by Theresa Weir
“Oh, right…”
“Exactly. I can’t go out on the street looking like this.” Although he could tell she resisted, he saw the sympathy in her expressive eyes. Any other woman would probably throw him out on his ear, but not this one. That was unique in New York City. He could definitely use her soft heart to his advantage. “I could really use your help,” he said, trying his best to look embarrassed.
She bit her lip and looked away, and now he was sure he had her pegged. She was one of those nurturing types who just couldn’t say no. Another thing he could use to his advantage.
“Take your pants off,” she said briskly and held out her hand, still unable to hide the smirk, her eyes alive with mirth. “I’ll patch them together as best I can so you’re at least modestly covered when you leave.”
She had soft, full lips and a sweet mouth designed for kissing. Her lower lip was just a tiny bit plumper than the top—He shook himself. He wasn’t here to be distracted by her alluring mouth. He was here to do a job, secure his future, and be done with this ridiculous case.
He smiled and, while she watched, toed off his shiny tasseled loafers, unbuckled his belt and unzipped the fly. Her cheeks colored slightly but she didn’t look away.
“Oh, look at that! You take your thousand-dollar pants off one leg at a time. Just like everyone else.”
He laughed, the genuine sound of it foreign to his ears. “Technically, the pants would only be five hundred.”
She snorted and grabbed them. He didn’t immediately let them go, and she bristled. He leaned forward and noticed her eyes were caramel brown…and he lost his train of thought. Her eyes dropped, then popped back up to his, admiring, then sheepish. He’d seen her check out his muscled thighs and strong calves.
She reached down and removed the remnant from the dog’s mouth. “You’re lucky my dog went for the back. Once bulldogs latch onto something, they don’t let go.”
The thought had him breaking out into a sweat, and it took everything he had not to cover his genitals. She disappeared down the hall. He glanced at the dog and realized the bulldog was a bit older than he’d thought and didn’t look that menacing.
He bent down and the dog growled, but now that his mistress didn’t seem distressed, it was half-hearted. Drew reached out his hand, watching for any animosity.
She came back with a thread and needle and started to stitch the piece back on, glancing at him with that same amusement in her eyes.
“He won’t bite. He’s just all bluster. But if you’re trying to make friends with him, one of those treats on my countertop will seal the deal.”
“He won’t bite. Right, my pants disagree,” he mumbled under his breath. “Bulldog, right?”
“Yes, English. He’s an old guy, but he’s still pretty protective.”
Drew reached for one of the treats in the cute doggie container. “Are you contributing to the delinquency of a canine?” Drew asked, holding up the clever martini glass, complete with green and red olive dog paw.
She stopped stitching, her eyes fluttered and she chortled. “Well, I guess you can’t be all bad, you’ve got a sense of humor. That’s exactly what I said when I gave him the margarita.”
Something shifted in him at the intimate way she was looking at him. He got lost in those shimmering eyes. When she looked down and the spell was broken, he cleared his throat. “Is that peanut butter?”
“Yes, it’s all organic. If you have a dog, go ahead and help yourself.”
“I don’t have a dog, work too much.” He offered it to the dog. “What’s his name?”
“Roscoe.”
Drew chuckled. “I like that. Fits him.” Roscoe wasn’t an easy mark, but Drew figured if he was going to make friends with Brooke, he’d have to make friends with her dog. He was more neutral about dogs. He’d wanted one when he was a boy, but his mother had been allergic, and after his parents died getting a dog only meant more responsibility he didn’t need on top of what came with his young sister.
The bulldog looked at Brooke and she nodded. “Go ahead, Roscoe. He won’t bite.”
“Ha ha,” Drew said. “You’re quite the comedienne.” The dog took the treat with a wary air then trotted off to the kitchen to eat it. “I don’t know many women who actually bake. Cookies?” His voice sounded wistful and he cleared his throat again. What the hell was wrong with him?
“No. Muffins for my next-door neighbor.”
