Page 11 of Her Billionaire Bargain (Kensington Square)

Her personality, however, was towering.

“I have many satisfied clients,” she said in an undertone. Then she seemed to shake herself. “Might I remind you that you called my firm and requested me specifically, although I must admit I’ve never been referred to by my attire before.”

Deliberately, I gave her a leisurely perusal. Not a salacious one. In fact, I lingered more on her shoes than on the rest of her. Fucking hot. And since when were ankles sexy? It had to be the damn heels. “That’s a shame. I didn’t mean to insult you with the nickname, by the way. It was a compliment. This outfit is worthy of a nickname too.”

Her arms tightened across her chest to the point I worried about her airflow. “You know, the dog routine almost gave me hope that you weren’t the stereotypical player I’d had you pegged as. But here we go. Reverting to form.”

“Who’s playing? I made a simple comment. I did not ask you out. I did not ask you in either, in any manner other than a businesslike one. Sorry, you’re not my type.” A total lie but it was worth it to see her expression pinch. “Now would you like to come in, or do you feel safer talking to me from your position on the doormat?”

We both glanced down at the distressed wood of the porch. “Metaphorically speaking.”

I’d never gotten a doormat. Doormats said home to me. Family. Until Bob, this place had been closer to a mausoleum with a view than an actual home.

If I ever got a doormat, it would mean something important.

Bob decided he was more than done with this conversation and launched himself out of my arms toward the black and white marble floor with a huff of disgust. Then he took off at top speed, probably to excavate his food dish. His nails clacked noisily as Shelby stepped inside and gave me a dismissive glance. “His nails need trimming.”

“Just had them done. They’re fine.” I decided to mirror her crossed arms stance. She immediately resumed it once she was inside.

She stared up at the ostentatious chandelier in the front hall, dripping with faceted crystals and done in a gold leaf design my father had insisted was understated yet screamed class.

“Did you choose that thing?” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the ceiling.

“Yes,” I said immediately. “I fell in love with it upon first sight. You love it too, don’t you?”

“You’re messing with me.”

“Maybe a little.”

“TJ indicated you said I could do whatever I wished. Carte blanche.”

I rubbed my scruffy chin. In my quest to clean up my disaster of a house this morning from last night’s party, I’d run out of time to shave. But I thought this look was rather rakish.

Though she’d barely glanced my way. The chandelier was far more fascinating.

Designer problems, I’d say.

Worst of all? Looking into the family room off the foyer, I could see I’d missed more than a few spots in my cleaning. Like the wine bottle tipped over underneath the end table next to the couch.

Which unfortunately accounted for the dark purple splotch on one of the arms of undetermined origin. I’d say wine but I hadn’t even served wine.

Then again, I had a very open alcohol policy.

At least this sofa wasn’t forced to wear plastic as a fashion accessory. Small favors. Then again, if it had worn plastic, no stain.

Shelby wandered the room, looking at things with a noncommittal expression. Belatedly, I remembered I’d left the pile of women’s phone numbers from my pocket in the beak of the oversized gold swan lamp on the end table.

Phone numbers that Shelby had caught sight of and was now rifling through with obvious disdain.

Then she opened the drawer that had been closed with a scrap of lace hanging out and held up a pair of panties in virulent pink.

I’d definitely missed those. What the hell?

“Those aren’t mine,” I said quickly.

“I didn’t assume so. But thanks for the clarification.”

“That’s not what I mean. You know what I meant.” I strode forward and snatched the panties off her red nail tipped finger.

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