The Billionaire's Fair Lady

He frowned. “Invisible armor?”

“Street smarts, you know? People see you and realize straight off they can’t hassle you. You blend in.” It was outsiders like him that had to worry. Unfortunately, from the way he was already packing his things, Roxy had the distinct feeling he wasn’t interested in her argument or in taking no for an answer.

What the heck. Wouldn’t kill her to ride in a warm car for a change.

“I’ll meet you in five,” she told him.

Did she really think she was safe riding the bus wearing that outfit? Watching her sashay off, Mike rolled his eyes. For crying out loud, she wasn’t even his type.

In this lifetime anyway. A memory danced on the edge of his mind. Of other late-night bus rides and willing partners. He shook it away.

“You make this commute every night?” he asked when they finally met up. She’d slipped a leather jacket over her uniform. The waist-length jacket covered her bare shoulders, but still left the legs exposed.

“Five nights a week.”

They rounded the corner and headed to the pay lot, walking past the bus stop in time to see a drunken patron relieving himself on the wall. Did her invisible armor protect her from that, too? he wondered as the splash narrowly missed his shoe.

“I thought about adding a sixth,” Roxy was saying, “but that would mean less time with Steffi. I hardly see her much as it is. She sees more of her babysitter.”

“When you win this case, you’ll have all the time in the world.”

“At this point in my life I’d settle for not having to schlep drinks for a living. I don’t care what they say, the smell of stale beer doesn’t go away.”

“You never thought of doing something else?”

“Oh, sure. I was going to be a doctor but the Elderion was too awesome to give up.

“Sorry,” she quickly added. “Couldn’t help myself. I could have found a day job, but originally I wanted my days free for auditions.”

“Auditions? You’re an actress?” A strange emotion stirred inside him. He should be concerned her career aspirations made her more interested in grabbing fifteen minutes of fame than in seeing the case through. Instead the tug felt more like envy. He chalked it up to being in the bar. The night had him thinking of old times and old aspirations.

The driver had brought out his sedan from the back of the lot. As Roxy slid into the passenger seat, her skirt bunched higher, almost to the juncture of her thighs. Mike averted his eyes while she adjusted herself. Yeah, she blended in.

“I’m impressed,” he said when he settled into his driver’s seat.

“Don’t be. It was eight years of nothing.”

“Couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Try worse. Turns out you need one of two things to make it in show business. Talent or cleavage. I was saving up for the latter when I had Steffi.”

“So you quit for motherhood.”

“Couldn’t very well work all night, run around to auditions all day and take care of her, too. Since the whole acting thing wasn’t working out anyway, I figured I’d cut my losses and do one thing halfway decently.”

“Halfway?”

Her shrug failed to hide her embarrassment. Clearly she hadn’t expected him to pick up on the modifier. “The whole ‘wish I could spend more time with her’ thing. Not that I have a choice, right?”

“No.” He stared at the brake lights ahead of him. The city that never sleeps. Even after midnight, gridlock could snag you. “But then a lot of choices aren’t really in our control.”

“What do you mean?”

This time he was the one who shrugged as a way of covering up. He didn’t know what he meant. The words sort of bubbled up on their own. “That a lot of the time life makes the decisions for us.”

“You mean like how getting knocked up put my acting career out of its misery?” Her nonchalant expression was poorly crafted. No wonder she failed as an actress.

“She’s why I’m doing all this now,” she continued after a beat. “Partly anyway. I want her to have more choices than I can give her now.”

This time she wasn’t acting. The desperate determination in her voice was very real.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. “What about her father?”

“What about him?”

He’d hit a sore spot. He could feel her stiffen. “Is he still in the picture?”

“No.”

Interesting. “Any chance he’ll pop back in?”

“No.”

“You sure?” Wouldn’t be the first time an ex reappeared at the scent of a payday. From his point of view, the fewer complications the better.

“He’s not in our lives,” she repeated, her voice a little terse.

Her clenched jaw said there was more to the story. “Because he’s not…?” He left the end of his sentence hoping she’d fill in the blank.

