Tuesday morning arrived with a bad taste in Will's mouth. Not literally, but he rolled over in bed and took a swig of water from his glass he had on the nightstand.
"Time to get up and go to work," Stella chirped from her side.
He ignored her and her suggestion. Today meant filing paperwork for Andrea's legal rebirth--a good thing, of course, but also it meant checking if a dissolution of marriage, an annulment, a divorce, was needed.
Will didn't feel like doing any of it. Randolph could handle the necessary details. At least the rebirth part, anyway.
Stretching, he laced his hands together and rested his hands under his head. "I think I'll just sleep in today."
Stella straddled him and bent her head to tickle his face with her hair. "What a naughty boy you are, sugar! Wantin' another helpin' of last night's fun."
He didn't move. Another helping of Stella was not on his to-do list.
She sat straight up. "But you are goin' to work today, aren't you, sugar? Work so you can buy your Stella pretty things."
"Not today, Stella." He gazed up at her. The scales finally fell from his eyes. "I've got jetlag."
"But what about that thing you told me about last night? About that woman, Mr. Ernst's daughter. Andrea, isn't it? Pity she showed up after all these years."
She crossed her arms across her breasts. Her mouth hardened. "Sugar, I just won't abide you bein' a bigamist. And if our marriage is illegitimate, well, let me tell you--"
"It's not, Stella. I told you it's legal."
Unfortunately.
Sighing, he closed his eyes. He just couldn't seem to face the day.
He heard her huff, then felt her get off the bed.
"Well, shoot, sugar. I've got three committee meetings so I've got to get a hoppin'. Unlike you, I'll probably be busy all day."
He watched her sashay into the bathroom. "Sluggard," she called back.
She hadn't said it affectionately, but maybe she was right. Maybe he was a sluggard.
He handled Stella's frosty demeanor with equanimity. When she finally left the house, he dressed casually. Not that he was going to Ernst, Scargill, and Peterson's. He'd turned the upstairs third bedroom into his own law study at home. He'd contact his clients from there.
He purposefully neglected to put on one item he usually wore, his wedding band. Whether that was due to spite or because of wishful thinking, he wasn't sure.
Cup of coffee in hand, Will called his assistant and let her know his location for the day. After a brief update on each case's status, he settled in behind his desk. He appreciated the quiet. No background noises of telephones ringing, no unscheduled interruptions, and no awkward explanations to make when his colleagues found out about Andrea. None of those things would be present to disturb him.
And there'd be no non-stop blather from Stella.
It was well into the afternoon when he heard the doorbell ring.
Leaving his latest case--a civil suit--behind, he trotted down the stairs and opened the door without looking through the peephole.
"Andrea!"
Still in the white parka he had bought her, she smiled. Her cheeks were reddened by the cold, her face edged by raccoon fur, and her lithe legs were covered in corduroy slacks. She reminded him of a snow bunny. His snow bunny.
How he wished that were so.
"Hi, Wilson." She entered his house carrying a bag with a delicious aroma. "I heard you were working from home today, and thought maybe you haven't had lunch yet. I come bearing gifts of a culinary nature."
"As a matter of fact, I haven't eaten. Thanks for thinking of me." He led her through the entryway into the dining room. "I appreciate the treat."
She took one look at the formal dining table decorated with Christmas paraphernalia before she walked into the adjoining kitchen. "Very nice, but let's eat at the breakfast bar. Fried chicken can be pretty messy."
Since they'd be sitting closer, side-by-side at the small breakfast counter, he readily agreed.
Andrea peeled off her parka, and didn't waste any time laying out the food. While she did that, he poured iced tea he'd made earlier. Once they were seated on stools, he noticed their knees made contact. He purposefully didn't move away.
"How are the Lawai'as?" he asked.
"Everyone's fine. They all say they miss me, especially Phillip. But I think that's because he's the designated dishwasher now."
Will laughed. He loved the way her eyes sparkled and how her skin had a golden glow.
"So how are you doing, Andrea?"
"Busy. Real busy." She munched on a crispy chicken leg. "I've been with Dad all morning. He arranged to have my paperwork pushed through legal channels. He's got a lot of influence, you know."
"I know." If there was one thing Will was certain of, that was it.
"I now have my driver's license, and he's let me borrow his car." She smiled. "It's really good to drive again."
He nodded. "There's no need now for you to pretend you had a suspended license due to a DUI."
She flushed. "True. I have my own bank account, too. All these years I've had to deal in cash, so I'm really grateful for credit cards and checks."
"Most women are," he murmured.
"I've been putting them to good use, too. Winter things, mostly." She set down her chicken and wiped her hands. "But also fancy clothes for Saturday's party."
The corners of her mouth drooped. She seemed sad.
He moved his stool closer to hers, inhaling her roses and jasmine scent. "Andrea, what's the matter?"
She looked at him, and then focused on the polished wood floor. She didn't speak.
He tried another tack. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
"Well, I could say that I just happened to be in the neighborhood, but that isn't so. Especially since I had to look up your address." Her sigh was deep, heavy, affecting. "I have an ulterior motive."
He grinned. "Thank heavens for ulterior motives, then! What can I do for you?"
"It's my father. You know what he's like." She met Will's gaze. "He's got it in his head that it's his job to introduce me to eligible men."
Damn. His grin died. Randolph Ernst was as persistent as they come. He'd strike a deal with some lucky man for Andrea's hand in marriage. Will knew for sure that would be the case. After all, he himself had been Randolph's first choice as son-in-law.
