He did so, his wide shoulders blocking out the back of his tan leather chair. She was aware of him studying her, and was experienced enough to know he was impressed by what he saw.
Despite her dislike of him, she had to concede the admiration was mutual. He was six feet two at least, with the build of a rugger player. No, a coach might be a better analogy, taking into account the sprinkling of grey hair among the gleaming black at his temples. Piercing, deep-set eyes, almost as dark, were set beneath well-defined brows, while his nose was firm, the slight bump that marred it from perfection enhancing his rampant masculinity. His mouth was wide, his chin pugnacious, and his hands—which he used with such clever effect in court to punch home a point—were narrow, with tapering fingers.
She was thankful the desk separated them. To some degree at least, it lessened the pull of his personality.
'Do you have a site?' she asked crisply.
'Yes. In Bel Air. About two acres in all, and I want the existing house pulled down.'
Leslie didn't hide her surprise. 'Couldn't it be altered to suit you?'
He shook his head. 'If we compromise on the design, one or other of us will end up dissatisfied.' 'I can't see you compromising, Mr Jordan. But it seems a terrible waste to buy a house and demolish it.'
'I bought the land, Miss Watson. I consider the house expendable.'
People too, she thought bitterly, but aloud said: 'It's your money, of course, but I'd prefer not to waste it. Alterations are costly, but less so than starting from scratch.'
'Obstinate, aren't you?' he smiled. 'OK, how soon can you take a look at the place?'
'I'm tied up till the end of next week,' she lied. It would do him good to wait!
'Next week?' He looked affronted, then gave her another smile. 'What about one evening then, or the weekend maybe?'
'I work office hours, Mr Jordan.'
This was untrue, but she had no intention of obliging him. Besides, instinct told her that her lack of enthusiasm would make him all the keener to engage her.
'I'd be grateful if you could make it an evening,' he persisted, proving her theory. 'Then we can have dinner afterwards to discuss my needs.'
'As regards decor?' she queried icily.
'And food!' he grinned. 'After all, if you're designing my kitchen, you'll want to know whether I'm a vegetarian, a raw-food buff, or a meat-and-two-veg man.'
'I'd say crisp salad and rare steak,' she retorted. 'The bloodier the better!'
His silence was startled, then he burst out laughing. 'Was that an inspired guess or have you been checking up on me?'
'Neither. I simply know your professional reputation. You go for the jugular, Mr Jordan, so I assume you don't flinch at the sight of blood.'
His smile faded. 'I do my job—as I assume you do yours.'
She inclined her head, and flicked through her appointment book. 'Shall we say seven-thirty on Friday the seventh?'
'Morning or evening?'
'Morning.'
His eyes widened, and she noticed they were not as dark as she had originally thought, for there were gold flecks in them, sparked off by anger, she guessed happily, though he gave no sign of it as he answered her.
'Suits me fine.' He removed a card from the top pocket of his impeccably tailored grey silk jacket, and scribbled the address.
Leslie took it from him without bothering to look at it, not caring whether or not she gave an impression of lack of interest. She rose and held out her hand. 'Goodbye, Mr Jordan.'
His clasp was firm as he took it briefly in his. Then he strode across the room and out of the door, closing it carefully behind him.
Considering her lack of cordiality, she wouldn't have been surprised had he slammed it, and she saw his control as an added sign of his strength. He would make a formidable opponent, and she knew it wouldn't be easy to find his vulnerable spot. Still, nothing ventured nothing gained. The word 'gain' left a sour taste in her mouth, reminding her of her stepfather and all the other people who had fallen prey to Dane Jordan's ruthless inquisitions and greed- inspired demands.
When the day of their appointment finally came— the week had seemed so interminable that many times she had nearly called him to say she could see him earlier—she was no nearer a plan of action than when he had walked into her office, and hoped that meeting him again would provide her with the answer.
Familiarity with Bel Air made it easy for her to find the address he had given her. It was set high up in the lush green hills, and the skyline of Los Angeles acted as a stunning backdrop to the property, which was set some fifty feet back from the road, and hidden behind a high stone wall.
