A Decision of Trust
Laurean Brooks
Smashwords Edition
A Decision of Trust
Presented by Publishing by Rebecca J. Vickery
Digital ISBN: 978-1-4660-9812-1
Copyright © 2012 Laurean Brooks
Cover Art Copyright © 2012 Miss Mae
Design Consultation by Laura Shinn
Smashwords Licensing Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this ebook without purchasing it and it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
A Decision of Trust is a work of fiction.
Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author except for the inclusion of actual historical facts. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to everyone who has faced tragedy. Remember: Healing takes time and God is always with you even in those darkest times when you can't feel His presence.
A Decision of Trust
The scandal surrounding her husband's death and the debt he leaves behind forces Amanda Wilkes to seek employment. The experience strengthens her resolve to remain single. Then one touch from Jake Tyler, her new boss, leaves Amanda weak in the knees. Dare she trust her heart again?
Jake Tyler plans to remain unmarried and raise his seven-year-old-son after his wife's death. But his resolve teeters at one flash of Amanda's eyes. What lies behind his secretary's cool facade and why does she weep over sad love songs? Can Jake handle what he uncovers?
To complicate matters, an enemy crouches in Tyler Law Firm. What lies behind the plot to rid the law firm of the new secretary?
Chapter One
When the deluge ceased as quickly as it began, Amanda Wilkes popped open her green umbrella to walk from beneath the awning. A brisk wind whipped beneath the collar of her trench coat, sending shivers down her spine, as she stepped off the sidewalk and onto the wet street.
Of all the days to schedule an interview—a rainy Friday in March. Gripping the lapels together, she muttered, "But, 'March winds and April showers bring May flowers', or so grandmother used to say."
She spied the large puddle in the street just beyond her and tentatively looked for an alternate route.
Splat! A spray of muddy water shot up and speckled her just-dry-cleaned coat. Amanda whirled in time to glimpse the gleaming, red sports car and the guilty culprit behind the wheel as he zipped past. A man with dark hair and a chiseled profile gripped the wheel, focused straight ahead. He didn't turn toward her, but she was sure a wicked grin spread across his face. He thought this was funny? Did he do it intentionally?
"Of all the rude..." And he didn't even have the courtesy to stop and apologize!
Amanda looked down at her newly cleaned, butter-cream coat speckled with black mud. The leopard-like spots matched her mood. What reaction would she get if she let loose an earsplitting roar? It might release the anger mounting in her chest. Would anyone hear her?
The sports car swerved into a parking space across the street before a tall, stately man climbed out. Amanda dared him to look her way. He didn't. She reached into her purse and pulled out her compact to check the condition of her face. After flicking a speck of mud from her chin and bangs, she snapped it shut. The man was gone. Just as well. It wouldn't do for her to lose her temper, now. Too much at stake.
She brushed at one of the black flecks on her lapel. Wrong move. Instead of flicking it off, the action made the spot spread. The coat would have to be dry-cleaned again. Like she could afford it. Her chance to make a good first impression on a potential employer slid right down the tubes with the mud bath. Tears threatened to surface, but she swallowed them.
Tossing auburn locks over her shoulders, Amanda took a deep breath, and marched across the street until she reached the door that read, Tyler Law Firm. She closed her umbrella, propped it against the door, then shrugged out of the soiled coat. Draping it across one arm, she inspected her legs and shoes. Miraculously, the spray missed both. Her hand trembled as she reached for the door handle.
Calm down, Amanda. You can't afford to mess this up.
An elderly receptionist smiled as she stepped inside. The woman pushed her glasses farther up her nose and scanned Amanda from head to toe. "May I assist you?"
"Yes. I have a five o'clock appointment with Mr. Tyler."
The silver-haired woman held up a hand. "Just one moment, Miss..." she squeaked, and glanced at the appointment book, "...Wilkes."
She pressed a button on the phone. "Mr. Tyler, your five o'clock appointment, Ms. Wilkes, is here. Okay." She hung up and pointed behind her. "You may go in now. Mr. Tyler's office is the last door on the left, down the hall and around the corner."
Amanda forced a smile. "Thank you."
