Fixed Up with Mr. Right? Page 2

  He’d expressly taken this transfer from San Francisco back to his old hometown because it was impossible to keep tabs on Jonah from over four hundred miles away. Lately, Jonah seemed even keener than usual to head down a path of self-destruction. He’d been in town less than a week and he was already at odds with his older brother. It had gotten to the point where it was a case of either talking about it, or exploding.

  Jackson talked.

  “I can certainly relate to that,” he told the woman with the sweet, heart-shaped face. “My brother Jonah is a big, overgrown kid who just never grew up.”

  “Younger brother?” she guessed.

  “Older,” he told her, shaking his head. “That’s the funny part. Jonah was supposed to be the wiser one.”

  “Not necessarily,” she said kindly. “A person’s temperament, not the order of his birth, has a great deal to do with the way he—or she—reacts to responsibility.”

  About to comment, Jackson stopped himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask you to come here to listen to me complain.”

  Theresa smiled at him. “That’s one of the fringe benefits of doing business with Theresa’s Catering. I’m Theresa.” She leaned forward, extending her hand to him.

  Jackson felt himself responding to the woman’s guileless warmth immediately. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Theresa.”

  He had a good, strong handshake, Theresa noted. Her father had always maintained that you could tell a lot about a man by his handshake. Jackson’s said he was a man who was not afraid to take charge and who had the courage of his convictions. She liked that.

  “Have you been your brother’s keeper for long?” she asked with sincere interest.

  The question made him laugh. He hadn’t thought of himself in those terms, but this soft-voiced woman had hit the nail right on the head.

  “Ever since my parents died,” he told her. Right now, it felt like an eternity ago.

  This transfer that he had initiated came with its own baggage, which only added to the weight pressing down on his shoulders. On top of that, the family lawyer, Morton Bloom, the official juggler of all the balls, hadn’t woken up last Monday morning. Seemingly healthy and robust, the sixty-eight-year-old man had died in his sleep. He had no partners, no one to step into his shoes.

  This just when he’d made up his mind to have Mort change the way Jonah’s trust fund had been worded.

  Feeling vulnerable and strangely connected to this woman who was so easy to talk to, Jackson, half kidding, asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know the name of a good lawyer, would you?”

  He hadn’t really expected an answer, but he got one. “I know several, Mr. Wainwright. What kind of a lawyer are you looking for?”

  “A patient one.” Instantly, he flashed that smile Theresa was fairly certain Kate would find bone-melting. She knew that if she was twenty-nine years young, she would have. “Sorry,” he apologized for the second time in five minutes, “that was flippant, although the lawyer I need would have to be patient because part of his job would be to deal with my brother. I need a family lawyer,” he specified. Jackson sighed. “It’s been a rough few days, Mrs. Manetti. Now, about the party—”

  As a rule, Theresa never interrupted a client. But this could be the only opening that would allow her to introduce Jackson to her daughter. So she broke her own rule and cut in. “I know two excellent family lawyers.”

  Jackson stopped, surprised. And then he shrugged. What did he have to lose? “Why don’t you give me their names when we finish?”

  Theresa had a better idea. “Why don’t I give them to you now and get that out of the way?” she countered. “Then we’re free to concentrate on the details of the party.”

  “All right,” he said agreeably. “Give me their names and numbers.”

  Theresa wrote both names down, and just this once, she decided to go along with Kate’s initial insistence on using her initials to hide her gender in an attempt to gain a foothold in what still was a male-dominated world.

  Jackson took the paper from her when she finished writing. The neat, careful lettering impressed him. You didn’t see handwriting like that anymore, he thought. And then he noted the names. K. C. Manetti and Kullen Manetti.

  “Manetti?” he repeated. Amused, he asked, “Any relation?”

  Theresa returned his smile. “Those children I sometimes want to strangle?” she said, recalling her initial reference. “Those are their names. They also happen to be excellent lawyers,” she said proudly, adding, “They take after their late father.”

