by Dawson, Zoe
Once inside the hospital he saw a woman with streaked purple hair pacing in front of the reception desk. As soon as she saw them, she indicated an exam room and had Drew set the old boy on the table. An attendant came in, and the small room filled fast.
He backed up, not wanting to leave Brooke, but both the vet and Brooke were too busy to worry about him. Nevertheless, he took her hand and held it while she worriedly looked on.
The attendant picked up the dog.
The woman with the streaked hair said, “We’re taking him to the back where Dr. Scott is going to examine him. We’ll get blood, set him up with an IV and oxygen, while you and…” She looked at him.
“Drew.”
“Drew?” Her jaw dropped and she looked him up and down, taking in his costume. Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed. “You can stay here.”
“Poe,” Brooke said, her voice strained with love for her dog.
“We’ll do everything we can.”
He felt her body shake, saw tears fill her eyes and slip down her cheeks. She nodded and leaned back into him as if he was a lifeline.
He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against his chest.
“Let’s sit down,” he said gently, steering her to one of the benches in the room.
“I can’t lose him. He means everything to me.”
“He’s still alive, Brooke. That’s something.”
She nodded and turned her teary face to his. He brought up his hand and brushed her cheek, leaving a faint trail of moisture there and on his thumb.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he was blindsided by the hard surge of tenderness he had only ever felt for his sister. Only the feeling was different, it was mixed with poignant need to sink into her sweetness, get lost in her touch. The loneliness he hadn’t realized was there until now was a hollow ache that filled with her and pulsed in cadence to his beating heart.
The world had been his enemy. His responsibility was his shield, the money his armor, and his fear his sword that would deflect even the most terrible foe. But Brooke was showing him he’d walled off his heart to everything. Including his sister. Even the comfort that another human being could offer.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly.
He nodded. He was a fake, a fraud, and he had no right to the gentle look in her eyes. She nestled her head into his shoulder and his conscience twisted like a corkscrew, boring into his heart. After another thirty minutes passed, Poe came back into the room. She didn’t have a happy look on her face, but he suspected that had more to do with him and the way Brooke was snuggled up to him.
“He’s stable.”
“What’s wrong with him?” She rose, alarm wobbling her voice.
“He has developed diabetes. His blood sugar spiked and he went into a coma, but we gave him insulin and stabilized his blood sugar. We want to keep him here overnight, though, just to be safe.”
“He’s going to be okay?”
“Yes,” she rubbed Brooke’s arm and gave him a distrustful look out of those darkly lined eyes. She looked more like a raven than her mad poet namesake. “He’ll need his blood sugar monitored from now on. Are you up for that?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll take care of him.”
Poe looked at him then said to Brooke, “Can I talk to you privately?”
Brooke threw him an apologetic look and followed Poe out of the room. Through the open door he watched her have a whispered conversation, with Poe glancing at him several times. He really couldn’t blame Brooke’s friend. If he was her, he wouldn’t trust him either. His gut twisted. Frustration, regret, anger…one dark emotion chased another, ripping through him until they were a bitter taste in his mouth.
What the hell was he doing?
He ran his hand through his hair as the desperate thoughts scraped at too-raw nerves.
Finally Brooke came back to him, and they left the hospital while he felt Poe’s eyes boring into his back.
Brooke was silent in the cab all the way back to her place. Torn between staying and leaving, he followed her back up to her apartment. It seemed empty without Roscoe, and he could see in her anxious eyes that she felt it, too. Much more poignantly than he did.
He couldn’t forget the way her friend looked at him. The mistrust in her eyes. And, even now, he wasn’t sure he deserved to kiss and touch Brooke. He wasn’t sure of his own motivations.
“I don’t blame your friend.”
“For what?”
“Not trusting me. I’m on the other side. The enemy.” She looked despondent and distracted, and he understood that. He should leave her alone, but the look on her face pulled at his heart. She said nothing, just looked down and picked up a red ball, turning it over in her hands.
He stepped forward and her head jerked up. He grabbed her arms. “Are you listening to me? Kristen could utterly ruin you if she gets a sympathetic judge. Negotiate with me and I’ll do my best to mitigate, but if you refuse to do anything, Kristen has already won.”
She pulled away from him and walked to the bank of windows. The traffic noise was muted, the City alive with lights.
“Please don’t make me take this to court, Brooke.”
“Why? Because you’ll have to do everything you can to win? Even if it ruins me like Kristen wants?” She folded her arms across her chest and let the red ball fall. It bounced on the hardwood floor and rolled away to smack against the wall.
He threw up his hands. This situation was almost unbearable. He had tried to stay disconnected from her, but that hadn’t happened, hadn’t been possible. She was comfort and sizzle, sassy and sweet. And, he wasn’t worthy of her.
“I would have to crush you,” his voice broke, his shoulders tightening while his hands formed into fists. He tried to breathe around the thick lump in his throat. “Roger wouldn’t accept anything less. Although, to be truthful, he doesn’t want the publicity.”
“Yes, let’s be truthful. By all means. I told you before I knew your ploy. You were trying to manipulate me with your charm. I might be naïve in your cynical book, but I’m not stupid.”