Muddy coat in tow, Amanda walked down the corridor through the open door to the left, and gasped at the man who stood before her. The same man responsible for her soiled coat. He stopped shuffling through a file cabinet and turned to face her. Dark brows drew together as he studied her with a cold, steely gaze. He tossed a folder on the highly-polished mahogany desk. "Why are you staring at me, Miss Wilkes? Do I have a zit on my nose?"
Amanda's face burned. "Uh...no." I can't afford to blow this.
"I'm Jake Tyler." When the handsome attorney extended his hand and smiled, he didn't look so intimidating. She felt the tension melt as his cobalt-blue eyes softened. Strong, warm fingers wrapped around her cold ones shooting an electric spark up her arm. Amanda breathed deeply, praying he didn't notice her flinch.
He released her hand and cleared his throat. He nodded toward the coat draped over her arm, and frowned. "Make yourself comfortable. Looks like you met with an unfortunate accident along the way."
She wiped sweaty hands down the sides of her slim skirt before she eased into a luxurious leather-back chair. An icy tone crept into her voice as she relived the coat-splattering incident. "You could say that." She held her index finger and thumb a fraction apart. "I came this close to being struck by a 'hit-and-run' driver."
"You don't say. Would you like to file a complaint against this alleged 'hit-and-run' driver?"
Alleged? Does he think I'm fabricating this story? Was he jesting with her? Amanda arched one eyebrow. "Sounds like an idea."
"Shall we sue for compensation, say—an entire wardrobe—or go for thirty days hard labor?"
'Thirty days' sounds good. Plus a new wardrobe. And could we drench his expensive, gray suit with mud? Just so he knows how it feels.
One bushy eyebrow quirked. "A penny for your thoughts."
I doubt you would want to hear them. She swallowed hard, keeping her tone even. "Either one sounds fair."
Obviously enjoying the game, Mr. Tyler pulled a pencil from his desk drawer and picked up a notepad. "Can you identify this driver? Describe him."
Uh-oh. Amanda perused the formidable-looking man from head to toe. "I'd say...he stood about six-feet, two inches, dark hair, early thirties. Attired in an expensive gray suit." How's that for description? There. She'd laid all her chips on the table. What next?
"A detailed description." He rubbed his chin. "When and where did this crime take place?"
She glanced at her watch. "Seven minutes ago, just across the street."
Jake Tyler swaggered around to the front of the desk and sat on the edge, facing her. He tapped the pencil against his jaw. "This description could fit a large number of people—though, we can rule out the female population. I need more." He folded his arms across his chest. "Give me your firsthand account of the incident, including the color and make of the car." He poised the pencil above the notepad.
Should she keep playing this game? Her future could hinge on the information she gave. Taking a deep breath, she decided to plunge ahead. "I started across the street when I spied a large puddle. When I paused at the edge to determine the best way around it, a late-model, red sports car whizzed by. And as you can see..." She held up the muddy coat by the lapel. "The man I described sat behind the wheel." To make matters worse, he appeared to be laughing.
Jake's brows arched to reveal a mischievous spark in his eyes. "Are you accusing...me, Miss Wilkes?"
She nodded. If the shoe fits...What would he do now?
He walked around his desk and pushed a button on the phone. His deep voice boomed over the intercom. "Willa, will you come to my office, please?"
What in the world? Was he planning to use his receptionist for an alibi, to swear he had been in his office at the time of the incident?
The receptionist cracked the door enough to poke her head through. Amanda detected fear in the woman's voice. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Tyler?"
She felt sorry for the gray-haired woman because the attorney appeared to intimidate her. What had he done to instill fear? His booming voice didn't help matters.
Amanda's throat tightened until she could barely breathe. Maybe she shouldn't have applied for this position. What happened to the last secretary? Was she fired? Did she run for cover?
"Yes, Willa." The attorney's voice softened. Pulling the soiled coat from Amanda's arm, he dangled it in front of the receptionist. "Drop this by the cleaners on your way home. Charge it to my account, and tell them to have it cleaned as quickly as possible."
"Yes...sir." Willa pinched the filthy garment by its collar, holding it at arm's length.
"But—" Amanda started to protest, but the receptionist had left.
"Don't argue. I am the guilty party and justice must be served."
