She should refuse him again. There wasn’t anything they had to say to one another. Except… Pilar had a point. Maybe she could find out why he seemed so confident about breaking old Earl’s will. Plus there was that glint in his eyes. Like he was daring her to say yes. One thing she’d never been was a coward.
“I guess one drink couldn’t hurt. But I’m really not free until Friday.”
“Friday works for me.” He smiled, and her traitorous insides did a somersault. “Jenna—”
Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a child’s scream. “No! I don’t wanna!” A little girl with dark hair, four or five years old maybe, ran from the house and hurled herself against Ben.
“Whoa! Hold on, sport.” He crouched down to put himself on eye level with the little girl. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Greta says I have to go to bed now but I don’t wanna!”
A woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties rushed out the door. She was striking, with short blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and long tan legs that would make a model weep. It wasn’t Tiffany, but close enough. “I’m so sorry, Ben.” She tried to take the little girl’s hand, but the child refused. “Rachel,” Tiffany 2.0 said sternly, “we’ve had this discussion before. Bedtime is strictly eight p.m.”
“No worries,” Ben said. “I’ll put her to bed.”
“If you say so.” The woman, obviously unhappy with the child’s behavior, gave Jenna a frosty nod before going back into the house. Who was she? Obviously not the child’s mother because the little girl had called the woman by her first name. Maybe a nanny?
Ben stood, and the little girl took his hand. “Rachel, you have to listen to Greta. She’s here to help take care of you.”
The little girl didn’t say anything. Instead she turned to look up at Jenna with a pair of chocolate-colored eyes identical to… “Who are you?” Rachel asked.
Jenna felt as if she’d been smacked upside the head. Those eyes!
Ben had a daughter.
Who was Rachel’s mother?
Was Ben divorced? Widowed? Never married?
And how was Tiffany McAdams involved in all this? He claimed not to have a girlfriend, but Pilar was right. Those Internet pictures of the two of them showed a couple who cared deeply about one another.
Too many questions flew through her head, none of which were fit to ask in front of the child, so she mentally pulled herself together and smiled at the little girl. “I’m Jenna. And you’re Rachel?”
The girl nodded.
“Nice to meet you, Rachel. I’m…an old friend of your father’s.”
Rachel’s head shot up to meet Ben’s gaze. “She is?” she asked eagerly.
There was a moment’s awkward hesitation before Ben said, “Not exactly, honey.” His face remained impassive, but there was something in his tone that made Jenna stiffen. What would he call her then? She’d only used the term “friend” because “ex-lover” wouldn’t have been appropriate.
Jenna began jogging in place. “I better get back to my run.”
“We’re still on for that drink, right?”
“Sure.”
“Friday at The Harbor House? Around six.”
“Fine by me.” She smiled and waved goodbye to Rachel, because she was a little girl and adorable, and let’s face it, the kid couldn’t help that her father was a hound dog. Then she took off running down the road, careful not to look back. Because Jenna had the horrible sensation that Ben was still watching her.
Chapter Five
Nora and Vince Palermo lived in a three-story mansion in Mexico Beach, a small town about an hour south of Whispering Bay. It was the first time Ben had ever made a house call, but these were big clients. If he was successful (which wasn’t really in question, because he was always successful) his attorney’s fees would easily be in the high six-figure range.
Nora ushered him into an over-decorated living room that looked like it belonged more in a Vegas hotel lobby than a beach house in north Florida. She was in her sixties
and had all the hallmarks of a wealthy woman her age—perfectly styled salon hair, designer outfit and a smile that didn’t move a muscle on a face that had gone more than a couple of rounds with a plastic surgeon.