“Seducing you into bed…”
She held up her hand. “We both got…caught up. I’m well aware that it wasn’t your plan, but I participated willingly. You were trying much too hard not to get involved that way for me to believe you seduced me to get me to settle. But we did it, and now we have that connection. I’d like to think I’m a good judge of character. I would never use emotional blackmail to get you to change your mind about the lawsuit. It’s not really up to you. But, my hands are tied. I cannot settle out of court, Drew and now you know why. A woman’s livelihood is worth the effort and my time. I simply cannot and will not turn my back on her for something so frivolous. I know too well what that feels like.”
Why did she have to look at him like that? Like she was going to wrap her arms around him and comfort him. Him! She was the one who needed the comfort.
“We’re back to Kristen again.”
Her face softened again, her brown eyes compassionate. “We are. But you’ve opened my eyes. I see that I was procrastinating. I have to talk to her, but I hate confrontation so much I usually remain passive rather than do anything. But in this case I will have to move out of my comfort zone and go speak to her. Get her to see reason or strike some kind of bargain with her. I might not have been willing to emotionally blackmail you, but I have no qualms about her.”
The daggers in her eyes made him wonder if this little lamb wasn’t a match for Kristen’s she-cat snark after all. A purely unintentional rough laugh escaped his lips.
“What’s so funny? You don’t think I have it in me?”
“No, I think you are one of the most stubborn women I have ever met. Like a mamma bear protecting her cub. But I have to remind you yet again. Kristen can’t be swayed by emotion. The Botox certainly won’t let her show it. I think they removed her heart the last time she had a tummy tuck.”
“I’ll
get through to her.”
Jeez-us, her optimism was just as irresistible as her dark eyes and wealth of silken hair. His body vibrated from his urge to join with her again. Cool your engines, man. She was the better person. He didn’t want this responsibility. The weight of responsibility for one human being on his shoulders was enough. Nausea tumbled in his gut. He would have to face her in court.
“We’re at an impasse.”
“I have to ask you. What’s your stake in this? Most lawyers I know would rub their hands together with glee at a big settlement for their client.”
She deserved an answer from him, but he was reluctant to give it. This would change how she thought of him. A heaviness settled on his shoulders, pressing down on his chest.
He must have revealed what he was feeling on his face.
She closed her eyes and turned back to the windows, bringing a trembling hand to her temple and brushing at the heavy hair there.
“I’m not going to like what you have to say. I guess I don’t have anyone to blame but myself.”
“I’m sorry, Brooke. I didn’t know…”
She kept her back to him and remained silent. He had no idea if she was truly seeing the vista before her, or if her thoughts were entirely inward at the moment. She had to process a lot tonight, and despite her few lapses, she’d maintained extremely well. He didn’t know her well enough to know her breaking point. Maybe she didn’t know either. But from the steady set of her shoulders, it was clear she was a rock during a crisis.
“You have a hidden agenda.” Her tone was flat, unemotional, stating facts rather than asking questions.
“I do have a hidden agenda. Roger likes to pit us against each other at the firm. He says it builds our competitive edge. He made me play a game of squash to win this case.”
She turned around then and marched closer to him as her hand gripped the lapel of his tux.
“A game?” The heat of anger glittered in her eyes.
There it was. The breaking point. And he’d pushed her to it.
“You think this is a game?”
“I did, Brooke, but now—”
“Don’t gloss it over. Don’t try to snow me, not now.”
He should have respected her more.
“I was offered a partnership if I could get you to settle out of court.”
Her eyes went wide and she froze to the spot. “I see. My livelihood stands in the balance, and all you thought about was a partnership.”
“I’ve worked hard…”
“Yes, you have. So it makes perfect sense you would choose your job over m-m-helping me.”
Any chance he had with her was gone. It was in the tight line of her jaw and in the deep, dark depths of her eyes. Even as she tried to conceal her hurt, he saw it.
He’d taken something special and crapped all over it. The circumstances were impossible. His decision had to be to turn his back and walk away, because the step he would need to take to earn the right to stay, he couldn’t take. He was almost to his goal, and he barely knew her.
And because he couldn’t take the risk, whatever chance he would have had with Brooke died before it was really born.
He barely knew her. So why did it hurt almost as much as the night he’d lost his parents?
Chapter Seven
Okay, she hadn’t seen that coming. She really hadn’t. For some reason, she had believed he was a knight in shining armor who had wanted to protect her from the big, bad Viking bitch. But that wasn’t the case. Nothing like being a fool.
He was going to turn his back on her, just like her parents had, which left her with nothing but self-recrimination and a familiar sense of betrayal.
Which left her standing there with no idea what to say. Or do. So, she did what she normally did. She took the coward’s way out.
She brushed by him and walked to her front door and opened it. Running her hand down her jeans-clad thigh, she forced herself to look at him. “I think it’s time you headed back to the opera.”
“Opera?” he repeated, his voice toneless.
She shouldn’t give him the slightest of edges. She inhaled, holding the breath for a second and then releasing it to feel calm settling over her.