Dane Jordan was waiting for her in the driveway, standing beside an inexpensive Honda. Nastily she wondered if such a car was an affectation or a genuine desire to conserve fuel, as the sticker on the back proclaimed. If so, it was his only concession to economy, for his custom-tailored alpaca suit, pale blue silk shirt, and crocodile Gucci loafers shrieked money. His cuff-links, tie-pin, and Rolex quartz watch were all gold, and she wondered disparagingly if he wore a gold chain round his neck too!
'You're very punctual,' he greeted her. 'That gives you a distinct advantage over other women!'
'Clearly you've been mixing with the wrong kind,' she observed.
His smile thinned. 'Are you always this prickly, Miss Watson, or is there something about me that brings out the worst in you?'
First point to me! Leslie thought elatedly. A minor one, true, but it was useful to know he cared whether he was liked or not.
'I assure you I'm not treating you any differently from my other clients, Mr Jordan.'
'Then you must be a brilliant architect, for them to put up with you!'
'If you don't like my manners, you're free to find someone else.'
'I might just do that,' he drawled. 'But first I'll listen to your ideas, and see if your talent outweighs your temperament!' He dangled a door-key in front of her. 'Now, how about the grand tour?'
Leslie fell in step beside him. He towered above her, which was a sufficiently unusual occurrence for her to be aware of it; aware too of the muscles bulging beneath his navy jacket which, despite the precision of its cut, it did little to hide. It was as if he were deliberately proclaiming his masculinity. No wonder women chased after him to represent them in court and bed them out of it! He really was a handsome brute. Yet there was nothing brutish in his manner. If anything he was the epitome of the gentle giant.
'Could you give me some idea of what you want?' she asked as they entered the spacious entrance hall, with its central staircase leading up to a wide, circular landing.
For the next hour, as they tramped from room to room, he did just that, explaining that he required space for a private art gallery, a new master bedroom incorporating a jacuzzi and sauna, and an indoor squash court
'I see no problems,' Leslie told him. 'If we knock down some of the interior walls, you'll have more than enough space.'
'Then I suggest you draw up the plans.'
'I can give you a pretty good idea here and now, if you have the imagination to picture it, Mr Jordan.'
He rubbed his cheek with a supple brown finger. 'I've been accused of many things, Miss Watson, but lack of imagination isn't one of them! Fire away.'
As concisely as possible, she did. It was interesting that a man who hassled and interrupted to such good effect in court should be capable of listening in total silence, and only when she came to a final stop did he speak.
'You've grasped my requirements brilliantly, Miss Watson. If I had a hat, I'd take it off to you!'
She smiled faintly, reluctant to accept his praise. 'I'll let you have some drawings in a couple of weeks. Then you'll get a better idea of what I have in mind.'
'Can't you make it one week?'
'I'm afraid not. You'll have to take your place in the queue.'
'Seems I have no option,' he said. 'But I hope it only applies professionally. I'd like to take you to
the Oscar Awards on Monday.'
Leslie was too astounded to reply, not so much because he had asked her out—she had been expecting it and had already decided to refuse—but that he should invite her to the Oscar Awards when tickets were harder to come by than moondust! Despite her earlier decision to turn him down, she was very tempted to accept, and as if aware of her hesitation, he gave a wry smile.
'I can see it's me you're undecided about, Miss Watson, not the ceremony! Am I really so unattractive that I have to resort to bribery?'
'Not at all. But I usually try to keep my business and social life separate. It's less complicated that way.'
'You say "usually". -So I assume you sometimes make an exception?'
How typical of him to pounce on her slip of the tongue. 'You're very persistent, Mr Jordan,' she observed.
'Because you're very lovely, Miss Watson.'
'When we first met, you said you preferred efficiency to beauty,' she reminded him.
'In business,' he chuckled, and she noticed how much younger he looked when he relaxed. Yet he still exuded an air of command, and she knew that whatever his mood, it would be dangerous to take him lightly.
