So was the prospect of being able to spend her days doing something other than typing until her fingers cramped and her eyes crossed.
Leaving The Dungeon was a huge bonus, as well. Now she might be able to catch the occasional glimpse of sunshine out her window because, yes, she had a window. And a spectacular view of Rittenhouse Square, with its bright green grass, reflecting pool and benches. Swiveling in her chair, she looked again, taking another second to enjoy the sky’s vivid blue and the sight of several kids racing around there, laughing and climbing the lion and goat statues. The thrill of having something so lovely to look at couldn’t have been greater if Jake had presented her with an original Picasso for her wall.
But the office itself...that was a problem.
It wasn’t a paralegal’s office. Not by a long shot.
This was a lawyer’s office, and a nice one, at that.
Jake’s corner office next door was nicer, true, but her office was large, filled with expensive and elegant leather and mahogany furniture, lush green plants, a TV and DVD player, and beautiful framed photograph prints on the walls. And, of course, there was the view.
When the other secretaries got wind of this five-star treatment, she suspected they would not be happy. Not at all.
She’d worry about that later, though. For now, she needed to—
Her desk phone beeped, and then the receptionist’s voice came over the speaker. “Charlotte? I’ve got Jake’s mother on line one. She sounds upset, so brace yourself.”
Wait, what? “Hang on. Am I supposed to take Jake’s calls?”
“Not normally, but his secretary went to the dentist and Jake didn’t answer my page, so I’m putting her through to you. Good luck.”
With that dire send-off, the receptionist hung up.
Charlotte studied the receiver for a second, half afraid that it would strike like a rabid dog if she got too close, took a deep breath and answered.
“Hi, Mrs. Hamilton. I’m Charlotte Evans, Jake’s new paralegal. Can I help you?”
“Jake’s new paralegal?” asked a voice that was cool and clipped. “Well, God bless you, dear. Do yourself a favor and have him microchipped so you can keep track of him. That would make life easier for all of us.”
“Aah,” Charlotte said.
“I don’t suppose you know where the boy is right now, or why he’s not answering his cell, do you? This is an emergency.”
Lurching to her feet, Charlotte hurried to her door and peered around it into Jake’s office. No Jake. With growing desperation, she glanced up and down the deserted hallway. Still no Jake.
“I don’t see him in his office, so I’m assuming he just stepped out for a minute. Hopefully he’ll be right back. But now you’ve got me worried. I hope no one’s been injured or—”
“Injured?” Mrs. Hamilton emitted a scoffing little laugh. “It’s worse than that. Although I’m going to break Jake’s leg if he doesn’t show up soon. No, it’s the photo shoot today.”
“Photo shoot?”
“Yes, dear, try to keep up. The whole family is here at Integrity—”
The Hamiltons’ estate, Charlotte thought. Thank God she knew that much about the Hamilton dynasty.
“—getting ready for the photo shoot for Eminence magazine. They’re interviewing me because of my charity work for foster children. You probably know all about the Tuck Me In Foundation already, right? Of course you do.”
“Well, actually—”
“And you know about the charity gala in November, I’m sure. Have you got your ticket already? They’re selling fast, so you’d better snap yours up if you haven’t. They’re only four hundred dollars.”
Four hundred U.S. dollars?
Dumbfounded, Charlotte held the receiver away from her ear and stared at it. Did this woman not have the faintest idea how much the lowly staff members made here at Hamilton, Hamilton and Clark?
“Just make your check payable to the Tuck Me In Foundation.”
“Of course,” Charlotte murmured, figuring it didn’t matter what she said anyway. Listening was clearly not Mrs. Hamilton’s thing.
“Anyway, where is Jake? I need him here yesterday.”
See? There was the proof. The woman had no idea how to listen.
“Like I said before, Mrs. Hamilton, I can’t find Jake right now. I’m so sorry—”
Without warning, Jake walked in, holding two cups of coffee and a paper bag from Starbucks. Apparently he’d heard that last sentence and realized who she was talking to, because his eyes widened and he shook his head in a violent no.
I’m not here, he mouthed.
Charlotte gave him a glare as reproachful as she could make it and then focused on the most pressing issue, which was getting off the phone with Mrs. Hamilton.
“—but as soon as I see him, I’ll make sure he calls you. Have a wonderful day,” Charlotte added.
“But—”
“Goodbye,” Charlotte said sweetly, then hung up and folded her arms across her chest. “That was your mother, in case you’re interested.”
“I know.” Jake put the bag on the desk and handed her one of the coffee cups. “Why do you think I didn’t want to get on the phone? What was that all about, anyway?”
“She’s having a conniption because apparently you’re due at some big photo shoot. Like, right now.”
Jake, who’d produced a pumpkin scone from the bag and had by now taken a huge bite, turned a nasty shade of green. “That’s not today, is it?” he asked out of one corner of his overstuffed mouth.
She touched an index finger to her nose. “Bingo.”
He groaned.
Charlotte laughed. “How bad could it be?”
He stared at her. “How can you ask me that, having just talked to my mother?”
“Well, you’d better get going. She’s probably calling the police for an APB on you right now.”
