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)
It doesn’t move, though, lips still peeled back. We engage in a staring contest, and I feel a slight sweat break out on my neck.
But then the woman calls him to her side with a snap of her fingers. “Come lie down.”
The dog immediately turns and pads back to her side, a testament to how well trained he is. I bet she could have easily said attack, and I’d be history.
The dog doesn’t lie down and instead sits beside her chair so that he remains visible.
I think the fucking dog is sending a clear message that he’s watching me.
The woman leans to the right, locking eyes with the receptionist. “It’s okay, Bonita. You can close the door behind you.”
“Would you like me to bring in a coffee or tea service?” Bonita asks politely. I keep my eyes on the dog.
“No, that won’t be necessary. We only offer that to our polite guests.”
My gaze slides to her, my irritation growing deeper at this predicament I’m in. I thought I was going to be able to walk in, bully her into backing down, and walk out in peace. Instead, the attorney I’m looking for isn’t even sitting behind the desk, and I came pretty close to having my throat ripped out by her dog.
“I’m looking for Harlow Alston. Can you tell me where she is so I can have a few moments of her time to discuss the fact that I don’t want shit to do with my brother’s estate?”
The redhead leans forward in her chair, clasps her hands on her desk. “You did see the sign outside the door that said Harlow Alston, did you not?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course, I did. I also googled the woman, and she’s about thirty years older than you with gray hair.”
The woman nods in understanding and stands from her chair. “That would be my aunt, Hayley Alston. Her firm is across the river, downtown. I’m Harlow, and I’m the attorney who contacted you.”
This throws me off. I came in hell-bent on putting this woman in her place, but in my mind, I’d envisioned me going to battle with that older female attorney who looks like she eats nails for breakfast.
I’m not prepared for this stunning woman who doesn’t look like she could be more than her late twenties and more suited to a fashion runway than behind a desk practicing law.
Also, she’s not dressed like I imagined a lawyer would be. She’s wearing jeans and a colorful sweater, and her hair is up in a ponytail. She most definitely doesn’t look like the bulldog litigator I’d been expecting.
She’d be exactly the type of woman I’d hit on in a bar, and if I was lucky, would go home with at night.
She holds out her hand across the desk. “I’m glad to meet you finally, Mr. Dumelin. May I call you Stone?”
I refuse to shake her hand or give her permission to use my first name. But I move closer to her desk so that my imposing height speaks to her. “I’m not staying. I’m merely here to tell you that whatever I need to do to get you to leave me alone, just tell me. If I have to sign a release, I’ll sign it. I don’t want anything to do with my brother’s estate. Most certainly don’t want you contacting me again.”
Harlow seems neither offended nor angry by my proclamation. If anything, she looks sorrowful. But that makes no sense, so I disregard it.
“I wish I could do that, Stone. But I made a promise to your brother—”
“You mean, you took money from my brother to carry out his legal wishes,” I snap.
She takes a breath and lets it out slowly to maintain her composure. “There are certain things we must do for his estate—”
“Which I’m not interested in,” I growl. “And you’re not hearing me.”
“I’m hearing you loud and clear.” Her tone is tight, eyes flashing like dark emeralds with fire behind them. “But you’re clearly determined to be a jerk about this. Your brother went out of his way—”
“My brother never did anything out of his way for me,” I roar at her, stepping backward and stumbling over one of her guest chairs. It enrages me further, and I swipe at it, sending it tumbling end over end. I faintly hear something crack—maybe one of the legs—but I’m beyond giving two fucks.
The dog beside the attorney utters a low growl but doesn’t move. I expect my outburst to have her attention riveted on me, but she’s instead looking at the chair lying on its side.
I glance at it, note it looks delicate with spindled legs, brocade covering the seat, and intricate, inlaid carvings on the back. Not my taste at all, and the leg is clearly broken at the base where it attaches.