“Our lawyers have already initiated a preliminary injunction to halt the publication of the book,” he said. “I don’t like calling attention to scandal better left in the past, so if you can prevent that public court case, I will authorize a five-year extension on the college’s funding. I will commission a profile of Mick Malone’s lawyer to discover his weaknesses and provide insight for your fight.”

Her grandfather’s terms were nonnegotiable, and Gwen felt compelled to accept. It wasn’t what she’d hoped. She now had to deliver on this unsavory deal or her grandfather would never reverse Uncle Oscar’s decision to yank the college’s funding.

But she was not without hope. In her experience, lawyers would do anything for a quick payoff, and she suspected any man who aligned himself with Mick Malone would be no different.

3

Patrick poured more water over the pot of wilting marigolds on his office’s window ledge. It hadn’t looked this droopy when he bought it last week, and he’d been watering it daily in hope of a resurrection. His mother swore that talking to plants could perk them up, but Patrick couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Besides, he had a meeting with a prospective client in a few minutes. He had no idea what Mrs. Gwen Kellerman wanted, but he hoped she could pay in cash instead of eggs or laundry service. The rent on his office was due in two weeks, and he needed the money.

It wasn’t much of an office. No telephone, no electricity, and only a single window with a view of the brick wall across the alley. He kept the window and office door open to encourage a little breeze, even though it exposed him to noise from a leather-stamping shop below. It wasn’t anyone’s idea of an ideal office, but it came with a desk and a filing cabinet, which was all he needed. A scrap of paper folded into a tight square and placed beneath the leg of his rickety desk kept it steady, so all was perfectly fine.

Except for this miserable, wilting plant on the windowsill. “Come on, what is it you want?” he broke down and asked the plant.

“It wants a little air for its roots,” a cool voice said behind him. “You’re drowning that poor marigold.”

Patrick almost dropped the plant when he spotted the woman standing in the open doorway of his office. What a stunner! She had pale green eyes and a long braid of honey-blond hair draped over her shoulder. She looked serene. It was the perfect word to describe that swanlike neck and gentle humor on her face. She wore a loose, flowing gown in a soft printed silk and was probably the prettiest woman he’d ever seen.