“Well, they smell really good. I missed breakfast.”
She didn’t take the hint, or she chose to ignore it. “I also made her a casserole last night. That’s where I was when you performed your B&E.”
“It wasn’t a B&E. I told you. The door was open.”
“I guess I didn’t close it all the way. So I have to take the blame for any…unwanted pests…um…I mean guests.
“I can see how you’d get those words mixed up. They kinda rhyme.”
She smirked. “Good thing Roscoe didn’t get out. Not that he would go far.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m Drew Hudson.”
She tilted her head and said, “That sounds familiar. But, right now, since I just met you, I can’t really comment on your worth. I would have to say you do have something sharp and useless about you.”
He chuckled again. “You have a way of delivering put-downs so pleasantly.” She snorted and focused on her task. “My name sounds familiar because I called you several times to meet with you about the lawsuit.”
“What is it you want?”
“To settle out of court.”
She stopped stitching and her brows furrowed. “Are you under the impression I’m just going to roll over and show you my belly?”
Unable to stop himself his eyes travelled over her, stopping at her flat midriff. Unbidden thoughts filled his head. Would the skin on her stomach be as smooth and creamy as the skin on her face and neck? Or softer? His hands tingled.
She drew in a slow, deep breath and gave him a heated look as her eyes flowed over his face, and then drifted down. All right, she was looking at him. Really looking at him in that way. Damn, why did she have to be so beautiful? He felt like he was coming out of a fog. He’d been so focused on his job and his sister he’d had very little time to spend with the opposite sex. Brooke was making parts of his body come alive that had been lying at the bottom of a deep, dark well.
“I have no intention of settling out of court. I will speak with Kristen after she’s had some time to think this over. I’m sure she’ll see reason and all of this animosity will go away.”
He gave her a sardonic look. “We’re talking about Mrs. Wright-Davis, correct?”
“You’re a cynical man, Mr. Hudson.”
“Call me Drew. And you are an optimist and naïve if you think she’s going to suddenly have a change of heart. She’d have to have a heart first.”
Brooke laughed softly. “I guess you’d know all about being heartless. Nevertheless, that wasn’t very nice, Mr. Hudson. My guess is you’re not a nice man. Hmmm,” she said, breaking the thread with her strong, white teeth. “You’re one of those ruthless lawyers who tell a client what’s best for them, but you’re really looking out for what’s best for you and your commission. What do you get out of this?”
“The best solution for all parties involved.”
“I’ve planned and executed a lot of parties, and this feels nothing like a party. This doesn’t have anything to do with solutions, at least not on my behalf. What happened was simply unfortunate and a misunderstanding. It will be worked out, but not by you or your thousand-dollar suit.”
She rose and went to the counter, wrapped up one of the delicious-smelling, still-warm muffins and shoved it in his hands. Grabbing the material at his bicep, she pulled him to the door and opened it. He took that opportunity to hand her his card. “Look, I want to discuss the reasons why it’s beneficial to settle out of court. Make an appointment with me. It’ll be to worth your while.
She looked down
at the card and shook her head. “I doubt meeting with you would benefit me at all,” she said, pushing him out.
“Have a nice day.” She smiled as his loafers hit the floor and his pants came sailing out a second later, hitting him in the face, then she slammed the door.
Chapter 3
After going home to change into an intact suit, Drew headed for his office.
It was clear he was going to have to get inventive if he was going to get this woman to settle out of court. He set the muffin she gave him on his desk. He could still smell it, and the aroma still made his mouth water. Finally, he huffed and went out to reception to hand it to Cindy. She took it with a big grin.
“Hey, thanks! I didn’t have breakfast.” She unwrapped it and took a bite, and closed her eyes in obvious ecstasy. “Oh, my God, where did you buy this? The apple and cinnamon goodness combine into one supreme party of deliciousness for my taste buds.”
“I didn’t buy it. Got it from a client.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I would have ordered a dozen to go.”
