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  “I told Paul I would help him with the welcome reception he’s planning for the new attorney. André’s already working on the menu.”

  Jenny took a large gulp of water.

  “I heard from Anna on Sunday.”

  On to sibling number two: the brilliant obstetrician.

  Perfect Paul. Amazing Anna.

  And Jinxed Jenny.

  “Anna was the head doctor on a delivery of quintuplets. Can you imagine? Your sister said it was the most rewarding experience of her career.”

  “What about Cody?” Jenny asked, referring to her nephew, Anna and Phillip’s only child. “Is his hair still blue?”

  “It’s a rinse, dear. I’ve told you that before.” Her mother took a small bite. “Anna believes it’s only a matter of time before they promote her. Of course, with the promotion will come added responsibilities—”

  “Are these new dishes, Mom? They’re lovely.”

  “But your sister is more than up for the challenge.”

  “Was that a new statue I saw in the hallway?” She poked at a piece of fish with her fork, causing it to flake into small pieces.

  “I suppose I should talk to André about a menu for Anna’s promotion. I know nothing is official yet, but it’s best to always be prepared.”

  “This is the best tuna I’ve ever had.” Jenny scooped the fish bits into her mouth and made a great show of enjoying them. Actually, it was the best tuna she’d ever had. But considering that the only other kind she’d ever had came out of a can, that wasn’t saying much. She was sure the great André didn’t have the age-old debate of water versus oil-packed when he selected this fish.

  “What do you think about a Polynesian theme?”

  “For your rest—uh, bistro?”

  “Don’t be silly, dear. For Anna’s promotion party. She’s always loved the tropics.”

  “Maybe you should wait to see if she gets it.”

  “Don’t be silly, dear,” her mother said again. “Of course she’ll be promoted. You know, the other day she sent your father and me several magazine articles that featured her . . .”

  With a sigh, Jenny stared at the thin sliver of lemon floating on top of her water. Once her mother boarded the Paul and Anna train, there was no way to get her off. Not for the first time, Jenny reflected that lunch really should come with alcohol.

  “And you, dear? How’s your business doing?”

  Jenny was about to give her standard, “Fine,” when she remembered her earlier optimism. “We have a charter booked for tomorrow.”

  “Oh? A charter?”

  The way her mother said it made it sound paltry.

  “And we have another booked next week.”

  “That’s wonderful, honey. Really.” Her mother set her fork down alongside her plate. “But remember, my offer is always open. There is always a job waiting for you here.”

  Jenny was saved from answering by the ringing of a phone. Saved by the bell. Literally. She knew from past luncheons her mother would insist upon answering it. Business first, she’d say. But strangely, this time, her mother didn’t move.

  The phone rang again.

  “Jennifer, dear. I believe that’s your phone.”

  “My phone?” Her water glass clanked against her plate. She reached for her purse and nearly fell out of her chair in her haste. A muffled fourth ring spurred her on even more. Why were cell phones so darn small? Just as the phone rang for a fifth time, she located it and glanced at the number. Zeke. Don’t hang up. Please. Please. Don’t hang up.

  “Zeke. Hello.”

  “Sorry to bother you at lunch—”

  “No. No bother.” She looked to her mother, did a poor job of covering the mouthpiece before saying, “It’s Zeke, from work.”

  “Uh. Yeah. Well, some guy stopped by—”

  “A customer?”

  Her mother leaned in closer.

  “He was rather persistent in seeing you, so I sent him on over to the restaurant,” Zeke continued. “I hope that was okay.”

  “A client needed to speak to me right away and you sent him over here?” Jenny knew she was reiterating everything Zeke said, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Finally her hard work was paying off, and it couldn’t have happened at a better time. Now her mother could see Jenny as a businesswoman. She felt almost giddy.

  “Should be there any moment. Like I said earlier, hope it was okay I sent him over.”

  “You did the right thing, Zeke. That’s why I carry the cell phone.” She knew she was laying it on extra thick, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “And don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten our appointment this evening. Five o’clock, right?”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, right. Five thirty.”

  “Have you gone daft, girl? What appointment? If you’re talking about our weekly canasta game when my Mildred is at bingo—”

  “The phone’s ringing? Yes, of course you have to get it. All right then. I’ll talk to you later.” She hit the End button before Zeke could question her bizarre behavior any further. She knew she’d have some explaining to do when she got back, but just one look at her mother’s surprised face was worth all the ribbing she’d get.

  “Anything urgent?” her mother asked after a slight pause.

  Jenny tried to tamp down her growing excitement but found it impossible to do. “There’s an important client that needs to speak to me right away.” It wasn’t a lie. At this point, all of her clients were important. “I hope you don’t mind, but he’s on his way over here right now.”

  Her mother’s expression turned to bafflement—as if she couldn’t take in what was happening. “No. I don’t mind at all.”

  Jenny knew she should make small talk with her mother, maybe even inquire further about her brother’s search for a new lawyer or her sister’s multiple birth delivery, but all she could concentrate on was the glorious call from Zeke. A customer. Needing to see her right away. Here. At her mother’s restaurant. It was all just too wonderful. She’d known . . . she’d just known when she’d woken up this morning that her life was about to take a turn.

