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Seriously?
The professional stepped forward and smiled smoothly. ‘I don’t think you understand, Mr Clayton. Allow me to make it clear: you’re it. Whether you want it or not, you’re the sole beneficiary of Charles Warren’s will.’
‘The Charles Warren?’ an incredulous voice asked behind her.
‘Your father made his wishes very clear.’
‘Father?’ said the same incredulous voice. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’
So much for no secrets between friends …
He took a step forward and lowered his voice. ‘Look, lady, I get that you’re trying to do your job but, in case you didn’t get it, allow me to make it clear: I’m not your man. So unless you’re planning on setting down that briefcase and picking up a power tool, I suggest you hightail it back to Manhattan and tell Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise—or whoever it is you answer to further down the food chain—they best find a distant Warren relative they can lay this on. I have a life. I’m not living someone else’s.’
‘This isn’t going anywhere,’ she insisted with a deceptive calmness that masked the effect his proximity was having on her body.
‘Maybe not,’ he allowed. ‘But I can.’
What about the life he’d said he had? Olivia found herself wondering if there was a woman in it; one who would miss him when he was gone. Somehow she doubted he was the type to stick around long enough to let anyone get that close. Judging by the number of addresses she’d discovered in various different states—some of which he’d only resided in for a matter of weeks—any relationships he had were short-lived. Not that looking the way he did would leave him short of company for long.
Squaring her shoulders, she reached into the front of the briefcase he’d mentioned and held out her hand. ‘I’ll leave my card. When you’ve had time to think things over—’
‘Not gonna happen.’
Olivia stood her ground.
‘I take it you can find the door on your own?’
Okay. If he wanted to play hardball, she’d play. Lowering her gaze to his broad chest, she relaxed her shoulders and took a step forward, standing within inches of his large body and slowly lifting her lashes until she was looking deep into dark eyes. She ran her tongue over her lips and smoothed them together, watching his gaze lower and smiling when he frowned. She spoke in a low voice just loud enough for their audience to hear.
‘Tomorrow morning … all over the state … thousands of Warren Enterprises employees are going to turn up for work. I’d like to be able to tell them they’ll have a job a month from now, especially in this economy.’ She angled her head. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
Reaching out, she set her business card on a plank of wood beside him before turning on her heel and walking back down the hall. Her hand was on the door when she heard a voice ask, ‘Charles Warren is your old man?’
Silence.
‘You know my cousin Mike works for Warren Tech? He’s got a wife and three kids …’
Olivia smiled as she opened the door. There was no question in her mind she’d be seeing him again.
She was looking forward to it already.
Blake had always liked cities better than small towns. Cities were anonymous, no one wanted to poke their nose in anyone else’s business; it was easy to disappear into the crowd in the city. At least it used to be …
‘Isn’t that your lawyer lady from the other day?’
‘Yup.’ He’d known she was there from the minute she appeared with her mismatched set of friends. His gaze found her in the crowded bar with the same accuracy as a heat-seeking missile.
‘Sure fills out a pair of jeans,’ Marty observed.
‘I’m sure Chrissy will be glad to hear you noticed.’
‘I’m married, not blind.’
Without her power suit she was different, there was no denying that. Dressed in hip-hugging jeans and a scoopnecked blouse that highlighted her narrow waist, pale skin and the swell of her breasts, it had been hard to ignore her presence since she arrived. If there’d been the remotest chance they might cross paths again, he would never have accepted Marty’s usual end-of-the-working-week invitation for a beer and a game of pool in the nearest bar to the restoration project they’d been working on in the West Village. But it was too late now. It was only a matter of time before she crossed the room.
Bending over to line up his shot, Blake’s gaze was drawn upward by the appearance of distinctly feminine, jeans-clad thighs at the other side of the table.
‘Gentlemen …’
And there she was.
Sinking a ball into the pocket in front of her before standing upright, he set the end of his cue on the floor, folding his fingers around it as he looked her over.
American pool halls had once been the exclusive realm of men who smoked cigars and drank beer while they growled and spit tobacco. Young truants cleaned tables and floors, racking balls for new games while they learnt pool hustling and miscreant behaviour. It had been a poor man’s men’s club, devoid of female company.
Blake couldn’t help thinking it would have been better for Olivia Brannigan if it had stayed that way.
Because the second his gaze swept over her, he had the exact same reaction he’d had the first time. The tips of his fingers itched to be thrust into her sleek blond mane and mess it up until it framed her face the way it would after a session of the kind of hot, sweaty, mutually gratifying sex he doubted she’d ever experienced. He wanted to set the pad of his thumb on her full lips and smear away any hint of lipstick before he set his mouth on hers, to place a palm to the small of her back, melding her body to his as—
He took a measured breath. ‘Want to play, do you?’
‘So it would seem.’
There was a brief spark of light in the cool blue of her eyes that suggested a challenge did it for her. The fact she’d answered in a low voice which could easily have been described as sultry didn’t escape him either.
‘Reckon you can take me on?’
‘I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?’
Indeed they would.
‘Rack ’em up, Marty.’
While Marty handed over his cue and started gathering balls from the pockets, Blake stepped around the table to issue a low warning. ‘If you’re over here to discuss my luck in the legacy department, you can forget it.’
‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ she replied brightly, ‘but I’m off the clock.’
Looking down at her from the corner of his eye, he saw her check the face of a neat wrist-watch. A wave of softly curled hair hid her profile from him until she lifted her chin and added, ‘As of an hour and ten minutes ago.’
‘You’re the kind of gal who’s never off the clock.’
‘Maybe you don’t know me as well as you like to think you do.’
‘Meaning I should get to know you better?’
‘We’re set,’ Marty said.
Blake held out an arm. ‘Ladies first.’