Amanda pursed her lips to keep from smirking. But I was hoping for 'thirty days, hard labor.'
His eyebrows rose. "It's either that or thirty days, hard labor."
Amanda's teeth sank into her bottom lip. He read her mind. She must tread carefully around him.
She glimpsed an upward tug at one corner of his mouth as he continued. "And since I am clueless when it comes to women's fashions, I dare to guess you wouldn't want me shopping for your wardrobe."
She shook her head, no.
When he diverted his gaze to the file on his desk, Amanda let herself smile.
Picking up the file, he flipped through it. "To set the record straight, I didn't see you or the puddle." He raised his chin for emphasis. "Now, on to business. I've looked over your resume. It's quite impressive. But, one thing puzzles me." He tapped the pencil against his full lips. "You haven't worked in over three years. Why?"
His steely gaze searched her eyes. A gaze that could pierce through to one's soul. How could she explain three years out of the work force? "Greg didn't want his wife to work."
"Greg is...your husband." It was a statement.
"Was...my husband."
"You are divorced?" His brow furrowed.
"No." Amanda swallowed hard. What good did it do to dredge up the past? Why must she explain this at every interview? But her potential employer demanded a straight answer and she needed the job. Her voice sounded shaky. "Greg was...killed in an accident last April. His car struck a bridge abutment. He and...the other...person were killed instantly."
"The other person? Was this other person a relative?"
Why was he interrogating her? What business was it of his to know who the other person was? She was not his client. Jake Tyler would make a great prosecuting attorney.
She crossed her legs. "Please, I'd rather not discuss this."
"I see." He pursed his lips and switched gears. Your resume is excellent, as I've already stated. You were a legal secretary, a fine one, for five years. Piper & Long spoke highly of you."
"Thank you."
"No need to thank me. Your credentials speak for themselves."
The intercom buzzed. Willa's voice squeaked. "Mr. Tyler, it's five o'clock. Do you need anything else before I leave?"
"No. Good day, Willa. Have a nice weekend."
"You, too, Mr. Tyler. Don't forget to turn out the lights and lock up."
"Thank you for the reminder." He turned off the intercom, then sought Amanda's eyes. "Willa is meticulous. She watches over me with the surveillance of a mother hen, but for some unfathomable reason, my presence seems to intimidate her."
Amanda understood. Jake Tyler exuded a powerful, magnetic pull and came off as a man who always got what he wanted. Her nerves grew taut. Was he a womanizer like Greg? She refused to think about that. Was her new boss married?
She glanced at his left hand, but the folder concealed it. She wanted to kick herself for even looking. After one horrific marriage, she was not in the market for another.
Another? Really, Amanda! You just met the man...your boss...if all goes well. Besides, you have sworn off men. Remember?
"Miss Wilkes? Or should I say, Mrs. Wilkes?" His smooth baritone broke into her musing. He placed the file on top of a stack and sat on the edge of the desk, crossing his arms in front of his chest and his long legs at the ankles, as he studied her.
"Miss Wilkes. I took my maiden name back after my husband's death. It was Andrews." She hoped it would prevent people from connecting her with the awful scandal surrounding her husband's death.
As she waited for him to continue, her gaze again dropped to his left hand. No ring. Her heart flipped. But a ring meant little these days, she reminded herself. Some married men didn't wear wedding bands. Others removed them when the ring thwarted their chances of having a fling.
The attorney stood. "You will report to work Monday morning at eight o'clock. Willa will show you the ropes. I'll be in at eight-thirty to go over the details."
Just like that? She scrambled to her feet and extended a trembling hand. "Mr. Tyler. I don't know how to thank you. But, you haven't asked the usual questions."
He cocked one eyebrow. "Oh? Like...?"
"Like, 'Have you ever been charged with a felony—?' "
"No need. Your resume speaks for itself." He stroked his jaw. "Besides, I'm a fair judge of character." He flipped the light switch off, throwing them in dusky-darkness until he opened the door. Then he gestured for her to precede him up the corridor.
Were they alone in the building? It appeared that way.
On their way to the exit, Jake switched off lights, leaving one lamp lit near the window. Amanda pulled on the door handle.
"Wait. I'll walk you to your car. Darkness falls quickly on rainy days. And one can only guess what lurks in the inky shadows."