“Because he’s not,” she repeated. “Why are you asking anyway? I thought this case was about my paternity.”

“It’s my job to know as many details as possible about my clients.”

“Even things that aren’t your business?

“Everything about you is my business.”

“I don’t think so,” she scoffed.

This was the second time tonight she’d tried to dictate what he could and couldn’t discuss. Time he explained how this relationship would work. Yanking the steering wheel, he cut off the car in the next lane and pulled to the curb. “Let’s get a few things straight right now. You came to me asking for help. I can’t do that without your cooperation. Your. Full. Cooperation. That means if I need to know what you had for dinner last Saturday night, you need to tell me. Do you understand? Because if you can’t, then this—” he waved his hand in the space between them “—isn’t going to work.

“Are we clear?” he asked, looking her in the eye. Although the lecture was necessary, she could very well tell him to go to blazes. He held his breath, hoping he hadn’t pushed her—and his luck—too far.

From her seat, she glared, her eyes bright in the flash of passing headlights. “Crystal.”

“Good. Now I suggest you learn to deal with tough questions, because we’ve only scratched the surface.” They were definitely revisiting her daughter’s paternity, too. There was way too much emotion behind her reaction.

They drove the rest of the distance in silence, eventually pulling up in front of a nondescript building, on a street lined with them. Tall towers with squares of light, the kind of buildings his architect brother would call void of personality. At this hour of night, with the green landscaping unlit, Mike thought they had an eerie futuristic quality.

He stole a look at his companion. She hadn’t moved since his lecture, her face locked on the view outside the windshield. With the shadows hiding her makeup and her hair tumbling down her back, he was surprised how classical her profile looked. Reminding him of one of those Greek busts in a museum, strong and delicate at the same time. If, that is, the pieces in the museum were gritting their teeth.

Her fingers were already wrapped around the door handle. “Want to wait till I come to a full stop or will slowing down to a crawl be good enough?” he asked her.

“Either will be fine.” Her voice was tight to match her jaw. Still upset over his lecture. He added the discussion to his mental revisit list. Thing was getting pretty long. “I’ll stop at the front walkway if you don’t mind. Road burn never looks good on a client.”

Without so much as cracking a smile, she pointed to the crosswalk a few feet ahead. “Here is fine. I’ll walk the rest of the way.” She pushed open the door the moment the wheels stopped spinning. Eager to get away.

“Roxanne!” Call it guilt or anxiety over his harshness earlier, but he needed to call her back and make sure they were truly on the same page. “Do we understand each other?”

“We do.” From her resignation, however, she wasn’t happy about it. Never mind, she’d be happy enough with him when they settled her case.

“You still want to proceed then?” he double-checked.

She nodded, again with resignation. “I do.”

“I have an opening at nine-thirty tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”

Resignation quickly switched to surprise. “You want to meet tomorrow?”

“Unless you’d rather meet tonight. We have a lot to go over, and you’re my only source of information. Sooner we get started, the better.”

Seeing her widening eyes, he added, “Is that a problem?”

“No,” she replied. “No problem.”

There was, but to her credit, she seemed resolved to solving whatever it was. “I’ll see you at nine-thirty.”

“Sharp,” he added. As if he had anything better to do. “Oh, and Roxanne? You might as well get used to spending time with me. In fact, you could say I’m about to become your new best friend.”

“Great.” Thrilled, she was not; he could tell by the smirk.

Surprisingly, however, he found the annoyance almost amusing. There was mettle underneath her attitude that would come in handy. Smiling, he watched her walk away, waiting till she disappeared behind the frosted front door before shifting his car into Drive. For the first time in weeks, he looked forward to a new workday. Roxanne O’Brien didn’t know it yet, but she’d just become his newest and biggest priority.

He had a feeling both their futures would be better for it.

CHAPTER THREE

RROXY could feel Mike all the way to her front door and this time the sensation had nothing to do with his “presence.” He was watching her.

Her new best friend. The idea was beyond laughable. She wasn’t entirely sure she even liked the guy with his bossy, arrogant, elegant attitude. Add nosy, too. What business was it of his whether Steffi’s father was around or not? Everything about you is my business. Recalling the authority in his voice, she got a hot flash. Men who could truly take charge were few and far between in her world. Most of them simply took off.

