by Regina Hart
“Then you’re right. I need help with a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
Donovan glanced around the small coffee shop. The clientele were starting to change. Young men and women who were interested in doing more than drinking coffee on a Friday night were clearing out. Older couples wandered in from their nearby homes, looking for a quiet way to entertain themselves and an after-dinner snack they didn’t have to prepare. The air was strong with the scent of flavored coffee beans and fresh-baked pastries. The rumble of conversation ebbed and flowed, spiked now and again with gales of laughter.
He returned his attention to Rose. “I’m president of the Hope Homeless Shelter’s board of directors. We recently received confirmation from the city council that they’re considering permitting a pawnshop to open on the same block as one of our homeless shelters.”
“Are you opposed to having the pawnshop in your neighborhood?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Why?” Rose had a great poker face. Did they teach that in law school?
Donovan couldn’t tell from her tone or expression whether she agreed with his board’s position. The uncertainty was unsettling. “Studies have shown a link between increased crime and pawnshops. Our board has voted to file a statement with the city council explaining our opposition to the pawnshop’s location.”
“And you want my help to file this statement.”
“Yes.” Donovan hesitated. “There’s just one problem. Our budget is very restrictive. We don’t have the money to pay for legal services.”
“You want me to work pro bono.” Rose spoke without inflection. Her expression was sphinx-like.
Donovan tried to read her eyes. What was her reaction to his request? “We’re operating on a very tight budget. We hadn’t anticipated the need for extensive legal services.” It was a true statement. Still, he wasn’t comfortable making the excuses.
“Filing a legal statement is a lot of work. I can’t just sit down at a computer and whip something up.”
Donovan still couldn’t read her reaction. Was she going to say no? Her refusal would have consequences, though. “I realize a legal brief isn’t a quick and easy document. Your reunion lasts an entire weekend.”
Rose’s eyes narrowed. “Are you comparing writing a statement to a reunion weekend?”
“You’re asking me to give up an entire weekend and spend it trying to convince strangers that we’re in love.” Donovan gestured toward her with his coffee mug. “You’re an attractive woman, but that’s still a lot to ask.”
“It would be like a vacation for you.”
Donovan leaned closer. “Some vacation, surrounded by strangers. Having my every move planned. And it’ll be football season. Will the activities be scheduled around the NFL games?”
He thought he could see steam puffing from her ears. Rose leaned into the table. Donovan was briefly distracted by her scent, vanilla and cinnamon.
She lowered her voice. “I’ll pay for our registration and hotel. All you’ll have to do is show up.”
Paying for his coffee was one thing; she was not paying for his registration or hotel. “I’ll be at your beck and call for two whole days, possibly longer. And you’re requiring a great deal of acting skill.” He faked an apologetic expression. “Like I said, you’re a very attractive woman.” Stunning, in fact. “But I don’t know if there’s any chemistry between us.”
“Are you saying that if I don’t write and submit this statement for you for free, you won’t attend my reunion with me and pretend to be my boyfriend?” Rose’s generous lips thinned as she glared at him.
“Consider it a fair trade.” Donovan spread his hands.
They held each other’s gaze for several silent moments. For Donovan, it wasn’t a hardship. He kind of liked the way her wide cocoa eyes gleamed when she was irritated. His eyes traced the delicate curve of her clenched jawline and her small, stubborn chin.
“Fine.” Rose broke the brief quiet with a huff. “You drive a hard bargain. But if you agree to attend my reunion as my devoted and love-struck boyfriend, I’ll file your statement opposing the pawnshop’s plan to locate in the Hope Homeless Shelter’s neighborhood.”
Rose extended her slender, elegant hand across the table. Donovan shook it. His much larger hand closed over her graceful fingers. The sensation of her skin, soft and warm against his, traveled up his arm and settled in his chest. He wasn’t the only one who felt something—Rose stared at their joined hands, then lifted her gaze to his. She seemed surprised.
“I should be going.” She tugged free of him. She reached into her purse as she stood. “Thank you again for meeting with me. Here’s my card. Call me Monday, and we’ll arrange to get together to discuss your brief.”
“Rose.” Donovan put a hand on her arm to detain her—and because he wanted to touch her again. “Thank you for agreeing to help us. This really does mean a lot to our clients and their families.”
Rose nodded. “Have a good weekend.” She dashed off before he could wish her the same.
Donovan watched over her until she disappeared from the coffee shop. Then he studied his hand. He could still feel her skin like warm silk against his palm. He closed his fist to hold on to the sensation a little longer. Why would a woman as beautiful, interesting and intelligent as Rose Beharie need a fake boyfriend?
* * *
On Monday evening, Rose entered the fifth-floor offices of Anderson Adventures. Her black pumps were silent as she crossed the silver-and-black carpet toward the reception desk. The cool, comfortable decor seemed very understated for a multimillion-dollar company.
