Sway With Me(66)

A half-hour later, she parked across the street from the attorney’s office. Neither Ryan nor George had returned her call. She prayed she wasn’t too late to fix her mistakes. She sprinted into the building, her shoes clipping across the tiled floor as she rushed for the elevator, barely making it inside before the doors began to close. A man’s shoe appeared between the doors, popping them back open. Her breath caught in her chest and hope bloomed that maybe the foot belonged to Ryan. Her gaze moved up his legs until the doors bounced open to show his face.

Disappointment swelled as the man stepped onto the elevator smelling of spicy cologne. Nothing like the natural male scent she’d grown to identify as Ryan’s. She gave the man a brief smile then returned her attention to the closing elevator doors. Unlike the trip she’d taken with Ryan in this elevator, the man got off on the third floor, leaving her alone for the final ascension to George’s office.

To calm herself, she held a pose in arabesque until the elevator stopped, then resumed a faux collected demeanor in case the doors opened to any waiting people. As soon as she could, she stepped off the elevator and politely pushed past the three gentlemen who had indeed been waiting.

No high heels for her today. In her sensible, yet fashionable sneakers, she raced down the hall and swore remnants of Ryan’s scent lingered in the air. Her pulse quickened and her body heated in response, every cell familiar with the promise of Ryan’s touch. Was he still here?



This time when she entered George’s office suite, a young female receptionist with a bright smile and an even brighter orange blouse greeted Portia from her desk. “How can I help you this morning?”

She rocked back and forth on her toes. “I’m here to see Mr. Pappas.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Not exactly, but he is expecting us—me—this morning.” She desperately wanted to ask if Ryan was here but the receptionist had already picked up the phone.

“Mr. Pappas, I have a—” She held her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece and looked up at Portia. “What is your name?”

“Portia Dubrovsky.”

“Ms. Dubrovsky here to see you.” She listened and nodded as if George could see her then hung up the phone and stood. “Follow me and I’ll take you to his office.”

The butterflies in her stomach threatened to fly away they fluttered so furiously. She took a deep breath and tried to smile as she followed the young woman through the door and down the hallway to George’s office. She still smelled Ryan, but she didn’t hear his voice.

The receptionist ushered her inside George’s office where the attorney sat at his desk.

Alone.

She’d missed Ryan. She was too late.

The short and harried lawyer wore the same suit he’d worn when they’d met previously in this space. The piles of paperwork and files had grown taller in three months. He stood and ambled around his desk to take her hand, his eyes twinkling. “Portia. It’s always a pleasure to see you. I assume you’re here to sign the documents?”





She blurted out the question which had played through her mind for the last hour. “Did Ryan already sign them?”

George frowned, his bushy eyebrows merging to become a unibrow. “Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll have a little chat.” Holding her hand, he led her to a chair and pulled it out for her. After she sunk down, he moved to his side of the desk and grabbed a file. For a moment, neither one of them spoke. The strange attorney just stared, causing her to shift in her chair.

“When I arrived at my office suite at eight this morning, Ryan was waiting for me,” George finally said. “He explained the situation, and I drafted the necessary documents to effectuate the transfer.” George plopped a piece of paper on the middle of the desk.

“Transfer?” She slowly slid the document closer.

“Yes. Ryan signed over his half ownership of the mansion to you. If you sign where I’ve indicated on these pages, you’ll own the property outright. Congratulations, my dear.”

Her jaw dropped. “But . . . but I can’t afford to pay Ryan for his share.”

George pointed out a figure on the property deed. “He’s only requested one dollar in consideration. Surely you can afford that.”

He was giving up two-million dollars. For her. “No.”

George rocked back in his chair. “No? You can’t afford to pay one-dollar?”

She shook her head. “No, I won’t allow him to transfer the property to me. I don’t accept.”

The lawyer ran his finger over his mustache. “This is . . . unexpected. I was under the impression you had both agreed on this.”