocked when you saw me. That means you’ve never heard of or seen me before.”
He shrugged. “Okay, so I lied.”
Hannah blinked, amazed by how comfortable he was admitting it. “Why? You wanted to get my number or something? Or perhaps you were just bored that day and wanted to see if you could toy with me. I know all about you. I know how you think getting women in bed should be an Olympic sport.”
“I’ve never said that.”
“There’s no need to. Your actions speak loud enough.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”
“Or everything you hear.” She folded her arms, wanting to look unmoved, although she was feeling so many emotions she could hardly keep still. “Why did you lie?”
“I wanted to make you stop crying.”
Hannah paused, hating how he was a constant surprise to her. “I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged. “It’s the truth. Did the contractor give you a good estimate?”
“No.”
“Oh. Look, a friend owes me a favor. I can get your parents’ house fixed so they’ll get insured.”
Hannah held up her hand and shook her head. “I don’t need your help. You’re the one who needs mine.”
Amal shrugged and leaned against her desk. “I don’t see why you’re so upset. It was a harmless diversion.” He continued before she could reply, “Did I try to get your number or address?”
“No.”
He folded his arms. “You’re lucky I didn’t have to resort to plan B.”
“Plan B?”
“Yes.” He came around the desk and lifted her to her feet. “I was going to kiss you.” And then he did just that. She expected to be repelled, alarmed, violated, but instead the touch of his lips on hers was like coming home. Like the sweet smell of cinnamon pancakes on a Sunday morning, or the sound of a crackling fire on a still winter’s night. He felt safe, secure, right. Although her body wanted to believe that, her mind refused to. He was all wrong for her—too many smooth lines and charming smiles.
Hannah shoved him away and wiped his kiss from her mouth. “If you ever do that again—” She stopped at the sight of the stunned expression on his face—wonder, amazement, confusion and a slight hint of fear. All that she’d felt. But she brushed the thought aside. They were nothing alike. She snapped her fingers in his face. “Did you hear me?”
He blinked as though waking from a trance. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I don’t know what has gotten into me.”
“Your ego is the size of a continent.”
“Relax.” He sat on the corner of her desk. “I’m not hitting on you. You’re not even my type.”
“Lucky me,” she said in a dry tone.
He cringed, looking uneasy, which seemed like an uncharacteristic trait for him. “I didn’t mean it like that. All I’m saying was that I was trying to help you and I would have done whatever it took to make you smile.”
“Fine,” Hannah said in clipped tones. “Let’s forget it.”
“Do you trust me?”
“What?”
“I need to know whether you trust me or not. I need you to believe in my case and fight for me.”
“I will.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
Hannah sat behind her desk and met his stare. “But that’s what I’m telling you.”
He sat and glared at her with an intensity that made a tinge of fear slither down her spine. He kept his voice measured and controlled. “The Walkers are good and they are going to paint a portrait of me that’s—” he hesitated “—less than savory. If you already believe them, there’s no point in you representing me. No, I’m not a saint. But I built my company with Jade and I did love her and I tried to be everything she wanted me to be, but it wasn’t enough. I didn’t callously abandon her, and I was not the reason she committed suicide. If you think that’s the kind of man I am then let’s end this partnership now.”
“I’ll take the case.”
“Wrong answer.” He stood.
“You need me.”
“Not that bad.”
Hannah jumped to her feet, seeing the answer to her parents’ problem walking out the door. “I can take your case without having to like you.”
“No, you can’t.” Amal grabbed the door handle.
She rushed over to him and stopped him from opening the door. “Okay, wait. I believe you.”
Amal gazed down at her with a blank expression, making it hard for her to read him. “About everything?” he challenged in the same measured tone. “And be careful how you answer.”
“Yes.”
“And you like me?”
“I’ll work on it.”
“I know you’re a lawyer, but you shouldn’t lie to me.”
“Lie?”
“Yes.” He opened the door then winked at her, making her heart skip a beat although she wanted to slap him. “I know you like me. You just have to get used to the idea.”
Hannah was too stunned to reply, and by the time she had a cutting retort, he and Hector were gone.
* * *
She needed the money. That’s all that mattered. Hannah tried to remind herself that saving her parents’ house was worth the risk of dealing with a playboy and going against a powerful family that could cost her her career.
“Isn’t this great?” Bonnie said, rushing up to her.
Hannah returned to her desk, masking her jumbled feelings. “What’s great?”
“This case. It’s exciting and you get to work with Amal Harper. If you win, you’ll never want for clients again.”
Hannah picked up a pen and waved it at her friend in warning. “The word being if.”
Bonnie frowned. “It’s not like you to be negative.”
“I know,” Hannah said, holding her head for a moment. She let her hands fall to the desk. “I’m just a little overwhelmed. I hope I haven’t taken on too much.”
“You haven’t.” Bonnie suddenly looked thoughtful. “You know, he’s better-looking than his photos.”
“And you mention that because...?”
“I wouldn’t blame you.”
“Wouldn’t blame me for what?”
“If something’s going on.”
Hannah widened her eyes. “Nothing is. Why would you say that?”
“Just the way you were looking at each other.”
“We met briefly before, but trust me, it’s nothing.”
Bonnie sat and crossed her legs, swinging one foot. “No, it’s not.”
“He’s a client.”
Bonnie began to grin. “He won’t be a client forever.”
“I’m not his type and he’s not mine. End of story,” Hannah said, sending her friend a long, firm look that didn’t allow any contradictions.
“If you say so,” Bonnie said, clearly not believing her but wise enough to let the subject drop.
* * *
The moment Hannah got home she went into her bedroom, opened her diary and stared at the carefully preserved buttercup Amal had given her, wondering if she should tear it into pieces.
She slammed her diary shut and shoved it away from her as she sat on her bed. She wanted to rip it up, but she couldn’t because even though she knew the truth about the man, she couldn’t erase the memory of how he’d made her feel that day. She opened her diary again and gazed at the flower, lightly touching it with her finger. She’d keep it as a reminder as to why she needed to focus on work instead of men. Work she could always depend on and trust. Work didn’t let her down or disappoint her. She wouldn’t let herself get distracted by a man who’d made it an art of stealing women’s hearts. Not that she was in danger of that since she wasn’t his type anyway. You’re not my type. She wished his words made her more angry than upset, but they’d forced her to look at the mirror and face the truth of what he’d said.
From the pictures she’d seen of him at numerous parties and events, she knew he usually went for those classically beautiful African American ladies with long hair and tiny waists. Or Caucasian women with wide eyes and long legs. Delicate beauties who looked as if the slightest breeze would make them crumble. Not medium-height women with short black hair and West African features. She knew she was attractive, but no one would mistake her for an American with her exotic features—dark eyebrows and lashes, cupid-bow lips, a sleek, long neck and dark brown skin.
In school she didn’t look like the other kids, but her parents, uncles and aunts always showed her how beautiful she was and surrounded her with images of women like her. In travels she’d turned men’s heads while dining in Portugal and sailing in Barbados.
She put on a deep royal-red lipstick and her favorite pair of earrings and again stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was a beautiful woman and plenty of men thought so, and Amal was blind if he didn’t see it, whether she was his type or not. She blew herself a kiss. She was a great daughter and a caring friend, and she’d save her parents’ home and show Mr. Amal Harper the kind of top-notch lawyer she was.
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