‘Don’t hold back on my account.’
He leaned towards her as he walked by. ‘Never do.’
‘She know what she’s doing?’ Marty asked as he joined him at the bar.
Time would tell. Since every town had a pool table, they’d been one of the few constants in Blake’s life growing up. He knew a lot of pool was simple physics. Watching men who’d been playing for most of their lives, he knew it was all about the angles, the action and reaction, knowing when to exert a little force and when to use a finer touch. He’d learnt a lot of valuable life lessons from the game of pool. Watching Olivia Brannigan in action turned it into something altogether different: less physics, a whole lot more to do with chemistry.
Didn’t matter which side of the table she took her shot from, either way it provided the kind of view any red-blooded male could appreciate. When she was on the far side of the table, bending over the cue, it allowed a clean line of sight down her blouse to a hint of coloured ribbon that became the equivalent of an apple in Eden. A side view let his gaze skim over the sweep of her spine, the sweet curve of her ass, down legs that would never have ended if it hadn’t been for the floor.
As a card-carrying one hundred per cent red-blooded male, his body’s reaction to her was understandable. Unwelcome, considering what she represented, but understandable. Not to mention a timely reminder he’d obviously been all work and no play for too long. Something he would have to rectify, soon.
Standing upright, her gaze collided with his as she walked around the table with a hint of a smile on her face. Turning, she bent over to line up her next shot, gently swaying her hips from side to side: right in front of him.
‘She’s good,’ Marty said appreciatively as a ball ricocheted off a cushion directly into a corner pocket.
Blake’s silent agreement had nothing to do with her pool skills. Setting his bottle down, he stepped towards her. ‘Hustling me, Liv?’
‘It’s Olivia,’ she informed him, twisting on her heel and backing away with a sweet smile. ‘And if I wanted to hustle you, wouldn’t it make more sense to play badly before making a wager?’
‘You just popped over here to play a friendly little game of pool with the boys?’
Standing still long enough to efficiently chalk the tip of her cue with short, sharp movements, she continued walking around the table. ‘Is that illegal?’
‘You’re the lawyer. You tell me.’
‘I know it’s not in the state of New York.’ She bent down. ‘But I’d have to check the rules for Canada.’
When another ball disappeared off the table, she smiled a small, satisfied smile as she stood up.
‘I’m not talking to you about the will.’
‘I didn’t ask you to.’
‘You’re going to.’
‘You can see into the future?’ A flicker of amusement sparkled in her eyes. ‘Wouldn’t happen to know next week’s lottery numbers, would you?’ She shrugged a shoulder as she walked around the table.
‘Not that you need them.’
‘You know I can take out a restraining order against everyone at your firm if I have to …’
‘Be a pretty long list of names.’
‘I’d know who to put at the top.’
When he set his palm on the wooden edge of the table as she bent over her cue again, a brief upward flicker of her lashes revealed what might almost have been taken for hesitation. Did she realise she was playing in the big leagues? Good. Considering her options? More likely. Looking back down the cue, she swayed her hips again, a move that could have been misconstrued as preparation for her next shot to the untrained eye. Blake recognised it for what it was.
What bugged him was how well it was working.
‘I didn’t know you’d be here, if that’s what you’re suggesting,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone.
That he was more likely to believe. How could she when he hadn’t known himself until a little under an hour ago? He never did from one Friday to the next. It was the nature of the job, the story of his life.
There was a sharp click and another ball disappeared off the table. ‘But, since we are here, maybe if you told me what the problem is, we could talk about it.’
‘We could—’ he rocked forward as she stood up ‘—if I hadn’t already said I wasn’t talking about it.’
‘You brought it up.’
‘Pity you’re off the clock then, isn’t it?’
She sighed. ‘It’s a lot of money to ignore.’
If money meant as much to him as she seemed to think it should, she might have a point. Rocking back on his heels, Blake stilled, his gaze scanning the crowd. He wondered what she’d think if she knew, given the option, he’d prefer every cent to disappear. He didn’t want to be responsible for thousands of people’s lives. A rolling stone could end up looking like the Rockies if it gathered that much moss.
‘I know it’s an intimidating prospect, running a company that large—’ her voice softened to a hum that washed across his senses with the same burn as the first sip of a smooth Scotch ‘—but there are people who have been with the company for decades …’
She was playing the guilt card again? When he looked down at her from the corner of his eye, she tacked on a soft smile and added, ‘They could run it for you.’
‘That’s exactly what I—’
Blake set an arm across Marty’s chest when he stepped forward to add his two cents.
‘You think I’m avoiding this because the leap from carpenter to CEO is beyond me?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
Not in so many words. But she was smarter than that.
Tucking the cue into the crook of his arm, he folded his arms across his chest. ‘So you’re gonna do what? Talk me through a pie chart? Help me pick out a suit for the office? Hold my hand while I go play with the big boys?’ He narrowed his eyes and smiled tightly. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, sweetheart.’
‘It’s called trying to help.’
‘That’s going well.’ He nodded. ‘For future reference—insulting my intelligence? Not a good place to start.’
Stepping around her to get to the bar, he lifted his bottle and tilted it to his mouth. His gaze followed her in the mirror as she followed him.
‘I wasn’t trying to insult you,’ she said in the sultry tone that travelled directly from ear to groin.
Blake gritted his teeth. Sure she wasn’t.
‘Would hardly be the best way to start a working relationship, would it?’
What working relationship?
‘It’s really none of my business why you want to turn your back on billions of dollars. But, like I said, the responsibility isn’t going anywhere. The board’s hands are tied. You have controlling interest in the company—they can’t do anything without your say-so. It’s how your father wanted it.’
The woman didn’t know when to quit.