Bringing her back to Steffi’s father. What a nice big bitter circle. She really did have to stop overreacting when people mentioned him. Not every remark was a reference to her bad judgment.

No, those would come later, when the Sinclairs got involved. Maybe chasing down the truth wasn’t such a good idea.

Then she thought about Steffi, and her resolve returned.

Mrs. Ortega’s apartment was on the third floor. The older woman met her at the door. “She give you any problems?” Roxy asked.

“Nada. Went down during her movie, same as always. She had a busy day. I had all three grandchildren.”

“Sounds like a houseful.”

Steffi was curled up sound asleep on the sofa, the late-night news acting as a night-light. In her hand she clutched a purple-haired plastic pony. Roxy smiled. Her daughter was in the middle of a pony fascination, the purple-haired animal not having left her hand in a month.

Carefully she scooped her up. The little girl immediately stirred. “Dusty’s thirsty,” she murmured, half swatting at her amber curls. Roxy wasn’t quite sure she was awake.

“We’ll get him some water upstairs.”

“Okay.” The little girl nodded and tucked her head into the crook of Roxy’s neck. Her skin smelled of sleep and baby shampoo. Roxy inhaled a noseful and the scent tugged at her heart. Her little angel. Steffi might have started as a mistake, but she was the one decent accomplishment in Roxy’s life. She’d do anything not to screw it up.

After making arrangements with Mrs. Ortega for the next morning, she carried Steffi to the elevator. Stepping off onto the eleventh floor, she could hear the screech of a high speed chase playing on a television. Would it be too much to ask for it not to be her apartment?

Yes. Fumbling to balance her keys and her daughter, she opened the door to find the volume blasting. A thin, acne-prone stain wearing an orange-and-blue throwback jersey lay sprawled on the sofa. Roxy cringed. Wayne. When she first decided to take on a roommate, she figured an extra person would allow her to afford a better apartment and Alexis had been one of the few decent applicants who didn’t mind living with a four-year-old. Roxy didn’t realize till they signed the lease that the woman’s loser brother came along with the package. He showed up at all times of the night, offering some lame excuse as to why he needed to sponge off them for the night. If she didn’t need Alexis’s share of the rent money, she’d kick them both to the curb.

Another reason to hope Mike Templeton was as good as he said. “Can you turn the TV down?” she whispered harshly.

“Why? The kid’s asleep.”

She shot him a glare. Not for long. “Because you can hear it at the elevator.”

“Turn it down, Wayne.” Carrying a laundry basket on her hip, his sister, Alexis, came down the hallway. “No one wants to hear that noise.”

With a roll of his eyes, Wayne reached for his remote.

Alexis greeted her with a nod and dropped the basket on the dining room table. “Some guy came by looking for you. He find you?”

“Dude wouldn’t stop buzzing,” Wayne said. “Woke me up.”

Poor baby. “Yeah, he found me,” she told Alexis.

“New boyfriend?”

“No. Business. He’s a lawyer who’s going to be helping me with some stuff of my mother’s.” She flashed back to five minutes earlier, in the close confines of his car. Better get used to my company. You and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. Against her will, a low shiver worked its way to the base of her spine. Immediately she kicked herself. You know, Roxy, your outbursts of moral outrage might carry a little more weight if you didn’t find the man attractive.

“What kind of business?” Wayne asked. “You getting money?”

“I thought you said your mother didn’t leave you anything?” Alexis said. She paused. “Is this about that stuff your mother said?”

“What stuff?” Wayne asked.

Roxy ignored him. In a moment of extreme loneliness and needing someone to talk to, Roxy had shared her mother’s last words to her roommate. In fact, it was Alexis who first suggested she might have money coming to her.

“Yeah.”

“He going to help you?” Her roommate’s eyes became big brown saucers. Roxy swore the pupils were dollar signs. It made her reluctant to answer.

“Maybe.”

