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Her voice lowered. ‘I know you’re still grieving. The last thing you want right now is—’
‘Grieving?’ A burst of sarcastic laughter split the air as he set his bottle down with a slam and turned on her, frustration mixing with anger. ‘Lady, you don’t know anything about—’
‘Blake …’ Marty used a hand on his upper arm to hold him still and allow him time to take a breath; his voice was filled with the same rock-steady calmness he’d used in the old days when Blake had been prone to standing up to guys twice his size. It had been the curse of the new kid and since Blake had always been the new kid …
With a nod from Blake to indicate he was good, Marty stepped away. Blake looked at Olivia and saw she was staring at him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Not fear, he noted. Part of him respected the hell out of her for that when guys much bigger than her had been known to baulk. It was enough to make him step towards her again; the fact she stood her ground increased his perception of her as a woman who could hold her own.
He shook his head when his libido buzzed with the numerous possibilities that came with the thought. Strong women who could take him on both in and out of the bedroom—preferably without needing emotional entanglement—did it for him. Always had, always would.
He took a short breath. ‘As much of a pain in the ass as you’re proving to be, you didn’t deserve that.’
She arched a brow. ‘Is that an apology?’
‘It’s as close as I ever get to giving one.’ A corner of his mouth tugged wryly. ‘I’d run with it if I were you.’
Considering him with a tilt of her head, she came back with, ‘Know what you could do to make it up to me?’
Wasn’t going to like this, was he?
‘You know what the Warren Foundation is?’
And now he was an idiot again.
‘They’re hosting a benefit a couple of weeks from now. If you showed up—even for an hour or two—you might encourage people to reach deeper into their pockets to impress the new owner of the company.’ She shrugged as if she didn’t care one way or another if he showed. ‘As well as helping a worthy cause, you can meet some of the people who work for you in a social environment.’
‘You’re one of those women who calls in the middle of the night to tell a guy his phone is ringing, aren’t you?’
When she continued calmly holding his gaze, Blake wondered if she ever cut loose. What would it take to get the real Olivia Brannigan to come on down and—the question immediately jumped to the front of his mind—just how far was she willing to go to get what she wanted?
He was tempted to find out.
‘It’s at the Empire hotel,’ she added with a nod as if he’d already agreed, her gaze lowering to travel over his body from the middle of his chest to the toes of his boots.
Digging in the pocket of his jeans as he turned away, Blake frowned at the immediate response the invisible touch had on him. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘It’s formal. You’ll need a tux.’
‘I said I’ll think about it.’ Tossing several bills on the bar, he turned to face her again. ‘While I do, I suggest you think about what you’re getting yourself into.’
‘Meaning?’
He stepped closer, forcing her to lift her chin. Searching her eyes, he noted the spark it took a blink of long lashes to conceal and smiled a slow smile. As aware of him as he was of her, wasn’t she? Unless he was mistaken—which he doubted—she’d known exactly what she was doing around the pool table. She thought she was in control of the situation and could use her sexuality to her advantage. He was fine with her attempting the latter, but if she wanted to take him on at more than a simple game of pool there were a few things she needed to understand.
‘Meaning you gamble, you best be prepared to ante-up, so think long and hard about what you’re bringing to the table, sweetheart.’ He closed the gap and moved his face closer to hers, his gaze lowering to her mouth, then shifting sharply to tangle with hers. ‘Because I’ll collect, and I think you know exactly what I mean by that.’
The almost imperceptible narrowing of her eyes told him she’d got the message. Blake smiled lazily when the next thing he saw was a spark of light that said it was ‘game on’ as far as she was concerned.
It was enough, for now.
Walking across the crowded room without looking back, he swung open the door and stepped out into oppressively humid air, pacing up and down on the sidewalk while he waited for Marty. Maybe he should just get the hell on with it. The sooner he did something about offloading property, dumping stocks and signing things over to people who might want them, the sooner he could leave it behind and get on with his life. It was more constructive than waiting around for a hint of grief to make an appearance. Especially when the lack of it was starting to make him feel like a heartless son-of-a—
Shouldn’t he feel something? When he looked inside at the dark corner where he’d tucked away his memories of the past, there was nothing: a big, black vacuum of nothing. That should have made him feel guilty; but nope, still nothing. Not a thing. As if part of him was missing.
