The Bachelor Chronicles

“I guess I’m not like most men, then, am I?” he said, just managing to be civil.

Her gaze flicked down and held on his wristwatch for a long, significant moment. “Well, most men don’t have trust funds to live on, do they?” Her mouth spread into a tight, judgmental smile.

He clenched his hands. His instincts about this interview had proved dead-on. The press was bad news. They’d ridden his back his whole life, always groveling for some kind of story about his famous family. And then, before he’d threatened one reporter with libel a year ago, they’d tried to do a hatchet job when his half sister, Carolyn, had died.

The media had been too damn eager to exploit the circumstances of the famous Janet Worthington’s daughter’s death. Not only had a slew of reporters hounded him for details of the motorcycle crash that had snuffed out Carolyn’s life, they’d jumped on him like a pack of wolves when he’d adopted Carolyn’s six-month-old baby daughter, Allison. The press had wanted to splash her picture across the front page. Man, how Carolyn would have hated that.

The familiar guilt for failing to save Carolyn jabbed at him, fueling his desire to cut this interview short. He knew he was overreacting, but this snooty reporter had managed to push his buttons, right off the bat. Ms. James might be really nice to look at but she was obviously nothing but a self-serving reporter out to dig up dirt.

He rose, staring her down. “Trust funds? How do you know what the hell I live on?”

She blinked and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Uh, well…” She hesitated, clearly unprepared for his sudden turnabout. Luckily he had been prepared for her ambush.

Jared didn’t wait for her to say more. “Your interview’s over, sweetheart.” He leaned down and deliberately placed his hands on the coffee table and bent in close. Her scent washed over him again, but his anger doused its effect. “For your information, I’ve worked damned hard to get to where I am today and I don’t need you turning your pert little nose up at my lifestyle.” He straightened and sent her a hard glare. “Go find someone else to insult.” He turned to walk away.

“Mr. Warfield?”

Something in her soft tone made him stop, his hands still fisted at his sides. He didn’t turn around.

“I chose you for this article because you have the kind of lifestyle our readers want to read about. Unfortunately, I guess, money is part of your life. It’s my job to write the story my editor wants.”

Unmoved, he swiveled back to face her. She might not have been technically out of line, but she’d implied that he was a lazy idiot who had nothing better to do than piddle away his inheritance. She’d struck right at the heart of one of his biggest pet peeves: people who assumed he’d ridden his father’s coattails to instant wealth. Her rude assumptions were so far from the truth that they would be laughable if they didn’t make him so angry. He hadn’t used one penny of the Warfield millions to build his business, which he was damn proud of.

Yeah, he would follow his instincts on this one. To hell with her story. He was out of here.

“Too bad.” He ignored how her pretty green eyes widened in stunned surprise. “You can go back to your editor and tell him this rich guy changed his mind. The interview’s off.”

He stalked off and left her sitting on the couch with her sugary mouth hanging open and her tape recorder still running.

Heart pounding, Erin watched Jared walk away toward a door at the back of the store, unable to resist taking one last peek at the rear view of his perfect male body. The guy had just told her to take a hike, yet she could still feel the pulse of her attraction sizzling through her body like an electric current. Who would have guessed a man could turn her on while telling her off?

But that didn’t matter. Her desperation was what counted here. What had possessed her to bring up loose women in lingerie? She’d blown it, big-time.

Nibbling a nail, Erin acknowledged she’d been thrown off whack ever since she saw Jared standing behind the counter. Had her neglected libido sent her good judgment flying out the window? That had to be the problem. What else could have caused her to alienate part of her biggest story opportunity in months, jeopardizing her only chance to pay off Brent’s debts and save her house in one fell swoop?

Shaking her head, she flicked her tape recorder off, fighting away panic. What now? She sat and munched on her turnover, but the sweet sugar and tart apples suddenly tasted like sawdust.

She had to admit, Jared wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d been ready for a shallow jerk. Instead she’d met with a gorgeous male with fathomless brown eyes, a body like a Greek god and an interest in growing vegetables, for goodness sakes! If he’d told her he was a leprechaun from Ireland she wouldn’t have been more surprised. He had to be putting on an act for the interview. She’d noticed his Rolex watch and designer label khakis. He might look normal from a distance, but he probably wasn’t. Brent had worn the same designer pants and had sported a similar watch.

Despite glimpses of tantalizing ordinariness, Jared was more than likely a replica of Brent, which would be too bad if she were in the market for a man. She definitely wasn’t, though she could easily lose herself in Jared’s sexy eyes and intensely appreciate his big, male body. She might have sworn off men, but apparently she wasn’t dead.

Reality check. Even though Jared Warfield had brought her stupid body back to life, Brent’s success at ripping her heart out made Jared off-limits. But for an instant, that cute, normal, cashier guy had been her fantasy man come true.

She snorted under her breath. So much for fantasies. After Brent she knew better than to believe in dreams. How could she forget the scorn he’d hurled at her until there was nothing left but the bitter knowledge that she was just as useless to Brent as she had been to her mother?

Brent had hammered that message into her heart with a nail when he’d left her.

Standing, she fingered the chain around her neck, the one tangible thing she had to remind herself how important it was not to love any man again. She fought off her bad memories and the gathering sense of doom, then picked up her stuff, took one long swig of her cappuccino and headed out the door. Warm air surrounded her, and she raised her face to the sun, trying to let the gorgeous September day ease the frustration of ruining her interview.

She made a left on the sidewalk and walked back toward her office. She came to the end of the block and waited for the signal to change, searching her mind for a rich bachelor she might have missed in her search for interview subjects. But she came up empty. Jared was her last hope. She had to get that bonus.