It was not a question. More like a command, though the "inky shadows" must have been an attempt at humor. Her new employer reached around to open the door. The wind cut through Amanda's thick turtleneck sweater.
"I'll drive you home."
"Bu-ut," she shivered, "I took the bu-u-s-s. Tha-ank you for the—offer."
"No 'buts' about it. He bent his head to look her in the eye. "You are not walking to the bus stop in this weather. Another downpour could hit any minute. And since I am the one responsible for your coat-less predicament—"
"You could drop me off at the bus stop," she suggested. "I have an umbrella."
He gripped her arm and led her toward his sports car, opening the passenger door. "Get in."
She could tell by his tone that arguing would prove useless. Has the Honorable Jake Tyler ever lost a court case? She doubted it. He held the door while she slid into a soft, cream-colored leather seat. The new-car scent stung her nostrils. A growing compulsion to slide her hand over the soft upholstery forced Amanda to clasp her hands together.
Her new employer dropped behind the wheel and punched numbers on his cell phone. "Reservations for two—a window seat, please. Five-thirty? Yes, that will be fine. Tyler." He backed out onto the street then set the radio to a classic country station.
The rest of the conversation was lost to Amanda when a sad song drifted through the stereo system. As a child, introduced by her parents to country crooner Ronnie Milsap, It Was Almost Like A Song, moved her to tears. Before she realized it, her cheeks were wet.
She must have sniffed out loud because the attorney tucked a handkerchief in her hand. "Ronnie Milsap is a favorite artist of mine. Especially, this song."
She sniffed again, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief. "Mine too. It always makes me cry."
"I understand; it describes my life."
What could he mean? His marriage hadn't ended with a cheating spouse killed in a silver Ferrari, had it? Then what? She wiped her eyes again, squared her shoulders, and determined to pull herself together. When she stared straight ahead, she noticed they were headed the wrong way. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you," she pointed behind her, "I live that way."
His eyebrows creased. "I'm well aware of where you live, Ms. Wilkes; but a working woman needs nourishment. We shall dine first, that is, unless you have alternate plans for the evening?"
He knows where I live?
Had he checked out her house? What else did he know about her? Somehow, knowing it didn't bother her. "No...but shouldn't you get home to your family?" Did he have a family?
"Homer and Henrietta will be fine for a couple more hours."
She choked on a giggle. It came out as a gurgle. "Your son and daughter?" Awful names! No doubt the children were the laughing stock with their playmates.
He chuckled. "No. My Maltese cats. My son, Lance, is on a sleepover with his best buddy." He sighed. "Kids grow up entirely too fast."
Amanda frowned. "How old is Lance?"
"Seven, and quite the little man."
The next question should quench her curiosity. "Won't your wife be worried about you?"
She heard the sharp intake. "Melissa died three years ago."
"I'm sorry; I didn't know."
"She passed away from what was deemed to be a fairly normal procedure to remove an ovarian cyst. Something went wrong. She did not wake up from...the surgery. Whether—whether it was an adverse reaction to the anesthesia," he shook his head, "or something else, we may never know this side of heaven." He whipped the car into a parking space in front of Poncho's Steak and Seafood. "Have you eaten here before?"
"No, sir." Poncho's had the reputation for the finest dining in Sprucefield. Many times she'd begged Greg to take her there, but he'd ignored her.
"May I call you Amanda?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Then let's skip the formalities. I prefer Jake to sir...or The Honorable Mr. Tyler."
"Yes, but in the presence of clients, it's still Mr. Tyler," she insisted.
He nodded his agreement.
Amanda hopped out of the car before he could perform another chivalrous act. She would not allow her employer to label her as a helpless female. Prancing ahead of him, she paused at the entrance and clasped the door handle. His long strides brought him up close behind. His coat sleeve brushed her arm when he reached around her and covered her hand. Electricity shot up her arm. Added to his touch, Jake's warm breath tickled her ear, melting her resolve. When she pulled her hand free, it still tingled.
"Let me get the door," Jake whispered. "My dad taught me to behave like a gentleman."
Before Greg's death, Amanda enjoyed polite male gestures, but since, she determined to assert her independence. She needed to prove she was self-sufficient. Besides, most men could not be trusted.
