26

She’s married. Mick had an ironclad rule regarding inappropriate behavior with employees and anyone who fell below the legal drinking age. Recently he’d made the executive decision to expand his hands-off policy to include married women. No way he was ever going to invite that kind of mess into his life again. Shit. Shit. Shittity shit. And to make matters worse, his body cared dick-all for his rules, and even now, while comforting a distraught woman, his nether regions were revving up like a frat house on a Friday night.

“He had thought they were going to leave the money to me outright,” she was saying. “But they hadn’t trusted Kevin, you see.” Now that her story was spilling out, that iron core of strength she had was starting to reassert itself. She straightened. Although a few rogue tears still clung to her eyelashes, she wiped her face and no longer seemed to need the comfort of his arms. He lowered his hands to rest on his thighs, palms down. “So they put everything in a trust that Kevin couldn’t access. Which really pissed him off.” She reached for her coffee. Mick used the momentum of her movement to stand and round the table. He slid back into the booth opposite her, even though every cell in his body was insisting he return and gather her into his arms once more.

The pleather felt cold under his butt, against his back. Mick reached for his mug of coffee. Instead of picking the mug up by its handle, he wrapped his hands around it, needing the warmth. Took a slug of the bitter brew, swallowed, scalding his throat. Took another gulp.

“Kevin thought I’d put them up to it. Accused me of colluding, but I didn’t.” Her face was pale. She was putting up a brave front, but he could see the slight tremors running through her body. You aren’t going to be her lover, but there is nothing stopping you from being this woman’s friend. The thought dropped into his consciousness, and he felt a loosening of the knot in his belly. You will be a friend to her, because clearly she needs one. “I knew Kevin was upset. I could feel his anger building while we were in my parents’ lawyer’s office reading the will. He would get that way sometimes.” Another tremor coursed through her. “Like a bear with a sore head.” She said it lightly, almost like it was a joke, with a faint smile lifting the corners of her mouth, but her eyes looked tormented and dead serious. “I was hoping once we left the office his foul mood would dissipate, but it didn’t. If anything, the waves of anger swelled into a tsunami of animosity toward Phillip, my parents . . . and me, too.”

“And Phillip is?” A friend? A lover?