He’d been honest when he said he didn’t know many women who cooked, but apparently Brooke Palmer not only cooked, she knew what she was doing.
Back at his desk he briefly considered trying to talk some sense into Roger’s wife, but knew that was going to be futile. Did he think Brooke should have been sued? Not exactly. It was true Kristen’s dog had gotten a bad cut, but to be honest, did that really cause the dog mental anguish? No, it was a dog. People tended to project how they were feeling onto their poor, hapless animals, treating them like humans when they weren’t. Did Kristen lose money because of her dog’s haircut? Not really. He’d checked, and the purse for the dog show wasn’t substantial, and there had been no guarantee Mimi would have won. Maybe Kristen was due the entrance fee for the show, but Brooke had already offered that along with six months of free grooming. More than fair.
But deciding what was fair wasn’t Drew’s job. Completing his assignment, no matter how stupid or ridiculous he found it, was.
Sighing, he went to work, pulling up everything he could find on the Internet about Brooke Palmer, and then sat back…impressed. He shook that off. He couldn’t be impressed by her. That wouldn’t help. It didn’t matter the woman had built her business up from the ground, was expanding it to serve her customers better, had an excellent rating, was very beautiful. Um…scratch that part…she was also generous with her money and had donated to several dog-related charities.
Most of what he did for the firm didn’t involve manipulation. It involved using his brains and his expertise to find opportunities for companies to do business more effectively by either acquiring a more successful entity or merging with one. It didn’t matter that he actually liked Brooke and her dog. What mattered was whether or not he could convince her it was in her best interest to settle out of court. Truly, dragging this inane lawsuit into court wouldn’t be good for his or the firm’s reputation, and Roger knew that.
But it wouldn’t be good for Brooke Palmer and her business, either. He would have to discover why she was being difficult. What was driving her need to keep the lawsuit alive? When he figured out what made her tick, then he could come up with the perfect solution and then it should be simple to get her to agree.
Feeling vindicated, he pulled out the calendar he’d picked up off her countertop and smoothed it out on his desk. The sheer number of things this woman did in one day boggled his mind. Did she ever rest or take any time for herself?
He supposed men in general were much less generous with their time and, to be honest, he’d spent almost every waking moment furthering his law career. He noticed she had an appointment with Manhattan Flowers and a few other engagements that could only mean she was involved in a wedding. Or was she the bride? He immediately rejected that. He was pretty sure she had no ring on her finger.
Not one to hesitate when opportunity came knocking, he decided to use the appointments to his advantage, especially since he already had the perfect cover story. He picked up the phone and scheduled a time to meet with the florist as close to Ms. Palmer’s appointment as possible. Then he called his sister.
* * *
Brooke was sure she’d just dodged a bullet. A very gorgeous, blond curly-haired, hard-muscled bullet. He used those eyes and that body to their best effect, but they were nothing more than distractions from the main issue—settling out of court, which she was not going to do. So he was just wasting his time, and his ploy had just made her focus on him instead of what he was saying. Although unfortunately, she was now being tortured with a rather more complete picture of Drew Hudson than she was used to in a business situation. She was a sap for sewing up his expensive pants and giving him a muffin before he left, but he said he hadn’t had any breakfast, and it was the most important meal of the day.
Okay, so she had to give him points for uh…performing under pressure. He didn’t lose his focus or his cool, not even when Roscoe ripped out his pants, or when she was beating him with her umbrella.
Still. He’d had no business being there, or pressuring her to virtually admit her guilt by settling. “The nerve of that man,” Brooke muttered as she marched back into her kitchen. While Roscoe finished his treat, she fished her cell phone out of her purse and dialed Pawlish.
Julia, her receptionist, answered on the first ring.
“Where have you been? It’s been chaos here. One of those construction workers has the wrong plans. The old ones.”
“Did you…”
“Yes, of course, I did. I told him he would have to wait until you got in. That you had the plans somewhere, and I wasn’t sure where.”
“Oh, I have them here. I was studying them last night.”
