“Mommy!”
Right over there. The two-year-old boy taking the M&M’s out of the Waterford crystal candy jar on the nearest coffee table and alternately eating them and hiding them in the dried moss in one of the palm’s pots.
Wonderful.
“Hi, cutie.” Grinning and stooping, she caught Harry, her shrieking son, as he sprinted across the seating area. “Shhh,” she told him, even though she knew it was a useless exercise, because Harry only had one volume, which was loud, and one speed, which was fast. “We use our quiet voice and walking feet at Mommy’s work, okay?”
“I am using my quiet voice!” Harry informed her, his gray eyes wide and affronted.
Ignoring the disapproving glance from Meredith, who was still talking into her headset and pushing buttons on her phone, Charlotte settled Harry on her hip and gave him a discreet mother’s once-over.
The first thing she noticed, due to the telltale area of flattened black curls in the back, was that his hair hadn’t been combed. So that was a demerit right there. On the plus side, he’d brushed his teeth. On the minus side, though, he was sporting dried toothpaste on the corner of his mouth. Oh, and a swath of what looked like dried syrup on one chipmunk cheek. Nice.
Continuing on to the clothes front, there was bad news: he was wearing his Bugs Bunny pajamas. With the feet. Which might explain why his Velcro gym shoes were on the wrong feet, but, then again, might not.
The bottom line? Her adorable and generally clean son had returned from a night with his father looking like a refugee.
Typical.
Still, this two-year-old ragamuffin was the love of her life, and she was glad to see him, even if this was a very bad time. Nuzzling his chubby little face, she turned to his father, whom she was not glad to see.
Roger Miller stood there in blue scrubs and athletic shoes, furiously thumbing buttons on his smartphone.
Also typical.
For the last year of their relationship, which had ended about a year ago, the only parts of Roger she’d seen were the top of his head as he texted and answered emails, and the back of him, as he left to go back to the hospital, which was the love of his life.
She was not in the mood for waiting for the oh-so-important surgical resident to acknowledge her, but she hid her irritation behind a pleasant voice for Harry’s sake.
“What’s going on, Roger? You know I’m working.”
Lowering the phone, he glanced up at her with those brown eyes and managed to look moderately rueful. “I know, but I’m on call, and they called me. I have to get to the hospital in half an hour and scrub in. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“But, Roger,” she said, as sweetly as she could with her spiking temper, “I’m also working. As you can see.”
He waved a hand. “Why can’t you get one of the other secretaries to cover for you until you can take him to day care after lunch? How big a deal could that be?”
Okay. Forget sweet.
“A very big deal.”
They glared at each other across the top of Harry’s head, and then Meredith intervened.
“I’m going to the kitchen for a snack,” she called over the counter. “Does anyone out there want a cookie?”
“Me!” Vaulting out of Charlotte’s arms like an Olympic gymnast in training, Harry ran across the reception area on his tiny little mismatched feet and took Meredith’s hand when she offered it to him. “And I want a double cappuccino iced tea, too!”
Meredith’s laughter disappeared down the long hallway to the kitchen. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Meredith,” Charlotte called.
Meredith waved.
Charlotte turned back to Roger and took a long minute to wrestle her temper under control. They were a team, and she needed to remember that. A united team with a single crucial goal: to raise Harry into a happy and contributing member of society. As a team, they needed to negotiate and compromise, and as a mother, she needed to not throttle her baby daddy.
No matter how hard said baby daddy made it on her at times.
“I can’t take him right now, Roger.”
A look of absolute befuddlement crossed over Roger’s features, giving Charlotte the feeling that she’d really challenged his imagination by suggesting that anything about her lowly job could matter to anyone.
There went her self-esteem, slipping another several notches.
As though Jake Hamilton hadn’t done enough of a job on it the other day by not remembering her from work. The whole time they were chatting it up at Starbucks, he’d had no idea that she was one of his employees.
None.
True, they worked on separate floors and had only interacted, in passing, at the firm’s occasional staff appreciation luncheons. He wasn’t involved in the firm’s hiring process and had probably never had the need to come to the catacombs, where she worked. True, she hadn’t laid eyes on him in several months, probably since the last staff Christmas party, and then only from a distance across the crowded conference room.
But, still.
How could she feel good about herself when she’d made such a non-impression on him? When she recognized not only him, but all the other Hamiltons who worked at the firm, because she made it her business to know the faces of the people who put food on her table? The bottom line was that she’d been here at the firm for years and he didn’t recognize her or know that he and his family were her employers.
He did not, in short, know her from Adam or Eve.
Yeah. That had been a swift kick to the solar plexus. Especially because she was so exquisitely aware of who he was and had been since the second she first laid eyes on him. She’d been a brand-new employee the day that he strode out of the elevator and gave her a crisp nod as she was getting on.
She’d been stunned.
What woman wouldn’t be?
