The Billionaire's Fair Lady. Barbara Wallace
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felt like an idiot. Figures she’d mess up her grand exit. She never was good at stage directions. “Thank you. But you didn’t have to drive all the way here to return it. You could have mailed it back to me.”
“No problem at all. I didn’t want to risk the envelope being damaged. Besides…”
Roxy had been reaching for the stack, when his hand came down to cover hers. “I figured this would buy me a few more minutes of your time,” he finished, his eyes catching hers.
Warmth spread through Roxy’s body, starting with her arm and moving upward. Glancing down at the table, she saw his hand still covered hers. The tapered fingers were almost twice the size of hers. If he wanted, he would wrap her hand right up in a strong, tight embrace. Feeling the warmth seeping into her cheeks, she pulled free.
“For what?” she asked, gripping her tray tightly. Squeezing the hard plastic helped chase away the sensation his hand left behind.
“I told you. You left before we could finish our conversation.”
“Given what I stuck around for, can you blame me? I’ll go get your drink.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said as soon as she’d spun around. “You’re going to need a lot thicker skin than that if you want to go after the Sinclairs.”
Roxy froze. What did he say?
“That is why you came by to see me, isn’t it?” he continued. “Because you want to make a claim against Wentworth Sinclair’s estate?”
She was afraid to say yes, in case the other shoe dropped on her head. Slowly she turned around to find the lawyer looking more than a little pleased with himself for having caught her off guard. Was he trying to tell her she had a case after all?
So help him, if he was playing with her….
“Look, here’s the deal.” He leaned forward, gold cuff links catching the light. “Your case is a long shot. Both parties have passed away, and the only proof you have is a pile of love letters. Not to mention thirty years have gone by. The courts aren’t exactly generous when it comes to claims that old. Truth is, scaling Mount Everest would be easier.”
“Thanks for the recap.” And here she thought there was something to his comment. “If that’s what you came all the way over here to tell me, you wasted the gas.”
“You’re not letting me finish again.”
Roxy stopped. Although hearing him out seemed like a waste of time to her. How many times did she need to hear him say her case wasn’t good enough for him? “Okay,” she said, waiting. “Finish. My case is harder than climbing Mount Everest. What else do you need to tell me?”
A slow smile broke out across his face. A confident smile that stilled everything in her body. “Only that I happen to really enjoy mountain climbing.”
CHAPTER TWO
“I’LL, um, go get your drink.” Spinning around, Roxy made a beeline to the bar. It was the only response she could think of. Did he say what she thought he said? He was taking her case?
“You look like a truck hit you,” Jackie remarked when she reached the bar rail. “What happened? Richie Rich turn out to be a creep?”
If she weren’t still in a daze, Roxy would comment on the hopeful expectancy in the other woman’s voice. “Not a creep. My lawyer,” she corrected.
“I thought you said you didn’t have one,” Dion said.
“I didn’t think I did.” She still wasn’t sure. She didn’t trust her ears. For that matter, she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted Mike Templeton. There had to be a catch.
Quickly she looked over her shoulder. There he sat, stiff and formal, arranging what looked like paperwork on the table. He certainly didn’t seem the type to lead someone on.
“If you’re serious,” she said, when her rounds finally brought him back to his table, “then what was all that business about Henry Hudson and not having proof?”
“Had to figure out how loyal you were to your story somehow, didn’t I?” he remarked, raising the glass to his lips.
“Un-freaking-believable.” It was a test. If it weren’t such an amazingly bad idea, she’d pour Scotch in his lap. She still might. “Do you have any idea how pis—How upset I was?”
“From the way you stormed out, I could hazard a guess. But that also tipped the scale in your favor. Either you truly believed your story or you were a damn good actress.”
She could give him a long list of directors and casting agents who could refute the latter. Still, a test? She had half a mind to tell him he could stuff himself regardless of whether he wanted to take on her claim or not. “I can’t believe you. Are you like this with everyone who tries to hire you?”
“Only the ones claiming to be heirs to multimillion-dollar fortunes.”
Millions? Was he joking? Roxy checked his expression. His face was deadly serious.
Oh, my. She dropped into the seat across from him. “Millions?” she repeated.
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know.” She swiped the hair from her face, trying to focus. “I knew they were rich, but… Wow.”
His test was beginning to make a bit of sense. Millions. A tingle ran up her spine.
“There’s no guarantee, mind you. Like I said, the courts seldom rule in favor of claims like yours.”
Mind still reeling, Roxy nodded.
“Plus, the Sinclairs’ lawyers will put up a heck of a fight. This isn’t the first time someone’s challenged their estate, I’m sure. Nevertheless, if we play our cards right, and there’s no reason to believe I won’t, we’ll both be looking at a nice little payday.”
Again, Roxy nodded. She didn’t know what else to do. His proclamation had stunned her to silence.
“Yo, Roxy! Table four!” Dion called. “Get your butt in gear.”
A few feet away, a trio of women with empty martini glasses were looking in her direction, visibly annoyed.
“You better get to your customers,” Mike noted.
He watched with amusement as the waitress half stumbled, half rushed away. Funny how her expression went from annoyed to dazed in literally the blink of an eye. The prospect of money could do that to a person. Made him jump in his car and drive to this place, didn’t it?
For a moment he’d been afraid he’d laid it on a little too heavy with that “test” stuff, but she accepted his behavior. All he needed to do now was get her to cooperate with the rest of the case. Shouldn’t be too hard. Especially given her alternative.
Leaning back in his chair, he sipped his drink and looked around the bar. As bars went, the Elderion was in the upper-lower half. Below average, but far enough up to avoid being a dive. Both the tables and the clientele had mileage.
Wentworth’s letter lay where Roxanne dropped it. He ran his finger along the edge of the gray envelope. The contents had long been committed to memory. “I can still smell your scent on my skin,” Wentworth had written for the opening line. College passion. He knew it well. That heady reckless feeling. The blind confidence the days would last forever. Until reality barged in with its expectations and traditions waiting to be fulfilled and impractical dreams had to be shoved aside.
Look at you. We raised you to be better than this, Michael.
A hollow feeling lodged in his stomach. He blamed the surroundings. Ever since walking in to the Elderion, he’d been possessed by the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Memories of another bar with dim lights and warm beer came floating