The hostess appeared to assure them their table would be available soon. Jake stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited while Amanda perused the restaurant. The yellow walls displayed Spanish décor in reds and bright blues, exuding a cheerful atmosphere. Hanging vines in colorful south-of-the-border clay pots added to the ambiance.
Amanda glanced sideways at her employer's chiseled profile. She took a deep breath and slowly released it. Never had a man affected her this way. Not even Greg. Oh, they had tender moments during their courtship and first year of marriage. But the relationship soured the day she discovered the scented note in Greg's pocket. The short, condemning, message pounded the first nail in their marital coffin. It read, Greg, I can't wait much longer. It's time to act.
When she showed Greg the note, he sneered. "Amanda, I can't believe you don't have the sense to figure this out? This message is from old Mrs. Phillips, insisting I set a date for the board meeting."
Amanda didn't buy it. Not for one second did she believe Greg's sixty-something secretary penned the note on floral stationery. True, Greg was a procrastinator; but Mrs. Phillips would not replace the dots over the i with an arrow-pierced heart or spray the paper with cheap cologne.
A week later, Greg informed her he was working late and told her not to hold dinner. This was followed by frequent business trips. Once she called his four-star hotel in Louisville, and a woman answered. When Amanda asked for Greg, the woman replied, "You have the wrong number." She heard the woman mumble, "Get a life," before she hung up.
Certain she hadn't punched in the wrong number, Amanda waited then pushed redial. This time Greg answered. The same female voice whined in the background, "Is it your wife again? Tell her to bug off!"
When she questioned Greg, he claimed the voice came from a sitcom he was watching. Since when? He despised sitcoms.
"A penny for your thoughts. You were miles away."
Jake's voice startled her. She glanced around to find him studying her. Forcing a feeble smile, cynicism sliced through her voice. "I'm afraid you would not get your money's worth."
"That would be for me to decide."
Amanda felt relief when the hostess interrupted her need to reply. They were led to a window table overlooking the city lights then handed menus. Jake opened his menu to look over the entrees. "May I make a suggestion? Poncho's grills up a delicious steak. Rib-eye, T-bone, Porterhouse, Filet Mignon..." But, if you are craving fish, the salmon is top of the line."
She closed her menu. "Steamed Salmon, it is." This meal would mean scrimping on groceries for a week. And if Jake Tyler thinks he will foot the entire bill, he has another think coming.
A proper, tux-clad waiter appeared. Standing tall, but quite bow-legged with huge out-ward splayed feet, he stopped to straighten his bow-tie then poised his pen above the order pad. "Your drinks?"
Both ordered iced tea. When the waiter returned with the moisture-laden glasses, he took their orders. "Excellent selections. If you need anything else, ask for Eric." He straightened his bow tie again and waddled like a duck toward the kitchen.
Amanda stifled a giggle. The sparkle in Jake's eyes told her he also found the scene amusing. She diverted her attention to the couple who passed their table with two adorable toddlers in tow. She'd wanted children at the start of her marriage. Greg's death stole that dream. As CEO of a major corporation, her late husband made a six-figure annual salary. The income supplied them with everything she wanted. Everything but children.
Amanda's position as a legal secretary with Piper and Long became the main object of dissension between them. Greg didn't want her to work. But she loved the daily challenges and meeting new clients. Finally, as leverage, he played the I think it's time we start a family card, and she caved. He preferred she be a stay-at-home mom.
The decision suited Amanda well since, first and foremost, she wanted children. The five-bedroom, Victorian home felt desolate with only two occupants. Giggling toddlers bouncing off the walls would bring life to it. So she quit her job and waited. But each time she mentioned starting a family, Greg used the same excuse. "We need to be more financially secure before we bring a child into this world."
How much money did they need? It was an excuse, and Amanda knew it. If they needed money, why did he insist she quit her job?
After two years of pleading the same issue, she knew she'd been had. Greg finally admitted children were not in his plans and never would be. So why didn't he want her to work? What was his fear? Was he that possessive...or paranoid that she might interact with people of his social circle and thereby discover his sordid affairs?
To fill the long, empty days, Amanda took art classes, learned to make pottery, and volunteered at the local homeless shelter.