And now, two days after their interlude at Starbucks, she was still deflated and agitated, her poor stupid head filled with images of the unexpected heat she’d seen in Jake’s eyes, and Jake probably hadn’t given her a second thought. He’d probably hooked up with Ashley the barista, Avery the disgruntled sex buddy, or any one of the dozens of women he probably kept dangling at any given time.
The jerk.
A sexy jerk, yeah, but still a jerk.
Anyway, the issue now wasn’t Jake Hamilton, or how much he’d seemed into her the other day, or how he’d asked her out to dinner, or how he was, in fact, nothing but an inveterate player who’d probably only hit on her at Starbucks because it was a reflex with him, like coughing when his throat was dry.
The issue was her self-esteem, which had been in a steady decline for ages, ever since she told Roger about her accidental pregnancy (ripped condom) and saw the look of absolute horror on his face. It was as though the only thing worse than having an unplanned baby at that point in his life was having an unplanned baby with her.
Then there’d been the breakup, which wasn’t quite as brutal as the one in that old movie The War of the Roses but had been tough nonetheless. Then they’d gone to court to establish everyone’s parental responsibilities, and then she’d shelved her plans to go to law school full-time because she had to also work and support a child.
Roger, meanwhile, had blithely continued with his education and career because his daddy had more money than God and was happy to foot the bill.
Must be nice, eh?
Now she was a typing drone in the secretarial pool, a single mother juggling diapers, toddler tantrums, unscheduled illnesses and pediatric visits, and a part-time law student managing a class a semester. He, on the other hand, was deep into his residency and well on his way to becoming a real-life Dr. McDreamy.
Not that she was bitter, she thought, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at hi
m. Much.
But at the rate she was going, he’d be a millionaire with a thriving practice and his first yacht while she was still trying to finish a first-year law student’s course load.
Was it any wonder she felt invisible half the time?
Well, she was sick of it. Sick of being a second-class citizen—and an invisible one, at that. If she didn’t stand up for herself and her needs, who would? Roger? Please.
She was tired of being a doormat, and it was going to stop.
Right now.
Roger seemed to have given up on trying to understand how her job was relevant, and moved on to the only important thing in any conversation, as far as he was concerned: his wants and needs and any petty annoyances that might inconvenience him.
“Why can’t you call your mother to come pick Harry up?” he asked, a note of challenge in his voice now.
“Well, first of all, since today is your day with Harry, it’s your responsibility to care for him. Not mine,” she reminded him. He scowled. “Second, even if I wanted to call her, my mother is in doctor’s appointments and physical therapy for most of the day.”
“Shit,” Roger muttered, mostly to himself. “What am I going to do now?”
His narcissism was really amazing, she thought. True and pure, as unadulterated as winter’s first snow.
“Mom’s doing pretty well, by the way. Thanks for asking. She has much more energy after the heart procedure.”
Roger’s lips thinned with growing annoyance. “Glad to hear it. I always liked her.”
“Right.” She checked her watch and saw how much of her precious time had ticked away. That brief wasn’t going to type itself. Not to mention the fact that this was the floor Jake Hamilton worked on, and the longer she hung out here, the greater her chances of running into him, which would be awkward, to say the least. So she and Roger needed to wrap this up so she could go back to the basement, where she belonged.
“You need to take Harry and go, okay? Drop him off at your mother’s or something. She’s always glad to see—”
“I can’t,” Roger said flatly. “I don’t want to interrupt her spa day. You’ll have to—”
Sentences that began with you’ll have to always ended badly. It was a rule.
Accordingly, she marched up to Roger and got in his face. So much for being a team.
“Kindly do not tell me what I need to do,” she began, keeping her voice low, because he would not reduce her to a banshee here at her place of employment. Thank God there was no one else around at the moment to see this developing scene; the last thing she needed was gossip. She always took great pains to keep her private life private, and the other staff would have a field day with any little tidbit about her personal life. “You need to call in to the hospital and tell them that—”
Roger loomed over her, his features contorted with anger. “I can’t just—”
“Is there a problem?” asked a cool male voice behind her.
Oh, God.
Charlotte stiffened with sudden paralysis, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach like a stone, probably landing somewhere deep in Philly’s sewer system.
She knew that voice. That voice belonged to the absolute last person she wanted to see. That voice, like the person who owned it, was nothing but trouble.
Roger’s arrogant gaze flickered past her shoulder, and his voice, when he spoke, was so condescending that she wanted to dropkick him into next year.
“I don’t believe anyone asked for your input, my brother.”
Apparently Jake Hamilton felt the same way about harming Roger. His frigid tone, when he responded, was like being assaulted with ice chards.
“I’m afraid you’re getting my input, my brother. Since you’re standing in my building and badgering a woman, you’ll be getting a lot of my input.”
Roger’s face turned a blotchy and angry purple.
Uh-oh.
“It’s okay,” Charlotte said quickly, trying to defuse the situation before these two badasses decided to take their dispute outside or something. Embracing her inner coward, she kept her back to Jake and hoped he didn’t recognize her voice. “We were just having a—”
That was as far as she got before Jake swooped in, clamped a hand on her upper arm and spun her to face him. She spluttered a protest; he ignored it. His intent gaze locked in on her face, skating over all her features as though he needed to double- and triple-check to make sure it was really her, and his emotions were raw and as readable as a Times Square billboard.