Suddenly a familiar tune caught her ear. She turned toward the sound and realized the music came from a late model, bright-red BMW convertible sedan with its top down in the street in front of her. She glanced at the driver. And blinked. Jared. The expensive sports car wasn’t a surprise. What was a shocker was that he was singing along with the seventies tune on the radio while a huge, shaggy dog buckled in the front passenger seat of the car, his furry head thrown back, howled along with him.

The two of them were singing their hearts out, in perfect unison. Though horribly off-key, as she would expect, the dog could sing. She chuckled under her breath. She’d never seen or heard anything like it before.

The light and the walk signal changed. As Jared pulled away, Erin noticed a child’s car seat in the back next to a dog crate much too small for the dog in the front seat. She also caught a glimpse of the car’s license plate, which simply read Coffee.

Surprise froze her to the curb. Gardening. A howling dog. A kid’s car seat? Jared Warfield was becoming more of a mystery by the minute. Since she’d been pressed for time, she had done only minimal research on Jared, but she was certain she hadn’t read anything about a child. As far as she knew, he’d never even been married. She found herself intrigued. Was he hiding a love child? Or was he secretly married? It would be interesting to peel back the layers to the real man beneath—along with his clothes, of course.

Sirens went off in her brain. What was she thinking? A droolworthy, loaded guy was the last person she should spend any time with. But she had to see him again whether she liked it or not. She needed that bonus desperately, and her reporter’s instincts told her she wouldn’t get it without Jared featured in her article. He was a hot commodity right now, and his family was famous in Portland. If she didn’t interview him, somebody else would and she’d lose out. No, she couldn’t give up on interviewing “Hunk” Warfield.

Then again, “Elvis” Warfield seemed appropriate. When she thought about it, so did “Farmer” Warfield. And “Daddy” Warfield, too. As she started walking again, she wondered if Jared was really what he seemed—an ordinary man who liked dogs and kids and who would undoubtedly love a woman the way she’d always dreamed of, with his heart and soul and everything in him?

A man so different from Brent.

No. That man didn’t exist. Even so, her insides melted at the thought of someone loving her, reminding her of how long it had been since anyone had really cared about her, how many years had passed since her father had died while illegally racing his souped-up ’67 Mustang.

She reached up again and grasped the dime-store chain that had once held the sapphire ring he’d given her a few days before he’d died. Oh, how she wished he’d loved her enough not to risk his life racing cars. Unfortunately, the ring was gone now….

Erin closed her eyes for a moment, reliving the pain of the day her mom had yanked the chain from around Erin’s neck to pawn the ring for cash. Fighting off a wave of grief and yearning, she forced herself to focus on her predicament rather than her innumerable old hurts. She was totally intrigued with a man who would probably stick pins in a voodoo doll with red hair, given the chance.

How was she going to dig herself out of this mess? She didn’t have a clue, but she wasn’t about to roll over and let fate knock her to her knees again. Not after the sheer hell Brent had put her through. One way or another she’d get her interview and the bonus, and she’d satisfy her reporter’s curiosity and discover exactly what kind of man Jared was—without drooling.

She turned the corner, again noticing the beautiful day, complete with clear blue sky, warm, calming breeze and green trees gently rustling in the light wind. It was too lovely a day for her life to fall apart. Yes, she would turn Jared around. She had to.

Failure simply wasn’t an option.

Chapter Two

Erin stepped through the door leading to the roof of Jared’s office building and shielded her eyes from the bright sun and intense blue sky. She hung back, gathering her courage, mentally rehearsing what she was going to say to him.

When she’d returned to her office yesterday after she’d seen Jared and the singing dog, she’d done a little research on Mr. Warfield. She’d found oodles of information about his father, who was a business icon in Portland, having made a fortune in commercial real estate investments.

She’d come across a little information about his half sister, who’d had problems with drugs and was the daughter of Janet Worthington, a former Hollywood actress who’d died of cancer three years ago. She’d also found a bit of information on Jared, mostly stories about Warfield’s, especially in its early days when coffeehouses were still novel. But she’d hit the jackpot when she’d found an article in another paper about Jared adopting his niece when his sister died in a motorcycle crash.

Bingo. The mysterious car seat had been explained. Jared was a dad to his adopted niece.

Even though she had her answer about the car seat, she still needed to convince Jared to give her an interview. Taking a deep breath, she pressed a shaking hand to her twisting, rolling stomach, her white silk blouse sticking to her damp palm, praying that the sparks and heat she’d felt at Warfield’s were nothing but a fluke.

She glanced around, taking in the colorful rooftop garden Jared had presumably created, and suppressed an inward cringe. He did like to garden. Way to go, Erin.

She spotted Jared in the corner, squatting with his wide back turned, his hands buried in a large pot. Her stomach somersaulted again, and her heart jumped in her chest like a hyper kangaroo. With a muttered oath, she backed up a few steps, urging herself to calm down.

After she’d sucked in several long breaths and dried her hand on her beige linen skirt, she moved forward again, summoning up the courage to speak. “Mr….Mr. Warfield?” Oh, great start. She sounded like a scared little girl about to confront the boogeyman.

He snapped his head around, his face pressed into a surprised frown, then stood. Walking toward her, a crease in his brow, he wiped his hands on the denim work apron he wore over a pale-yellow oxford shirt that made his eyes look like dark, creamy chocolate. “How did you get here?”

Erin raised her chin, trying to ignore how he loomed over her, the masculine breadth of his shoulders blocking the bright sun and azure sky from her view. “Your secretary told me where you were.”