the internal wallop he got once she came close enough for him to see that she was a toned-down version of her sister. The hair wasn’t as short, wasn’t as black, the lips weren’t as red, the body wasn’t as thin—and the few pounds had been put to excellent use.
But his response was just the natural response of a male in his prime to an attractive female. It was biological. Nothing to get worked up about.
He deliberately ran his gaze over her, taking in a suit that showed signs of wear and hadn’t been all that expensive to begin with. Still she’d made the effort. Too bad the red lines on her feet from her shoes, and the fact that her legs were bare, undermined the professional image she was trying to convey.
Chase made a very comfortable living selling and managing commercial property, mostly because he was good at judging a potential client’s net worth. He’d been wrong a couple of times, but that was when he’d first started out and had been fooled by the “good ole boys” who’d dress down and pepper their speech with double negatives and college football talk. That was when he’d taught himself to notice the details—like the expensive ostrich boots, the custom hat, and the pinkie rings that they wore with the plaid shirts and faded jeans.
It was all in the details—and the details here said gold digger.
He smiled. Piece of cake.
From his power position behind his desk, he watched her cross no-man’s-land—the distance between the door and his desk. He didn’t bother to stand. He saw her glance at the overstuffed chair with the sprung seat. All but the tallest of men would sit in that chair and discover that they were inches shorter than Chase. She’d probably disappear altogether.
If only it were permanent.
He gave her a once-over. She wasn’t all that bad, considering. With the nose and the swingy haircut she was kinda cute.
No, not cute. Cute was appealing and appealing was bad. Not cute.
Cute in this case was being used as a weapon. She probably disarmed all her victims with that cultivated lil’-ole-me cuteness.
Fortunately, he was immune. “What can I do for you?” he asked, feeling his lips curl in a smirk.
“I’m Brooke Weathers,” she said and held out her hand, not extending it fully. If he intended to shake her hand, he’d have to rise from his chair.
Very good move on her part. She was clearly no stranger to negotiations and that was important to know.
As Chase decided whether to insult her by ignoring her gesture, their eyes locked. Hers were brown. The thought came out of nowhere. Certainly, he didn’t want to notice her eye color. Or the freckles dancing across her nose that made him think of summers spent at the beach in Galveston.
Freckles weren’t cute. Freckles were a sign of sun damage, he told himself.
He was going to shake her hand, he decided. There was no advantage to be gained by insulting her. This wasn’t about power, this was about getting Jeff out of the mess he was in.
Chase slowly rose to shake her hand. They touched, palms sliding together. Warming. Fusing. So many sharp tingles pricked his hand that he looked down, expecting to see that she had one of those joke buzzers.
No buzzer.
Must be static electricity, but it was giving him one heck of a jolt.
Her hand was cool and trembled slightly. A traitorous part of him noted her nervousness and wanted to reassure her.
“Have a seat,” he offered gruffly and resumed his own.
She wasn’t falling for that and perched on the padded arm of the chair.
She looked cute.
Maybe thinking of her as cute wasn’t a bad thing. He’d outgrown cute. Jeff hadn’t, which was why he was in this mess. But Chase wasn’t attracted to cute, summer beach bunnies with freckled noses anymore.
Besides, the women he worked with had banished the word “cute” as belittling.
He smiled. “You look cute sitting like that.”
“I want to discuss Courtney and Jeff with you,” she said as though he hadn’t spoken.
Chase leaned back, his body language deliberately insulting. “I thought you might.”
It backfired.
She let her gaze drift over his face and sweep across his shoulders, her eyebrows making a subtle not-bad-but-buddy-I’ve-seen-better quirk upwards.
Chase felt sweat gather in his armpits.
She continued her survey, her gaze bouncing down his ribs. His stomach contracted involuntarily. A smile whispered across her mouth and her gaze rolled south of his belt and stopped.
Stopped.
A drop of sweat trickled down his side. His throat went dry as he battled self-consciousness.
Oh, she was good, he reluctantly conceded, forced to adjust his posture before he embarrassed himself.
As soon as he did so, she gave him a limpid look.
Okay, round two to the sister. “It sure didn’t take you long to get over here after you heard about the ring,” he snapped.
“Can you blame me?”
“Someone in your position? Not at all.”
“Then you must have known I would disapprove.”
“Well, gee. Sometimes our plans just don’t work out the way we want them to.”
He saw her grit her teeth. “Understand that I want the best for Courtney,” she managed to say.
“I’m sure you do.” He straightened. “Just how much is that ‘best’ going to cost?”
She looked momentarily confused. “It depends on which college she attends.”
“College. Well, that’s a twist I hadn’t expected.” He glared at her. “I guess this beats filling out all those scholarship forms.”
“What are you talking about?” The confusion was back in her eyes. What an actress. Must be where Courtney got it.
“I’m talking about this shakedown.”
“Shakedown?”
“Yeah, this great little hustle you’ve got going here.” He opened a drawer, withdrew a leather-covered triplicate checkbook and register. “Tell me—how many other boys’ parents have contributed to your sister’s…scholarship fund?”
She stormed to her feet, the very picture of affronted virtuous femininity. “No one has contributed anything!”
“Then they’ve got stronger nerves than I do. So you’ve got a break here. How much?”
Her mouth
