‘Thanks for that.’ He shook his head, dropping his chin and lifting a hand to remove the dust mask from his face as he stood up. ‘So what’d I do this time?’
Opening her mouth to set his mind at ease, anything resembling coherent thought scrambled when he set the mask aside and looked directly at her. The room contracted; it was suddenly smaller and tighter and felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of it. Everything in her peripheral vision blurred as her gaze locked on him and doggedly refused to let go. But who could blame a girl for staring?
A little heads-up on how he looked might have helped.
Six foot two, possibly three, lean at the waist, broad at the shoulders, with short spikes of unruly chocolate-brown hair and dark eyes that sparkled with more than a hint of the guy a girl’s mother would warn her about; Blake Clayton was the living, breathing definition of seriously smokin’ hot.
When her gaze dropped briefly to the jut of a full lower lip that begged for immediate, audience-be-damned attention, Olivia ran her tongue over her teeth. Would he taste as good as he looked? She’d just bet he did.
The woman inside her purred appreciatively. The professional forced a businesslike tone to her voice. ‘I represent the legal firm of Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise, and—’
‘Bet that’s a bitch to put on a business card.’ A corner of his mouth hitched with amusement.
The woman sighed contentedly while the professional frowned at how difficult it was to focus. Her flights of fantasy had fallen woefully short of reality.
‘Is there somewhere we could talk?’
‘We’re talking now.’
‘Mr Clayton, I’m afraid I have bad news,’ she announced more bluntly than she’d intended.
‘I heard,’ he said tightly, the change in him immediate.
Her voice softened ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘Don’t be.’ Stepping past her to lift a mug from a worktop, he sat down beside one of the men eating lunch, spreading long, jeans-clad legs while tipping the rim of the mug to his mouth. ‘We done?’
Glancing at their audience, she found them watching her like some kind of floor show. Surely he didn’t want to—
‘You can say whatever you have to say in front of them,’ he added as if he’d read her mind.
Considering her thoughts since she’d laid eyes on him, Olivia sincerely hoped he hadn’t.
‘No secrets among friends,’ the man who’d answered the door added. ‘Offer us the right money, we could tell you enough to get him arrested in a half-dozen states.’
‘And Canada,’ added a chorus of voices.
‘You got something you need me to sign, hand it over,’ Blake said over the sound of laughter. ‘You can mail whatever memento I’ve got coming my way.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ Olivia replied patiently. ‘You’re the sole beneficiary. He left everything to you.’
‘Everything?’
‘Yes.’
‘All of it?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded. He obviously hadn’t known. Not that the flat tone to his deep voice gave any indication he was happy with the news. The majority of people would have been turning cartwheels.
‘There’s no one else?’
Confused by the question after her use of the term ‘sole beneficiary’, she shook her head. ‘No.’ Thanks to Charles Warren’s will, his son was one of the richest, most powerful men in America. ‘I know it must seem daunting to take on the responsibility of—’
‘Such a great legacy?’ A dark brow lifted. ‘Wrong tactic, Miss—what did you say your name was again?’
‘Brannigan.’ She tried not to be piqued by the fact he hadn’t remembered. ‘Olivia Brannigan.’
‘Well, Liv—’ he leaned forward ‘—someone should probably have warned you: I don’t give a rat’s ass how great a legacy it is. I don’t want it.’
Was he insane?
‘I understand you need time to process everything, b—’
‘There’s nothing to process.’ Setting his mug down, he pushed to his feet. ‘What I need is to get this job done.’
As she faltered, he walked past her and picked up his tools. She’d never been in such a surreal situation. What did he expect her to do? Go back to the office, walk up to her boss and say, Sorry, no go, we have to find someone else we can give billions of dollars’ worth of property and assets to? They could hold a raffle.
When she didn’t move, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. ‘Am I supposed to tip you?’
Seriously?
The professional stepped forward and smiled smoothly. ‘I don’t think you understand, Mr Clayton. Allow me to make it clear: you’re it. Whether you want it or not, you’re the sole beneficiary of Charles Warren’s will.’
‘The Charles Warren?’ an incredulous voice asked behind her.
‘Your father made his wishes very clear.’
‘Father?’ said the same incredulous voice. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’
So much for no secrets between friends …
He took a step forward and lowered his voice. ‘Look, lady, I get that you’re trying to do your job but, in case you didn’t get it, allow me to make it clear: I’m not your man. So unless you’re planning on setting down that briefcase and picking up a power tool, I suggest you hightail it back to Manhattan and tell Wagner, Liebstrahm, Barker and DeLuise—or whoever it is you answer to further down the food chain—they best find a distant Warren relative they can lay this on. I have a life. I’m not living someone else’s.’
‘This isn’t going anywhere,’ she insisted with a deceptive calmness that masked the effect his proximity was having on her body.
‘Maybe not,’ he allowed. ‘But I can.’
What about the life he’d said he had? Olivia found herself wondering if there was a woman in it; one who would miss him when he was gone. Somehow she doubted he was the type to stick around long enough to let anyone get that close. Judging by the number of addresses she’d discovered in various different states—some of which he’d only resided in for a matter of weeks—any relationships he had were short-lived. Not that looking the way he did would leave him short of company for long.
Squaring her shoulders, she reached into the front of the briefcase he’d mentioned and held out her hand. ‘I’ll leave my card. When you’ve had time to think things СКАЧАТЬ