by J. B. Lynn
“A psychic matchmaker told me to.”
“A psychic matchmaker?” she scoffed. “Do you really believe in that stuff?”
“I don’t not believe,” he replied carefully. “And she seems to have a pretty good track record.”
“You know it’s a scam, right?”
“Tell that to my friend Tom and his new bride.”
“Anyone can get lucky once.”
“But what about the fact that I’m sitting here holding the beautiful woman that knew what a purple people eater is?” he teased lightly. “Is that luck?”
She shrugged as a delighted thrill shot through her. He’d said she was beautiful. Then she remembered she resembled a drowned rat and instantly felt deflated.
“Is it lucky that the woman smells like strawberries, my favorite fruit?” he whispered seductively, his breath stroking the sensitive skin of her ear.
“It’s just my shampoo,” she countered weakly, wondering if the breathy voice coming out of her mouth was even her own.
He nuzzled against her hair and her limbs went weak. She knew she’d agree with whatever he asked next.
Then his cell phone buzzed.
The interruption startled them both and they jumped apart.
Amy rested a hand over her racing heart, willing herself to calm down as he took the call.
“Uh-huh. Yeah. Okay.”
She heard frustration in his tone.
He ended the call and let out a long, slow breath. “Generator’s going to kick on any second. They’re getting us out of here.”
Moving quickly, he crossed to the other side of the elevator so he was sitting opposite her. When the doors opened, they would appear to be the picture of propriety. She should have been grateful for his reaction, but she wasn’t.
She missed his nearness.
With a jolt and a groan, the elevator bucked and was then illuminated.
The doors slid open and she scrambled out on all fours, almost knocking over the uniformed maintenance man who’d freed her. Not exactly a dignified escape, but it got the job done. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Brady step out behind her, carrying her purse.
His expression as he looked down at her was an unreadable mask. All traces of the intimate moments they shared left behind in the steel box. “Let’s take a look at that letter.”
Chapter Ten
Swiveling in his chair, Brady stared out the window of his office at the city skyline, watching the rainfall, struggling to restrain himself. He wasn’t in the habit of losing control, but having Amy Winn sitting on the other side of his desk meant that his heart was racing, his mind was going in a million directions, and his body was betraying him.
Once they’d emerged from the elevator, he’d curtly assured Mildred that he was going to help Amy, dismissed Gerald’s offer to help, and ignored Lara’s pointed stares.
Now, as he waited for Amy to fish out the letter she’d described from the bottom of her bag, all he wanted to do was to see if she tasted as good as she smelled. But that wouldn’t have been professional and wouldn’t help her, so he observed the skyline, trying to get himself under control.
“Here it is.” Her voice held a tremulous, uncertain note, as though she sensed the storm of emotion brewing within him and wasn’t sure that confiding in him had been the best of ideas.
He turned back to face her and bestowed what he hoped was a reassuring smile at her. Wordlessly, he took the envelope she offered, removed the letter, and quickly scanned it.
“Does it mean anything to you?” She fiddled with the collar of the shirt she wore, his shirt, twisting the fabric relentlessly.
He shook his head.
“Oh.” As though she realized she’d revealed too much in that single syllable of disappointment, she flashed him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It was worth a try. Thanks for your help.” She practically leapt from her seat. Grabbing her bag, she headed for the door.
“Wait!” he yelled, more loudly than he’d attended, but he panicked at the idea of her walking out of his office and out of his life.
Pausing at the door, her hand on the knob, she looked back at him and he saw that her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“I said that it doesn’t mean anything to me, but there might be someone who understands it.” He reached for his phone, dialed Lara, and said, “Can you come in here a sec?”
Amy hesitated at the door.
“Sit down,” Brady urged. “If you don’t, Lara may bowl you over when she comes in.”
Slowly Amy turned around.
Lara burst in behind her, almost as Brady had predicted, knocking her over.
“Whoops.” Lara laughed, sidestepping Amy at the last possible moment. “Sorry about that. My grandfather always I said I was a little dynamo, which was a nice way of saying I ran around, getting myself into trouble.”
Amy offered her a weak smile as a response.
Lara tossed an accusing glare in Brady’s direction, making it clear she blamed him for Amy’s unhappiness. “What’s up?”
“I need you to tell me if you can make sense of something written twenty years ago.” He picked up the letter, then glanced past his secretary to Amy. “With your permission, of course.”
Amy nodded as she sank back into the seat she’d previously occupied, placing her bag beside her on the floor.
Intrigued, Lara snatched the paper from Brady and read it quickly.
“Well?” Brady asked.
Lara held up a finger to silence him, tilted her head, and chewed the inside of her cheek as she continued reading. When she was done, she perched her butt on the corner of Brady’s desk and considered Amy solemnly. “How did you get this?”
“A process server delivered it.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“What does it matter what his name is?” Brady interjected.
“Leeves,” Amy told Lara.
“Rex Leeves?”
Amy nodded.
“Interesting,” Lara murmured, looking back down at the paper. She rubbed the side of her head as though whatever thinking she was doing was causing her pain.
