The Billionaire's Fair Lady

“No.”

Interesting. “Any chance he’ll pop back in?”

“No.”

“You sure?” Wouldn’t be the first time an ex reappeared at the scent of a payday. From his point of view, the fewer complications the better.

“He’s not in our lives,” she repeated, her voice a little terse.

Her clenched jaw said there was more to the story. “Because he’s not…?” He left the end of his sentence hoping she’d fill in the blank.

“Because he’s not,” she repeated. “Why are you asking anyway? I thought this case was about my paternity.”

“It’s my job to know as many details as possible about my clients.”

“Even things that aren’t your business?

“Everything about you is my business.”

“I don’t think so,” she scoffed.

This was the second time tonight she’d tried to dictate what he could and couldn’t discuss. Time he explained how this relationship would work. Yanking the steering wheel, he cut off the car in the next lane and pulled to the curb. “Let’s get a few things straight right now. You came to me asking for help. I can’t do that without your cooperation. Your. Full. Cooperation. That means if I need to know what you had for dinner last Saturday night, you need to tell me. Do you understand? Because if you can’t, then this—” he waved his hand in the space between them “—isn’t going to work.

“Are we clear?” he asked, looking her in the eye. Although the lecture was necessary, she could very well tell him to go to blazes. He held his breath, hoping he hadn’t pushed her—and his luck—too far.

From her seat, she glared, her eyes bright in the flash of passing headlights. “Crystal.”

“Good. Now I suggest you learn to deal with tough questions, because we’ve only scratched the surface.” They were definitely revisiting her daughter’s paternity, too. There was way too much emotion behind her reaction.

They drove the rest of the distance in silence, eventually pulling up in front of a nondescript building, on a street lined with them. Tall towers with squares of light, the kind of buildings his architect brother would call void of personality. At this hour of night, with the green landscaping unlit, Mike thought they had an eerie futuristic quality.

He stole a look at his companion. She hadn’t moved since his lecture, her face locked on the view outside the windshield. With the shadows hiding her makeup and her hair tumbling down her back, he was surprised how classical her profile looked. Reminding him of one of those Greek busts in a museum, strong and delicate at the same time. If, that is, the pieces in the museum were gritting their teeth.

Her fingers were already wrapped around the door handle. “Want to wait till I come to a full stop or will slowing down to a crawl be good enough?” he asked her.

“Either will be fine.” Her voice was tight to match her jaw. Still upset over his lecture. He added the discussion to his mental revisit list. Thing was getting pretty long. “I’ll stop at the front walkway if you don’t mind. Road burn never looks good on a client.”

Without so much as cracking a smile, she pointed to the crosswalk a few feet ahead. “Here is fine. I’ll walk the rest of the way.” She pushed open the door the moment the wheels stopped spinning. Eager to get away.

“Roxanne!” Call it guilt or anxiety over his harshness earlier, but he needed to call her back and make sure they were truly on the same page. “Do we understand each other?”

“We do.” From her resignation, however, she wasn’t happy about it. Never mind, she’d be happy enough with him when they settled her case.

“You still want to proceed then?” he double-checked.

She nodded, again with resignation. “I do.”

“I have an opening at nine-thirty tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”

Resignation quickly switched to surprise. “You want to meet tomorrow?”

“Unless you’d rather meet tonight. We have a lot to go over, and you’re my only source of information. Sooner we get started, the better.”

Seeing her widening eyes, he added, “Is that a problem?”

“No,” she replied. “No problem.”

There was, but to her credit, she seemed resolved to solving whatever it was. “I’ll see you at nine-thirty.”

“Sharp,” he added. As if he had anything better to do. “Oh, and Roxanne? You might as well get used to spending time with me. In fact, you could say I’m about to become your new best friend.”

“Great.” Thrilled, she was not; he could tell by the smirk.

Surprisingly, however, he found the annoyance almost amusing. There was mettle underneath her attitude that would come in handy. Smiling, he watched her walk away, waiting till she disappeared behind the frosted front door before shifting his car into Drive. For the first time in weeks, he looked forward to a new workday. Roxanne O’Brien didn’t know it yet, but she’d just become his newest and biggest priority.

He had a feeling both their futures would be better for it.

CHAPTER THREE

RROXY could feel Mike all the way to her front door and this time the sensation had nothing to do with his “presence.” He was watching her.

Her new best friend. The idea was beyond laughable. She wasn’t entirely sure she even liked the guy with his bossy, arrogant, elegant attitude. Add nosy, too. What business was it of his whether Steffi’s father was around or not? Everything about you is my business. Recalling the authority in his voice, she got a hot flash. Men who could truly take charge were few and far between in her world. Most of them simply took off.

Bringing her back to Steffi’s father. What a nice big bitter circle. She really did have to stop overreacting when people mentioned him. Not every remark was a reference to her bad judgment.

No, those would come later, when the Sinclairs got involved. Maybe chasing down the truth wasn’t such a good idea.

Then she thought about Steffi, and her resolve returned.

Mrs. Ortega’s apartment was on the third floor. The older woman met her at the door. “She give you any problems?” Roxy asked.

“Nada. Went down during her movie, same as always. She had a busy day. I had all three grandchildren.”

“Sounds like a houseful.”

Steffi was curled up sound asleep on the sofa, the late-night news acting as a night-light. In her hand she clutched a purple-haired plastic pony. Roxy smiled. Her daughter was in the middle of a pony fascination, the purple-haired animal not having left her hand in a month.

Carefully she scooped her up. The little girl immediately stirred. “Dusty’s thirsty,” she murmured, half swatting at her amber curls. Roxy wasn’t quite sure she was awake.

“We’ll get him some water upstairs.”

“Okay.” The little girl nodded and tucked her head into the crook of Roxy’s neck. Her skin smelled of sleep and baby shampoo. Roxy inhaled a noseful and the scent tugged at her heart. Her little angel. Steffi might have started as a mistake, but she was the one decent accomplishment in Roxy’s life. She’d do anything not to screw it up.

After making arrangements with Mrs. Ortega for the next morning, she carried Steffi to the elevator. Stepping off onto the eleventh floor, she could hear the screech of a high speed chase playing on a television. Would it be too much to ask for it not to be her apartment?

Yes. Fumbling to balance her keys and her daughter, she opened the door to find the volume blasting. A thin, acne-prone stain wearing an orange-and-blue throwback jersey lay sprawled on the sofa. Roxy cringed. Wayne. When she first decided to take on a roommate, she figured an extra person would allow her to afford a better apartment and Alexis had been one of the few decent applicants who didn’t mind living with a four-year-old. Roxy didn’t realize till they signed the lease that the woman’s loser brother came along with the package. He showed up at all times of the night, offering some lame excuse as to why he needed to sponge off them for the night. If she didn’t need Alexis’s share of the rent money, she’d kick them both to the curb.

Another reason to hope Mike Templeton was as good as he said. “Can you turn the TV down?” she whispered harshly.