The nameplate of the attractive older woman seated behind the modern, modular front desk read Sherry Parks. She gave Rose a welcoming smile. “You must be Rose Beharie. You look so much like your sister.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sherry.” Rose offered the receptionist her hand. “My sister speaks very fondly of you.”
Iris’s description of Sherry had been spot-on. The older woman did resemble Doris Day with her pretty, wholesome features, blond bob and bright cornflower-blue eyes.
“Iris is a sweetheart. I miss seeing her every day.” Sherry released Rose’s hand. She picked up the telephone receiver and pressed a few buttons. “I’ll let Van know you’re here.”
As Sherry told Van she’d arrived for their 5:30 p.m. meeting to discuss his statement, Rose settled onto one of the gray guest chairs. She idly scanned her surroundings as she stood her briefcase on the floor beside her and balanced her purse on her lap. Despite its cool glass-and-metal decor, the reception area gave the impression of warmth and welcome.
Sherry replaced the phone. “Van’s on his way. Would you like some coffee?”
“I’d love some. Thank you.” Although Iris had warned her about the size of Anderson Adventures’ coffee mugs.
“Cream and sugar?” Sherry stood.
“Cream and sweetener, please.”
“I’ll be right back.” Sherry walked past other administrative desks, then disappeared into a back room.
Rose returned to her scrutiny of the reception area. The latest industry magazines were arranged across a tempered glass Caravan desk in the far corner. Framed covers of the company’s computer games were displayed on the eggshell walls. Interspersed with those images were candid photographs of happy employees, dating from decades earlier to present day.
“Here you are.” Sherry returned, carrying the largest coffee mug Rose had ever seen.
“If I finish this, I won’t sleep for the rest of the week.” Rose was only half joking. The silver-and-black mug looked like it held twenty ounces of coffee, at least. Rose relieved Sherry of its weight.
“The Andersons are addicted to coffee.” Sherry returned to her desk.
Rose considered the large mug
. How many of these minitubs of caffeine had Donovan consumed before meeting me for coffee Friday night?
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Donovan’s smooth baritone interrupted her thoughts.
“Not at all.” Rose stood, balancing the mug in her right hand. “Sherry made me quite comfortable.” She offered the receptionist a grateful smile.
Sherry’s blue eyes twinkled as she collected her purse and tote bag. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Rose. Please tell Iris I said hello.”
“I will.” Rose adjusted her purse on her left shoulder and collected her briefcase.
Donovan cupped Rose’s elbow to guide her down the hall, presumably toward his office. “Thanks, Sherry. Have a good evening.”
“You, too, Van,” Sherry called after them.
Rose walked beside Donovan past the frosted glass walls of the company’s offices. The warmth of his hand on her elbow through the linen material of her sapphire-blue blazer made it difficult for Rose to collect her thoughts. She had to clear her mind. Focus on something else. She—
Rose stopped short in the threshold to Donovan’s office. She’d glimpsed his name and title on the silver metal plate beside the door. Donovan stepped aside to let her enter before him. She wasn’t certain she wanted to.
“Are we meeting in here?” She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene in front of her.
“Yes.” He had the nerve to sound confused.
Was he blind to the disaster zone that was his work area? The spacious office looked as though a paper mill—perhaps several paper mills—had vomited across every surface of every piece of furniture in the room. Folders and printouts were strewn across his desk. Magazines and newspapers grew on top of his circular conversation table. File folders sat on the chairs around it. The two bulletin boards mounted to the wall on her left were covered with memos. Some appeared to be three sheets deep. Binders stood on the silver carpet.
“How do you find anything in here?” Rose gingerly entered the room.
Donovan walked past her. He moved a stack of magazines from one of the gray cushioned chairs around his conversation table to the floor beside his desk. He then dug through the turmoil on the right corner of his desk and liberated two manila folders, each about a half inch thick.
“I have a system.” He returned to the table with the folders.
“Prove it.” Rose once again looked around in disbelief.
“Wasn’t it Einstein who asked if a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, what does an empty desk mean?”
“Einstein never met you.”
Donovan’s burst of laughter startled Rose. She’d insulted him but instead of being offended, Donovan was amused. His face was alive with humor. The rich, warm sound vibrated in Rose’s lower abdomen.
“My first impression of you was wrong.” Donovan’s laughter ended, leaving a sexy grin in its place.
“What was it?” Do I really want to know?
“I thought you didn’t have a sense of humor.”
Is that the way I came across during our first meeting? Rose stiffened. Maybe Lily and Iris were right. She’d allowed her breakup with Benjamin to change her—and not for the better.
“I’m glad I could entertain you. But we’d better get started on your submission statement.” She settled onto one of the seats at the conversation table.
* * *
Donovan watched Rose cross her long, slender legs, visible beneath the hem of her conservative blue business dress. He chose the seat beside her. There was a chill in the air after the comment about her seeming humorless when they’d first met. He shouldn’t have said that. He’d lost ground with the only lawyer who’d agreed to help the shelter.