“Care to share with the rest of the class?” Brady asked.
Lara pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I think Milton Willen wrote this.”
Brady crossed his arms over his chest. “And he hired someone to deliver it twenty years later?”
Lara nodded. “He and Rex Leeves were friends and he gave him a lot of work.”
Brady shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe not,” Lara agreed, handing the sheet of paper back to him. “You asked what I thought and that’s it.”
Amy cleared her throat nervously, reminding them both that the recipient of the mysterious letter was in the room. “Why do you think he wrote it?”
Lara smiled kindly at her. “It sounds like him. Doesn’t it, Brady?”
“It does,” he agreed.
“Maybe his son could make sense of it,” Amy suggested.
“No,” Lara and Brady replied simultaneously.
“Trust me, you don’t want Eric involved in this,” Lara said quickly.
“Because he’s a player?” Amy asked.
Lara glanced at Brady. “Is that anyway to talk about a named partner of the firm?”
He shrugged, looking away guiltily.
Leaning toward Amy, Lara whispered, “He’s way worse than a player.”
“You don’t know that,” Brady said quickly.
She shrugged. “You’ll have to go talk to Phyllis. If anyone will be able to make sense of what the old coot was up to, it’s her. I’m guessing the numbers on the bottom are a code she can decipher for you.”
“A code?”
Lara nodded. “Yeah. A secret code. She told me once it was the secret of their working relationship and that all secretaries should have one.”
“Do we have a secret code?” Brady asked incredulously.
“Yes, Brady.” Lara leaned
toward him, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s so secret that you don’t even know it.”
He shot her a dirty look.
Throwing her head back, she laughed loudly. Launching herself off the desk, she moved over to Amy, bent and gave her a quick hug. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.”
“Thank you,” Amy whispered, hugging her back.
“I’ll call and arrange it with Phyllis,” Lara said as she marched toward the door. Glancing back, she asked, “Tomorrow okay?”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Brady reminded her.
Lara glared at him, tilting her head in the direction of Amy.
“So that will be perfect,” he added hurriedly.
Nodding her approval, Lara walked out, closing the door behind her.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Amy picked up her bag from the floor.
“Why not?”
“I told you. I can’t afford to pay you. Coming here was a bad idea.” She stood slowly. “I mean I appreciate your help, but I just can’t do this.” She made for the door.
Brady rounded his desk and in a few quick strides blocked her exit path.
She looked up at him, eyes flashing with mild annoyance. “You’re in my way.”
“You don’t have to pay me.”
Her expression morphed into something hard and unyielding. “I don’t need your pity or charity, Mr. Stewart.”
He blinked, stunned. “I…I…”
“If you’ll excuse me.” She skirted around him, reaching for the door handle.
He grabbed her hand, preventing her from turning the knob. “I owe it to Milton Willen to figure this out.”
“Why?” she bit out, a challenge glittering in her gaze as it bored into him.
“Because he helped me when no one else would,” he replied quietly.
She stared up at him, weighing his words.
“When he was dying, he told me that his greatest regret was the people he wasn’t going to be able to finish helping.” His throat tightened at the memory, straining his voice. What he didn’t say aloud was that Milton Willen had reminded Brady that he owed him. “I promised him that I’d take up where he’d left off. You’ve got to let me help you. Not because I’m taking pity on you, but because I need you to help me fulfill my oath to a dying man. Can you understand that?”
Tears filled Amy’s eyes as she stared up at him. “I understand. I understand perfectly.”
She blinked and a droplet slid down her cheek.
Without thinking, Brady raised his hand and wiped it away with the pad of this thumb, before cupping her cheek in his palm and lowering his mouth toward hers.
Chapter Eleven
She wanted him to kiss her. She’d just met the man. They hadn’t even swapped contact information or gone on a date, and she wanted him to kiss her.
Her eyes fluttered closed of their own accord as his lips hovered over hers.
And then the world was tilting.
Or more specifically, she was thrown off balance, by the door she was holding onto being thrust forcefully open.
Eyes flying open, she stumbled. She would have fallen if he hadn’t wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her upright. A quick glance at his face revealed her shocked disappointment reflected in his expression.
“Okay,” Lara chirped, bursting in. “It’s all set. Tomorrow…” She trailed off abruptly, taking in their expressions.
Brady whirled away, hiding his countenance from his secretary, tension etched in back of his neck and shoulders.
Lara swung her gaze to Amy, running her eyes up and down her speculatively. A knowing smirk lifted the corners of her mouth before she turned to address Brady’s back. “You can see Phyllis tomorrow at nine. I’ve got the address for you.”
“Okay, thanks,” he muttered, refusing to turn to face her.
“I’ll leave it here.” She placed a piece of paper on his desk. “It’s late, so I’m going to head home. I’ll see you Monday.”
“See you,” he said gruffly.
Lara smiled at Amy and extended her hand. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Nice meeting you.” Amy grabbed her palm and squeezed it warmly. “And thank you for everything you did. I appreciate it more than you can know.”
