Scarlet Woman. Gwynne Forster

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      “I’ll ask Irene to type out this list of prospective board members along with their street and e-mail addresses and their phone numbers. This will take time, so the sooner you get on it, the better.”

      “Yes, sir!”

      His eyebrow went up sharply, but she didn’t care if he recognized her insolence. He couldn’t change faces with her like a chameleon and expect her to accept it.

      “You’re not as easygoing as you appear to be, are you?”

      She put the tablet in her pocketbook and stood, preparing to leave. “I didn’t know anybody thought me easygoing. That is a surprise.”

      “Real little tiger, eh?” he said, walking with her to the door.

      She whirled around and he towered over her, inches from her body. Get a grip on it, girl. “Tiger, lion, or leopard. Cross me, and I claw. But unless you step out of line, you’ll never get so much as a hint of my feline side.”

      She wanted to back away from him, but the door trapped her. She didn’t like the feeling that pervaded her body, a strange hunger that she suspected had nothing to do with food. He didn’t move, and she didn’t want him to know what his nearness did to her. Then his pupils seemed to dilate, and his nostrils flared. Oh, Lord, please let me get away from here without making a fool of myself.

      Summoning all the strength she could muster, she whispered, “Would you please open the door?”

      He reached around her in what felt like a half caress, though she knew it wasn’t, and turned the knob. She stepped backward and nearly lost her footing, but he grabbed her and pulled her toward him.

      “What…?”

      She glanced over her shoulder as Judd Folson walked in for his eleven o’clock appointment. And from the man’s knowing expression, she didn’t doubt that he assumed he’d caught her in Blake Hunter’s arms a week after she buried her husband.

      She raised herself to her full height—nearly six feet if you took into account her three-inch heels—and looked him straight in the eye. “Good morning, Mr. Folson. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

      The man nodded in reply, gaping as he did so, and she realized that Blake’s arm remained around her waist. She stepped away, stood against the doorjamb, and made herself smile.

      “Thanks for your help, Mr. Hunter. I hope Irene can get that list to me in a day or two and I can get started.” Nervous words, and she knew it.

      But he didn’t answer, only stared at her with those piercing eyes and nodded his head before turning to Judd Folson.

      “Have a seat, Judd,” Blake said to his visitor, though his thoughts remained with the woman who’d just left. “I just looked over your suit.”

      “Man, if you could work with that nice little tidbit hanging on to you, I take off my hat to you.”

      In the process of sitting down, Blake stopped seconds before touching the chair. “What tidbit are you talking about?” Folson was a good client, but that didn’t mean he could make a rude statement about another one of his clients. About to slap his right fist into the palm of his left hand, he caught himself and sat down.

      Folson shifted uneasily in his chair, and Blake didn’t have to be told that the man noticed his testiness. “Well, I thought you and she were…not that I blame you. She’s just about the best-looking…uh…woman around here, and after four or five years as Mrs. Rodgers, she must be—”

      Blake interrupted him, because he knew that if he heard him say it, he’d pick him up out of that chair and…He told himself to calm down.

      “Mr. Folson,” he began, though he normally addressed the man by his first name. “I was opening the door for Mrs. Rodgers who stood with her back to it, and when you almost knocked her down, I grabbed her to prevent an accident. I assume you would have done the same.”

      “Well, sure. I…I just thought. Never mind. What do you have for me?”

      Blake opened the file and outlined for Folson his options in respect to property he wanted to sell. “You’ll get top price for it now, but it’s impossible to predict its future value. Depends on property changes in the neighborhood and whether we get aggressive growth in another part of town. My advice is to sell now, take your three hundred percent profit, and consider yourself lucky.”

      “All right, let it go. I need to get rid of some holdings anyway.”

      “I’ll keep you informed.”

      He wanted the man to get out of there. He bowled and played soccer and basketball at the same club as Folson and sometimes with him, though he wouldn’t call him a friend, but right that minute, he wanted the man out of his sight. He stood, signaling the end of the appointment.

      Folson shook hands and went on his way, but Blake walked back and forth in his office until he forced himself to sit down. He let out a sharp whistle as the truth exploded in his brain. Melinda Rodgers’s behavior as she walked toward that door was solid evidence that she reciprocated what he felt, and she’d lie if she disowned it. Now, how the devil was he supposed to handle that?

      He answered the intercom buzzer. “Yes, Irene.”

      “Melinda Rodgers on two.”

      “Hello, Melinda. What can I do for you?”

      “Hello, Blake. I have some questions that occurred to me since I left your office. First, is that clause stipulating that I have to marry within a year legal?”

      What was she getting at? “It’s legal. Why do you ask? You thinking about contesting it?”

      “Contest it? Why should I do that? He was entitled to specify his wish. I just don’t understand it.”

      Angry now at himself for his softness toward her and for having reprimanded Folson in her defense, he spoke sharply to her. “It shouldn’t be difficult for a woman like you to find a husband. If it’s known that you’re looking for one, you can have your pick. So, that certainly won’t be an obstacle to your inheriting Prescott’s estate. Your problem is setting up that foundation.”

      Her lengthy silence was as much a reprimand as any words could have been. Finally, she said, “And the foundation. Are you sure someone else can’t set that up and I approve it?”

      “Trust me, you’ll do as the will states. That, or nothing. If you want that inheritance, get busy.”

      He thought she’d put the telephone receiver down and left it, until he heard her say, “Is there a provision in that will that allows me to replace you as its executor?” Her tone, sharp and cold, was meant to remind him that he was her husband’s employee, a fact that he never forgot.

      He looked down at his tapered and polished fingernails. Perfect. You could even say he had elegant hands. But at that moment, he wanted to send one of them crashing through the wall. Replace him, indeed!

      “For whatever reason you’d like to have my head, Melinda, don’t even think it. You and I will work together until this is settled.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