“What about the party?”
I shrugged. “Might be time to send them all home and call it a day.” I loved my friends and appreciated the fact that they turned up to congratulate me on my job and making it back from Europe, alive. But let’s face it, they were more interested in filling up their drinking cups than listening to my traveling stories. “But thanks for this. Did I ever tell you you’re the best friend ever?”
Sylvie crossed her toned arms over her chest, still pouting, but for once she kept quiet. With an apologetic smile, I left for my room and locked the door behind me. I didn’t even bother to change, just stripped off my clothes and snuggled into my cotton sheets, ready to catch up on all the sleep I missed out in the last two weeks. But, as tired as I was, Sylvie’s words kept ringing inside my head. All I could think of was that I was in debt, with no savings left, and there were so many women richer than me, more beautiful, and more successful, who’d kill for a slice of Jett. If someone were to ask me what I could offer him on the long term, apart from my heart, the answer would be: I don’t know.
***
The persistent tugging at my arm, followed by someone calling my name, jerked me out of my sleep. I blinked groggily against the glaring brightness and tried to pull the covers over my head.
“Brooke, wake up,” Sylvie said, yanking my sheets off the bed.
Aware of my half-naked body, I sat up and pulled the sheets back over my breasts to cover my modesty. “What the hell do you want?” My eyes threw daggers at her sheepish expression.
“Sorry.” She wasn’t. “The guy I’ve been telling you about is on the phone. He insisted that I wake you, so—” She trailed off.
I checked my watch and groaned inwardly. I had slept for a mere three hours. “So you, being a good friend and all, risked giving a very tired me a heart attack because some sales shark told you so.”
She shrugged and turned to leave, calling over her shoulder, “He has a nice accent. And he said you’d want to hear what he has to tell you.”
Of course.
That certainly made sense.
Ignoring the urge to crawl back into my bed, I wrapped a bathrobe around my shivering body and walked into the hall to get this admittedly extremely pushy sales clerk out of my life.
“How can I help you?” My voice sounded a little hoarse from the lack of sleep, but you could still hear the frosty undertones.
“Miss Brooke Stewart? My name’s Jake Clarkson from Clarkson & Miles. I’ve been trying to reach you for two weeks. Did you get my letter?”
Holy cow, he didn’t beat around the bush. “I don’t think I have,” I said, slowly scanning the glossy magazines and newspapers stacked neatly next to the phone, when I remembered Sylvie had mentioned a mysterious envelope. I had asked her to leave it in my room so it wouldn’t freak her out. “Actually, I haven’t opened it yet since I only just arrived back home.”
“No problem. We can discuss its contents. Would you be available to meet with me, preferably sooner rather than later?”
His questions struck me as odd. Why would he want to meet with me, unless it was an emergency? “Did anything happen?”
He laughed briefly, and I knew it was fake. “No, of course not, Miss Stewart. Please understand that I’m not in the position to discuss such important business with you on the phone. I’ve come all the way from London, and I really need to talk with you in private.”
Important business sounded grave enough without the serious undercurrent of his tone. And if a person came all the way from wherever he came from, I figured it was double serious business.
“What did you say your name was?” Regaining my wits, I grabbed a notepad and pen. As he repeated his details, I scribbled them down.
“Jake Clarkson. I’m an attorney with Clarkson & Miles. London headquarters.”
An attorney. And he seemed even more no-nonsense than me. I didn’t like lawyers. They had brought me nothing but bad news. My pulse sped up and my hands turned clammy. I wiped my palms on my bathrobe and cleared my throat to get rid of the sudden lump. The Britain part was pretty obvious from his accent.
What would someone like him want from me…unless I did something wrong and the offended tried to resolve the issue with the help of an attorney before the whole thing escalated into something ugly?
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Everything’s fine. Are you available today?” he persisted. “Any time would work for me. Even evening. It wouldn’t take long.”
“Today? It’s that urgent?” Given that the digital clock on our answering machine stated it was already ten past six, the guy sure seemed anxious to get a meeting. I briefly considered whether it was a bright idea to meet up at this time of day. It probably wasn’t, so I decided against it.