Roarke was more than halfway to Galveston, but Annabel had yet to discuss her proposed lawsuit against her ex-fiancé. Not that Roarke hadn’t been enjoying their time together.
Annabel was bright, refreshingly honest and surprisingly observant. She was as persistent as she was sweet. And she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
She’d bogarted her way into what was to be a solitary evening. And though he wouldn’t admit it to her, the unexpected company was welcome.
“So, are we going to discuss your case or are you going to keep avoiding the subject?” Roarke asked finally.
He caught a glimpse of the wide smile that spread across her lovely face.
“That obvious, huh?”
“I am an attorney,” he reminded her. “It’s my job to cut through the bullshit and uncover the truth.”
“Fair enough.” She turned toward him and the thigh-high split in her dress widened, exposing more of her leg.
Eyes on the road, Roarke. Eyes on the road.
“I understand why you’re upset with your ex, Annabel. But bringing a lawsuit against him for breach of contract seems like bitter grapes. Unless you have a very good reason. I could see if the money lost was causing your family a financial hardship...”
“It isn’t about the money,” she said quickly. “It’s a matter of principle. Mason is the one who pursued me. Who insisted he wanted to marry me. That he wanted us to make a life together. I fell for him against my better judgment. I supported his career, and I would’ve continued to do so.”
“So what exactly happened between you two?” There was a part of him that wanted to know for reasons that had nothing to do with her case.
Annabel turned toward the window. “I told you that I’m a fashion vlogger. But I also do makeovers through my blog. Often for deserving women who need the boost. Like residents of local women’s shelters or breast cancer survivors.”
“Sounds admirable.” He nodded. “Can’t imagine that anyone would take issue with that.”
The more he got to know Annabel Currin, the more he realized that though she was free-spirited, she was by no means the spoiled princess one might believe her to be at first blush. She was an ambitious yet charitable entrepreneur.
“All my life, I’ve kind of been stumbling through. Trying to find my place in this family and in the world. Finally, it dawned on me that what made me the happiest is the makeovers that I’ve been doing. And just helping everyday women to truly appreciate and own their unique beauty. So I figured out a way to expand on it as a career. I purchased a couple of old buildings not far from Farrah’s Coffee Shop and I plan on converting them into Fairy Godmother.”
“You didn’t consult your fiancé before you purchased the property?”
“Should I have?” She folded her arms. “It’s my money and my career.”
“What I’m hearing is that you knew he wouldn’t approve, so you chose to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.”
“Are you missing the part where I’m a grown-ass woman who doesn’t need permission from her father or fiancé to make a purchase?”
“Calm down, Lemon Ice.” He held up a hand. “I’m on your side here. I’m trying to gauge the situation objectively. We need to determine whether you have a strong enough case to take before a judge or to perhaps get your former fiancé to settle out of court.”
She sighed and nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
“So what happened when you told...”
“Mason. Mason Harrison.”
“So what happened when you told Mason that you’d purchased the buildings?”
“He made it clear that he wanted a full-time, charity-hopping trophy wife, not a woman with a career and interests other than him.”
“Then what happened?”
“He gave me an ultimatum. When I refused to get on board with his Stepford Wife plan, he called off our engagement. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “No real conversation. No willingness to compromise. He just pulled the plug.”
There was a lull of silence between them. Despite Annabel’s casual approach to the debacle, it was obvious that she was more hurt by her ex’s rejection than she was letting on. Maybe more than she was willing to admit to herself.
“I’m sorry to hear about what happened,” he said finally. “Are you sure there’s no chance that you two will reconcile?”
Another question that was meant as much to satisfy his own curiosity as it was to satisfy his professional interest.
“Positive. This situation forced me to see Mason for who he really is. And he’s not the man I want to be with.”
“Then you’ve mutually agreed that marriage isn’t right for the two of you?”
“It was Mason who was so insistent that we get married. He wanted a big, over-the-top wedding when all I wanted was to get married on the beach. My father sank nearly a hundred grand into giving us a fairy-tale wedding. Mason shouldn’t get to just walk away and leave us with a stack of bills.”
“You didn’t want to get married?”
“I thought we should try living together first.” She shrugged. “He insisted that he loved me and that what he wanted more than anything was to spend the rest of our lives together. It was sweet and romantic. I wanted to believe it was true. So I caved.”
“You’re not the first person in the world to fall for someone who ended up disappointing them, Annabel.” He squeezed her hand briefly before returning his hand to the steering wheel. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“Thank you for hearing me out and for being so compassionate.” Annabel shifted on the leather seat. “That’s exactly why I want you to represent me rather than one of my father’s lawyers.”
Roarke tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel as he considered the logistics of taking on Annabel’s case. Finally, he nodded. “Okay.”
“You’ll represent me in the case?” Excitement bubbled beneath her tentative question.
“Yes, but the moment I sense that you’re in this purely for revenge—”
“You won’t, because I’m not. I promise.” Annabel laid a warm hand on his forearm. A jolt of electricity traveled the length of his arm and shot down his spine.
He couldn’t help being attracted to this woman, long before she’d leaned in and kissed him earlier that evening.
Roarke was intrigued by and insanely attracted to Annabel Currin. Maybe the pull was so strong because she was off-limits.
She was too young for him, from the wrong family and lived in the wrong city. He was the wrong man for her and the circumstances just weren’t right.
And now she was a client.
“Thank you for doing this, Roarke.”