  The wait seemed to take forever. And then, just when she didn’t think she could take it any longer, a low growl vibrated through the restaurant.

  Jenny, her mother, and several of the restaurant’s patrons looked up to see what was causing the noise.

  A huge, gleaming black motorcycle rounded the driveway’s last bend and cruised into the parking lot. Sunlight glinted off the polished chrome.

  The rumblings grew louder, rattled the windows. As the driver maneuvered the monstrous Harley around to the side of the building, Jenny lost sight of him. A few moments later, quiet descended.

  Seconds crept by, and then there was the sound of the front door being opened . . . closed . . . boots thumping down the hallway. And then he filled her line of vision, and everything inside of her went still.

  Oh my . . .

  “Jenny?” her mother questioned, but Jenny couldn’t respond. Something told her she’d just gotten her first glimpse of Blue Sky’s newest client.

  He strode into the restaurant as if he’d been there a thousand times before, pausing only when he reached where the hallway ended and the restaurant began. As he scanned the interior, Jenny couldn’t help but take a thorough look at him.

  He was tall—at least six two—and in his black leather jacket he looked like a walking ad for Bad Boy USA. His hair was as black as a starless night and short, almost as if he’d only recently begun to let it grow out. The short cut was probably the only thing that kept it from being a rumpled mess, since he’d been wearing a helmet. Then again, Jenny got the distinct impression he was one of those men who always looked good, whether they’d just gotten off of a motorcycle, out of the shower, or out of bed.

  Bed . . .

  The jolt hit her unexpectedly. It was the first time in over nine months her mind had gone down that path, and she felt a pinch of guilt. No, more like a good ol’
slug.

  He was one of those rare individuals who commanded attention whether they were in a boardroom or on a boardwalk. Or in a tiny bistro on the edge of a lake.

  Her mother leaned close, whispered, “Sit up straight, Jennifer, and smooth your hair.”

  She barely heard what her mother was saying, because at that moment his gaze connected with hers. “Ms. Beckinsale,” he said when he reached her table. His voice was deep and low.

  “Y-yes.” She cleared her throat. He was so close she could see the faint lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes; something told her those creases hadn’t been caused by laughter. More than likely, judging by his tan, they’d been caused by a life spent outdoors.

  “Hello.” He flashed her a killer grin, showing off his perfect white teeth. Spellbound, all she could do was stare. Dimly, she became aware of a movement to her left and belatedly remembered her mother. “This is my mother, Catherine Beckinsale.”

  He turned and gave her mother that same bone-melting smile. “Ma’am.”

  Jenny was surprised to see that her mother seemed rattled.

  Catherine cleared her throat. “How do you do, Mr. . . . ?”

  The visitor looked at Jenny when he responded. “Worth. Jared Worth.”

  He waited, as if his name would have some effect on her, but all she could think about were his eyes. They weren’t brown, as she’d originally thought, but a deep, deep midnight blue framed by full, spiky lashes. And they seemed to reach inside to a part of her she’d kept buried for a long time.

  There was a short pause, and then her mother filled in the silence. “Well, Mr. Worth, may I offer you something? A cappuccino? Espresso? Latte?”

  He looked at her mother as if she were speaking Greek. “No.” And then as an afterthought, tacked on, “Thank you.”

  Belatedly, Jenny’s business manners kicked in. “Please, Mr. Worth. Won’t you have a seat?” She motioned to one of the empty chairs at their table.

  He continued to stand.

  Seated, she tried not to feel at a disadvantage. Tried and failed. He was just too tall, too muscular, too good-looking. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at the office when you arrived. I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you.”

  “No trouble at all.”

  “Were you able to find the restaurant all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Phillips mentioned that you needed to speak to me right away.”

  He glanced at her mother and then back to her. “I didn’t realize you were busy. I can come back later.”

  She was never too busy for a client. “No, no. Now is just fine.”

  For a moment she forgot her discomfort as she imagined her company’s bottom line floating away from the red zone and up toward the black. And her mother was here to witness it all.

  He looked around the room. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

  And have her mother miss this? No way.

  “My mother is aware of my business dealings, Mr. Worth. Feel free to discuss whatever you need to in front of her.”

  “I think it would be best if we had our chat in private.”

  “Truly, Mr. Worth. There’s no problem.”

  He let out a barely perceptible sigh, and it seemed to Jenny as if some of his bone-melting, megawatt-smiling, good-ol’-boy charm left him. “You’re Jennifer Beckinsale, correct?”

  “Yes. I believe we’ve already established that.”

  “The Jennifer Beckinsale who was engaged to Steven Harmon?”

  Jenny wasn’t sure if it was her or her mother who drew in the sharp, quick breath at the mention of Steven’s name. It had been months since anyone had said his name out loud to her, and just the sound of it hurt. “Y-yes.”

  “The Jennifer Beckinsale who was partnered with Steven Harmon in a seaplane charter business known as Blue Sky Air?”

