Page 7 of Master Debater

Something she had less of due to the men who hadn’t been my uncles through blood, but through familial ties. Growing up, I’d admired them and had gone to them for advice. They repaid that loyalty by striking Dad’s name from the firm he’d helped build from the ground up. Adding insult to injury, they’d chipped it off the plaque that hung on the door before he was even in the ground. Then, they pushed me out with a shrug of their shoulders, claiming it was “just business.”

They meant money, and I’d flat-out told them I would’ve respected them more if they would’ve said it that way.

That day, I vowed that within five years, I’d have built a firm that overtook theirs as the top corporate law firm in all of Boston. I’d yanked open the door, stared at the spot where my father’s name should be, and abruptly turned around. Then, since I was a cocky bastard, I said, “You know what? I don’t even need that long. I’ll do it in three.”

People who used others to get to the top rarely got what they deserved; being a dealer of justice, I had the ability to make it happen, and I planned on doing exactly that.

Is that…?

The streetlight glinted off a pale blond ponytail that landed a foot or so above one of the most voluptuous asses I’d ever seen. I second-guessed if the woman was Willa, struggling to believe I wouldn’t have noticed that fine feature the other night.

Then again, I’d been lost in her ample cleavage while doing my best not to take my staring to the creepy level.

The beam of light illuminated her profile, highlighting her slender, slightly prominent nose. Sure enough, it was my neighbor. With every few steps, she readjusted the three giant paper bags in her hands, one wrong move away from losing the battle to balance them all.

After a quick glance in the rearview mirror, I slowed the Porsche and pulled up next to the curb. This was my chance to be a gentleman and offer her a ride that’d allow me to do my due diligence to ensure Mom didn’t get taken advantage of.

Yeah. That was why my heart beat faster at the idea of Willa climbing into my car. I had a thing for multitasking.

Only Willa’s footsteps quickened, and she veered toward the opposite end of the sidewalk instead of my car. Of course. She didn’t know me from Adam, and the windows in this thing were tinted well enough to obscure anyone inside.

I rolled down the window on the passenger side door. “Willa, it’s me.”

That didn’t seem to assure her, as she continued at a clipped pace, the grocery bags in her hands tipping more precariously than before. Perhaps I hadn’t made as much of an impression on her as I’d first thought. No wonder she didn’t tell my mom she’d met me. “It’s Nate. Your next door neighbor.”

Her footsteps finally slowed, but then one of the bags listed to the right. As she overcorrected her grip, one of the other bags slipped free of her grasp, which caused the first troublemaking bag to tumble to the ground as well.

They burst open as they hit the sidewalk, sending tiny oranges, apples, and cans across the cement.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Willa said, dropping to her knees to gather the runaway items.

I cut the Porsche’s engine and leaped out to help. The apples were likely bruised, but I tossed them into the overturned paper bag.

Willa snagged a can of cat food and sat back, plunking that glorious ass I’d gotten a glimpse of against the soles of her shoes. “Why is it, Nathan Fox, that you always manage to get me down on my knees?”

A gasp immediately followed Willa’s remark, and even in the dim light, I could see her cheeks flush pink. “I mean… That didn’t sound…” She covered her face with her hands.

I wrapped my fingers around her wrists and gently lowered her arms, a jolt of electricity firing through me. She’d done that thing women did with their eyes, where they drew black points at the corners that emphasized the shape and the inner vixen within. “Don’t worry. I get what you mean. Does it make it any better that I was slowing to offer you a ride?”

She glanced toward the Porsche, and what was with sour expression? “That’s your car?”

“Nah, I stole it, so we’d better hurry before the cops arrive.”

Willa cocked her head, lips pursed. “Very funny. As for the ride… The thing is, walking home is my exercise for the day. I figured I’d knock out two birds with one stone, only I kept grabbing more groceries, telling myself the items were small. And they were, until it took three bags to hold them, and obviously, I overestimated how much I could carry. But this”—she lifted a box of chocolate chip cookies—“is why I have to walk the entire way.”

“The cookies told you to?”

“I shouldn’t have bought them. I’ve just been stressed and—no, no, no.” Her mouth pulled into a sorrowful frown as she lifted a bottle of wine from the bag. With the help of the streetlight, the crack was evident, the liquid remains continuously dripping onto the cement in a dark red pool. “This and the cookies were supposed to help.”

Willa opened her mouth and lifted the bottle above her head, doing her best to catch the last few drops.

I took the bottle from her, ignoring her offended squeak. “You’re likely to get more broken glass than wine.”

“After the day I’ve had, I’m willing to risk it.” She tugged at the neck of the bottle, but I didn’t release my hold.

“I’m not,” I said, voice firm.

She sank farther onto the sidewalk with a harrumph, defeat hanging heavy in her posture. “No one’s saying you have to drink any.”

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