A woman jumped to her feet, her hand over her heart. “What the …?”
“My thoughts exactly,” he roared. He was suddenly aware of the black compression mask he wore, of the pajama bottoms and tee shirt, of his hair sticking up in all directions. A scary sight indeed. No wonder she recoiled. If she reacted this way to the mask, he could only imagine what she’d do if she saw beneath it. That would never happen. “Who are you?”
“I’m Bella Creer.”
“What are you doing in my house?” he growled.
“I’m here to oversee the final stages of Phase I and continue the expansion into Pha—”
“Where’s Martin?” he yelled again, leaning both fists into the desk as he glared.
Her mouth dropped open. Her eyes widened in surprise. A spark of recognition lit in his brain. He knew that heart-shaped face, those doe-like brown eyes. It was the woman from the courthouse. The woman in the yellow dress who was getting married. His eyes fell to her bare fingers. No ring. His heart skipped a beat.
Her marital status was none of his concern. Still, what had happened to postpone or—dare he say it?—cancel the wedding? His mind grabbed on to the puzzle and didn’t want to let go. Her appearance, sans the Mrs., was the most interesting thing that had happened since he’d been confined to bed. He’d go nuts during bed rest if this woman’s love life passed as entertainment.
“He’s in a recovery center.” She stepped forward and picked up several papers that had scattered when she burst to her feet. She tapped them back into a tidy line, her eyes on the table, avoiding him. “He had open-heart surgery a month ago.”
“A month?” Adam’s mind clouded over, and another memory took shape: one of this woman in the hospital hallway, praying for him. Her hair was plastered against her head from rain and there was a bit of a leaf on her shoulder, but it was her. He was sure of it. It was her prayer that had carried him into the operating room, the kindness in her eyes that had given him hope enough to want to live despite the pain he suffered. And here she was, avoiding looking at him.
“You’ve made a mess.” He glowered at the pencil holder she’d knocked over.
“You scared the Dickens out of me,” she fired back.
The ever-active debate gene inside of him sprang to life, and words tumbled out. “I’d be surprised if you actually knew any Dickens at all.”
She paused, as if choosing her words wisely, or perhaps she was sifting through her Dickens knowledge to come up with something truly brilliant. His heartbeat increased. He silently begged her to be brilliant. To have an active mind inside that beautiful head.
She looked him up and down. “Great men are seldom over-scrupulous in the arrangement of their attire. Charles Dickens.”
So she noticed his pajamas. A spark lit his chest. “Any man may be of good spirits and good temper when he is well dressed. Charles Dickens.”
“Then I suggest you find your groomsman and have him outfit you for a better temperament.” She tucked the chair beneath her and sat down, dismissing him.
Dismissinghim!
His interest in her grew tenfold. She couldn’t be more than twenty-seven, if she was over twenty at all. “When did you pass the bar?”
She swallowed. “I haven’t.”
“Excuse me?” He dropped lower, his hands on the desk acting more like supports now that he’d been standing for so long. Where was Ben with that blasted chair when he needed it?
“I haven’t passed the bar exam—yet. I’ve been studying and plan to take it in the spring.” She lifted her eyes. “I’m working under my father’s license at the moment.”
That was too much. “Are you telling me that The Cove is in the hands of an undergrad?”
She lowered her eyebrows. “I’m a law clerk, thank you very much.”
He straightened and clenched his jaw. Sucking in air, he loosened his muscles. Interesting. For a moment, she’d made him forget himself. “Even better,” he managed to bite out. His sarcasm was so much thicker when laced with stinging pain.
“I have several letters of recommendation available.”
“I don’t want your letters. I want a competent lawyer. How long until he can return to work?”
She swallowed thickly. “We don’t know.”
His gut clenched with something akin to compassion. He threw his arms in the air and began to pace around the room, hoping to leave the sense of responsibility towards Martin and his beautiful daughter in his wake. His energy was quickly draining, but he wasn’t about to show her that. “I’ll have your father’s salary for this. The contract clearly states he has to finish the project on time. And after this, I’ll see to it that he never gets another contract in this town again.”
Bella was on her feet and around the table, bumping him to a stop. “The contract also states that in the event of an act of God or life-threatening condition, he can bring in an assistant.”
