Page 32 of Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars 6)

She returned her attention to her elderly visitor. “I don’t weasel,” she said hotly. “Mrs. Valerio happens to be a lovely woman, and you two have a lot in common.”

“She’s too old,” the man shot back. “Satisfaction guaranteed, remember? That’s what the contract said, and my nephew’s a lawyer.”

“So you’ve mentioned before.”

“A good one, too. He went to a real good law school.”

The steely glint that appeared in Annabelle’s eyes didn’t bode well for poor Mr. Bronicki. “As good as Harvard?” she said triumphantly. “Because that’s where Mr. Champion went to school, and”—she zeroed in on him—“he’s my lawyer.”

Heath lifted an eyebrow.

The old man studied him suspiciously, and Annabelle’s cheeks plumped in a kitten-ate-the-cream smile. “Mr. Bronicki, this is Heath Champion, otherwise known as the Python, but don’t let that worry you. He hardly ever sends seniors to prison. Heath, Mr. Bronicki is one of my grandmother’s former clients.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mr. Bronicki blinked but quickly recovered. “If you’re her lawyer, maybe you’d better tell her how a contract works.”

Annabelle bristled all over again. “Mr. Bronicki is under the impression that a contract he signed with my grandmother in 1986 is still valid and that I should honor it.”

“It said satisfaction guaranteed,” Mr. Bronicki retorted. “And I wasn’t satisfied.”

“You were married to Mrs. Bronicki for fifteen years!” Annabelle exclaimed. “I’d say you got your two hundred dollars’ worth.”

“I told you. She went loony on me. Now I want another one.”

Heath didn’t know which was more amusing, Mr. Bronicki’s jiggling eyebrows, or the indignant twitching of Pebbles’s whale spout. “I’m not running a supermarket!” She spun on Heath. “Tell him!”

Ah, well. All good things had to come to an end. He went into lawyer mode. “Mr. Bronicki, apparently your contract was with Ms. Granger’s grandmother. And since the original terms seemed to have been fulfilled, I’m afraid you don’t have grounds for complaint.”

“What do you mean I don’t have grounds? I got grounds, all right.” Eyebrows hopping, he started hammering Annabelle with one grievance after another, none of which had anything to do with her. The more he ranted, the more Heath’s amusement faded. He didn’t like anybody but himself browbeating her.

“That’s enough,” he finally said.

The old guy must have realized Heath meant business because he stopped in midsentence. Heath moved closer, putting himself between Bronicki and Annabelle. “If you think you have a case, talk to your nephew. And while you’re talking to him, ask him to fill you in on the laws against harassment.”

The bushy eyebrows drooped like dying caterpillars, and the old guy’s aggression instantly dissolved. “I never harassed nobody.”

“That’s not what it looks like to me,” Heath said.

“I didn’t mean to harass her.” He wilted even more. “I was just trying to make a point.”

“You’ve made it,” Heath replied. “Now maybe you’d better leave.”

His shoulders dipped, his head dropped. “Sorry, Annabelle.” He made his way out the door.

A loose lock of Annabelle’s hair whipped her cheek as she spun on Heath. “You didn’t have to be so mean!”

“Mean?”

She hurried out on the porch, her flip-flops slapping the wooden boards. “Mr. Bronicki! Mr. Bronicki, stop! If you don’t ask Mrs. Valerio out again, you’re going to hurt her feelings. I know you don’t want to do that.”

His reply was subdued. “You’re just trying to make me do what you want.”

The flip-flops thumped more softly down the steps, and her voice grew wheedling. “Would that be so bad? Pretty please. She’s a nice lady, and she likes you so much. Ask her out again. As a favor to me.”

There was a long pause.

“All right,” he replied with some of his former spunk. “But I’m not asking her out for Saturday night. That’s when Iron Chef’s on.”

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