A sudden, quick, awful spark of familiarity.
“No.” She shook her head. “No, absolutely no.”
But the doorknob was turning, and she watched it as though the worst sort of slow-motion nightmare she had ever endured was unfolding. Then the door swung open to reveal the owner of the voice.
His green eyes were brilliant and showed no signs whatsoever of his having tied one on the night before. And when he spotted her standing there all frozen with her backside pressed against the drawer she’d peeked into, he arched one of his tawny eyebrows slightly. “Well, well, well, Cornelia,” Archer drawled. “You are awake.”
“You!” Accusation flooded her voice.
His other eyebrow rose, too. “What’d I do?”
She knew her mouth was gaping like a water-starved fish’s. “What didn’t you do?”
He shrugged, which only drew her attention to the breadth of his shoulders beneath the plain white undershirt he was wearing.
He padded barefoot into the room and set the breakfast tray he was holding on top of the dresser. “I’m sure you’ll tell me in several dozen more paragraphs than necessary.” He lifted one of the plain brown mugs from the tray and extended it toward her. “Assume you still like it light and sweet?”
She dragged her eyes up from the slouchy navy-colored pajama pants hanging precariously on his very male hips. “What?”
“Coffee.” He pushed the mug into her numb hand and wrapped her fingers around it. “Don’t drop the mug. It’s one of the last ones I have of hers.”
She was having a hard time putting two coherent thoughts together. Not only had he brought coffee, but there was also a stack of golden toast sitting on a paper plate and a jar of jam with a knife sticking out of it.
Cymbals were crashing, and not necessarily inside her head. The only thing she knew for sure was that whatever was going on here, it was his fault. Knowing it was an uncharitable thought—he had made toast, after all—didn’t stop her from having it. “Hers?”
“My mother.” He tapped the photo frame before putting a finger beneath her hand to nudge it—and the mug—upward toward her lips. “Drink. You’ll feel better.”
She actually took a sip of the coffee, which had exactly the right amount of cream and sugar, before she determinedly set the mug back on the tray. Considering everything, it was a minor miracle she didn’t spill it or drop it. “What have you done? Why am I here?”
He leaned leisurely against the doorjamb and cradled his mug in his wide palm. “I’m wounded.” He sounded mildly amused. The corners of his sinfully shaped lips curved upward. “You don’t remember? And here I’ve landed myself in the doghouse with my sister for choosing you over my nephew’s birthday.”
“No I do not remember.” She shoved her tangled hair away from her eyes, the better to glare at him. “Obviously.” She drew out the word with what Ros—a diehard Harry Potter fan—had long ago termed Nell’s best Snape-ishness.
His green eyes seemed to gain an extra sparkle as they traveled from the mop that her hair must resemble, down over her wrinkled silk tank and even more wrinkled skirt, to her toes that were actually clenching against the wood floor.
Her cheeks felt hot. Naturally, she needed a pedicure in the worst way, too. She hadn’t made her last standing appointment with Renée because of a filing Martin had—
It all came tumbling down on her again, managing to supplant even the worry over what had occurred here last night.
Martin’s betrayal.
The argument with Ros.
Her recent change from being among the gainfully employed.
The weight of it all slammed down on her shoulders, making her slump.
Every muscle and joint and hair follicle aching, she sank down on the edge of the bed, then just as hurriedly pushed off it again.
The bed belonged to Archer Templeton. She had no idea at all how she’d come to be sleeping in it, whether she was still fully clothed or not. She knew the man from old, and he was cleverer than the devil himself.
She snatched a piece of his gum from the dresser, peeled off the foil and shoved it into her mouth to banish the deceased Mr. Cottontail. Then she steeled herself to brush past him to leave the room. Not that she knew where she was headed, but anywhere was better than the bedroom.
As soon as she was in the hall, she spotted the staircase and aimed straight for it. She pounded down the steps as though Archer was at her heels, even though he wasn’t. She felt breathless and even more nauseated when she reached the bottom. The living room was straight ahead. The kitchen to the right. She turned left and fortunately found the powder room.
She slammed the door, locked it and spent several minutes hanging over the sink while cold water ran over her wrists until she felt a little better.
Oh, her head still felt as heavy as a bowling ball with loose rocks clanging around inside, but at least she didn’t think she’d vomit on her poorly maintained pedicure.
She wrapped the gum in a square of tissue paper and tossed it in the small gold trash can in the corner next to the vintage pedestal sink that—knowing Archer—was probably an original. He was the most annoying person she’d ever met, but he’d always had impeccable taste. No reproductions—no matter how excellent—for him.
She cupped water in her hands and rinsed her mouth, then splashed more water over her face. When she straightened again, her reflection in the oval mirror over the sink was genuinely frightening but at least her eyes didn’t look as bleary as she felt. She raked her fingers through her hair, spreading the dampness beyond her hairline, and longed for a clip or hair tie, but—like everything else in her life at the moment—no luck.
She adjusted her skirt so the vent was once more in the back where it belonged and tucked in her blouse. Barefoot and jacketless or not, she couldn’t very well hibernate in Archer’s elegant little powder room.
