The Billionaire's Fair Lady

“Well, first…” She picked at the label on her water bottle, obviously searching for the right words. “Are you sure you weren’t kidding? About it being a million-dollar claim? That wasn’t another one of your tests, was it?”

Ah, straight to the money. “I told you, I don’t kid. Not about case value. Although keep in mind, I’m not making any promises, either. I’m saying there’s potential. Nothing more.”

“I appreciate the honesty. I don’t like being misled.”

“Me, neither,” he replied. Seemed the hothead had a bit of a cautious streak after all. A good sign.

He watched as she peeled off a strip of label. “So what’s the next step?” she asked. “Do I take a DNA test or something?”

If it were so easy. “Easy there, Cowboy. Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s a little more complicated. You got any Sinclair DNA lying around?” he asked her.

Immediately her eyes went to the envelope. Cautious and quick. “I’m afraid you’ve watched too many crime shows. Getting anything off letters that old would be a miracle.” Besides, he’d already had a similar thought and checked online. “You’re going to need a more recent sample.”

“How do we get one?”

Now they were getting to the complicated part. “Best way would be for one of the Sinclair sisters to agree to a test. They are Wentworth’s closest living relatives.”

“But you said they would put up a fight.”

“Doesn’t mean we don’t ask,” he told her. “We give them enough evidence, and they’ll have to comply.”

“You mean, prove I’m a Sinclair, and they’ll let me have proof.”

Mike couldn’t help smiling. Definitely quick. He liked that. If he had to take a case like this, he preferred to work with a client who understood what they were doing. Made his job easier. “Never fear. We’ll make enough noise that they’ll have to pay attention. The squeaky wheel and that sort of thing.”

Frowning, she tore another strip. Some of the eagerness had left her face. Without it, she looked tired and, dare he say, a bit vulnerable. “You make it sound like I’m out to get them.”

“The Sinclairs would argue you are.”

“Why? I didn’t go looking for this. My mother dropped the story in my lap.”

“A story you promptly took to a lawyer to see if you have a claim to his estate.”

That silenced her. “I didn’t look at it that way.” Another strip peeled away. “I’m just trying to make my life better. If this guy—Wentworth Sinclair—was my father, he’d want that, too, wouldn’t he?”

Mike had to admit, if the relationship painted in the letter he read carried forward, she might be right. “Which is why we’re pursuing the claim. To help you get that better life.”

“What if they refuse to listen?”

“Then we’ll keep fighting,” Mike answered simply. Sooner or later, the Sinclairs would have to pay attention if only to make them disappear. He wasn’t kidding about the squeaky wheel; it always yielded some kind of result.

Roxy was looking down at the table. Following her gaze, Mike saw that at some point while talking, he’d once again covered her hand. When had he reached across? When the dimness hit her eyes? That wasn’t like him. He always kept an invisible wall between himself and his clients. For good reason. Getting too close led to making mistakes.

He studied the hand beneath his. She had skin the color of eggshells, pale and off-white. There was a small tattoo on the inside of her wrist as well. A yellow butterfly. The wings called out for a thumb to brush across them.

Mike realized he was about to do just that when she pulled her hand free and balled it into a fist. He found himself doing the same.

“Why?” she asked aloud.

Distracted by his reaction to the butterfly, it took a moment for her question to register. “Why what?”

“Why would you fight for me? If it’s such a long shot, why are you taking this case?”

Somehow he didn’t think she’d appreciate the truth, that he needed the money from this case as badly as she wanted it. “Told you, I like a challenge. As for fighting, I don’t believe in quitting. Or losing. So you can be assured, I’ll stick around to the bloody end.”

“Colorful term.”

“I also don’t believe in mincing words.”

“That so? Never would have guessed from your gentle desk side manner.” She smiled as she delivered the comment. Mike fought the urge to smile back, taking a sip of his drink instead.

“You can have hand-holding or you can have results.” Unfortunate choice of words given his behavior a moment earlier. “Up to you.”

“Results are fine,” she replied. “In my book, hand-holding is overrated. Sympathy just leads to a whole lot of unwanted problems.”

Add practical to her list of attributes. Maybe this case would go smoother than he thought, in spite of this morning’s dramatics. “I agree.”

“Still…”

Mike’s senses went on alert. Any sentence beginning with the word “still” never ended well. “What is it?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not looking for reassurance, but I’m wondering. When you say the word bloody, just how bloody do you mean?”

“The Sinclair legal team won’t hold back, if that’s what you’re asking. They’ll have no qualms about digging into your life.” Her expression fell, followed quickly by his stomach. She had a skeleton, didn’t she? “If you’ve got secrets, you best start sharing.”

“No secrets.” She shook her head, a little too vehemently if you asked him.

“Then what?”

“I’ve got a kid. A little girl. Her name is Steffi.”

Wentworth Sinclair’s granddaughter. That wasn’t what he expected to hear. “No problem,” he replied. His enthusiasm started building. Alice and Frances Sinclair would no doubt be very interested in the little girl’s existence. “In fact, this might actually make the case—”

“Whoa!” She held up her hand, cutting him off. “I don’t want her involved. She’s only four years old. She won’t understand what’s going on.”

Mike took a deep breath. “I don’t think you understand. The fact that Wentworth might have a granddaughter could go a long way in convincing the sisters to comply with our requests.”

She shook her head. “I don’t care. I’m not going to have her being upset. She can’t be involved. You’ll have to find a different way.”

“I don’t think—”

“Promise.”

What was he going to do? He wanted to tell her she was in no position to issue conditions, that as her lawyer, it was his job to do everything he could to win her case, meaning he was the one who would decide what tactics he could or couldn’t use. He also wanted to tell her there was no way he could keep such a promise. Sooner or later the Sinclair sisters would discover the child’s existence. Her fiercely determined expression stopped him from saying so. There was no way he’d get her to budge on the issue tonight. Push and he ran the risk of her walking away again.

“Fine.” He’d agree to her condition for now, and renegotiate their position later.

“Thank you.” Satisfied, she opened her now naked water bottle and took a long drink. “When do we start?”