A Millionaire for Cinderella. Barbara Wallace
back off and leave her alone.
It could happen, right?
THERE WAS A weight vibrating on his chest. He must have left the door open when he came upstairs. “It better be light out, Nigel,” he muttered. Freeing a hand from under the covers, he felt around until his fingers found fur. Immediately, the purring increased as Nigel leaned into the touch. A sad voice in his head noted this was the most action he’d had in his bed in way too long. “Hey, be careful with the claws, buddy,” he said when the cat began kneading the blanket. “I might need those parts someday.” You never knew. A social life might spontaneously develop. Stranger things had happened.
At work, people considered him a workaholic, but the truth was, he’d never been what people would call popular. He discovered early that being a Duchenko heir meant being judged and misunderstood. As a kid, his awkwardness was labeled snobbery. As he got older, his social desirability was measured in terms of his bank account. He had to be constantly on guard, assessing the motives of every person that crossed his path. The one time he hadn’t...well, that had taught him two more lessons: Don’t let sex cloud your judgment and even family members will screw you over. Except for Ana, that is. Ana was the one family member who loved him for him.
Nigel’s head butted his hand, a not so subtle way of saying more petting, less thinking. Giving a half sigh, Stuart opened his eyes, then blinked when he saw Nigel in perfect focus. He’d forgotten to take out his contact lenses again. No wonder his eyes felt as if they had sand in them. What time was it anyway? Yesterday had wiped him out so badly he barely remembered falling into bed.
Not too wiped out to go toe-to-toe with the housekeeper, though. It was a bit arrogant of him showing up without warning, but he’d wanted to catch her off guard. To see how she’d react to learning she wouldn’t have the run of the brownstone.
Turned out she reacted to the blind side better than most of his legal opponents.
Most of his legal opponents didn’t have eyes that lit up like chocolate diamonds, either. Dark and sinfully rich, their spark got his adrenaline going in a way practicing law sure didn’t. A guy could make a career out of looking for ways to make those eyes light up.
What was that about not letting sex cloud his judgment? Ignoring Nigel’s protest, he rolled onto his side and reached for the phone on the nightstand. It was early, he thought, noting the time, but not so early to reach an associate. The ambitious ones practically slept at the firm. A few minutes of scrolling through his contacts found him the name he wanted.
Just as he expected, Bob Cunningham answered on the first ring. “Welcome back. I hear congratulations are in order.” He was referring to the LA case.
“Too bad the former Mrs. Wentworth didn’t come to her senses last year.” Instead, she’d put her late husband’s family through hell and sentenced Stuart to months of aggravation, not to mention opening the door for Patience Rush. “There are a couple details to iron out that I’ll talk to you about later. In the meantime, I need some background research done. A woman named Patience Rush.”
“Is that her real name?”
Good question. Strangely enough, he hoped the quirky moniker was real. “That’s for you to tell me.” He gave him what details he knew.
“You’re not giving the investigator much to work with,” Bob replied.
“He’s worked with less.”
“True. What client number should I bill?”
“SD100.” On the other end of the line, there was a soft intake of breath. Stuart seldom used his discretionary fund, but the firm’s investigator was the best around. He’d reimburse the firm later.
“Um...”
“What?” Stuart asked.
The associate paused. “This might take a while. We’ve tapped him for a couple other projects.”
And clients always came before personal. Stuart understood. “Just tell him to get to it as soon as he can.”
In the meantime, he’d just have to keep a close eye on Patience Rush. Thinking about her eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. There were worse jobs in the world.
* * *
A short while later, having showered and changed, he headed downstairs only to hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen. One muffled voice actually. He found Patience crouched over Nigel’s food dish, brandishing a dustpan and broom. “You’d think a cat who acts like he’s starving wouldn’t drop pieces of food all over the place,” she muttered. “One of these days, I’m going to toss the whole bowl out. Let’s see what you do then.”
A chuckle rose in his throat. Nigel had a way of making all of them talk as if he understood. He leaned a shoulder against the door frame. “Not a cat person, I take it.”
She gasped before looking up at him with a glare. “Do you always sneak up on people?”
There they were again, those chocolate-diamond eyes. He crossed his legs to keep his jeans from growing tight. “I didn’t know walking around the house was considered sneaking.”
“Then you should walk louder,” she replied. “Or wear shoes.”
He looked down at his bare feet. “I’ll keep that in mind. May I ask what the cat did to earn your wrath?”
“Nigel isn’t a cat. He’s a four-legged spoiled brat.”
As had been all of Ana’s cats. His aunt tended to overindulge the strays she adopted. Pushing herself to her feet, Patience swayed her way across the room to the trash can. Stuart found himself wondering if the seductive gait was natural or on purpose. “Sounds like the two of you have a great relationship,” he remarked.
“Mine and Nigel’s relationship is just fine. Why?” She took her foot off the receptacle latch, causing the lid to close with a loud slap. “Afraid I’ll try to push him down the stairs, too?”
“Nah. A woman as smart as you would know hurting Nigel is the quickest way to getting on Ana’s bad side.”
She gave him a long look. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”
In a way, yes. He did think she was smart. “If you want to take it as such.”
“Gosh, thanks. I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”
Smart and quick-witted. She was dressed similarly to yesterday in jeans, a T-shirt and a cardigan sweater, her hair pulled back with one of those plastic hair bands. For the first time he looked closely at her features. Yesterday, he’d been too distracted by her eyes, but today he noticed more intricate details like the long slope of her nose and the way her teeth met her lower lip in a slight overbite. A two-inch scar cut across her right cheekbone. Time had caused it to fade. In fact, with makeup, it’d be barely noticeable, but since she was again bare faced, he could see the jagged edges of a cut that should have had stitches. The scar bothered him, like seeing a crack on the surface of a crystal vase. It didn’t belong.
Patience cleared her throat. Realizing he’d been staring, he covered his action by adjusting his glasses. This might be one of those rare moments when he was grateful for them. He detested wearing the heavy black frames. The look might be considered stylish now, but it simply reminded him of his younger, awkward days. Then again, maybe a reminder was a good thing, given the awareness swirling around his insides this morning.
He reached for a change of topic. “Do I smell coffee?” There was a distinct aroma of French roast in the air, a unique scent in his tea-drinking aunt’s home.
Patience nodded her head toward a stainless steel coffeemaker tucked in the faraway corner. “Cream and sugar are in the dining room. Do you prefer a full breakfast or continental.”
“Neither.”