Releasing her hand, Lara pulled her in for a tight hug and whispered in her ear, “Sorry I interrupted you two.”
“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Amy assured her quickly.
Lara chuckled, a warm, knowing sound that brought a flush to Amy’s cheeks.
As she left, pulling the door shut behind her, she called over her shoulder, “Make sure Amy gets home okay. Mildred will never forgive you if you don’t.”
The door clicked closed, leaving Amy and Brady alone in his office again.
She stared at his back as he looked out at the quickly darkening stormy sky. “I can get myself home.”
Shaking his head, he turned to snatch the address Lara had left on the desk. He handed her the letter. “You’d better hang onto this and keep it dry.”
“Thanks.”
“She’s right. Mildred will have my head. Wait here.” He stalked off through a small door that she’d assumed was a closet.
She debated leaving, but decided that the action was childish and would make her seem ungrateful for all he’d done.
A moment later he re-emerged wearing a suit jacket and carrying an umbrella. “Let’s go.”
Wordlessly, she followed him to the elevators. They waited in silence for one to arrive.
A door slid open and he indicated with a tilt of his head that she should enter first. She hesitated, the memory of being trapped in small box making her nervous.
“Would you rather take the stairs?” he asked.
Not wanting to appear afraid, she stepped inside and held her breath. He followed closely behind.
“Where did you park?”
She exhaled shakily. “I didn’t.”
“You didn’t?”
The doors slid open and she bolted out into the lobby, glad to be free. “I told you, I can get myself home.” She hurried toward the foyer doors. “The bus stop is only a few blocks away.”
He matched her stride. “You took the bus?”
She stepped outside, a gust of rain-laden wind almost knocking her over.
He grabbed her elbow, the imprint of his fingers burning their way through the fabric that separated their skin. “You’re not going to wait for a bus in this.”
“It’s just a little rain,” she assured him.
“What?” he shouted back, unable to hear her over the pounding rain and roaring wind.
“It’s just a little rain,” she shouted.
“It’s a freaking monsoon,” he shouted back, half-dragging her across the lot to a silver luxury sedan. Opening the passenger door, he practically shoved her inside before running around to the driver’s door and leaping in. “A little rain?” he mocked, starting the engine.
She looked at the blinding sheets of water cascading down the front windshield as he cranked up the car’s heat. “Okay, maybe a bit more than a little.”
Throwing back his head, he laughed, the sound echoing in the tight space. It was infectious and she found herself giggling along with him.
His laughter died away and she realized he was staring at her. Her stomach flipped nervously at the intensity in his gaze.
“You have a beautiful smile.”
Flustered, she looked away.
He pulled out of the parking space. “Where to?”
“You can drop me at Busy Bea’s.”
“You don’t trust me to take you home?”
“I’m working there tonight.”
“You’ve had a trying day.” He pulled the car into the line of crawling traffic. “Why don’t you call in sick or something?”
“Can’t. I promised Adrian I’d work tonight.”
“Adrian?”
“He’s the nephew of the owner.�
�� Remembering Bea was no longer with them, she corrected herself, the pain of the loss of her friend making her voice hoarse. “…former owner. The nephew of the former owner.”
“Surely he’d understand.”
“You owe Willen a debt. I owe Bea,” she told him firmly.
“Okay. Busy Bea’s it is.”
They made the rest of the thirty-minute ride in silence. She assumed he concentrated on driving while she pondered whether going to the lawyer’s office had been a mistake.
Entering the lot, he pulled up so that she could exit under the front awning.
“Thank you.” She reached for the door handle. “For everything.”
“It’s genuinely been my pleasure.”
She avoided meeting his gaze as his tone sent shivers of awareness shooting through her.
She hopped out and ran inside with a quick wave over her shoulder, wondering if she’d ever see him again, or if, after he talked to Phyllis, he’d have Lara call and give her the brush off.
Chapter Twelve
After watching Amy disappear into Busy Bea’s, which once again wasn’t busy, Brady pulled into the nearest parking spot and fumbled for his phone.
The first person he called was Tom. He tapped on the steering wheel impatiently waiting for him to answer.
“Hey.” Tom’s voice finally greeted him with teasing laughter. “You do know I’m married now, right? So I might have other things to do than answer your multiple calls.”
“Sorry. But I need a favor.”
“Another?”
“I need to hire a bodyguard. A woman.”
“Is that what Armani told you?” Tom asked suspiciously. “And where the hell are you calling from? I can barely hear you over the background noise.”
“My car and it’s pouring. And no, this doesn’t have anything to do with Armani. I need to hire a female bodyguard.”
Tom grew serious. “Are you in trouble, buddy?”
The image of Amy’s face the moment before he’d almost kissed her in his office flashed before his eyes. Oh, he was in trouble all right, but not the kind Tom meant.
“Brady?”
“Not me. The wife of one of the partners I work for. She’s had a couple of incidents and today she was mugged. Do you know anyone who might be interested in protecting a slightly cantankerous old lady?”