He handed Rose one of the manila folders. “I made a copy of all of our project documents for you.”
“Thank you.” Rose removed a pen from her purse. She flipped open the folder, then skimmed the memos, press releases and letters contained within. With her pen, she underlined several phrases. “You’ve already shared a lot of communication with the city council members.”
“Many of our clients are recovering addicts—drugs, alcohol or both. Most of them have been arrested and are going through a court-mandated rehabilitation program.” Donovan tried but failed to read Rose’s reaction to the information he’d given her. What did she think about the shelter’s clients and the neighborhood in which they lived?
“Does the shelter provide this program?” Rose pinned him with a look. In her eyes, he recognized a brilliant, capable lawyer. But would she be sympathetic to their cause?
“We offer drug and alcohol rehabilitation, in addition to job-search and some training services.” Donovan thought he saw a glint of admiration in her eyes. That was a good sign.
“How many clients do you have?” Rose returned her attention to the folder.
“That depends on the season. We average about one hundred men at Shelter West and about fifty women at Shelter East. The houses are next to each other.”
“And your primary objection to the proposed pawnshop is the nature of the business itself.” Rose’s voice lacked inflection.
“Our clients are at a vulnerable stage of recovery. Having a pawnshop a block away from the shelter would be too great of a temptation for them. It would give them easy access to a means of getting money for drugs and alcohol.”
“I see.” Rose nodded, underlining something on a document.
“Do you agree with us?” Donovan watched her closely.
“What I think doesn’t matter. I don’t have to agree with you to represent you.”
“But I want to know what you think.”
Rose hesitated. “As a member of the shelter’s board of directors, you know your clients and their needs better than the city council does.”
“But you don’t agree with us.”
“I understand your concern that the pawnshop would be a temptation to your clients.” Rose finally looked at him. “But that neighborhood is in desperate need of economic investment. Having a business move into that community could only help.”
“But we need the right business. And that’s not a pawnshop.” Donovan believed that with every fiber of his being. “We’re trying to strengthen this community. To do that, we need businesses that would attract other businesses. Pawnshops would attract more crime.”
“Most of them require valid photo identification to process transactions.” Rose gestured toward him with her silver Cross Pen. “It’s not in the best interest of pawnshop proprietors to deal in misappropriated property. Police regularly cross-check the stores’ inventory against theft reports. If the store is caught with stolen items, the owner is penalized.”
Her lawyer speak was turning him on. “It’s not a coincidence that neighborhoods with pawnshops also have high rates of property crime.”
“According to the National Pawnbrokers Association, less than one tenth of one percent of pawnshops deal in stolen goods.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve done my research.”
“So have I.” Donovan sat back on his chair. “It’s not just my clients that I’m concerned about. I’m looking at the community as a whole. It’s not just about the crime rate, which studies don’t dispute, by the way. These are low-income families. The high interest rates these shops charge for their so-called loans take advantage of poor people. This community is a vulnerable population. We can’t let them be further exploited.”
Rose stared at him in silence so intently and for so long that Donovan forced himself not to squirm under her regard. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head as though waking from a daydream. “It’s just... You could make me believe in heroes.”
Donovan’s face heated. He returned his attention to his folder. “I’m not a hero.”
“Real heroes
never see themselves that way.” Rose’s response was soft and low, almost inaudible.
He wasn’t a hero. These families had fallen on hard times just as his family had when he was a child. He was just trying to pay back. That didn’t make him a hero.
But the look in Rose’s eyes made him believe he could be.
Chapter 5
“Why am I here?” Lily must have asked variations of that same question a dozen times since she’d learned she and her sisters had been invited to the celebration party for the launch of Anderson Adventures’ latest computer game, Osiris’ Journey.
Rose rolled her eyes as she entered the Columbus Convention Center with her sisters Friday night. It had been eleven days since she’d met with Donovan to work on the Hope Homeless Shelter’s submission statement to the Columbus City Council. Since that initial face-to-face consultation, Rose had worked with Donovan via email to finalize the statement. She’d submitted it to city council that morning. It hadn’t been as easy working out the details of the letter’s language via email, but it had been less distracting. His handsome features hadn’t tempted her, and his smooth baritone hadn’t seduced her.
“You’re here because you didn’t want to embarrass me by declining Anderson Adventures’ gracious invitation to the three of us.” Iris delivered her explanation as patiently this twelfth time as she had the first time Lily had grumbled.
“It’s not as though you had anything better to do.” Rose followed Iris into the large ballroom reserved for the launch party. Her baby sister looked like a queen in her figure-hugging emerald dress.
Rose scanned the room. She told herself she wasn’t searching for Donovan. If she repeated that statement often enough, she might eventually believe it. What would Donovan think of her formfitting black dress?
Why do I care?
“Actually, I did have plans for tonight.” Lily’s voice was barely audible above the pop song blaring through the speakers.
“What were they?” Rose was puzzled. Lily hadn’t mentioned another appointment.