She straightened her shoulders and left the room.
He had come downstairs and was now sprawled in a leather chair, without a care in the world, coffee mug still cupped in his wide palm.
His smooth jawline of the night before was now shadowed in a golden-brown stubble and his thick, gilded hair tumbled over his forehead.
He was the most annoying man she knew and the most attractive. Still.
Didn’t it just figure?
With no small amount of relief, she spotted her oversize purse sitting on a table in the foyer and pounced on it. “Shoes?”
“God only knows.”
Her stomach churned all over again. Not because of a lost pair of shoes. But because losing them at all was just more evidence of behavior she couldn’t recall.
Her fingers were shaking as she pulled her cell phone from her purse where it was tucked in its usual pocket. The battery was nearly dead and she had a couple of dozen notifications for new messages. She ignored them as she sent a request for a rideshare. Without looking at Archer again, she went out the front door.
He had a wooden garden bench sitting on the porch beneath the wide mullioned windows of the living room. She perched on the edge of it while she dug in her purse for her sunglasses.
They afforded her clanging head with a small bit of ease when she put them on.
Her knuckles were white around her phone as she watched the progress of her rideshare on the screen, praying for all she was worth that the car would arrive before Archer decided to come out and torment her some more.
He had the ability to do that simply by breathing the same air as her. It wouldn’t have been so problematic, except that he was perfectly aware of the effect he had.
At least he had been back in the day.
Still, it remained a good reason to avoid him.
The clock on her phone told her it was almost noon. She had no sense of how long she’d slept, except that it hadn’t been long enough.
She lifted her sunglasses enough to rub her eyes, and then consulted her phone app again. The ride was around the corner.
She breathed a little easier now that it was almost here, because she was certain she could feel Archer’s eyes drilling into her through the window. She just hoped he didn’t come out onto the porch. She pushed off the bench, dragging the strap of her purse over her shoulder, and walked barefoot down the shallow brick steps. She crossed the neat patch of summer-green grass and wondered if Archer actually mowed it himself.
And wondering that annoyed her, too.
She marched a little more briskly from the grass to the sidewalk and toward the corner where a little hybrid vehicle had just come into view. She waved her arm, flagging it down, and peered into the window, making certain the driver matched the one on her app. She did, so Nell opened the back door, tossed her purse inside and folded herself in after it.
“Morning.” The driver was a gray-haired woman with a cheerful chirpy voice. She read off Nell’s home address. “That’s where we’re heading, yeah?”
Nell closed her eyes and pressed her head against the seat back. “Yes. Thanks,” she added a little belatedly once the car lurched into motion. It felt odd the way the vehicle moved along so silently without the noise and feel of a typical gas engine. “How does this thing run in the winter?”
The driver gave another chirp of laughter. “Going to have to wait until this winter to see. I just bought her.” She tapped her hand against the steering wheel. “She’s a good girl, though. Hasn’t failed me yet.” She slowed and turned the corner again. “Get a lot of looks from other people, though. Not quite the usual sight yet here in Cheyenne.”
“Or the rest of Wyoming,” Nell surmised.
The driver laughed again. “Of course, ridesharing is still pretty new to most folks around here, too.” Her cheerful tone was soothing. “Even though it really isn’t. I’ve been doing it nearly five years now.”
“Guess you must like it.”
“Sure. I can work as much or as little as I want. And the money’s better than you might think. I earn more doing this than I did even after twenty-five years in mortgage banking. And retirement is too boring for me.” She laughed. “For now, anyway. I like filling my time. What do you do?”
“I’m a lawyer.” Nell rubbed a finger against the throbbing in her forehead.
“Mind if I ask where? Person never knows when they might find themselves in need of one.”
Nell’s lips twisted. “I’m evaluating things at the moment.”
“Ah.” The driver nodded sagely. “Well, if you need a little financial boost during the evaluation period, I can recommend my company. Decisions sometimes come easier when you let your mind focus on something entirely different. Driving is like that.”
“Hmm.” Nell owned a nice enough car. She and the bank, anyway. If she needed to, she could squire people around from one address to another. At least until she got settled again in a new law firm. Cheyenne wasn’t the largest city around, but Pastore Legal wasn’t the only game in town.
She didn’t have any idea how long that might take. She’d been working for Martin since she’d passed the bar. She had plenty of friends from other firms—mostly professional acquaintances if she were strictly honest—and she imagined that she’d be able to use that network to get some meetings sooner rather than later.
She hoped.
She wasn’t a penniless college student anymore. She had savings. But between her student loans, her car and the rent on the condo she shared with Ros, that nest egg would quickly be consumed. “I’ll keep it in mind,” she told the driver. “Thanks.”
The driver let her off shortly after and quickly drove away in her silent car, already on the way to her next fare.
Nell straightened her shoulders, blew out a deep breath and headed up the steps. She unlocked the door and went inside, automatically pushing the door closed firmly to make sure it latched, and listened.
The absolute silence told her that Ros wasn’t there, and Nell’s shoulders relaxed again.
