Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
The receptionist—a kindly looking lady who could easily pass as someone’s soccer mom—smiles up at me. “Welcome. How may I help you?”
“I’m here to see Harlow Alston,” I reply tightly.
“Of course.” The receptionist smiles again and clacks on her keyboard, eyes focused on the computer screen. “She has an available appointment tomorrow at two p.m. What type of matter is it for?”
My palms press against her desk, and I bend over her in an attempt at intimidation. “I want to see her now.”
The woman is not intimidated in the slightest. She lifts her chin and narrows her eyes. “She’s not available right now. Her first available appointment is—”
I point at the closed door to the left. “Is that her office?”
She merely presses her lips together in a clear refusal to help me achieve my goal of putting this attorney in her place.
I glance at the door and back at the receptionist. “Is she in there now?”
It’s at this point the receptionist looks alarmed, figuring me for perhaps a nutjob who might want to off her boss.
I don’t wait for her to answer, pushing off the desk and heading for Alston’s office door.
The receptionist is far sprier than I gave her credit for, and apparently doesn’t have a meek bone in her body. She scrambles up from her chair and runs to intercept me before I can open the closed door.
“Sir,” she says with authority and disapproval, “she is busy and cannot see you. It’s completely rude for you to try to go in there without an appointment.”
She nervously glances down at my hands hanging loose at my sides. I cross them over my chest to show I mean no physical harm but that I can be every bit as mule-headed as she is.
Glaring down at the small lady with a short brown bob and deep brown eyes, I ask, “Rude, is it? What’s rude is that woman harassing me to take part in my brother’s estate that I want nothing to do with. She’s damn well going to hear it from my own lips this time, so she’ll leave me alone.”
The woman’s eyes soften as she tips her head to the side. “Mr. Dumelin?”
I nod curtly.
Gone is the slight empathy that I thought I saw when she understood I’m Brooks’s brother, her face businesslike again. “It’s important that you meet with Ms. Alston. I can set an appointment for you tomorrow, or we can even try for a phone conference another time. Or you can wait to see if she has a bit of time later. But right now, she is in the middle of drafting a very important discovery that has a deadline—”
And I’m done listening to excuses. She harassed me, now I’m here.
I step around the receptionist and reach for the closed door. I twist the knob and push it open quickly before she can impede my progress. Taking one firm step into the room, I lock on a gorgeous redhead sitting behind a desk. She’s most certainly not the lawyer I saw on the internet listed as Harlow Alston.
One more step into her office and her head lifts, green eyes flashing with irritation to see me there.
A third step in, intending to close the door on the receptionist who I feel right behind me, when a low, rumbling growl emits from behind the woman’s desk. To my astonishment, a big, black, shaggy beast stands and prowls around the corner, its eyes focused on me.
Christ, the dog has to be at least a hundred and thirty pounds and looks built of solid muscle. It’s got luxurious, long black fur with a white chest and brown cheeks and eyebrows. Its legs are brown with white stocking feet, and I feel like I should know what type of dog this is, but I’m still discombobulated from the fact that it’s growling at me.
And not a warning growl, but rather one that appears to signal imminent attack as its lips peel back to reveal long, gleaming canines.
I stand utterly still, remembering somehow that you shouldn’t run from a bear as they’ll consider you prey, and give chase. Does that apply to dogs? I don’t know as I have no experience with them. My mother abhorred any animal with fur that could mess up her meticulously clean house.
The dog continues to advance ever so slowly.
“Um… would you like to call off your dog, lady?” I mutter uneasily.
The woman settles back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. She drums her fingertips on the armrests and looks amused. “I don’t know… do you have a good reason for barging into my office uninvited and without an appointment?”
“I’m Stone Dumelin.”
“Yes,” she says lazily. “I recognize you.”
“Well, you wanted to see me, and now I’m here. So call off the damn dog.”
She seems to consider my request, and I’m not sure what she’ll do. Eventually, she says Odin in a soft voice, and the dog stops in its tracks.