'Perhaps now would be a good time for me to apologise for that remark,' he added ruefully.
'You mean it wasn't true?'
'I mean beauty plus intelligence is an unbeatable combination.' He watched her with darkening eyes. 'Am I forgiven?'
'As I'm accepting your invitation, I can't very well say no! What time shall I be ready?'
'I'll collect you at five.'
'So early?'
'They specifically ask you to be in your seats on time. Besides, it's fun watching the celebrities arrive.'
'You were lucky to get tickets,' she couldn't resist commenting as he walked her back to her car.
'It comes from having clients in high places!' he joked. 'I've handled half the divorce cases in Hollywood in the past few years, and as they say, one favour—and in some cases two or three!—deserves another.'
Leslie stiffened at this reminder of why she was agreeing to see him. What a shock he would get if she told him she was Robert Webb's stepdaughter, assuming he even remembered who Robert was! On the other hand, if he did, he probably thought of him as one more rich old man who had made a fool of himself over a girl young enough to be his daughter, and who deserved to pay handsomely for the shortlived pleasure.
'Don't you ever get a conscience about the kind of law you practise?' she asked carefully.
He seemed surprised by the question. 'Why should I?'
'Because of the misery you cause. Wouldn't it be more rewarding to save marriages rather than kill them off?'
'I'm a lawyer, not a marriage-guidance counsellor.' One black eyebrow rose quizzically. 'Sounds like you've sat in on one of my cases!'
How far dared she go? she wondered. She didn't want to spoil a beautiful friendship before it had even begun! Yet she had to say something. 'I can't be impressed when a man has no respect for his own sex, Mr Jordan. And the way you try to destroy the husbands of your clients is appalling.'
His mouth tightened, and she knew she had overstepped the mark.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I've no right to be so critical.'
'You're entitled to your opinion. And your assessment of me isn't far short of the mark. I enjoy finding a man's Achilles' heel and pounding away at it until it's pierced. Maybe that's why I started off as a public prosecutor!'
And you clearly still see yourself as one, Leslie thought mutinously, but knew better than to say so. She had said enough for one day.
'Feel free to be honest with me too,' she said instead, as they reached her car. 'Like you, I respect the truth.'
'I'll remember that, though I don't promise to act on it. I don't want to risk having my face slapped!'
She had to laugh. 'Wise man! I pack a mean punch. But I'd still rather be told the truth. I work with four male architects, so I'm not used to being treated with kid gloves!'
'I'd like to treat you with chocolates and dolls,' he teased. 'When you laugh, you look like a child.'
'A twenty-six-year-old one,' she informed him. 'And in a city where twenty-two is considered ancient, I'm already over the hill!'
'Even at seventy-two you'll be a stunner,' he corrected. 'You've the kind of looks that last.' He examined her features with such slow deliberation that Leslie felt her cheeks grow warm. 'In fact I can't figure out why you haven't been snapped up—or are you divorced?'
'No,' she smiled. 'I'm still waiting for the right man to come along.'
'Not strictly a career girl, then?'
'Not strictly. I want a family and I'm prepared to take time off to have one.' She saw his features soften, and all at once got the first, faint glimmer of a plan that might, with luck, pay him back for the misery he had caused so many people. 'In fact,' she lied, 'I'd stay a housewife till my children were grown up.'
'You surprise me. Considering your earning power, that would be quite a sacrifice.'
'Money isn't everyone's Holy Grail, Mr Jordan.'
'Meaning it's mine?'
'Why else do you demand crippling alimony for women who clearly don't deserve it? Most of your clients only marry for what they can get out of it when they're divorced!'
'If a man's too stupid to realise the sort of wife he's chosen, he deserves to be taken to the cleaners,' he shrugged.
'Do you ever intend marrying?' she asked sweetly.
His lower lip curved up at the corners, as if he had been asked this many times before. 'No, I don't. I know better than to put my head in a noose! Anyway, why pay for what you can have for free?'