  She tried to ignore the pain at hearing Steven’s name again—tried to ignore her growing sense of unease—but she failed on both accounts. “I’m sorry, Mr. Worth, but I’m not sure what this has to do with anything. I thought you were here about a charter. About Blue Sky Air.”

  “I am.”

  “Oh.” His answer should have brought a sense of relief. “Why don’t you tell me your travel plans, and I’ll have my associate, Mr. Phillips, get in touch with you. With summer just around the corner, I’m sure you can understand that our schedule is not as open as in the winter months.” Lies. Lies. Lies.“But we will do everything we can to accommodate your travel needs. Blue Sky offers a wide range of travel options, from local trips in the Puget Sound area to frequent charters to the San Juans and British Columbia.”

  “I don’t seem to be making myself clear. I’m not here to schedule a charter.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No. I’m here to discuss Blue Sky Air.”

  “You want to discuss my charter business?”

  “No, Miss Beckinsale, I want to discuss our business.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He let out another sigh; this one louder and more noticeable than the last. “I’m your partner.”

  She laughed, but somehow her laughter fell flat. “I don’t have any partners. I am the sole owner of Blue Sky Air, and I don’t think this little joke of yours is very funny. Now, if you’re not here to book a charter, I think you should leave—”

  “Christ.” He rubbed his hand across his face, then zeroed in on her again. “You really don’t have a clue what I am talking about.”

  “You have no clue what you’re talking about, Mr. Worth. And it really is past time you were leaving.” He was sick. Demented. He needed help. Any other day of the week she might have offered to drive him to a doctor’s office . . . a hospital . . . a padded room with no door. But not today. Not with her mother sitting less than five feet away.

  “I’m afraid it’s you who doesn’t have a clue,” he said. “Look at the contract; you’ll see that what I’m saying is the truth.”

  “I don’t need to look at any contract. I am the sole owner of Blue Sky Air.”

  He muttered something under his breath, and Jenny had the sinking feeling she should be glad she hadn’t been able to understand what he’d said. “You’re exactly like Steven described.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Just like Steven said. All package, no product.”

  For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

  He was lying. Steven would never have said anything like that about her. He’d loved her as much as she loved him. Anger jumped in front of her pain. “You need to leave. Now.” She tried to keep her voice steady. Strong. But her emotions were too raw, and she felt the start of tears burn the back of her eyes.

  She stood up, knocking her chair over in her haste. Without bothering to right the chair, she headed straight for the door; she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

  But before she could reach it, he was right behind her.

  “This isn’t over.” His voice was low and sent a shiver down her spine. “Instead of doing your nails tonight, read the contract. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

  Without looking at him, she wrenched the door open and ran.

  TWO

  Jenny stared at her brother across his large desk, feeling numb. “There has to be some mistake.”

  “I’m sorry, Jenny, but there isn’t.”

  It was the same thing her brother had been saying ever since she’d burst into his law office unannounced, undone, and, undoubtedly unwanted (although he hadn’t said as much). For all of Paul’s faults, turning away a family member in need wasn’t one of them. Of course, she was the only member of the family who was ever in need.

  Within ten minutes of leaving her mother’s restaurant, she’d known she had no choice but to go to Paul. Not if she wanted to get rid of Mr. Jared Worth.

  Organization, especially filing, had never been one of her strengths. She knew trying to locate the original business documents—or any documents, for that matte
r—in her office would be an exercise in futility. But Paul would have them. Organization was one of his strengths. One of his many strengths. After Steven’s death, and at Paul’s unwavering insistence, she’d made copies of all her important financial documents, stuffed them into an old apple box, and given them to her brother for safekeeping.

  “There has to be some mistake,” she said again.

  “Jennifer.” The paternally patient tone of her brother’s voice was beginning to wear on her. “There is no mistake. Jared Worth is your partner.”

  “But how?”

  Seated behind his imposing mahogany desk, in a high-backed leather chair, Paul looked every inch the confident, successful lawyer in his handmade suit, blue silk shirt, and matching tie. The bookcases that flanked two of the walls and the tastefully framed diplomas only sealed the deal.

  “Jennifer,” he began in that same annoying tone once more, “have you heard anything I’ve said?”

  “Yes.” No. She’d pretty much tuned out after the first time he’d said partner.

  “Did you, by any chance, read this contract before you signed it?”

  “Of course I did.” Not.

  He sighed heavily. Sometimes it just didn’t pay to consult an attorney who’d known you your whole life.

  “Jennifer—”

  “Please. No more Jennifers.”

  “I blame myself for this.”

  That perked her up. It wasn’t often her brother admitted any wrongdoing, and if he wanted to take the blame for this, she was only too happy to let him.

  “I should have insisted on being the attorney to draft the documents.”

  “You did, but Steven wanted to use a friend from college.”

  “I should have been more insistent.”

  “His friend was an attorney.”

  “I am aware of that, Jennifer. At the very least, I should have been adamant on reviewing everything before you were allowed to sign.”

  She was just about ready to remind her brother that he had asked to see the documents before she signed them, but the moment he got to allowed, she clammed up. Her whole family thought she was a screwup. And quite honestly, she was tired of their assessment. She wasn’t . . . not really . . . well, at least not always.