  “I’ll give them a call,” he told her, pocketing the paper.

  Theresa drew in a deep breath, mentally crossing her fingers. She’d done all she could—for now. “Why don’t you tell me what you had in mind.”

  Jackson blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “For the party,” Theresa prompted.

  “Right. Sorry.” What was that, his third apology to this woman? Yet somehow, he felt that she understood. Her eyes were sympathetic. “I’m just a bit on overload right now.”

  “If this is a bad time,” Theresa began.

  She was perfectly willing to postpone any further discussion until it was more convenient for Jackson. As far as she was concerned, she’d already accomplished far more than she ever thought she could. The sooner she left, the sooner she would be able to drive to St Anne’s and light a few candles. Never hurt to have backup.

  “Between you and me, Mrs. Manetti, I’ve got a feeling that there’s not going to be a better time,” Jackson confided. “At least not for a while.” He settled back at his desk. “Let me tell you what I had in mind….”

  There was a quick rap on Kate’s door and then Kullen poked his head in. “Hey, Kate, I need a favor.”

  Impatient because she was trying to finish something, Kate spared him a fleeting look.

  “I’m not going to call another one of your five-night stands and tell her you’ve been called out of town. You want to break up with somebody? You’re a big boy, you can do it yourself.”

  “First of all, she’s not a five-night stand. I’ve been seeing Allison for two weeks now—”

  “Alert the media,” Kate deadpanned.

  He pretended not to hear. “And two, it’s nothing like that. I didn’t realize that I’m due in Tustin in half an hour. Sheila accidentally scheduled a new client to come in at twelve-thirty. Do me a favor and take him for me.”

  She stopped typing and leaned back in her chair to look at her brother. He sounded entirely too innocent. “What’s the catch?”

  Kullen spread his hands wide, giving her his best innocent look. “No catch. Jackson Wainwright’s a new client. His family lawyer suddenly died on him just as Wainwright needed to have some business straightened out. I gather it has to do with a trust fund.” Kullen cocked his head as he looked at Kate. “You’re up to that, aren’t you?” He knew that nothing got his sister going faster than a challenge to her abilities. “Just start the ball rolling for me. We’ve got the same last name. He’ll think you’re me.”

  “Only if the man’s legally blind,” she pointed out.

  “I am the prettier one,” Kullen agreed, then ducked, laughing, as Kate threw a crumpled sheet of paper at him. She missed hitting him by a good two feet. “You throw like a girl,” he crowed.

  “There’s a reason for that.” Kate glanced at her desk calendar. “I can give this Wainwright guy half an hour, no more. After that, I’ve got to go to the courthouse to file Mrs. Greenfield’s name change.”

  Kullen glanced at his watch. “Gotta run.”

  “You owe me one,” Kate called after his retreating back.

  “I’m good for it.” Kullen smiled to himself as he made his way down the hall.

  Kate was so immersed in what she was doing, she didn’t hear the knock on her door until it came again, a little louder this time. Kate blew out a breath. Now what?

  Her life was measured out in fifteen-minute increments. It was twelve-twenty. Sh
e had ten more minutes before Kullen’s new client showed up.

  “Come in, Sheila,” she called out without bothering to look up. Not wanting to lose her place, she continued typing. “I’ll be with you in a minute. I just need to finish this before my brother’s castoff comes in.” Kate heard the door open and close. “Whatever you’re bringing, just drop it on my desk.” She typed in the final line. “There, done!” she declared triumphantly.

  Looking up, Kate was startled to see an incredibly handsome man in a custom tailored suit. Moreover, he was sitting in front of her desk, smiling at her. How—and when—had that happened?

  “Hello,” she said a little uncertainly.

  “Hi.”

  When he didn’t say anything else, she asked, “And you are?”

  The smile on his lips deepened just a touch. “Your brother’s castoff, I believe.”

  Oh God, why hadn’t she looked up when she heard the knock? And what was Sheila doing, allowing clients to wander around by themselves? The woman was practically a fixture in the office ever since her father had hired her, but that was no excuse to let a client just walk in.

