how will I know she’s even the same person, since she had no documentation back then?”
“We’ll cross that bridge, trust me.”
“That’s just the problem. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone with an ax to grind.”
At least he and Jamie had that in common. Daniel didn’t trust anyone, either, at least not beyond his senior staff at Project Justice and in his own home. He wouldn’t begrudge Jamie that mistrust. “All I ask is that you give the woman a chance to speak.”
“If she’ll call my office and make an appointment, I’ll meet with her.” Jamie popped the last bit of asparagus into her mouth, chewing with a satisfied expression.
This was the best Daniel could expect. Having reached the terms he’d hoped for, it was time to end this meeting. He had learned long ago that once someone agreed with him, the best course of action was to get the hell away from them before he said or did something to change their mind.
But he was loath to send Jamie away. When was the last time he had shared a meal with a beautiful woman? He often grabbed a bite to eat with Jillian when they were on a tight schedule and she was helping him with some project or another, but that was different. She was practically a little sister. He’d known her forever and didn’t think of her in sexual terms.
It was hard to look at Jamie and not think of sex. She had a strangely strong effect on him.
One of the worst things about being in prison had been the lack of female companionship of any kind, and he’d always imagined that the first thing he would do if he regained his freedom was find a beautiful, willing woman and have sex for days on end.
It hadn’t happened like that, of course. Once he got out, he’d had to rebuild himself, physically and mentally, before he could even think about bringing another person into the mix. Then he’d had to deal with the deaths of his parents, one right after the other, all while building his fledgling foundation and handling crisis after crisis at Logan Oil & Gas.
Jamie was the first flesh-and-blood woman to arouse him in a very long time.
“I hope you left room for dessert,” he found himself saying against his better judgment.
Jamie seemed to rouse herself from the pleasure induced by a superior meal. “Oh, no, I don’t have time for that.”
Daniel reached for the hardwired phone that was nestled in a stone niche near their table. “Cora, we’re ready for dessert,” he told Claude’s assistant when she answered. “What’s on the menu today?”
“Tiramisu,” Cora said. “I’ll get a couple of slices right down to you.”
“Tiramisu,” he repeated for Jamie’s benefit.
“I really have to go.”
“Another few minutes won’t—”
“No, I really have to go.” She was much firmer this time as she scooted her chair out and found her feet.
Daniel was tempted to try to cajole her into staying for dessert. But he risked making her angry, and she’d only just recently lost that tense, mulish expression and begun to speak to him as an intelligent human being, rather than a bug on the sidewalk she’d like to squish.
“I’ll show you out, then,” he said amicably. He picked up the phone again and pushed the Jillian button—every phone in the house had a Jillian button. After speaking briefly to his assistant, he showed Jamie back through his office where she grabbed her all-but-forgotten briefcase. They continued up the stairs and down the long hall that led to the front door.
“Who are all these people?” Jamie asked, nodding toward the portraits that lined the walls. “Logan ancestors?”
“Good heavens, no. Most of my ancestors were Scottish peasants, not the kind who were immortalized by great artists. My grandfather bought most of these paintings as investments.”
“Your grandfather was a self-made man?”
“If you call discovering oil on your little piece of hardscrabble farm made and not lucky.”
“I imagine it takes a bit more than luck to build an empire the size of this one.”
“Some hard work,” Daniel agreed. “My father was never home for dinner. Worked himself to an early grave.”
“I take it that’s not your philosophy.”
“Make no mistake, Jamie, I work hard. But I also take care of myself, and I insist my employees do, too. What’s the point of working yourself to a frazzle—even for something you care deeply about—if you’re not around to appreciate the fruits of your labor?”
“I guess people do it so their children will have the kind of life they didn’t,” Jamie said, rather philosophically.
“Is that what your father did?”
“Oh, no. My father wanted me to live exactly the same life he did.” An edge in her voice suggested disapproval.
“He was a lawyer, too, I take it. A prosecutor?” His research had told him Jamie was born out of wedlock and the father was out of the picture.
She didn’t answer, and Daniel thought better of pursuing the subject. They’d arrived in the foyer, and Jillian was there, clipboard in hand as well as a small, white cardboard box, which she handed to Jamie with a brittle smile.
“What’s this?”
“Tiramisu. Something to nosh on if you get stuck in traffic again. Daniel didn’t want you to miss it. Although our chef, Claude, is French, not Italian, he does an incredible job.”
“Thank you,” Jamie said uncertainly.
“No, thank you,” Daniel said, meaning it. “I know it was an imposition, driving out to River Oaks, but I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me. I believe in the end you’ll be glad you did.”
She turned to face him, and that mulish expression had returned to her face. “Mr. Logan. Best-case scenario for me is that you’ve wasted some of my time. Worst case, you make me look like an incompetent fool and possibly cost me my job.”
“I hope it won’t come to that.”
“If you’re right, that is exactly what would happen. Believe it or not, I would be willing to accept unemployment if you could prove I’d made such a heinous mistake. But I’m not willing to be made a fool simply because you have the money, and the clout, and the patience to get your way. I will not give in simply to be done with this. I will fight you every step of the way, no matter how good your freaking tiramisu is.”
On that note, Jillian opened the front door for her, and Jamie stepped out into the blustery fall day toward her car.
Jillian closed the front door with a bit more force than necessary. “She’s a real piece of work.”
“I thought she was fantastic! Intelligent, outspoken, passionate about her work…”
“And drop-dead gorgeous,” Jillian observed drily. “I don’t suppose you’re crushing on her, are you?”
“Jillian, please. I’m well out of adolescence. I don’t get crushes.”
“Whatever you call it, I hope you won’t let it get in the way of what you have to do. Because to free Christopher Gables, you might very well have to crush one passionate, overzealous prosecutor.”
WHAT JUST HAPPENED BACK THERE?
Jamie’s hands actually trembled as she put the car in gear and headed toward the gates that were, even now, opening for her. She’d walked into Daniel Logan’s home practically breathing fire, ready to dazzle him with her facts and her smart-ass wit. Instead, she’d found herself ogling a half-naked man, sharing one of the best meals she could remember while the same man wore nothing but a bathrobe, and