Page 28 of Happy Is On Hiatus
He smelled good too. She already knew she didn’t like this guy, or the reason he was here. Slamming the door shut, she circled around him and led the way to the dining room table. Without turning back to him, manners had her extending her arm for him to sit across from where she’d been. “Just let me get a pen so I can sign the papers.”
“I’ve got a pen,” he replied.
Was his voice deeper? Silkier?
Exhaustion must’ve been making her mind mush. This man wasn’t here for her to consider taking to her bed.Wasshe even considering that? “I like to be in charge,” she blurted out.
“Excuse me?”
Heat rose in her cheeks, and she clenched her fists to keep from cursing. “I like signing documents in blue ink.”
There was a hint of disbelief in the way he nodded, those clever eyes still watching her. His gaze moved boldly from where she knew her rapid pulse could be seen in the hollow of her neck, down to the swell of her breasts on display, thanks to the very low-cut tank top she’dpulled on after her shower. How in the hell had she forgotten that he was coming over?
Because she was bone tired and had wanted to eat, drink wine, and climb into bed. Now the bad-news lawyer got to see her in tiny black shorts with the wordshot bunsscrawled across her ass and a tank top that had lost all its elasticity from too many trips through the washing machine.
He held up a pen as she continued to work through her irritation and embarrassment. “I always have my clients sign in blue as well. That way we know which one is the original.”
She nodded as he said that last part. Another lawyer had told her that years ago, and the concept had stuck. Actually, she preferred writing in blue ink anyway, but he didn’t need to know all that.
“Good. I can sign and then you can—” She was about to say he could leave, but after he pulled two blue pens and a small stack of papers from his bag, Desmond set that bag on the floor and parked his too-sexy-for-her-senses self down like he’d been invited to dinner.
Well, she had directed him to the chair.
With a heavy sigh, she moved to her seat, grateful that at least the table hid her long and very exposed legs from his view. There wasn’t anything she could do about her parade of cleavage without drawing attention to the fact that she knew she was displaying too much skin in the first place. Getting him out of here fast was the best option.
“Okay, where do I sign?” A curse almost followed the question as she watched him pick up a pen, remove the top and place it at the other end, and then let the pen slide into an easy grip between his fingers. Her traitorous thoughts had her imagining those same fingers moving with identical efficiency and purpose over her ...
“Do you share?”
She gulped and forced her gaze up to his. “Excuse me?” Parroting his former question must’ve made her appear unfocused or uncouth. Neither of which she was known for being.
“I said, do you share?” And he looked down at the crumpled Jersey Mike’s paper that held the other three-fourths of her sub.
She frowned. “You always roll up in strange women’s houses and ask for their food?”
He chuckled. “Only when I’m hungry.”
Obviously, he was also damn alluring when he was hungry. She used a napkin to pick up a piece of the sandwich and set it in front of him.
“I’ve never had a client so out of sorts about dealing with a parent’s estate.” He took a bite of the sandwich and reached for another napkin.
The stack she’d grabbed at Jersey Mike’s was in the center of the table where a real napkin holder and store-bought napkins probably should’ve been.
“Are they normally jumping for joy over having to pay to cremate someone they barely knew?”
“I told you you’ll be reimbursed for all expenses once the estate is opened,” he said after chewing the second big bite he’d taken. He hadn’t lied, he was hungry.
“How, if I haven’t sold the properties yet?”
“Didn’t you read all the paperwork I sent you in the mail?”
No, she hadn’t. And no, she wasn’t watching this man chew, at least not anymore. Turning her attention to her own sandwich now, she picked it up and took a bite, hoping the flavorful meats and cheeses would redirect her thoughts. “They just came on Saturday,” she replied when she’d finished chewing.
His brows arched. “Today’s Monday.”
“I don’t read on Sundays.”
“Really? What do you do on Sundays?”