  “Jackson Wainwright?” she guessed.

  The man inclined his head. “The very same.”

  Damage control. She cleared her throat. “Of course I meant castoff in the best possible sense of the word.”

  There was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I didn’t realize that there was a best possible sense of the word regarding castoffs.”

  “I’m so sorry, I—” Kate could feel the rush of color coming up to her cheeks. Blushing was one of the things her father used to upbraid her for, telling her she’d never make a good lawyer as long as she had that flaw. She’d thought that she’d conquered it.

  Obviously she was having a relapse.

  Kate rose to her feet. “Excuse me,” she said to Jackson as she passed him, striding out of her office. From the corner of her eye, she saw that her brother’s twelve-thirty appointment rose to his feet. To leave, as well?

  But when she opened the door again a beat later, Jackson Wainwright was still standing right where she’d left him, looking somewhat bewildered as he stared at the door.

  With a purposeful, confident stride, Kate reentered the office, walked up to Kullen’s client and extended her hand to him. “Hello, I’m Katherine Manetti.” She saw the uncertain expression on the man’s handsome face deepen. She could almost guess what he was thinking. Smiling serenely—she said, “This is called, ‘first impression, take two.’”

  For a moment, she thought he was going to walk out.

  The sound of Jackson Wainwright’s deep, resonant laughter told Kate that he’d decided to stay. Which meant she’d just gotten that second chance she was after.

  Kate released the breath she hadn’t realized until now that she’d been holding.

  Chapter Two

  Sitting up a little straighter in her chair, Kate discreetly took another breath, smiled and asked, “So, what is it that can I do for you, Mr. Wainwright?”

  Several things came to mind, entirely unbidden, surprising him as much as they would have her, if he’d said them aloud. Luckily, he’d learned long ago to keep his own counsel and hold his tongue. But just for the moment, because the last two weeks had been unbelievably hectic and stressful, what with tying up all the loose ends where he’d worked, packing up all his belongings and dealing with his brother far more than he was accustomed to, Jackson allowed himself a single quick flight of fancy.

  It coaxed an entirely different sort of smile from his lips.

  His audience of one caught her breath again. This had to be the most seductive, sexy smile she had seen in a very long time. Lucky thing that she was immune to sexy. She had Matthew to thank for that. Matthew and the string of good-looking, soulless men who’d come before him.

  A full five seconds of silence lapsed before Jackson finally spoke. “I’m new in town.” Realizing that wasn’t actually a true statement, he corrected himself. “Well, old-new.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I grew up in Bedford,” he explained.

  “But then you spread your wings and flew?”

  He smiled again. “I flew.”

  His eyes crinkled when he smiled, she noted. The next moment, she upbraided herself for even noticing. But at least he didn’t take themselves too seriously, and that was a good thing. “And how long has it been since you’ve ‘flown’?”

  Now that he was back, it seemed like only yesterday that he’d left home. But it wasn’t. “A dozen years—if you count college.”

  “College counts,” she affirmed. Because she saw no reason to curtail her curiosity and the information might prove useful to know down the line, she asked, “What brought you back?”

  “A promotion—and family business,” he finally said after a thoughtful pause.

  “Which has the greater weight?” She kept her eyes on his, fairly certain that she would be able to tell if he was just paying lip service, or if he ultimately meant what he said. She’d become very good at spotting liars, also thanks to Matthew. Mining some good out of the experience was the only way she could forgive herself for being such a fool.

  There was another pause on his part. And then he said, “I’m not sure yet.”

  Actually, Jackson thought, that was a lie. He knew damn well which of the two carried the greater weight for him. Knew, too, that he resented it for that reason. It had been drummed into his soul that family always came first. And if that wasn’t enough, his mother’s deathbed request was that he “look out for Jonah.” Because he’d loved her, he’d promised.

