What an odd thing to say. “Thank you. But what makes you say that?”
“Glass and dark wood. I like it. I would have taken you for something more girly, though.”
“What are you—oh, no. They delivered my office furniture today?”
“They did.”
“How? How did they even get in when you were with me all day?”
“My contractor was here finishing up, and I hadn’t had a chance to tell him what went down yet. He thought he was doing you a favor by letting them in.”
I banged my head against my kitchen counter, then kept my forehead pressed to it to stop from bludgeoning myself. I couldn’t catch the groan that came from my mouth, though.
“I’m sorry. I’ll deal with it right away. First thing in the morning.”
“Take your time. My stuff is still in storage. I can keep it here for a while.”
“Thank you. I’m so sorry. I’ll get on the phone first thing in the morning and make them come back and get it. Then I’ll come wait at your office so you don’t have to deal with it, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying you’re sorry, Emerie. Ex-cons are hardened. They don’t apologize. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I laughed, because it kept me from crying.
“Hello?” I knocked on the half-opened door and listened to my voice echo back to me. The door pushed open, and I was surprised to find the lobby area still empty. I thought my furniture would have been dropped here.#p#分页标题#e#
In the distance, I heard a voice, but couldn’t make it out. I stepped inside and yelled a little louder. “Hello? Drew?”
Rapid footsteps clanked against the new marble flooring, each step growing louder until Drew appeared from the hallway. He had his cellphone up to his ear and held up a finger as he continued with his call.
“We don’t want the house in Breckenridge. My client hates the cold. She can keep it, but it will be the only property she’s leaving this marriage with.” A pause, then, “No, I’m not nuts. After I hang up, I’m going to send you some photos of the Breckenridge property. I think they’ll convince you that Mrs. Hollister really enjoys that house.”
Just then, a FedEx deliveryman appeared with a hand truck full of boxes. Drew moved the phone from his ear to speak to him. “Give me one minute.”
Deciding the least I could do was help him out, I signed for the delivery and asked the nice delivery man to stack the boxes on top of the plastic-covered reception counter. Drew mouthed thank you and continued his call.
While he was semi-yelling at whoever was on the other end of the conversation, I took a minute to check him out. He wore what I assumed by the fit was a very expensive suit. The sleeve on the arm holding the cell was pushed back, revealing a big, expensive-looking watch. His shoes were shiny and his shirt crisply pressed. His hair was dark and too long for a man who shined his shoes, and his skin was tanned from his recent vacation, which made his very light green eyes stand out even brighter.
But it was his lips that were impossible not to stare at—so full and perfectly shaped. He really is beautiful. I wasn’t sure I’d ever thought of a man as beautiful before. Handsome, yes. Hot, even. But beautiful fit the bill to describe Drew Jagger—no other word did him justice.
He finished up his call. “Seriously, Max, how many cases have you been on the other side of the table staring at my pretty face? You don’t know when I’m not bluffing by now? Look at the photos, then let me know your answer on the offer. I think you’ll find it more than fair after things are put in perspective for you. Her twenty-year-old ski instructor was teaching her a new kind of snowplow. Offer’s on the table for forty-eight hours. Then I have to make another phone call to you, which means my client gets another bill and your offer goes down by a fuck of a lot.”
Drew pushed a button on his phone and looked up at me, about to speak, when it started to buzz in his hand. “Shit.” He sighed, eyes flicking to his phone again and back to me. “Sorry. I need to take this, too.”
A Poland Spring delivery guy wheeling big jugs of water knocked at the front door. I looked at Drew. “I got it. Go take your call.”
Over the next fifteen minutes that Drew was on the phone, I turned away a solicitor, answered the ringing office phone buried under a tarp—twice—and signed for some legal documents served to the Law Offices of Drew M. Jagger. I was bluffing my way through a prospective client call when Drew reappeared.
“We’ll have to thank Mr. Aiken for recommending you.” I listened for a moment and then added, “Our rate is...” I caught Drew’s eye. “Seven hundred an hour.”