'Apart from which, wives grow old,' Leslie said gently.
'You have me taped, haven't you?'
I certainly have, she thought. And I'll soon have you bound, trussed and begging for mercy!
'You haven't answered me,' he said.
'I was just wondering whether you'll be dating twenty-year-olds when you're sixty!' she replied.
There was a telling silence.
'You've made your point, Miss Watson,' he murmured. 'But at least I'll avoid the ultimate stupidity of marrying them and being made a fool of by some lawyer like myself! I've worked too hard for what I have to give it away to some scheming gold-digger.'
'You've a pretty low opinion of women.'
'I've a pretty low opinion of people in general,' he replied candidly. 'I'm no great believer in the ultimate goodness of humanity.'
This was an area Leslie had no wish to explore; not that she disagreed with him on that score, but because she had no desire to find too many points of similarity with him! She had disliked him for too long to change her mind about him now.
Her glimmer of a plan was becoming a bright beam, and she saw how to put the first part of it into action. Although she had accepted his invitation to the Oscar Awards, she would let him down at the very last minute! That would make him furious as hell! Dane Jordan, normally seen at every smart function with a beautiful girl on his arm, would have to miss this one, or go alone!
'Why the smile?' he asked.
Instantly she composed her features. This man was too quick by half, and if she wasn't careful he would soon be reading all her thoughts.
'I was debating what to wear for the ceremony,' she murmured.
'You'd look good in anything,' he drawled. 'And better still in nothing.'
'Do you always say the expected?'
'Women do expect it!'
'This one would appreciate it if you didn't. Or does your mind only go along one groove?'
She heard the swift intake of his breath and knew he found her rudeness unusual and provoking.
'Ill try not to let it,' he said quietly. 'But you've got to admit you're not run-of-the-mill.'
'Now that's a compliment I appreciate, Mr Jordan,' she smiled.
'Do you think you could send me one back?'
'If you give me the opportunity!'
He laughed and open
ed the car door for her. 'I'll collect you at five sharp,' he repeated as she slipped into the driving-seat. 'Grab a sandwich first, though. The show goes on for hours, as you probably know.'
She nodded and turned on the ignition, driving away before he could say any more.
CHAPTER THREE
All weekend Leslie was in a fever of excitement, anticipating Dane Jordan's fury when she rang to cancel their date.
How late could she leave it? If he was collecting her at five he would have to be on his way by four-thirty. So she would call him at four twenty-five. Or would he perhaps change at his office? But no. She remembered his apartment was above it. Pity she didn't have a video phone to see his face when she told him she wouldn't be going with him! She hugged the thought to herself, enjoying it the nearer the time came.
Luckily Monday was busier than usual for her, and she spent most of it out of the office with a client, inspecting different building materials for the small apartment block she was designing for him.
It was three-thirty when they parted, and she went straight home. In the confines of her own four walls she paced nervously to and fro, looking at the telephone constantly but knowing she daren't pick it up until the last possible moment. The one thing she wasn't going to do was give Dane Jordan time to find a replacement for her!
At four-twenty precisely she opened the telephone directory and searched for the number of his apartment. To her dismay it wasn't listed! What a fool she was not have anticipated he would be ex- directory! With his reputation, some poor guy he had 'taken to the cleaners' might otherwise call and hurl abuse at him. But the minutes were ticking by and it was imperative she contact him. With shaking fingers she dialled his office.
'Mr Jordan's left for the day,' the telephonist informed her, 'and we never give out his private number.'
'But I'm meant to be seeing him tonight,' Leslie said agitatedly, 'and I have to get in touch with him. I'm Leslie Watson, his architect.'
Almost at once she was put through to his secretary. It was now four-thirty and Leslie's nervousness mounted as she hurriedly reiterated that it was urgent she speak to him. What idiocy not to have thought of finding his number earlier. If this delay went on, he would be on his way to collect her before she could put him off.
Roberta Leigh - Too Bad to be True Page 2