  And now, if not for his promise, he would have been content to spend the rest of his life living and working in the Bay area. San Francisco was an exciting city. There was always something going on, something to entertain a man, or to challenge him. The restaurants weren’t too shabby, either. He considered himself a cosmopolitan kind of man and San Francisco suited his purposes just fine, thank you.

  But despite the lure of the city, he couldn’t very well turn his back on Jonah, especially since he was all Jonah had—whether Jonah acknowledged that little fact or not. Moreover, he was just possibly all that stood between Jonah and absolute self-destruction.

  Kate nodded, digesting his answer. “At least you’re honest.”

  He flashed a smile. “I have to be. It’s written into my contract.” The puzzled look returned to her eyes. Jackson elaborated. “I’m a district manager at Republic National Bank,” he explained. “People like their bank executives honest.”

  She thought of the current economic climate. Kate had no doubt that it would continue in its present venue for a while to come. She was, at bottom—when the matter didn’t involve romance—too optimistic a person to entertain the idea that it would ultimately collapse. This was what made her her mother’s daughter rather than her father’s. Anthony Manetti had been a born pessimist.

  “These days,” she replied, “they just like them to be solvent—and to refrain from recklessly spending the share holders’ assets.”

  This time, the smile on his lips held no humor behind it. “Sadly, that’s my brother’s department. Which brings us back to why I’m here. Our longtime family lawyer, Morton Bloom, died somewhere in the night between last Sunday and Monday.”

  Kate realized that she was being “auditioned” for the position of his new family lawyer. She tried to look properly sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  What he heard in her voice—sincerity mixed with compassion—caught him off guard. He could think of only one explanation. “You knew him?”

  “No.” She’d never met the man. After that fiasco with Matt—which included mistaking him for a decent human being—Kullen was the only lawyer she socialized with these days. “But you did. I imagine that when someone you’ve known for a long time dies, it does shake you up to a degree.”

  Until she said that, he wasn’t sure how he felt one way or another about Mort’s de
ath, other than being annoyed because it was an inconvenience. Now, instead of coming down for the week to conduct his business with the lawyer, he had to move down here, watch out for Jonah and search for a new lawyer, all while familiarizing himself with an entirely new set of people and terrain in the district he was taking on.

  He supposed his attitude toward Mort could be viewed as rather callous. He wasn’t a callous person by nature. He liked to think of himself as compassionate. But anything that had to do with Jonah instantly had his back going up.

  It was a far cry from when he was a boy and he’d idolized his brother. Sunny, gregarious, with a knack of making people forgive him, Jonah had been the center of everyone’s universe—until he and his parents realized just how weak a character Jonah had.

  Jackson could still remember accidentally coming across his mother sitting alone in the dark in her room, her fingers all but knotted together. She was softly crying to herself. It was the first time Jonah had been taken to the hospital. He’d been ten and Jonah had been fourteen. He’d thought his brother was sick. In a way, he supposed he’d been right. Drug addiction was a sickness and Jonah had overdosed.

  That was when the crown that he had placed on his brother’s head first began to slip. He’d always been fiercely protective of his mother and anything that hurt her instantly earned his fury. He remembered wanting to punch Jonah out despite the fact that his brother was twice his size.

  “After a while you get used to it,” he continued when he realized that too much silence had gone by. That had to sound cold and distant to the woman. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he wasn’t comfortable with her thinking of him in that light. “My parents died in a car accident,” he explained. “And there was a girl when I was in college…”

  Jackson punctuated his sentence with a shrug. He wasn’t about to go there right now. Wasn’t about to revisit the way he’d felt when his college roommate had shaken him awake to tell him that Rachel had been struck by a drunk driver who’d lost his way and somehow had wound up on the campus. The man was going ninety on the twilight-darkened streets when he hit her. The driver wouldn’t have stopped except that he wound up plowing his brand-new Ferrari into a tree. Rachel had been making her way through the crosswalk, on her way to her dorm when he ran her down. Both she and the drunken bastard were dead before the ambulance arrived.