Greg was not happy about the latter. "Let someone else deal with them. Don't you have enough to keep you busy without dirtying your hands with those types? Make use of our country club membership where you can rub elbows with Sprucefield's elite. It couldn't hurt my career for my wife to socialize with the upper crust. You never know when we might need a favor from one or two."
At his insistence, Amanda drove to the country club. What she found was disappointing, to say the least. It didn't take her long to discover a group of lonely, aimless women bored with their lives. Women who drank themselves into oblivion, gossiping away the afternoons, and whose only goals were to "one-up" the other, whether in the latest fashions, the most luxurious car, or the largest home.
Amanda wanted her life to count. She yearned for children of her own, but the longer she waited the more futile the dream became. In two months, she would turn twenty-nine. Her biological clock ticked on. Sighing, she glanced at the man across the table.
Jake's eyes fixed on hers. "Do have children?"
How did he do that? He read her mind.
Her smile was a sad imitation. "No. We'd planned to, but it never happened."
Mistaking her reason, he asked, "Did you ever consider adopting? Adoption is our specialty at Tyler Law Firm. There is nothing as rewarding as placing a child with the right parents."
His voice rang with sincerity. How could she explain her situation without giving away too much? She cleared her throat and swallowed a growing lump. "It wasn't that we couldn't have children." She paused to look out the window. Rain pelted down. Miserable weather.
"The timing was never right?"
"Something like that." At least not for Greg.
He sucked in his bottom lip. "Too bad. You will—would make a great mother."
How could he say that? He knew nothing about her.
"I know you would."
He'd read her mind again. Uncanny.
"How would you know that?"
"Women call it intuition. I call it reading character."
"But, we've just met." Her huge, emerald eyes searched his cobalt-blue ones.
He smiled, then glanced past her shoulder. "Ah-h, our food has arrived."
The prim waiter set the entrees before them. Delicious aromas wafted up to meet her. Amanda almost laughed again when with the waiter waddled away. She picked up her fork before noticing Jake's bowed head. He glanced up, a silent question in his eyes. She nodded then bowed her head.
"Father, we thank You for the food You've supplied, and for being our Provider and Comforter. In Jesus' blessed name we pray, Amen."
Amanda was surprised to discover Jake's close relationship with the Lord. It must be wonderful to talk to Him that way. She'd been there, too, once. But now, God seemed distant. She wasn't sure when He deserted her, only that He had.
Was it at the discovery of her late husband's treachery? Or was it she who pulled away from God, when the icy fingers of Greg's deceit wrapped around her heart, threatening to squeeze the life from her? At times, Amanda thought she'd go insane. She felt so helpless—so alone. She'd cried out to God to stop Greg before he destroyed the last vestiges of their marriage. But her husband had continued in his debauchery.
God had failed her. Was she too insignificant for Him to consider? Whatever the case, Amanda grew cold toward both Greg and God. Had her heart just hardened to a ball of wax, or was it fossilized? Wax required warmth to melt it, whereas stone required extra effort—a chisel to chip away the stony exterior.
Amanda had never pressed Greg for answers when he evaded her questions about his late office hours or frequent business trips. Was she afraid of the truth? Or afraid she'd lose him along with her chance to become a mother? She wasn't sure. Ironically, she'd lost both.
Chapter Two
"Ms. Wilkes, I apologize if I've bored you."
Amanda's head jerked up to find Jake stroking his jaw, his eyes studying her. He nodded toward her plate. "If your salmon isn't good, I'll call the waiter."
"No-no. I should be the one to apologize. The salmon is delicious."
"How would you know? You've not even tasted it."
She glanced down at her plate. "I suppose you're right." Her fork lay beneath her hand, her food untouched. "I'm sorry; my mind drifted."
"Would you care to disclose where it drifted? Listening is what I'm paid to do. They call me Counselor, you know." A crooked grin spread across his face, creasing into an attractive dimple on his right cheek.
She returned the smile and jested, "And a good one, I'm sure. But I doubt I can afford your rates."
He winked. "Try me. This session is on the house."
