all over again.
“You have no vision, Dustin. You own a small flower shop, you bang like an Aborigine on this drum of yours in the name of fun, and that’s all you have to show for yourself. For your time. For your life.”
“Is that you or Dad talking?” Dustin goaded through clenched teeth.
It wasn’t a fair question, and Dustin immediately regretted his hasty query. It was clearly his father’s intention to make Dustin into a different man. Addison was merely the messenger.
The urge to pounce on his burly brother and mess up his fancy suit was growing by the moment, but he knew better than to shoot the messenger, no matter how tempting it might be. It wouldn’t solve anything in the long run, and he needed access to that trust fund.
“It’s my life,” he complained, sounding as surly as a little boy. “What’s wrong with my flower store?”
“Nothing is wrong with your little shop. But have you ever thought about opening up a chain of stores? What about making a real name for yourself in the Denver social scene? Why not cater to a higher-level clientele, boost your own income?
“You spend as much time gallivanting around town, and who knows what else, as you do putting your strength and effort into your business.” Addison took an extended breath. “What you need is to go to the right parties and rub elbows with the right people. Build up relationships that mean something. Really make something important of yourself.”
Addison rubbed his palms together like sandpaper on wood. “I’ll help you. I have the connections, Dustin. But you can’t meet the right kind of people in jeans and a T-shirt.”
Dustin shook his head and grunted in disdain. “Relationships that mean something? Mean what, exactly? More money? More prestige? A nicer car? I’m never going to be like you, Addison. That’s not what I want out of life.”
“Perhaps not,” Addison agreed with a curt nod. “You and I have traveled different roads. Nevertheless, I do think Ms. Buckley can help you with this trust-fund issue, and I insist you meet with her.”
Dustin balked inside, but he didn’t let it show. He didn’t like being ordered around, especially by members of his family. “How long?”
“Six weeks. That shouldn’t be too much of a strain, even for you.” Addison began to pace, a sure sign he was losing his patience. Dustin knew his brother didn’t like this any better than he did.
And why should he? Dustin knew Addison wasn’t a bully at heart, childhood pranks notwithstanding. He was as pinched by their father’s will as anyone.
Better to wrap things up and let Addison get on his way. Back to work in his posh office, where he was more in his element.
“At the end of the six weeks, then, I get my inheritance money?”
Addison met his gaze straight on, staring as if trying to read his soul. Dustin let him look, knowing his own expression was unreadable. It was something he’d practiced.
“You know I’m taking a calculated risk here.” Addison cleared his throat and continued pacing back and forth in front of Dustin, his arms clasped behind his back. “And I expect a full return on my investment.”
“Meaning?”
“I want you to cooperate with Ms. Buckley fully. If she gives me a bad report, I will put your trust fund on hold and you won’t be able to touch it.”
Dustin opened his mouth to protest against these rules, but Addison held one hand up, palm out. He clearly didn’t want to be interrupted.
“If, however, you make a genuine effort toward your reform, the money is yours, with no limitations from me or anyone. I know that’s what you want. You just have to make an effort.”
He gave Dustin a genuine smile, but Dustin just winced at his brother’s stilted effort.
“This will work, Dustin, if you just give it half a chance.”
Dustin clenched his jaw tightly, still hardly believing his brother had set up such a scheme. Addison wasn’t married—he was as careful in dating as Dustin himself was. And for good reason.
Every woman in the world wanted to change a man; it was in their very nature to meddle that way. Every man alive knew that, and ran from it with his whole being until he inevitably got caught in some woman’s snare.
It was the extraordinary, seesaw-like balance between men and women that Dustin didn’t even try to comprehend, and generally attempted to steer away from.
That was at least partly the reason Dustin remained single at age thirty. His experience with relationships with the opposite sex had, frankly, made him more than a little world-wise when it came to women.
He liked being on his own, being his own man and answerable to no one but himself and God.
And for some strange woman to get paid for meddling in his private affairs, pushing her ideals on him—what kind of woman would take such a job?
This Isobel Buckley must be on a real power trip. He could only guess at what kinds of torture she would concoct for him.
Still, it was only six weeks.
What could happen in six weeks?
Chapter Three
Isobel was more than a little anxious about meeting the man she’d heard so much about. With all she’d been told, she had absolutely no idea what to expect when she actually met the real person.
Dustin Fairfax.
She had thoughtfully recommended a public venue for their first meeting, knowing both of them would feel a bit more comfortable with other people around, especially at this first encounter.
She admitted being nervous herself, at least inwardly, which was silly, really. She did this for a living, after all.
But this was different. The nuances weren’t lost on her, and she was certain they weren’t lost on him, either. Dustin wasn’t coming to her for her expertise and help—or at least it was not his idea to do so—and she wasn’t even certain he was coming willingly.
Camille and Addison had made the arrangements, and here she sat, in a quiet deli on 16th Street, waiting for Dustin to show up.
If he actually materialized.
She still wasn’t convinced he was a willing guinea pig in this experiment, and that fact was something she meant to establish before this day was over. She wouldn’t blame him if he found somewhere else to be and didn’t make their meeting at all.
He was already twelve minutes late to their appointment, not that she was counting. She tried to distract herself by watching the people around her, the usual eclectic hodgepodge of faces and accents that made Denver so interesting. Coffee shops were the best for finding interesting people to view.
But no matter how hard she tried, her gaze kept straying back to the front door, her adrenaline rushing every time the bell indicated a new customer was entering or exiting.
She