When the door swung open again, he made a snap decision. ‘Think you can keep an eye on the crew?’
‘Sure.’ Marty’s shrug wouldn’t have inspired confidence if Blake hadn’t known him better. ‘Do what you gotta do, Anders.’
That was that, then. Another thought occurred to him and he began to smile as they walked towards the subway station. No reason he couldn’t have some fun along the way. Never let it be said he couldn’t multitask.
Olivia Brannigan’s life was about to get interesting.
CHAPTER TWO
‘NOW, remember, you can’t kill a client.’
Be prepared to ante-up? He would collect? Who did he think he was? Inside her head, Olivia was laughing the derogatory laugh of a woman in serious self-denial. But who was she kidding? She hadn’t been able to resist a battle of wills since the second grade.
‘Potential client,’ she corrected, tucking her cellphone between her shoulder and her ear so she could reach into her briefcase. ‘And right now I’m not even sure I can work with this guy. He’s—’
‘Sexy as sin?’ Jo asked in a tone that suggested she was batting her eyelashes.
‘Not helping.’
Grimacing at the pain from a rapidly growing blister, Olivia checked the address on the folded piece of paper and lifted her gaze to the numbers above the doors in a neat row of brownstones. Being forced across the Brooklyn Bridge in searing midday temperatures to play messenger girl in the most inappropriate heels known to messenger-kind helped—as did the fact he’d demanded the files immediately.
Difficult clients she could handle. Raging sexual attraction to a man she might have to work with on a daily basis, not so much—and since a simple game of pool had felt a tad too much like foreplay …
Catching sight of a dumpster outside one of the houses, she checked for traffic and crossed the street.
‘You know what would help?’ Jo asked.
‘I’m not having sex with him,’ she answered firmly, wondering just who it was she was trying to convince. ‘He’s a client.’
‘Potential client and you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.’
Not under oath she couldn’t. Her imagination had been having a field day, particularly in the restless hours she spent tossing and turning in bed before her alarm went off.
The number above the door matched the one on the piece of paper. Olivia’s voice lowered to mutter, ‘Here we go.’
‘I’m just saying …’ cajoled the voice in her ear.
‘I know. I meant I’ve got to go. I’m here.’
‘Ooh, call me back with the blow-by-blow. I want details. What he’s wearing. How he looks. What he says. Don’t leave anything out!’
Olivia smiled. ‘I’m hanging up now.’
With her cellphone tucked safely away in a pocket at the front of her briefcase, she put her jacket on over her sleeveless blouse and buttoned it up as she walked up the steps to the open door, pausing to remove her sunglasses and check her appearance in a nearby window. Loud music echoed from the floor above while she sidestepped debris in the hall and sighed heavily. No air conditioning. Great.
‘Hello?’
The downstairs rooms were deserted but on the first floor landing the loud squeal of a power tool drew her to a room where she waved a hand to have her presence acknowledged. ‘Do you know where I can find Blake Clayton?’
The man pointed upward before continuing his work. On the second floor, she met a semi-naked man in shorts.
‘Blake Clayton?’
‘Top floor.’
Of course he was. She brushed her shoulder on a wall while trying to avoid a stepladder, and then twisted her neck to search for signs of damage to her jacket as she moved to the next set of stairs. It was getting hotter by the floor. Wasn’t hell supposed to be downstairs?
‘Whoa!’ Two large hands grasped her elbows when she caught her heel on a loose floorboard and stumbled forward. ‘Careful, lady.’
Scowling briefly at the dusty fingerprints semi-naked man number two had left on her linen sleeves, she forced a smile as she lifted her chin. ‘Olivia Brannigan from Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise. I wonder if—’
‘You should get that printed on a T-shirt,’ a rough-edged voice said above her head, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine. ‘Save time on the introductions.’
Her gaze lifted to where he was leaning casually on the banister, her breath catching. Did he look sexier than he had the last time? How was that possible? Before she could open her mouth, he turned and disappeared, leaving her to make her way up the stairs and peek through several doors until she found him again. It was beginning to feel as if she’d spent half her life looking for him.
‘I have the papers you requested.’
Swiping a cloth over his large hands, he ignored her and began staining the carved piece of wood laid out on a workbench in front of him.
