“Please get the manager on the phone for me.” Tina dropped her leather briefcase on her desk.
“Yes, ma’am,” Madeline said as she scooted out of the office.
If her suspicions were correct, Kline had cheated her of the satisfaction of making the first strike. For the last two days she’d looked forward to summoning him to a private meeting, then dumping him as her client. She’d chosen Seth Logan as her replacement, a fairly young attorney with an ego that matched Kline’s. Let the two testosterone-saturated fools battle it out. Vincent’s concerns were well founded and she didn’t want to be subjected to Kline’s abuse again.
Her phone rang and she picked up the headset. “Yes?”
“Gilbert Sanchez is on the line—he’s the manager at the flower shop.”
“Thanks, Madeline, put him through.”
The line beeped a couple of times before she heard Gilbert breathing.
“Mr. Sanchez?”
“Good morning,” he said. “Your assistant told me you’re displeased with the bouquet we just delivered.”
“Not exactly,” she explained. “It’s beautiful. But there was no name on the card.”
“Our customer wishes to remain anonymous.”
“Even if it involves a legal matter, possibly criminal charges?”
Gilbert cleared his throat. “In order to share private information I need a court order.”
“Of course,” Tina replied. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Sanchez. Thank you.”
She sat in her high-backed chair and swiveled so she could stare out the closest window. Across the street she eyed Corpus Christi Bay. Families were enjoying the mild morning weather, walking and jogging, oblivious to the world around them. Everything moved in slow motion in Texas, especially in Corpus. But not the legal system. Her caseload had doubled recently, but judges cleared their dockets at the end of the year. She only hoped Seth would accept Kline as a client.
She buzzed Madeline. “Please contact Mr. Kline Barnes and set up a meeting for this morning.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Call Mr. Vincent Ramos and ask him to forward the invoice and pictures from his auto repair shop. I’ll email you his number.”
Two hours later, Kline knocked on her door. Tina looked up from her desk, once again turned off by his pricey tailored suit. “Come in,” she said. “And please shut the door.”
Kline did as she asked, then claimed one of the guest chairs in front of her desk. “Do you like red roses?” His gaze zigzagged around her office, obviously searching for the bouquet.
She sucked in a frustrated breath. “Mr. Barnes…”
“Kline.”
“Mr. Barnes,” she started again. “I find your question inappropriate. We are not personally involved. Our relationship is limited to this office and your ongoing criminal case. Whatever triggered this interest in me outside working hours needs to be addressed and stopped immediately.” She kept her eyes on his.
He crossed his long legs. “Your smile.”
“Excuse me?”
“Somewhere in that ridiculously long diatribe you asked what triggered my affection.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Of course you did. So I took the liberty of answering. Even if you don’t realize it yet, you smile at me whenever we’re together.”
Tina leaned forward, her mind all over the place. The guy had serious problems. “I smile at strangers on the street. It’s a professional courtesy, Mr. Barnes.”
“Your eyes say different.”
Tina gave him an impatient look. Either the man lived in a fantastical world of make-believe or the arrogant bastard assumed every woman desired him. “I didn’t invite you here to play games, Mr. Barnes. When you approached me in Tito’s Friday night, I explained how I feel. Then you tailed me to Flour Bluff and vandalized my vehicle. The messages you left on my answering machine and the flowers are all the evidence I need to file a complaint with your probation officer.”
He spread his legs and loosened his tie. “What messages? And what flowers?”
She blinked several times. After five minutes, she wanted to rip his perfect brown hair out. “As of today, I am no longer representing you. My assistant will contact you with the name of your new attorney. Or if you’re feeling adventurous, perhaps I can recommend another law firm that’s accepting new clients.”
“Don’t be too hasty, Ms. Bethel,” he shot back. “Alexander James, the man who signs your paychecks, was my father’s best friend. How would he react if I walked into his office and explained one of his junior associates is making indecent proposals to a client?”