She spread out her hands, palms up. "I want to tell Dad that this is just a visit. I'm not staying. But the timing just doesn't seem right. Do you have any advice on how I can handle this?"
Will swung around on the stool and then got to his feet. He busied himself by cleaning up the lunch remnants. His buoyant mood had turned morose. Reason one was Andrea's determination to return to Hawaii. Reason two was the thought of her marrying another man. And the third reason was the undeniable fact that he also was married...to another woman.
Hell.
She was waiting for him to respond. He sat back down and took her hand. "Your return is so new to your father. He needs time to adjust. Time to realize things aren't the same as seven years ago. I'd suggest going along with him until after the party. That's less than two weeks away. Afterward you can have a frank talk and tell him how you feel."
"That makes sense. I'll do that." Andrea leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, Wilson."
The next second she was reaching for her parka. "I'd better get going before your wife comes home. She probably wouldn't want to find me here. If the situation was reversed, I know I wouldn't." She winked.
As quick as a flash, she was at the front door. "Thanks again for the advice. I'll see you at the Christmas party."
Will watched her sprint down the sidewalk toward Randolph's dark blue Gran Turismo. He waited until she was inside the car before he closed the door.
Resting against the door, Will touched his cheek. It still tingled from her kiss.
* * * *
Goodness, what was I thinking? Whatever possessed me to kiss him?
Andrea bit her lip, gripped the steering wheel, and turned out into traffic all at the same time. Her mind, however, was only half on her driving.
That brief touch of his skin had felt wonderful. Wilson's scent of English Leather mixed together with coffee, had stirred her senses. His innate warmth permeated her lips even though the contact had been only a second.
But it was a sisterly kiss. Just an innocent peck on the cheek.
Sure. So how come every blessed nerve in her body broadcasted desire?
Rats.
Turning up the heater, Andrea headed for Ernst, Scargill, and Petersen. Her father'd wanted to buy her a car, but she stalled him. She wouldn't be in Richmond long enough to merit that particular expense.
Fifteen minutes later, she parked in her father's spot. When she entered the law offices, many people greeted her. Some she recognized, but most she didn't.
But of course she knew Melinda Dithers.
As she approached the older woman's desk, Melinda stood. "Andrea, dear." She toddled forward and gave Andrea a hug. "Did you have fun shopping today?"
Fun? She hedged on her answer. "I've never seen so many people out, hunting for holiday bargains. I think I got some good deals, though. Is my father in?"
"Yes, he's conferring with George Ziegler, one of our attorneys, but Mr. Ernst instructed me to send you in as soon as you arrived."
"Thank you." Andrea took off her parka before opening the door to her father's office.
One of her first memories was of him sitting behind the biggest desk imaginable--at least it was to a five-year-old. Over the years, the size of the desk shrunk, in her mind, but her father always remained the same larger-than-life figure.
He was that figure today, too. His hair still shining silver, he looked strong and handsome in his navy pinstriped suit and bold red tie. More lines radiated out from his eyes than seven years ago, but he appeared better, more vibrant, than just yesterday.
She hesitated before speaking. "Sorry to interrupt."
The man seated in front of the desk turned around. He had sandy, slicked back hair, a confident smile, and sharp green eyes.
"Nonsense, nonsense," her father said. "Come in, Andrea. I want to introduce you to one of our best litigators, George Ziegler."
George Ziegler stood as soon as she entered. "The pleasure is mine, Ms. Ernst." He stood and held out his hand.
She flinched. Technically, she was Mrs. Struthers. With all her heart, she wanted to be Mrs. Struthers. But she had to be realistic. That title really belonged to a woman named Stella.
"Very nice to meet you, Mr. Ziegler." She completed the handshake.
"Sit, sit," her father directed. "George and I were just going over some details on a bankruptcy case we've decided to handle."
She sat in the large antique chair next to George.
"I wanted you two to meet before the Christmas party, Andrea. To get to know each other. So you won't feel like you're in a room full of strangers."
Goodness. It was happening already. Her father had done his research and was now parading possible candidates for the position of her husband. Just as he'd had seven years ago.
She struggled to be polite. "How thoughtful, Dad." It was difficult not to spit the words.
He beamed a paternal smile on the man. "George has been with the firm eight years."
She turned toward the attorney. "How do you like working for Ernst, Scargill, and Petersen, Mr. Ziegler?"
"George, please." He straightened his tie and answered, of course positively.
While he talked about his history with the firm, she tuned him out. She should've asked Wilson how to get out of situations like this.
But she was a big girl. She really couldn't trouble Wilson. It was up to her to extricate herself from would-be suitors' quests to marry her. She couldn't, no, she shouldn't, depend on Wilson.
And of course, she was jumping the gun. This man might just be trying to be polite, as she was.
Fat chance.
She sighed. How cynical she'd become.
Her father's voice overrode George's. "You're tired, aren't you, my dear?"
"Yes." She could admit that. "Holiday shopping is more frenetic than I remember."
He took charge, as he always did. "George, we'll finish our talk tomorrow. I've got to get Andrea home."
Good. She smiled. This time, her wishes and her father's were identical.
After more handshakes and niceties were exchanged, George left the office. Her father had a few calls to make before he could leave, so Andrea gazed out the window, staring at the cobblestone street below.
Just like she had when she'd first met Wilson. Back then, she'd thought of only Wilson. And now, her thoughts were regrettably the same.