“Good, that’s a relief. You’ve also gotten several calls from reporters.”
“Tell them I’m not…wait, put their numbers on my desk. I might be able to spin this to our advantage and get us some pawsitive publicity.”
Julia chuckled. “Will do.”
“How is Rachel?”
“She’s fine. She’s thankful to have a job.”
“We both know it wasn’t her fault.”
“Yes, but you didn’t cave in to that influential bitch. For that I swear, I’d work for free. Don’t tell the boss I said that.”
Brooke laughed. “I won’t. Look, I’ll be in…” The wheezing made her whip around and she saw Roscoe, breathing hard. “Oh, my God, Julia, I’ve got to go. There’s something wrong with Roscoe. Hold down the fort until I get there.”
Twenty minutes later she was hurrying into St. Marks Veterinary Hospital, tears pricking at the back of her eyes, but she held them off. She didn’t even make it to the receptionist’s desk. Poe saw Brooke and called to her. There must have been panic in her face, because when Poe saw her, she ordered her to an examine room, waving off the receptionist.
“What’s wrong?”
Brooke set Roscoe down onto the exam table, her back protesting. He wasn’t impossible to lift, but he was a solid dog.
“I don’t know. He started wheezing, and I thought…” She put a hand to her chest, her eyes tearing. “I thought he was going to die.”
All the way over in the cab, she had thought about her life with Roscoe from the moment he came to her as a round, pudgy little ball of fur. Those first nights, she wasn’t supposed to have him up on her bed, but he would cry, and those little lonely puppy noises had ripped at Brooke’s young heart. She took him onto her bed, and he had immediately settled down and slept peacefully with her. After that, Brooke made sure to wake up early so her mother never found him on her bed. It had worked like a charm. Now he slept with her every night, and she just couldn’t imagine him…gone.
“All right, calm down. Here, sit down.” Poe leaned out of the exam room and shouted, “Justin.” When a man dressed in kitty scrubs came over, she said, “Get Brooke some water.” She closed the door and walked over to the exam table.
“Okay. Did he just start doing th
is?”
“No it was after that gorgeous, half-naked lawyer left my apartment.”
“Excuse me? Are you talking gibberish, or am I just hearing it that way?” Poe said as she began to run her hands over Roscoe.
Justin came back in with a bottle of water. Brooke took a sip to soothe her aching throat, and continued. “No, it’s actually not gibberish.” Brooke explained the whole bizarre episode to Poe.
“I already don’t like him, gorgeous or not. Give me a minute.” Poe tucked her purple-streaked hair behind her ears and set the stethoscope in place to examine Roscoe. Brooke waited, holding her breath as her friend listened intently to his heart and lungs and checked his eyes.
“Is he all right?”
“He’s fine,” her vet friend said, her kind eyes calming Brooke in spite of Poe’s very Goth kohl-lined eyes. She sat down next to Brooke and put her arm around her. “But, Brooke, he is fourteen years old, and the average lifespan for the breed is ten. He’s really old for a bulldog.”
Brooke nodded. “I know, but he’s in good health,” she wobbled.
“He is,” Poe soothed. “My guess is he simply over-exerted himself this morning and got winded. Why don’t you cut his walk in half tonight? You can leave him here with me today if you like. He has a calming effect on both the human and dog customers. That way I can keep an eye on him.”
“The Terrible Two aren’t here?”
“No, not today. Allan got into a canister of gummy worms and is recovering from a belly ache. I left them both home.”
“Gummy worms?”
“Yes. I was saving them for the dirt dessert I was going to make for our Halloween party here at St. Mark’s. I planned to use them to decorate the top. That was after he opened my sock drawer and took out every one of my socks. Then they proceeded to play football with them. Those dogs are such rascals,” she said with an affectionate smirk.
“That’s an understatement.” Brooke sighed with relief, and squeezed her friend’s shoulders gratefully. “Thanks, Poe. I’ll be over after work to pick him up. Call me if anything changes.”