She picked up the mail that was scattered on the floor from where it had been pushed through the mail slot in the door and left it and her purse on the narrow acrylic table behind the couch. The presence of the mail on the floor told her that Ros hadn’t come home the night before, either.
It wasn’t the first time. Unlike Nell, Ros was sleeping with the guy she’d been seeing for the past year. But none of the messages on Nell’s phone was from her roommate, and Ros always let Nell know if she was staying out.
At least she had until their argument the afternoon before.
She scrubbed her hands down her face and carried her phone with her upstairs to her spacious room.
When she and Ros had rented the condo a few years earlier, they’d both been giddy with delight because one of the previous owners had combined two units into one, making for much larger digs. Both bedrooms were set up like master suites, with their own bathrooms. They shared a study that was lined with legal tomes on one side and the books that Nell’s mother had collected while she’d been alive on the other. Both of them spent far more time in that room than they ever did in the gourmet kitchen that the unit also possessed.
The only time the kitchen was ever used for its intended purpose beyond rudimentary sandwiches or coffee was when Ros’s boyfriend, Jonathan, was there to cook.
The only drawback was the lack of central air-conditioning, but A/C was needed only during the worst of summer anyway. More often than not, they spent their days at the well-cooled office and at night, window fans sufficed.
Because of the size, the rent was high, but between the two of them, they’d deemed it worth the financial stretch.
Now, Nell flipped on the shower to get it hot and plugged in her phone to charge the battery while she listened to all of the messages that had piled up overnight.
The first few were birthday wishes. But the tone of the messages began to change quickly enough from celebration to shock. Commiseration.
None of them, however, was from Ros.
Nell debated sending her a text, but set aside her phone instead. She brushed her teeth—twice—then showered until the hot water started to run cold.
Then, wrapped in a towel, she checked her phone again. Another half-dozen messages had arrived. Word was definitely getting around that she was out at Pastore Legal.
It was too depressing to respond to any of them so she turned off her phone altogether. Her head still pounded, but she felt somewhat more human. Mopping at her dripping hair with another towel, she went back downstairs and into the kitchen. Coffee was the next order of business. And maybe some food. She had time on her hands now. She could buy a cookbook. Learn to make something besides a grilled cheese sandwich.
Her gaze fell on the plastic-wrapped loaf of bread.
He’d fixed her toast.
She snatched open the cupboard door to grab a coffee pod and shoved it into place, jabbing viciously at the button to start the brewer.
Had Archer heard the news yet?
She could just imagine what he’d have to say if he had.
“Should have taken me up on my offer,” she muttered aloud as the coffee burbled out of the spout and into her bright yellow mug with Lawyers have feelings too printed on one side, Allegedly printed on the other. “Then you’d be partners in a multioffice firm instead of out on your behind.”
She shook the thought out of her head. Nearly finished with law school, she’d believed it would be disastrous going into practice with Archer Templeton. Her allegiance had been to Martin Pastore. Becoming a junior associate there was her dream come true.
The coffee had barely stopped dripping when she yanked it out from beneath the spout. She followed the splash of cream she added with a chaser of sugar—the real stuff—and finally took a sip. It scorched her tongue, bu
t in seconds she could feel the blessed caffeine hitting her system.
She aligned the loaf of bread neatly next to the side of the stainless steel refrigerator and carried her coffee out of the kitchen just in time to hear the rattle of the door lock.
Ros was home.
Nell’s stomach churned. She tightened the knotted towel and perched on the narrow arm of the white leather couch.
A moment later, the door swung inward and Rosalind, who looked only slightly better than Nell felt, entered.
Her eyes skated over Nell. “You’re here.”
“I live here,” she said quietly. “My leaving your father’s firm doesn’t change that.”
Ros’s lips thinned. She elbowed the door closed and tossed her keys into the stylized bowl sitting on the table next to Nell’s purse. “Maybe it should.”
Nell’s breath left her in a puff. “Ros, come on.”
“Why? You accused my father of collusion!” Rosalind spread her arms. “The very idea is so ridiculous it’s pathetic.”
Nell’s fingers tightened around her coffee mug. “And as little as a week ago, I’d have agreed with you,” she said quietly. “But I saw the records with my own eyes. While he was supposed to be acting on behalf of the court in a probate matter up in Weaver, he was taking money to influence the outcome of the case!” A whole lot of money, as it turned out.
“Well, the outcome wasn’t influenced,” Ros said flatly. “Instead of dying intestate like everyone thought, Otis Lambert did leave a will and when it came to light that was that. He left everything but his ranch on that mountain he owned to the state of Wyoming and instructed the ranch itself to be sold off. End of story.”
“That doesn’t erase what your father tried to do before the will was discovered! He was taking bribes, Ros!”
Her roommate’s expression was set. “We’re not going to agree about this, Nell. My father would never behave unethically. His reputation is impeccable.”
Nell’s hands were shaking. She set aside her coffee cup. “I didn’t want to believe it, either. There’s no way I’m mistaken.” She was also badly afraid this instance hadn’t been Martin’s only transgression, despite his impeccable reputation. He’d been too blasé when she confronted him.
Lawfully Unwed (Return To The Double C Book 17) Page 3
