do. See you tomorrow.”
He tightened the knot in his gold-striped tie, spun his tan leather chair to face the door and waited, hands folded. As the sound of footsteps on the polished oak floor in the hallway grew louder, Asher’s heartbeat sped up. He told himself that it was his normal reaction, the old fire-in-the-belly response to a challenge. The instant Ellie appeared in the doorway, however, he knew that he was kidding himself.
Wearing a dark purple pantsuit over a rose-pink blouse, she looked absolutely lovely. She also looked distinctly uncomfortable. Intending to use that discomfort to his advantage, he found a smile and rose.
“Just who I wanted to see.”
“Oh?” she said in surprise, her face lighting.
Nodding, he waved her over then watched as she folded down neatly into one of the chairs before his desk. She tucked a small handbag into the space beside her.
“Why did you want to see me?” she asked.
Sitting, he regarded her steadily. “Tell me why you’re here fir—”
“You should know that we can’t pay you,” she blurted, suddenly looking hopeful and somber at the same time.
Asher paused, concerned. He didn’t like to think it, but this information could support the idea that the Monroes had a financial motive for setting fire to their house.
She sighed, gulped and sucked in a deep breath, all telltale signs of a less-than-truthful client. Which, he reminded himself, she technically was not; rather, her grandfather was his client.
“Even with the insurance money,” she said, “I can’t imagine how we’ll pay for the repairs to the house. Granddad had already sunk every penny of his savings into the renovations before the fire. I don’t know what we’ll do now.” She went on to list numerous expenses that must evidently come before his fee.
It might be true that the Monroes were strapped for cash, but he knew a convenient dodge when he saw one, and his curiosity was now piqued. Ellie Monroe was actively attempting to derail the insurance settlement, and he meant to find out why.
“My aunts have essentially asked this of me,” he told her mildly, “and when I work for family I never take—”
“But we’re not family,” Ellie protested, “and you can’t go around working for nothing! It wouldn’t be fair. You have your own bills to pay, after all. I understand that.” She bowed her head, the very picture of stoic acceptance. He didn’t buy it for an instant.
Frowning, Asher leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the edge of his desk. “There’s no need for you to worry about my bills, Ellie.”
“So you’re going to do this pro bono?” she demanded, sounding miffed. “Isn’t that for charities and such?”
“Not necessarily.”
While she sputtered about fairness and good faith and half a dozen other things he didn’t follow, he mulled his options. He could throw her out—she wasn’t his client and therefore had no say in his employment. On the other hand, her reasons for derailing the settlement could range from merely misguided to serious malfeasance. And, because she was not his client, he had no way to protect her in either case. He decided he would do his best to keep her out of trouble. She was his sister’s friend and a tenant at Chatam House, which meant that he had represented her as well as her grandfather.
His decision made, he pulled open a side drawer, took out a receipt pad and flipped it open. “If it will make you feel better,” he interrupted, “then by all means, pay me.”
“But I just told you that—”
“How much cash do you have on you?”
For a long moment, she said nothing. Asher sat back in his chair, enjoying the moment. For once, he had reduced Ellie Monroe to speechlessness.
“What?” she finally squawked.
“How much cash do you have on you?” he repeated slowly.
Frowning, she pulled her purse into her lap. “Seven or eight dollars, maybe.”
“Let’s make it a buck, then,” he said, leaning forward to scribble out the receipt. “No, two. One for you, one for your grandfather.” He made certain to write both of their names on the correct line. After tearing the receipt out of the book, he tossed the pad back into the drawer and nudged it closed.
“You can’t mean to represent us for two dollars.”
“It’s that or nothing,” he retorted with a shrug. “You’re the one who wanted to pay me. Call it a retainer, if it makes you feel better.”
Frowning, she reluctantly laid two crumpled dollar bills on the desk. He swiftly traded the receipt for them and slipped them into his shirt pocket. “That takes care of that.”
She made a face. “Look, even if your aunts did drag you into this, I don’t expect you to knock yourself out settling our little insurance claim, not for two bucks.”
He smiled. “I have a question for you.” He folded his arms atop his desk blotter. “Why are you trying to get me off this case?”
Shock flashed across her face, followed swiftly by guilt. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”
“Tell me what you’re hiding.”
“What makes you think I’m h-hiding something?” she hedged, averting her gaze.
“This isn’t my first day on the job,” he pointed out, hardening himself against those suddenly woeful eyes. “And you’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying!”
“You’re stalling the insurance company,” he accused in his most lawyerly voice. “Why?”
Biting her lip, she shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
“I’m trying to, because I can’t help you if I don’t know why you’re doing this!” He leaned toward her. “Is it your goal to remain at Chatam House indefinitely?”
She broke, blurting, “I only want my grandfather and your aunt to have a chance to get together!” She quickly clapped her hand over her mouth.
“I knew it!” Asher cried, smacking a hand against the desktop. The lawyer in him crowed, even while the annoyed nephew was exasperated.
But Asher Chatam, who had known Ellie for quite some time, was worried.
He now had at least a part of the truth.
He wasn’t at all sure, though, that he wanted the rest of it. Because he wasn’t sure that he could protect her—not if her foolishness was as great as he feared.
Chapter Three
She had told him! She had told Asher of her deepest hope, despite Dallas having warned her that he would be appalled, even offended, at the very suggestion of Odelia and Kent rekindling their romance. Ellie suddenly feared what else she might tell him if he pressed hard enough.
“I need to know everything about the fire, Ellie,” he said in a soothing voice that she dared not trust, not after the grilling she’d just endured. “Tell me about that night.”
Dismay filled her, followed quickly by irritation that she’d let herself be cornered like that. She shifted in her seat, crossed her legs and hemmed and hawed before finally telling the story.
She and her grandfather had moved a quantity of furniture into storage to make room for the workmen who were renovating their seventy-year-old house. As the work progressed, they had replaced one room’s furnishings with that of the next, swapping out contents as the necessary renovations were completed.
“They did the roof first, then moved inside, starting upstairs,” she told him. “They were ready