than you, Anderson. Especially with the ladies.”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “The mother was easy.”
“We already knew that. If she weren’t, our client wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
He smiled again because it was expected. He sure as hell didn’t see any humor in the situation. Years of hard work and sacrifice, and now his goal of becoming the firm’s youngest partner hinged on the whims of a stubborn hick from Nowheresville, Tennessee? Not funny at all.
“I meant, Patty Hoyt was only after money. Her kind’s easily dispensed with. Besides, the daughter has already left town, which makes me think she’s got something bigger in mind.”
“Like what?”
“This girl grew up dirt-poor while Walker’s legitimate kids had every advantage money can buy. Judging by her bank records, she’s still barely scraping by. Sounds like a recipe for revenge to me.”
The glint of humor in Roscoe’s eyes turned to steel. “Then stop her. Immediately.” Still intimidating at sixty, Roscoe stood. “This is your chance, Anderson. Steven Walker pays a lot of salaries around here. He wants this matter resolved quickly, and the partners want him happy.”
Kyle stood and crossed his arms. At a sniff under six feet, he had to cock his chin to meet Thomas’s icy stare, but he dialed back the aggression with a cocky wink. “Leave Shayna Miller to me. Like you said, I’m good with the ladies.”
“We can’t afford to lose Walker.” Thomas’s voice turned as cold as prison bars. “You want a lucrative future with this firm, then do whatever it takes to get this girl on board before the press gets wind of any potential scandal.”
Kyle kept his lips from snarling until after Thomas swaggered out of his office. He resented the ultimatum, but he didn’t blame the old guy. Dangling the partnership as bait was a strong, strategic move, but damn, he hated occupying the weaker position.
He settled back into his high-backed leather chair and glared at the phone. After learning that Walker didn’t intend to deliver the quick score she’d hoped for, Patty Hoyt had gladly provided Kyle with her daughter’s number. He’d left Shayna Miller six messages since letting her slip away from the hotel. The annoying woman hadn’t returned a single one.
The tiny doe-eyed girl he’d encountered in that hotel lobby couldn’t have been further from what he’d been expecting. Unlike her overprocessed, overpainted mother, Shayna’s skin had been naked and clear, a glossy peach lipstick her only ornamentation. She’d smelled like sunshine. After years of being assaulted by manufactured fragrances on women, the purity of her aroma had been intensely sensual. Most arresting, though, had been her wide, amber eyes. Clear, unguarded, welcoming.
All that had changed the instant he’d introduced himself and explained his connection to Steven Walker. She’d closed up. Her smile, her eyes, her attitude. Everything went blank, as if she’d flipped a switch and turned off her inner light.
He’d gone to that hotel for the very reason Thomas had just suggested. He’d intended to force the issue, do whatever it took to obtain her cooperation. But he’d failed. Not only had she fled before he could outline the lucrative details of Walker’s offer but watching the wary distrust that replaced her initial shy smile had thrown him off his game.
Now, as he drummed a pen against his desk’s blotter and plotted his battle plan, he once again cursed himself for squandering his opportunity to get a handle on Shayna Miller.
The longer he thought about that encounter, the more convinced he became that she’d been playing him. Complete lack of emotion was a learned skill, the kind of thing a calculating daughter would learn—or possibly inherit—from a calculating mother. The nut didn’t often fall far from the tree.
So why the hell did his gut keep insisting he was misjudging her?
“It’s just the voice,” he assured himself as he flung the pen down and spread the Walker file out on his desk. That sexy southern accent had been playing on a continuous loop through his brain for nearly a week now.
Damned if he’d be swayed by slow vowels and exaggerated syllables. His future hinged on getting Shayna Miller to consent to the agreement Steven Walker was paying the firm megabucks to secure. And he didn’t intend to fail.
He might not like his reputation as the office lady-killer, but he had been the one to negotiate Patty Hoyt’s lump-sum payment—contingent upon her daughter’s cooperation—in exchange for never bothering their client again. Ever.
So what if he despised this whole case? So what if he felt Walker’s requests—both of the firm and the child he’d walked away from over two decades ago—skated ethical and moral lines. Personal feelings aside, his job was to satisfy the firm’s most influential client, and until he made partner, that was all that mattered.
After he had his name on the letterhead, then he’d have the luxury of turning down clients who made his skin crawl, who reminded him of the human trash he’d grown up with. For now, he was one assignment away from achieving his professional goals and moving on to the next stage of his life plan: attractive trophy wife, two kids, a beach house in Malibu. By then, he hoped to hell his success would obliterate the image of the scrawny, unwanted street punk who still stared back at him in the mirror every morning.
An unusually frigid breeze swooped beneath the hem of Shayna’s skirt as she scanned the crowd who’d turned out for today’s ground breaking ceremony. Her teeth chattered as she snuggled deeper into her green-and-gold Fighting Lions letterman sweater. Had she known winter planned to make a surprise appearance today, she’d have skipped the sweater’s sentimentality and gone with her more practical—and much warmer—parka.
Numb fingers fluffed her hair out around her ears as she fought back sentimental tears. She loved this little tight-knit community. It was the day before Thanksgiving, with temperatures suspended in the mid-thirties, and still nearly a hundred folks were gathered in the town square to celebrate the official start of the James Miller Youth Center.
For nearly three years, she’d dedicated herself to making the youth center a reality, helping with everything from fundraising to building plans to investigating the best playground surface material. It was scheduled to open next spring, and she—and her newly completed social services degree—had already accepted the director’s position. But to have the place named after her daddy? She couldn’t imagine a greater honor.
He’d suffered a stroke and died seven years ago, so when the town council made the announcement earlier this year, she’d been too overjoyed to speak. They wanted to honor James Miller for his accomplishments with the high school football team—in the South, there was little that could top three consecutive state titles. But for her, his greatest accomplishment, the reason she celebrated his memory every day, was the fact that he’d saved her life. Blood relation or not, he was the only true parent she’d ever known. He’d stepped in when no one else wanted her and had chosen to love her and care for her and give her someone to love in return. He’d made them a family.
“How’re you holding up, sweetie?” Lindy, who’d been smart enough to bundle up, sidled over to Shayna.
“Other than wishing I’d worn long pants, I’m fine.”
“This weather is a shocker. Weatherman’s calling for a thirty percent chance of snow for Thanksgiving.”
“Judging
