A Millionaire for Cinderella

Most of his legal opponents didn’t have eyes that lit up like chocolate diamonds, either. Dark and sinfully rich, their spark got his adrenaline going in a way practicing law sure didn’t. A guy could make a career out of looking for ways to make those eyes light up.

What was that about not letting sex cloud his judgment? Ignoring Nigel’s protest, he rolled onto his side and reached for the phone on the nightstand. It was early, he thought, noting the time, but not so early to reach an associate. The ambitious ones practically slept at the firm. A few minutes of scrolling through his contacts found him the name he wanted.

Just as he expected, Bob Cunningham answered on the first ring. “Welcome back. I hear congratulations are in order.” He was referring to the LA case.

“Too bad the former Mrs. Wentworth didn’t come to her senses last year.” Instead, she’d put her late husband’s family through hell and sentenced Stuart to months of aggravation, not to mention opening the door for Patience Rush. “There are a couple details to iron out that I’ll talk to you about later. In the meantime, I need some background research done. A woman named Patience Rush.”

“Is that her real name?”

Good question. Strangely enough, he hoped the quirky moniker was real. “That’s for you to tell me.” He gave him what details he knew.

“You’re not giving the investigator much to work with,” Bob replied.

“He’s worked with less.”

“True. What client number should I bill?”

“SD100.” On the other end of the line, there was a soft intake of breath. Stuart seldom used his discretionary fund, but the firm’s investigator was the best around. He’d reimburse the firm later.

“Um...”

“What?” Stuart asked.

The associate paused. “This might take a while. We’ve tapped him for a couple other projects.”

And clients always came before personal. Stuart understood. “Just tell him to get to it as soon as he can.”

In the meantime, he’d just have to keep a close eye on Patience Rush. Thinking about her eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. There were worse jobs in the world.

* * *

A short while later, having showered and changed, he headed downstairs only to hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen. One muffled voice actually. He found Patience crouched over Nigel’s food dish, brandishing a dustpan and broom. “You’d think a cat who acts like he’s starving wouldn’t drop pieces of food all over the place,” she muttered. “One of these days, I’m going to toss the whole bowl out. Let’s see what you do then.”

A chuckle rose in his throat. Nigel had a way of making all of them talk as if he understood. He leaned a shoulder against the door frame. “Not a cat person, I take it.”

She gasped before looking up at him with a glare. “Do you always sneak up on people?”

There they were again, those chocolate-diamond eyes. He crossed his legs to keep his jeans from growing tight. “I didn’t know walking around the house was considered sneaking.”

“Then you should walk louder,” she replied. “Or wear shoes.”

He looked down at his bare feet. “I’ll keep that in mind. May I ask what the cat did to earn your wrath?”

“Nigel isn’t a cat. He’s a four-legged spoiled brat.”

As had been all of Ana’s cats. His aunt tended to overindulge the strays she adopted. Pushing herself to her feet, Patience swayed her way across the room to the trash can. Stuart found himself wondering if the seductive gait was natural or on purpose. “Sounds like the two of you have a great relationship,” he remarked.

“Mine and Nigel’s relationship is just fine. Why?” She took her foot off the receptacle latch, causing the lid to close with a loud slap. “Afraid I’ll try to push him down the stairs, too?”

“Nah. A woman as smart as you would know hurting Nigel is the quickest way to getting on Ana’s bad side.”

She gave him a long look. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

In a way, yes. He did think she was smart. “If you want to take it as such.”

“Gosh, thanks. I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

Smart and quick-witted. She was dressed similarly to yesterday in jeans, a T-shirt and a cardigan sweater, her hair pulled back with one of those plastic hair bands. For the first time he looked closely at her features. Yesterday, he’d been too distracted by her eyes, but today he noticed more intricate details like the long slope of her nose and the way her teeth met her lower lip in a slight overbite. A two-inch scar cut across her right cheekbone. Time had caused it to fade. In fact, with makeup, it’d be barely noticeable, but since she was again bare faced, he could see the jagged edges of a cut that should have had stitches. The scar bothered him, like seeing a crack on the surface of a crystal vase. It didn’t belong.

Patience cleared her throat. Realizing he’d been staring, he covered his action by adjusting his glasses. This might be one of those rare moments when he was grateful for them. He detested wearing the heavy black frames. The look might be considered stylish now, but it simply reminded him of his younger, awkward days. Then again, maybe a reminder was a good thing, given the awareness swirling around his insides this morning.

He reached for a change of topic. “Do I smell coffee?” There was a distinct aroma of French roast in the air, a unique scent in his tea-drinking aunt’s home.

Patience nodded her head toward a stainless steel coffeemaker tucked in the faraway corner. “Cream and sugar are in the dining room. Do you prefer a full breakfast or continental.”

“Neither.” Was she offering to make him breakfast? Considering the circumstances, he wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or suspicious. “Are you waiting on me?” he asked when she took a coffee mug from the cupboard. “Why?”

“Because it’s my job,” she replied. “I serve breakfast every morning. So long as someone’s here, I’ll keep on serving it.” Filling the cup, she handed it to him.

Stuart stared into the black liquid. What gives? Last night, Patience had made it quite clear that she didn’t appreciate his staying at the brownstone, yet here she was pouring him coffee and offering breakfast. Citing her job. Was she truly that dedicated or was this some kind of tactic to throw him off his game? If the latter, it was working.

“Something wrong?” she asked. “Would you feel better if I drank the cup first?”

“All right, you’ve made your point,” he said, setting the coffee cup down. “You didn’t appreciate my questioning Ana’s accident.”

“Not the accident—me. You all but accused me of pushing your aunt down the stairs.”

Yes, he had. Now that he thought about it, the accusation wasn’t his finest moment. Treating the woman like a hostile witness wouldn’t accomplish anything. A situation like this called for a more delicate touch. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I tend to be wary when it comes to strangers around my family.”

“Well, I tend to have a problem with being accused of crimes I didn’t commit,” she replied, snapping his olive branch in two. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a job to do.”

* * *

“Can you believe the guy? I think he actually considered that comment an apology.”

“Some people aren’t very good with apologies.” Her sister Piper’s face filled the screen of her smartphone. Thank goodness for Wi-Fi and internet chat apps. She so needed a friendly ear right now and Piper was the one person in this world she could trust. Patience called her as soon as she sat down at Ana’s desk.

“Maybe he’s one of those people,” her sister continued.

“Probably because in his mind he’s never wrong.” She sighed. “I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck working for the man while Ana’s in the hospital. Talk about a nightmare.”

“Oh, come on, it won’t be that bad.”

“Are you kidding? We’re living under the same roof. How am I supposed to avoid him?”

“I doubt he’s going to be hanging around the house.”

Wanna bet? Patience caught the smirk in his eyes last night. He probably considered the arrangement the perfect opportunity to vet her. Who used words like vet anyway? Couldn’t he say check her out like a normal person.