Was he teasing her? She didn't answer, but studied his handsome face—the square jaw, high cheekbones, hooded blue eyes, and full lips. A warmth spread through her. To gather her thoughts, she turned to focus outside the window. The rain had ceased, but ominous thunderclouds threatened another downpour.
Jake sliced off a bite of steak, forked it into his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. "Do I frighten you, Amanda? It's not my intention. I'm really harmless outside of the courtroom."
He looked so serious she almost laughed. "No. Did I look frightened?" What emotions crossed her face while she relived her disastrous marriage? She felt as if her soul lay bare before this man. But somehow she felt safe even under his scrutiny. Why? She would analyze that later.
"Actually, your face registered something akin to anger." His brow creased. "Anger toward whom...or what? That is my question."
Amanda smiled and smoothed the linen napkin in her lap. "Counselor, I plead the fifth to your question. And I'm determined to focus on this wonderful food and forget everything else."
His dark brows rose. "Are you side-stepping the issue, Defendant?"
She decided to be honest, if not informative. "Yes."
"Then dig into that salmon before it either congeals or swims upstream to spawn."
Jake Tyler had a great sense of humor, if it was on the dry side. Amanda picked up her fork. "Don't mind if I do." She broke off a flaky morsel and tasted. "M-mm. The salmon is delicious. Thank you for suggesting it."
"You are welcome."
They finished the meal in silence. When the waiter came with the ticket, Jake placed his credit card on the tray.
"I will pay for my meal," Amanda insisted.
Jake ignored her, but she continued to protest. "Take it out of my first check, then."
His narrowed eyes gleamed with mischief. "I doubt your check will cover it."
"Then deduct it in weekly payments," she persisted.
He rose and walked around to assist her with her chair. "The verdict is in, lady, and the case is closed. Now, let's get you home before the next deluge."
Arguing proved futile. Jake Tyler was a stubborn entity. Required assets for a winning lawyer, no doubt.
Amanda looked at the overcast sky and shivered as they walked toward the car. Before she realized it, Jake's jacket was being tucked about her shoulders.
"Really, this isn't necessary."
"I owe you that much after the mud bath," he insisted.
It was dusk when they drove up the long driveway to her Victorian home. The skies opened and large hail-like rain hammered the windshield so they could barely see out. Jake pulled in front of the garage and clicked off the engine. "I suggest we wait this one out. Are you warm enough? I can turn the heater up."
"I'm fine." The man was a true gentleman, if an enigma. He made her feel...cherished. "I'm fine." She tugged his jacket closer about her shoulders. "Thank you for your generosity. And that includes the delicious meal."
* * * * *
Through the dusk, Jake scanned the large Victorian home before him and the grounds surrounding it. Amanda Wilkes' home. It must have cost a mint. Why would a woman accustomed to this high standard of living want...need...a job? Boredom, or something else? "You have a lovely place. If you don't mind my asking, what was your late husband's occupation?"
"Greg was a CEO at Friedman's Software Corporation. And a great provider, at first. I'm afraid his lavish lifestyle cost him--and me—dearly. I had no clue how much until his death. The Ferrari, among his other indulgences, used up a vast sum. He totaled the car when he left this world." She sighed. "Totaled with an enormous lien against it. I sold my car to pay it off." She shook her head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry. I've said too much. I don't usually unload on strangers."
Jake ignored the last remark. "So that's why you took the bus."
"Not exactly. I have an older, usually reliable, sedan, but this afternoon it failed to start."
Rain swept across the windshield. They sat in silence, mesmerized by the storm. A clap of thunder sent another deluge. Jake turned on the radio to find music to soothe Amanda. Another tear-jerker drifted through the speakers. T. Graham Brown crooned, I Wish That I Could Hurt That Way Again.
He watched his newly-hired secretary struggle for self control. Jake knew she was embarrassed by her emotional display. Amanda struck him as a woman who prided herself on composure at all costs—a great trait for a legal secretary, except for the second time this evening, she had lost it. When he heard the sob catch in her throat, his first reaction was to pull her against his chest. But that wouldn't do. What was wrong with him?
The security light caught the tears glistening in Amanda's eyes. They streamed down her cheeks before she wiped them away. What had she suffered over the past eleven months, or longer? She turned her head toward the passenger-side window, obviously avoiding his gaze.