Her cell phone, which was in her jacket pocket, vibrated. Fishing it out, she took a quick glance at the display.
“I’m so sorry, Jake. I really need to take this.”
Waving a hand, he took another bite of scone. “Go ahead.”
Charlotte answered the phone by the third buzz. “Mom? Hi. How’re you doing?”
“Oh, fine, honey,” her mother said airily. “I just got home and I’m about to grab some lunch. Don’t worry about me.”
Charlotte strained her ears for the sounds of any unusual inflections in her mother’s voice, but she sounded happy and energetic, thank goodness. “Do you have enough to eat? What about dinner—”
“Yes, Char. How are you?”
Charlotte surveyed Jake, who’d slouched into one of the visitors’ chairs on the other side of her desk and was sipping his coffee, showing no signs of heading to the photo shoot anytime soon.
“I’m good. Well, except that Roger got called into surgery and bailed on me. Again. But Harry’s asleep right now, and my boss is here, so I’d better try to get some work done. Gotta go. Love you—”
“Well, why don’t I look after him?” Mom interjected.
“Why? Because you just got home from physical therapy three minutes ago. You should be taking a nap, not watching a hyperactive toddler.”
Jake had, by now, demolished the scone and was wiping his fingers with a napkin. He hadn’t bothered with any pretense of not listening to her conversation, and at these words, his face darkened with obvious concern.
Mom huffed loudly. “That’s ridiculous. I feel fine right now, and I’ll feel better if I get to see my grandson today. Bring him on over on your lunch break.”
“But—”
“See you soon. Bye!”
Mom hung up.
Jake didn’t waste any time nailing Charlotte with that penetrat
ing gaze of his, the one that had a knack for stripping her bare. “Your mother’s sick.”
Sick.
Well, that was a succinct summary, although it didn’t begin to cover the simmering terror that had become such a big part of their lives. Shrugging, she smoothed one side of her hair and focused on not looking as vulnerable as she suddenly felt.
“She’s had heart issues. And a couple procedures.”
“I’m sorry.”
Charlotte tried to smile. “She seems pretty perky today, though. And she’s back at work part-time. She’s an elementary school teacher.”
“That’s noble work.”
“I know. And she’s good at it. I hope she’s able to keep working for a while yet.”
Thankfully, Jake seemed to sense that the topic was shaky ground for her. He got up and gave his hands a decisive clap. “Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll drop Harry off first and then head to Integrity. With any luck, we’ll be there in less than an hour—”
Charlotte raised a hand.
He pointed to her. “Question in the back? Yes. Charlotte, go ahead.”
“Excuse me, but what is this we business? I’m assuming you mean the royal we, right, because why would your paralegal go to some photo shoot with you?”
“So we can discuss our caseload and your duties,” he said, as though this was the most natural proposition in the world. “I’ve got a big trial coming up in Pittsburgh soon. Lots of documents and witnesses for you to manage. Anything else?”
“Yes.” Charlotte pointed to the TV. “I thought you wanted me to start with the deposition reviews.”
“Oh, that can wait.” He headed for the door. “Meet me in the reception area in five minutes.”
Wow. Apparently you really needed to be able to turn on a dime around here.
“Wait,” she called. “You forgot your bag. And thanks for the coffee, by the way.”
He paused on the threshold. “That’s for you. I thought you might like a pumpkin scone.”
“Really?” Since she was starving, this news made her break into a thrilled and grateful grin as she peeked into the bag. “And what’s this little doughnut with chocolate icing?”
“That’s for Harry. If he ever wakes up. I figured my life wouldn’t be worth living if I didn’t bring him a treat, too.”
“You were right.” This unexpected thoughtfulness touched her squarely in the heart. As a mother and sometimes caretaker for her own mother, she spent a lot of her time thinking about the needs of other people.
It was rare that anyone thought about hers.
“Thank you,” she said. “You’re so sweet.”
She’d expected a breezy reply. It’s nothing, or, I always bring treats for my paralegal on Mondays.
So she was surprised when his expression clouded over, leaving troubled eyes and a grim jawline, as though she’d hit some invisible but tender nerve. They stared at each other for a quick second, and she felt the electrical impulses dance across her skin.
He looked away first. Nodding, he turned and walked out.
That was the dangerous thing about spending time—any time—with Jake, she thought, watching him go and knowing she’d feel the lingering thrill of awareness whether he was in the room with her or not.
They affected each other in unexpected but powerful ways.
Chapter 4
“This is it.” Charlotte pulled her car up in front of a house that was little more than a white shoe box with a black roof. Surrounded by a chain-link fence and sporting weathered siding and green awnings over the windows, it looked as though it had seen its prime in the 1950s. But the lawn was lush and green, the flower pots were beautiful explosions of pink and white begonias, and the white wicker furniture on the minuscule porch looked freshly painted. “I’ll be right back.”
Ducking her head to avoid looking at Jake, she climbed out the driver’s side and hurried to unstrap Harry from his seat in the back.
Jake watched her, wishing he could wave a wand and rescue her from her obvious embarrassment. He didn’t care about how much money she and her mother had or didn’t have.