He looked at the open door like it was the portal to Hades and didn’t move. Her heart faltered, but then hardened, screaming at her to raise her guard and give him not so much as a toehold to latch on to. “That’s code for anywhere…” She trailed off only for a second, looking away and then quickly continuing, proud of the steel in her voice, “…but here. And I’d like you to keep your professional distance. There isn’t any point in pursuing anything beyond a strict adversarial relationship. It’s best we stay focused on the business we have between us. And nothing else.”
Her control was amazing. She didn’t even feel the sharp needles of pain stabbing in her heart. She was a rock in a crisis, always had been. And maybe she was just kidding herself and actually stalling to give him time to respond.
“Too much has happened for us to be enemies, Brooke.”
Oh, God, she was not going to be a pushover. But she already felt her heart break, and she had to steel herself against the pain it caused with what was evident in her head. This was not going to work. She had to admit. They weren’t exactly enemies. He was right. Too much had happened. She looked up at him straight in the eyes.
“Okay, so we-we’re…frenemies,” she said with more fluster than bluster.
Rather than look hurt or dismayed, he smiled. It was slow to start, but grew steadily, reaching fully to his eyes, which twinkled. Damn him and his charm.
“I understand,” he said, his tone quiet, even sincere.
“Do you?”
He merely nodded. “I just want you to do one thing.”
Danger, danger! Please don’t let him want a goodbye kiss. He would quickly realize what kind of hypocrite she was. She was such a damn pushover. “What?”
“Get yourself a fucking good lawyer. Someone who’s as cutthroat a bastard as I am.”
And then, instead of kissing her like she expected, he slid his hand down her arm until his hand covered hers. He lifted it, turning it palm up, and pressed a kiss onto the sensitive skin of her wrist. Much more intimate than a kiss on the lips.
With that he walked away and softly closed the door behind him.
She stood there, completely bewildered, before thankfully, mercifully, her anger kicked in. He was toying with her, and she most definitely did not appreciate it.
Forty-five minutes later, lying stiffly on her back in the bed that still smelled like him, Brooke’s mind tumbled over itself like stones in a polisher. Too bottled up to rest. Bottled up anger, bottled up desire, bottled up…about a lot of things. She sighed a heavy breath, quite disgusted with her bottled-up self, and tucked her arm behind her head. And beneath all her superficial distractions, her worry over Roscoe battered at her heart and mind. She couldn’t lose him. She would be devastated, bereft. He was her one and only sweet boy.
She pushed back the tears and took a deep breath—and got another delicious lungful of Drew. With a cry of frustration, she got up, ripped off the blankets and sheets, and remade the bed with linens that smelled of laundry detergent instead of gorgeous man.
She was pathetic.
She lay back down and resumed staring at the ceiling while seeing something else entirely. Someone. Drew. Of the forever-rumpled blond hair, green eyes that should be outlawed for their pervasive abilities alone, and ridiculously sexy grin that never failed to set her pulse to pounding. He wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him, but there was a gigantic obstacle in the way.
Kristen Wright-Davis and her ruinous, completely spoiled, yappy, cantankerous poodle, Mimi.
She sat up in bed with a squeal of frustration, pounding the mattress.
She’d had enough of this. She’d apologized, sent that unreasonable woman a wonderful basket. Everyone loved her homemade dog treats, from her clients to her best friends. She’
d even been offered money by the couple who owned the Hot Diggity Dogs shop to sell them in their store. That woman was going to see reason if Brooke had to twist all of that bleached blond hair out by the roots.
In fact, Brooke was going over there, first thing in the morning after she checked on her boy. She had something personal at stake, and she wasn’t going to cave and lose it, or leave her staff unemployed. It was Pawlish that was at stake. Right. Her business, she affirmed to herself. As she lay down, she could swear she caught a whiff of his intoxicating scent.
#
First she went to St. Mark’s to visit Roscoe, who was much better. He vigorously wagged his stumpy tail, and moisture gathered in her eyes as she hugged him. She was told he had to stay for one more day to make sure all was well. She could pick him up tomorrow. He gave her such a dejected look when she left, she decided to come back after visiting Kristen.
Brooke drove out of the city onto Long Island and to the small seaside resort of Easthampton. Pulling up the long drive to the Wright-Davis’s “cottage” on the shore, Brooke rolled her eyes. This wasn’t a cottage. The woman was so pretentious.
She had an uneasy sensation in her stomach, as if she was on the deck of a ship and the pitch and roll had somehow gotten embedded there. Squaring her shoulders and remembering what was at stake, she marched up to the door and knocked.
After a few minutes a maid answered the door. “May I help you?”
“I’d like to speak to Kristen.”
“Who is it, Marta?” Her voice came from the top of a sweeping staircase. A magnificent glass and gold chandelier tinkled in the breeze from the open door.
Brooke didn’t wait for the maid to ask her the question. She brushed by her. “It’s Brooke Palmer.”
“Brooke? What are you doing here? You can simply go through my lawyer if you have anything to say to me.”
Polished mahogany floors with matching stairs and banister led to the top. Brooke’s shiny black boots clicked as she walked across and mounted the stairs. Kristen stood at the top, a digital camera in her hands. This time her nails were a bold, hot pink. Her blue eyes narrowed and she held up her palm.
