Avery narrowed her eyes, suspicion skating through her mind. “What are you doing?”
“A background check.”
She leaned over the filing cabinets to see the computer better. “You can do that?”
“When Tad and I broke up, I started online dating. Doing a background check has saved me from two felons and a guy with a stunning amount of parking tickets.”
Avery groaned. “See, this is what I’m talking about. I’m not equipped to handle it out there in the dating world. I only dated one man, and I’d known him my whole life. This—” She waved her hands in front of the screen. “—is a Rubik’s cube.” She folded her arms. “I hate Rubik’s cubes.”
Claire scrolled. “I can’t find anything on him. You’re safe.”
“Ugh! Are you not listening? I don’t know how to date.”
“Then this is perfect. It’s a blind date by an app. There are no expectations.” Claire frowned. “Although, you might want to take your peanut butter chocolate chip cookies just to substantiate yourpassionfor baking.”
Avery threw a pen at her.
Claire batted it away. “I double dog dare you to go.”
Avery glanced around her desk, looking for a way to escape Clair hounding her all day. Her eyes fell on a large three-ring binder. “I’ll go. And when it’s a disaster, you have to do the absentee report.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed in challenge. “Fine. But when it’s great and you realize you were scared for no reason, you do it this semester and you do mine next semester.”
“Deal.” They pinkie shook on it.
Avery pushed her phone away and tried not to think about the man with the brown hair, a nice shadow of scruff, and a corded neck, but her mind kept trying to create the rest of the picture and she ended up daydreaming about Hugh Jackman. Which, incidentally, calmed her immensely.
Just one night. She had to make it throughone dinner, and then she would be free to enjoy the next week of work—report free! A blind date was totally worth it. A feeling of peace enveloped her. Whatever happened tonight would let her know if she was ready for the dating world or not.
Chapter Three
Ben
The courtroom was a drab little space with gray walls, dark-stained woods, and small windows. Ben sat next to his brother behind the wobbly table, feeling anxious—but not because things were going badly. On the contrary, Adam Moreau feasted on the prosecution.
“Dad’s case is dying slowly and painfully,” whispered his brother, Quin.
Ben nodded once, making it look more like a casual movement than an acknowledgement of Quin’s statement. Adam was brilliantly laying out his closing statement. He strode back and forth in front of the judge’s bench, his hands clasped behind his back and his head held high. There were those in the room who stared at Adam’s scars, but the majority of the audience held their breath, waiting for the death blow he threatened to deliver at any second.
“… a man’s last will and testament shouldn’t be changed by the living. My clients’ grandfather wished to leave his grandsons his legacy. Thewhydoesn’t matter, contrary to what the prosecution has tried to make us all believe. What does matter is that Richard Wilaby Sr. believed strongly enough in what hewrotethat he signed his name as witness, being in full control of his mental facilities at the time. He made this decision, and we should stand by it, not only to honor his word but the word of every person who has lifted to the great beyond before and after him.
“If we allow Mr. Wilaby Jr. to insert himself intothiswill atthistime, what’s to stop others from doing the same? A will is a sacred trust, a legally binding document, that allows peace of mind for one who is about to enter the unknown of life after this. To tamper with that is to tamper with the very laws that keep order and prevent chaos. The question today is not a matter of heart, but a matter of law. Thank you.” Adam smoothed his hand down his tie as he sat.
On the outside, Ben was a statue. On the inside, he was a chicken on a hot plate. Granddad had warned him and Quin about the will, knew it would be a fight with their father—the man who’d left them all to chase his secretary across white, sandy beaches. Granddad had never been so humiliated nor serious when he’d told Dad he was out of the will.
In typical fashion, Dad had brushed off the threat and went about his life gathering the young and the beautiful for parties on his yacht. The receptionist was long gone, replaced with a newer, blonder model who sat on the back row, chewing gum so loudly Ben thought he’d go mad. He’d turned to glare her into silence, only to have her shimmy her bosoms and wink at him.
Heaven help them all, he would not call her Mom!
Mom was the steady one. She’d taken her half of the divorce settlement and headed for Europe, where she’d bought food carts, staffed them with locals, and made a fortune selling waffles to tourists in Germany. She was an undercover millionaire—undercover because she wore jeans and sweatshirts most days and drove a beat-up truck that wasn’t large enough for Ben and Quin to sit in the cab together. Her smile was widest when she was at a cart herself, meeting people from all over the world and sharing her passion for baked goods and great friends.
The judge ruled in favor of Ben and Quin. The tension that had held Ben stiff for more than three hours gushed out of his system, leaving his muscles too weak for good posture. “Well done.” He shook hands with Adam, and Quin followed suit.
Adam lifted one side of his mouth in a sinister smile. “That was fun.”
A laugh gusted forth. “Your idea of fun and my idea of fun are quite different, friend.”
A twinkle of uncertainty passed over Adam’s face—it was there and gone so quickly that Ben thought back on what he’d said that may have caused it and came up blank. “Perhaps, for your sake, I hope you don’t have to face thisfunagain, friend.” The last word caught before it came forth.