“You’re welcome,” he said matter-of-factly. “Any particular reason you waited until we were practically at the beach to talk shop?”
“It significantly decreased the likelihood that you’d turn around and head back to Houston.” Annabel smiled slyly. “And that would’ve been a shame. Getting to know you has been a happy distraction for me. And with everything going on with your father, perhaps you could use a happy distraction, too.”
So that was the extent of her interest in him. He was a distraction from her problems. Not serious relationship material.
He was glad to hear it, of course. Because he wasn’t interested in a relationship, either. Still, his pride was a bit bruised.
“I hope you didn’t take that as an insult,” she interjected when he hadn’t replied. “What I’m trying to say, perhaps a bit awkwardly, is that I like spending time with you.”
He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed spending time with her, too. But he wouldn’t give her the impression that they’d be anything more than lawyer and client.
“That brings up a discussion we need to have. If we’re going to enter into a lawyer–client agreement... Well, that should be the limit of our relationship.”
“Is that your way of letting me down easy, counselor?” Annabel rummaged in her purse for something. But then she changed the subject before he had a chance to respond. “Got any plans while you’re here?”
“Whenever I come here, the first thing I do is go for a walk on the beach. Regardless of whether it’s early in the morning or late at night.”
“I love walking the beach at night. Mind if I join you?” She reapplied her lip gloss. Something that smelled sweet and made her lips shine.
He involuntarily licked his bottom lip, recalling how sweet her lips had tasted when she’d pressed them to his. He’d just insisted that they keep their relationship professional. Yet, all he could think of was how much he wanted to taste those soft, sweet lips again.
“If you’d like.” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other.
“Perfect.” Annabel gave him a knowing glance. As if she could look straight through him and read his every intention and desire where she was concerned. “I look forward to hearing more about your work and why you chose to do what you do.”
“You asked me about that already.”
“What you told me was why you didn’t want to work for your father. I get that you want to be proud of the work you do. But there were dozens of directions in which you could’ve gone. Many of which are more lucrative.” She checked her phone, then dropped it back in her bag. “So why did you choose to become a crusader for the underdog?”
“I grew up idolizing cowboys and superheroes. But I don’t look very good in chaps or tights.” He grinned. “This was the only other viable option.”
She broke into the most melodious, genuine, contagious laughter. Annabel laughed so long and so hard that he couldn’t help laughing, too.
“First,” she finally managed, wiping tears from her eyes, “I’d like to see you in chaps and a pair of tights, so I can decide for myself whether or not you look good in them. Something tells me you’re a harsher critic of yourself than any woman with a working pair of eyeballs would be.”
“Thank you, I think.” He smiled.
“Secondly, that’s a cute answer and all, but I’ll bet the real answer is a far more serious one. I gave away my first Fairy Godmother makeover when I saw a story about a woman who’d lost everything and was living on the street with her kids because of her late husband’s medical bills. There was a big fund-raiser for her and she said she was excited, but nervous to return to the corporate world. I wanted to do something, anything, to help reestablish her confidence. She was my first Fairy Godmother client.”
“That’s a beautiful story, Annabel.”
She was so much more than what she seemed on the surface. Roarke was beginning to understand why a man as obsessed with appearances as her fiancé seemed to be would be intimidated by a woman like Annabel. She was as sweet as she was persistent. Adorably optimistic, but also staunchly undeterred when she believed she was justified.
He couldn’t help thinking of his own mother. What would she think of her old friend’s daughter?
“We’re here.” Roarke pulled into the carport of the beach house on stilts that he’d purchased as an investment property. It had direct access to the beach, just over the dunes.
“This is such a cute little place. Do you come here often?” Annabel stepped out of the vehicle with her clutch in hand. She gathered the bottom of her dress in her other hand to keep it off the ground.
“Not nearly as often as I’d like,” he admitted. “I bought it as an investment property, but I also hoped that having a place just a few hours away would force me to take some time off and relax a weekend or two each month. But I don’t think I’ve been here since soon after I bought the place a year or so ago.”
“So you’re a workaholic, then?” She stood beside the trunk while he got out both their overnight bags, hitching one on each shoulder.
“I prefer to think of it as dedicated to my work.” He shut the trunk and made his way up the lengthy staircase to the entrance of the home.
He entered the code into a little lockbox, retrieved the keys and opened the door.
The place smelled inviting, like lemon-scented cleaner and fresh laundry. He turned on the light and set both of their bags down on the floor as he surveyed the space.
The lower level was a large open floor plan with a living room and kitchen open to a wall of windows, which provided spectacular light during the day. Right outside the windows, facing the beach, was the deck. There was even a workspace on the lower level, though he’d never used it.
“I love it, Roarke. It’s cozy but incredibly cute,” Annabel said as she walked through the space.
He led her upstairs and placed her bags in the private bedroom. On the other side of a full bathroom was a loft bedroom with another desk workspace.
“You can take the bedroom.” Roarke dragged his fingers through his hair and tried to shake the image from his brain of Annabel waking up in bed with her wavy hair spread out over the pillow and her skin glowing. “I’ll take the loft.”
“Thank you, Roarke.” She leaned in and placed a soft kiss to his cheek, one hand pressed to his chest. “Let me know when you’re ready for that walk.”
He sank against the wall and released a sigh once the door clicked behind her.
Annabel Currin seemed determined to push his fraying willpower to its very limits.