‘It’s a list of personal assets and properties.’
‘You’d think I’d know that if I requested them.’
‘You didn’t request them?’ Not that she’d been there when the call came in, but Carrie on the front desk was normally pretty reliable when it came to—
‘Stalking me again?’
‘I have never stalked you.’
‘Some guys might be flattered.’
‘I don’t think your ego needs any help.’
Had she said that out loud? Maybe he hadn’t heard her over the echoing music? The corner of his mouth twitched. Oh, he’d heard. Well, as overjoyed as she was to be a source of amusement to him …
Looking for somewhere to set the file down, her gaze fell on a heavy bed with ornate scrollwork on the posts and a huge headboard carved with curling leaves and branches; incredibly lifelike birds and squirrels were scattered at random intervals. It was practically a work of art. Olivia glanced sideways at him as dense, dark lashes lifted and his intense gaze locked with hers.
The temperature in the room jumped several degrees, a bead of moisture trickling into her cleavage. The woman immediately wanted him to lick the same path it had taken. Even the professional’s mouth was dry.
‘Did you make that?’ She waved the file in the general direction of the bed.
‘Showing an interest in what I do the next step in your plan, is it?’
She had to know. ‘Are you this judgemental with every one or have I been singled out for special attention?’
‘You want my special attention, sweetheart, all you got to do is ask.’
Shaking her head, Olivia wondered why she was surprised. She should be getting used to it by now, and the accompanying reaction from her body when she realised she was standing within a few feet of evidence he was good with his hands.
‘You can leave the file.’
He was dismissing her after she’d trekked halfway across the city in temperatures the equivalent of the face of the sun? Olivia didn’t think so. Not till they’d cleared up a few things.
‘Mr Clayton.’
‘Blake.’
‘If I’m going to work with you—’
‘Work with me. Hmm.’ He dropped the brush in the can of wood stain. ‘Still haven’t figured it out, have you?’
‘Figured what out?’
‘Didn’t you go to some fancy law school to learn all this stuff?’ He wiped his hands on the cloth again.
‘ All what stuff?’
‘Stuff like who calls the shots.’ Tossing the cloth aside, he continued holding her gaze. ‘You won’t be working with me. If I hire you, you’ll work for me.’
Technically true, but she could argue a technicality. ‘I’m employed by—’
‘Seriously—’ the corner of his mouth tugged again ‘—consider the T-shirt.’
‘They pay my salary.’
‘And Warren Enterprises pays them. Way I figure it—since I’ve just been handed the keys to the kingdom—that means I pay you.’
Not until he signed the papers, he didn’t.
‘So if I’m stepping up to the plate—’ a potent smile began to form on his lips ‘—you get to be at my beck and call, day and night. I holler, you come a-runnin’.’
Summoning the professional demeanour expected of an employee of one of Manhattan’s most respected law firms, Olivia stopped herself from running through the endless possibilities involved with being at his beck and call, day and night.
Wait a minute. She was playing messenger girl so he could prove a point? Her eyes narrowed. ‘Trust me when I tell you I’m not paid anywhere near enough for that kind of service. I’m good at what I do, Mr Clayton. That’s why I’m here. I can work with you, represent Warren Enterprises’ best interests and ensure a smooth transition for you to head of the company. But I’m not going to bring you coffee, I’m not going to jump when you snap your fingers—’ she stepped across the room and set the file down beside him ‘—and I’m not a messenger.’
The slow hand clap started when she was halfway across the room. ‘You practice that on the way over?’
Olivia kept going, the words ‘justifiable homicide’ jumping into her head. She was almost at the door when a large hand captured her elbow, causing her to jerk in surprise. She swung round. She was a heartbeat away from allowing the training of her former career to kick in before she realised where she was and who he was. Horrified by what she might have done, she took an immediate step back, bumping her spine into the doorframe.
She closed her eyes. ‘Please tell me you didn’t stain this doorframe before I got here.’
When she opened her eyes again, he was setting a palm on the wood beside her neck. Immediately glancing at her one remaining escape route, she watched another large palm flatten on the wall beside her waist. Like it or not, she wasn’t going anywhere. Not without hurting him.
‘Nice speech,’ he commented.