Surprise. Excitement. Wide-eyed delight.
“It’s you,” he said.
“Yes,” she admitted, trying to calm her racing pulse.
Charlotte knew better than to let this man under her skin. Well, farther under her skin, anyway. She knew he wasn’t for her under any circumstances. He was one of her bosses, for one. He was a womanizer, for another. Most importantly, she had a child to raise, a mother with dicey health to care for, a law degree to finish and no time for nonsense.
A fling with a man who, from all appearances, flirted with anything with boobs, definitely qualified as nonsense.
Duh.
And yet, as she stared into the vivid brown flash of his eyes and saw the color rise over his cheekbones, it was hard to remember any of her concerns.
Jake Hamilton was breathtaking.
On Saturday, he’d been boyish and accessible, his loose-limbed body tall, muscular and athletic in those knit shorts and shirt. She’d been arrested by the span of his shoulders, the sinew of his arms and legs and the unmistakable roundness of his butt.
Today he was all dark-suited, red-tied business. His shirt was starched, his cuff links were shiny, and his shoes were buffed to the kind of polish that required sunglasses to protect the eyes.
And his face—
Intelligent brown eyes framed by heavy brows. Angular cheekbones. Full lips that probably spent an inordinate amount of time kissing one woman or another. Skin so smooth she longed to run her hands all over it—every inch—just to see if she could find a flaw.
When he looked at her, she felt hot.
When she looked at him, she felt breathless.
Not a good combination if she wanted to keep her head, was it?
When you looked like Jake Hamilton, she wondered, was it really your fault that women trailed you the way rats trailed the Pied Piper?
No, she decided.
But that didn’t mean she had to be a rat.
“What’s your name?” Jake demanded.
“Charlotte Evans.”
“What are you doing here?”
Thanks for the reminder, Jake.
He still had no clue that they’d been working in the same building for years. She still meant nothing to him. Never had, never would.
“I work here,” she said flatly.
Those brows lowered, creating a thundercloud effect that would have been pretty funny under any other circumstances. He cocked his ear, probably to make sure it wasn’t playing tricks on him.
“You—” he began, faltering.
“Work here, yes,” she finished for him. “For two years now. In the secretarial pool. Thanks for remembering.”
“Now that the introductions are finished,” interjected Roger, “I’d appreciate it if I could finish up my conversation with Charlotte, okay? Thanks.”
Jake stilled, except for the tightening of his jaw, and focused all his fierce energy on Roger.
Roger blinked, looking away first with a huff of impatience.
“And you are?” Jake asked in a tone appropriate for asking a dog why he was pooping on his freshly shampooed carpet.
“Roger Miller.”
They did not shake hands, which was probably for the best. There was so much
negativity in the air at the moment that any physical contact between the two men would probably lead to an arm-wrestling contest followed by the snapping of someone’s arm as it broke in two.
“And why are you here, Roger?” Jake’s voice was silky smoothness over a layer of unyielding granite. “Interrupting my employee’s workday and upsetting her?”
Roger’s lips thinned. He opened his mouth to say something that would probably be pissy if not outright rude, but there was a new interruption.
Small footsteps raced up the hallway from the kitchen, and Harry, now holding a to-go coffee cup that thankfully had a lid on it, ran into view. Please, God, she prayed, do NOT let this child drop his drink on this expensive rug.
“Look, Mommy!” In his typical greeting, Harry launched himself at her legs, giving her a quick, one-handed hug before holding up his arms and demanding to be lifted. She obliged, settling him on her hip. “I have a chocolate milk-a-ccino. Taste it!”
He offered the cup, which was smeared with something that may once have been chocolate but was now disgusting.
She tried to look rueful as she declined this generous offer. “Maybe in a minute, Harry.”
Harry, luckily, rarely stayed on one subject long enough to get his feelings hurt. “Who’s that?” He pointed a fat and smudgy finger at Jake.
“That’s my boss, Mr. Hamilton,” she told Harry. “I work for him.”
Harry gave Jake an appraising look. “I’m Harry. I’m four.” He held up four fingers.
“Nice try.” Charlotte adjusted his fingers down to two. “You know how old you are. Stop trying to pretend you’re older.”
Harry scowled at her for calling him out, and then sipped his milk in what he apparently thought was a dignified manner.
The weight of Jake’s gaze felt as though someone had covered her face with a lead blanket. Deciding that she’d avoided the moment long enough, she hitched up her chin and looked at him over Harry’s head, feeling defiant.
His reaction to this news that she was a single mother—he’d figure out that she and Roger had never been married soon enough—didn’t matter to her. Of course it didn’t. If people judged her harshly, then that was their problem, not hers. She loved Harry, who was the pride of her life, and anyone who thought less of her personal situation was a moron. And her life was too full and busy to waste time with morons.
Case for Seduction (Kimani Romance) Page 3