His arms flex as he folds his arms across his chest, and as biceps the size of my head test the limits of his sleeves.
Then there are his thighs.
Powerful. Thick with muscle. Moving beneath perfectly-tailored trousers in a way that makes my brain short-circuit.
The bulge at his groin shows the man’s packing. I knew there was a reason for the air of audacity he carries like armor. He dresses like a lawyer, but his energy is one-hundred percent that of a street thug. The combination is heady. Erotic, even. Not that it’s any concern of mine. Not when I caught sight of him following me a week ago, then saw him again today. I intend to get to the bottom of what he wants.
I force my eyes back up to meet his gaze.
From the slight curve of his mouth, he knows exactly where I was looking, too. That’s okay. I wasn’t trying to hide it. It’s not only men who can assess the bodies of women they meet like they’re cattle.
"Take a seat." I nod to the chair in front of him.
"I’m happy to stand." He slides a hand inside the pocket of his pants. His attitude is one of casualness.
It means, I need to lean my head all the way back to see his face.
"You're tall. It’s giving me a crick to look at you."
He hesitates, then draws out a chair and drops into it. I still have to lift my chin to meet his gaze; that’s how tall this man is.
"Why are you following me, Mr. Hamilton?"
"What gave me away?"
He’s redirecting the convo by ignoring my question and asking his own.
He wants to take the lead in this conversation. Wants to own this impromptu meeting, no doubt. Not if I have a say in it.
"I spotted you following me when I came out for lunch. Gray ToyotaPrius, tinted windows. Then you followed me into the office, which I did not expect."
He inclines his head. "How did you find that out?"
"I described you to the security guard and asked him to call me if you came in. I wasn’t surprised to see you walk into my office."
He looks impressed. "You’re observant." His voice is deep, rough around the edges, like whiskey over gravel.
"Careful." I tilt my head. "My father warned me about you." I set my jaw.
"Did your father also tell you that he stole from me?"
"That’s a lie." I force myself to be calm. Collected. Keep my voice even. "My father would never do something like that."
A bitter smile curves his lips, "You’re his daughter. Of course, you’d defend him. But it’s not going to help you."
"What do you mean?’
"Your father was my business partner. We started our law firm together. I invested everything I had in it. Two weeks after launch, he left and took all of my clients with him. I was broke. I lost everything overnight."
I set my jaw. "I don’t believe you."
"It doesn’t matter what you believe me or not. Truth is, your father owes me. And now that he's dead, I've come to collect. From you."
The air in the room shifts. Becomes heavier. Charged.
I feel this sudden urge to laugh, but manage to control myself. Man’s clearly delusional. My sweet, loyal father. He’s not capable of whatever this man is accusing him of.
"I see." I lean forward slightly. "And you thought the best way to 'collect' was to stalk me?"