She could have answered no and it wouldn’t matter. Alexis had already boarded the money train and was running at high speed. “Get out. We’re talking Kardashian kind of money, right? I read those Sinclairs are loaded.”

“We aren’t talking any kind of money.” She especially wasn’t talking money with the two of them. “He said he’d look into things. That’s all. I have to put Steffi down before she wakes up.”

It was a wonder the little girl hadn’t woken up already with all the noise going on. She really must have had a busy day. Knowing her daughter had fun should have been a relief. Instead she felt a stab of guilt. She should have been the one providing the fun, not the elderly grandmother downstairs. The one who read her stories and fed her dinner. So many things she should be doing. What happened if she couldn’t? Would she fade into the background like her mother, there but not there, a virtual stranger in a work uniform?

She lay her daughter in the plastic princess bed and pulled the blankets over her. Almost immediately Steffi burrowed into the mattress, Dusty the horse still gripped in her fist. Roxy brushed a curl from her cheek, and marveled at the innocence. Mike Templeton better realize how much she had riding on his ability to climb legal mountains.

“Tell me everything you can about your mother.”

It was the next morning, and Roxy was sitting with her new best friend for their nine-thirty meeting. She half expected another lecture about her overreaction the night before, but he behaved as if it never happened. He even provided breakfast. Muffins and coffee, arranged neatly on his office conference table. Like they were having an indoor picnic.

“Standard client procedure?” she’d asked.

The question earned her an odd, almost evasive look that triggered her curiosity meter. “Figured you could use breakfast,” he’d replied when she remarked on it.

Now he sat, legal pad at the ready, asking her about her mother. “There’s not much to tell.” Her mother had always been an enigma. Thanks to those letters, she was now a total stranger. “She wasn’t what you’d call an open book, in case you couldn’t guess.” More like a locked diary.

“Let’s start at the beginning. When did your parents get married?”

“June 18. They eloped.”

She watched as he wrote down the date. It was barely legible. How could a man who moved his pen so fluidly have such horrendous penmanship?

“Seven months before you were born.”

“Yup. To the day. I always figured I was the reason they got married.”

“And you were their only child.”

“One and only. I used to wish I had brothers and sisters, though. Being the only one could be lonely sometimes. Now that I think about it, that’s probably one of the reasons I became an actress. I did a lot of pretending.”

“Trust me, siblings aren’t always great to have around,” he replied.

“You have brothers and sisters?”

“One of each. And before you ask, I’m the oldest.”

She wasn’t sure why, but the idea he had a family intrigued her. Were they all as smooth and refined as he was? She pictured a trio of perfection all in navy blue blazers. “Are they lawyers, too?”

“No, I’m the only one.”

“Tough act to follow, huh?”

Voice flat, he replied, “So I’m told.” Another unreadable expression crossed his face. Sounded like she’d touched a nerve. Sibling rivalry or something else?

She wanted to ask more, but he steered the conversation back to being one-sided. “Your father—the one you grew up with—is he still alive?”

“Looked alive at the funeral.”

Like she figured he would, he stopped writing and looked up, just in time to witness the shame creeping into her cheeks. “He took off for Florida when I was little. Guess he figured once he made a legal woman out of my mother, his job was done.”

“They’re divorced then.”

“Good Lord, no. They were Irish Catholic. They stayed married.” Instead they lived separate lives in separate states. Chained to one another by a mistake. Her.

Wonder what he’d think when he learned that he might not have had to marry her mother at all.

Mike scribbled on his notepad. “Interesting.”

“What is?”

“That neither sought an annulment. If your father knew about Wentworth, he’d certainly have grounds.”

“Oh.” She popped a piece of muffin into her mouth, swallowing it along with the familiar defensiveness that had risen with the conversation. Her mother’s story always cut so close to home. Reminded her too much of choices she did or didn’t make. She always wondered which path would have been better. Hers or her mother’s?

“Maybe he didn’t care,” she said, as much to herself as aloud. “I always figured he wanted out as easily as possible. My mother was—I’m not sure what word I’d use.”

“Quiet?”

Too simple. “Absent.”

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