He just wanted her to look at him again.
The awkwardness had started back at the firm’s parking lot, where they’d had to decide whose car to take. For the first time in his overprivileged life, he’d felt... Was ashamed too strong a word?
No, he decided. It wasn’t.
His car, which was in pride of place in one of the numbered spaces that belonged only to those members of the firm whose name began with Ham—and ended with—ilton, was a big-ass leased black BMW sedan, with every option a luxury car could sport, except a live-in chauffeur and masseuse. The payments were in the thou-a-month range, and he traded the thing in every year for the latest model.
And what did he use the car for? All the important things in life, such as going to work, the gym and the clubs. That was about it.
And what was Charlotte driving?
A Civic that had to be twelve years old if it was a day, and had the interior room for either a purse or a bag of groceries, but probably not both, and especially not with Harry’s car seat and other accessories taking up so much space in the back.
And what did Charlotte use her ancient but pristine and clearly well-loved car for? Oh, nothing important, probably. Just driving her son around, driving to the firm, where she worked long hours for little pay, and driving to law school, because she wanted to improve her life.
Oh, and probably driving to church, because he had a feeling that was how she rolled.
He worked hard too, and he was a childless single man, which meant that he was free to accumulate all the expensive toys his heart had desired. But if he took a quick survey of five random people and asked them who was more deserving of the nice wheels, he had no doubt which way the vote would go.
And that shamed him.
He didn’t like shame. He wasn’t familiar with it, either, which was typical, he supposed, when your parents had money, paid for your education and generally cushioned you from life’s rough edges.
Who had ever cushioned Charlotte? Anyone?
And how was this for irony: she was also ashamed of her circumstances. It was obvious in her flushed cheeks and ducked head, and the way she’d given her car a worried once-over when they had decided she should drive on account of the car seat in back, swiping at a crumb on the passenger seat before he got in, as though his ass was too good to sit on anything but the finest Corinthian leather.
Please.
“I’ll just run Harry in,” she said, slinging the drowsy boy over her shoulder and grabbing the diaper bag, “and then I’ll be right— What’re you doing?”
He climbed out of the car, ignoring the slight note of alarm in her voice. “I’m getting out.”
Her eyes had gone wide. “I can see that. But why?”
“Because it’s hard to meet your mother in the car,” he told her.
“But—”
He understood her consternation. Typically, if he was presented with the option of meeting some woman’s parent or, say, walking barefoot over red-hot coals, he’d start taking off his shoes and socks. But in Charlotte’s case, he seemed to be ruled by his fierce curiosity. If he let this opportunity to learn more about her and her family slip by, he suspected he’d regret it for weeks to come.
Typically, he didn’t feel regret.
Which was further proof that there was nothing typical about his reactions to Charlotte.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I know she just got home from physical therapy. I just want to say hi. Let’s go.”
Taking the heavy diaper bag off her arm—she shouldn’t have to manage every freaking thing in life by herself—he strode up the walk. Her mother already had the door open
and was waiting for them with her hands on her hips and a Martha Stewart white apron tied around her trim waist.
Wearing gym shoes and a powder-blue tracksuit with white stripes down the sides, she was an older and shorter version of Charlotte, which meant that she was bright-eyed and beautiful. He hadn’t been sure what to expect when he had heard about the heart attack, but she was the picture of glowing health. Her chin-length hair was thick and sleekly black, except for a distinguished stripe of white down one side behind her ear, and her skin was nice and rosy.
“Well, who is this, come to see me?” she called with a delighted smile. He had the feeling that Charlotte—or anyone, for that matter—could show up, unannounced, with a busload of tourists expecting a steak and lobster dinner within the hour, and Mrs. Evans would still be this warm and welcoming. “If I’d known a handsome man was going to stop by, I’d’ve put on some lipstick.”
Jake grinned, liking her already. He liked her even better when the thrilling scent of vanilla wafted out of the door and hit him in the nose.
“Jake Hamilton.” He held out his hand and Mrs. Evans shook with a surprisingly firm, two-handed grip. “I work at Charlotte’s firm. Nice to meet you.”
“Let’s see here,” Mrs. Evans said, tapping an index finger to her lip and furrowing her brow. “Your name is Hamilton. Charlotte works at Hamilton, Hamilton and Clark. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you’re one of the owners of the firm. Am I right?”
Jake opened his mouth to answer.
“Yes, you’re right, Mama,” Charlotte muttered, striding up the walk with Harry, who had by now cracked open his bleary eyes and was rubbing them with his fists. “He’s one of my bosses, okay? Stop flirting.”
“Does my flirting bother you, Jake?” Mrs. Evans asked.
“Not hardly,” Jake told her, winking.
Charlotte, who didn’t seem to care for the growing camaraderie between him and her mother, scowled. Her obvious displeasure grew when Mrs. Evans all but snatched Harry out of her arms and smothered one of his fat cheeks with kisses while he squealed with delight.
“Will you let me carry this boy, please?” she asked her mother. “He’s so heavy now, and I don’t want you to get too tired.”
Case for Seduction (Kimani Romance) Page 5
