Halfway to Drake Realty, her cell phone rang. She tapped the phone icon on the steering wheel to answer the call from her lone PC friend, whom she’d met the first time on a visit at the age of twelve. “Hey, Peyton.”
“What are you doing?”
“Channeling the negotiator.”
“Huh?”
“Will explain later.”
“You’d better. Those words sound mysterious.”
“I’m handling part two of the mystery now, so when we meet I can share the whole story. Busy later?”
“Not really. Just text me where and I’ll head over.”
“Perfect.”
Quinn walked into Drake Realty with authority and confidence, having reminded herself that when it came to arguments, she won most of them.
“Good afternoon,” she said pleasantly to the receptionist seated in the lobby area. “I’m here to see Ike Drake.”
“Senior or Junior?”
“Junior,” Quinn answered, sure the virile man she encountered couldn’t have a grown son.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.” The receptionist reached for the phone. “But I’d rather you not announce me. My visit won’t take long.”
“I’m sorry, but all visitors must be announced and cleared before they’re allowed past this lobby. One moment.”
“Then consider me a friend, or family member, I really don’t care. Just point me in the direction of Ike Drake’s office, now.”
“Ma’am, I’m so sorry, but...”
Quinn’s anger, which had begun to cool on the drive over, started simmering once again. If announced, she doubted Ike would agree to see her. Anyone who had the nerve to follow up a gift of flowers with a lawsuit was definitely not the kind of man who’d want to face her head-on. “Never mind. It’s obvious your job is to protect scoundrels. Some people will do anything for a paycheck. I’ll catch him later.”
Just as Quinn turned to go, one of two doors on either side of the receptionist’s desk opened. Ike.
Their eyes met. The room temperature seemed to rise by several degrees. Quinn was surprised to feel her heartbeat increase. Anger had never felt quite like this.
The receptionist glanced between the two, not sure of what was happening or, given the look that was being exchanged, what might occur. “Mr. Drake, would you like me to—”
“No,” he replied, with a hand out to silence the receptionist. He walked over and stood in front of Quinn. “I’m fine. Ms. Taylor, I assume you’re here to see me.”
Quinn walked forward until their faces were mere inches apart, her voice a whisper beneath her smile. “You know damned well why I’m here.” She fixed him with a look that melted most men.
Ike was ice. He gave a curt nod. “Let’s talk in my office.” Then to the receptionist, “Hold my calls.”
He reached the door and held it open for Quinn to enter. She did so, and even though highly frustrated admired the revered mahogany walls and marble-trimmed halls of the prestigious firm. Aware of the curious stares from the employees who passed them, she kept her eyes firmly on Ike’s back. Had they been daggers, he would have been punctured from back to front.
He’d barely looked at her. Acted like she was invisible. Quinn wasn’t used to being dismissed.
With a discipline honed through years of ballet training and mastering the violin, she kept her ire in check until he’d closed his office door. Then she threw charm school right out the window and exploded like a clobbered piñata at a child’s birthday party.
“How dare you sue me over a traffic accident.”
“If what took place was a mere traffic incident, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Look, we don’t have to do this. I’ll fix your car, no problem. If you’re worried that I won’t, draw up a contract or something for me to sign. We can’t take this to trial. They’ll suspend my license. I have too much to do. Let’s just drop it. Okay?”
Ike walked behind his desk, sat and began placing items into a briefcase. “It’s not up to me. If it was, I’d probably give you a higher fine and harsher sentence than the judge will apply.”
“You know what? You’re disgusting.”
Ike sat back. “I’m disgusting?”
“Absolutely. That you would have the nerve to take me to court for an accident, then sue me on top of it, makes you not only disgusting but a first-class jerk.”
* * *
Ike was too incredulous to be angry and too stunned to take offense, not only at Ms. Taylor’s ability to stand in his office as though she was a victim but that she could do so and look absolutely magnificent.
Time to get out of here. Being alone with this woman behind closed doors was a bad idea. He stood and walked over to take his suit coat off the rack.
“For the record,” he began, putting it on, “I couldn’t care less what you think of me, but you will respect this business. You had no right coming here to discuss a personal matter, and the boorish manner in which you spoke with the receptionist was out of line. You may have experienced success with it other places, but that bratty behavior doesn’t work here.” He picked up his briefcase, keys and sunglasses. After a quick look around the office, he headed toward the door. “I suggest any rebuttal you have be shared with your attorney to present at pretrial. Because this conversation is over. I’ll walk you out.”
Quinn straightened to her full five feet seven inches, plus four-inch heels, and looked Ike directly in the eye. “Bratty, huh? Maybe I am. But you’re the one who spent half a million bucks on a relic and threw a weeklong tantrum over a car that’s insured, over repairs that will cost you nothing. There are not many people driving cars with a price tag that equals the GNP of third-world nations. I might be spoiled.” She placed a finger on his chest. “But one could say the same about you.”
Ike took a step back. Not because he was in any way intimidated. Her crystal-covered bravado reminded him of London, his kid sister, who was also headstrong even when wrong. But her temper didn’t move him, either.
The reason he’d retreated from the news item in front of him, one he was sure had caused more than one controversial headline, was because of a breaking story he hadn’t expected—a magnetic attraction combined with a visceral connection he did not understand. It was a feeling that puzzled him, and if he were honest, frightened him, too. Ike Drake Jr. moved through life with deliberate, thoughtful and strategic precision. He was a grown man, not a teenage boy given to uncontrollable urges. So why did he want nothing more than to wrap his arms around this bundle of fiery femininity and shut her mouth by covering it with his own? Annihilate her anger with his tongue? He felt an inexplicable desire in every inch of his six-foot-plus frame. Several inches in a certain area more than others.
He took a deep breath and released it slowly. His gaze unwavering. His expression unreadable. His eyes slid to her succulent lips. The bottom one trembled. He wasn’t the only one affected. She wasn’t the only one who mattered. This was a fact she needed to know.
He took a step toward her, so close that their noses almost touched. This time it was Quinn who retreated. He took another step.
“What are you doing?” she asked, the merest hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
Ike