Sincerely,

  Harlow Alston

  My blood boils as I read back over the line where she tells me to give respect to my brother. Who in the fuck does she think she is? She doesn’t know me, and I know she sure as hell didn’t know my brother. Some high-powered lawyer he must’ve hired before he died to do something that needs my attention. More than likely some type of release to his estate so my parents can claim it all, which can most certainly be done via mail and without bothering me.

  I read her email again, and I know she’s not going away.

  My fury doesn’t abate but seems to burn brighter. I’m already burdened by so much fucking guilt that I’ve taken my brother’s place on this team, I don’t need some high-and-mighty bitch telling me I owe my brother respect. Does she think I don’t understand that?

  She could never know that our estrangement before his death has caused me to question every motive I’ve ever had in ignoring a repair to our relationship. I don’t need any extra burden added to my plate.

  Grocery store be damned… I’m going to handle this right now, so I don’t have to hear from this woman ever again. I copy and paste the address at the bottom of her email, put it into Google Maps, and when I get to my car, I set out for her office, intent on not only putting her in her place but putting my brother’s ghost far behind me.

  Once I get her off my back, I can be done with Brooks Dumelin.

  ♦

  Based on outward appearances, Harlow Alston’s law firm is not what I expected. It’s in the Allegheny West neighborhood in a Victorian row house on a tree-lined street. When I googled her, her picture was in a sleek chrome-and-glass office overlooking the city. Perhaps she’s moved, but the hardened-looking older woman I saw on Google didn’t look like her office would be so cute or informal.

  I easily find side alley parking, zipping my coat when I get out of my car. The wind is bone chilling. Although spring is just around the corner, it sure as shit doesn’t feel like it today. In fact, the skies are gray with darker clouds brewing. I should check the weather to see if we’re getting rain or snow.

  A brass plaque hangs on the black exterior door to the rose-colored brick Victorian that serves as Ms. Alston’s office. It bears her name only, and as I enter, I find myself in a small foyer with a staircase leading up but with a velvet rope cordoning it off.

  To the left is another black wooden door, and I assume that must be the law office.

  Without hesitation, I enter and take a quick sweep of my surroundings. Clearly a lobby as noted by the traditional-looking furniture as well as an antique desk with a woman sitting behind it.

  A door to the left is closed, and a brass nameplate on the wall beside it reads Harlow Alston, Esquire.

  To the right is another closed door, also with a brass plate affixed that says Restroom. To the left of that is a short hallway that leads to the back of the first floor, but it’s darkened by shadows and presumably unused.

  I’m relieved to see no other people in here because I’m so mad at this attorney for refusing to leave me alone and then threatening me, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to keep my temper under control. From a PR standpoint, I’m sure the Titans’ organization doesn’t want me running about being a dick in public.

  The receptionist—a kindly looking lady who could easily pass as someone’s soccer mom—smiles up at me. “Welcome. How may I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Harlow Alston,” I reply tightly.

  “Of course.” The receptionist smiles again and clacks on her keyboard, eyes focused on the computer screen. “She has an available appointment tomorrow at two p.m. What type of matter is it for?”

  My palms press against her desk, and I bend over her in an attempt at intimidation. “I want to see her now.”

  The woman is not intimidated in the slightest. She lifts her chin and narrows her eyes. “She’s not available right now. Her first available appointment is—”

  I point at the closed door to the left. “Is that her office?”

  She merely presses her lips together in a clear refusal to help me achieve my goal of putting this attorney in her place.

  I glance at the door and back at the receptionist. “Is she in there now?”

  It’s at this point the receptionist looks alarmed, figuring me for perhaps a nutjob who might want to off her boss.

  I don’t wait for her to answer, pushing off the desk and heading for Alston’s office door.

  The receptionist is far sprier than I gave her credit for, and apparently doesn’t have a meek bone in her body. She scrambles up from her chair and runs to intercept me before I can open the closed door.

  “Sir,” she says with authority and disapproval, “she is busy and cannot see you. It’s completely rude for you to try to go in there without an appointment.”

  She nervously glances down at my hands hanging loose at my sides. I cross them over my chest to show I mean no physical harm but that I can be every bit as mule-headed as she is.

  Glaring down at the small lady with a short brown bob and deep brown eyes, I ask, “Rude, is it? What’s rude is that woman harassing me to take part in my brother’s estate that I want nothing to do with. She’s damn well going to hear it from my own lips this time, so she’ll leave me alone.”

  The woman’s eyes soften as she tips her head to the side. “Mr. Dumelin?”

  I nod curtly.

  Gone is the slight empathy that I thought I saw when she understood I’m Brooks’s brother, her face businesslike again. “It’s important that you meet with Ms. Alston. I can set an appointment for you tomorrow, or we can even try for a phone conference another time. Or you can wait to see if she has a bit of time later. But right now, she is in the middle of drafting a very important discovery that has a deadline—”

  And I’m done listening to excuses. She harassed me, now I’m here.

  I step around the receptionist and reach for the closed door. I twist the knob and push it open quickly before she can impede my progress. Taking one firm step into the room, I lock on a gorgeous redhead sitting behind a desk. She’s most certainly not the lawyer I saw on the internet listed as Harlow Alston.

  One more step into her office and her head lifts, green eyes flashing with irritation to see me there.

  A third step in, intending to close the door on the receptionist who I feel right behind me, when a low, rumbling growl emits from behind the woman’s desk. To my astonishment, a big, black, shaggy beast stands and prowls around the corner, its eyes focused on me.

  Christ, the dog has to be at least a hundred and thirty pounds and looks built of solid muscle. It’s got luxurious, long black fur with a white chest and brown cheeks and eyebrows. Its legs are brown with white stocking feet, and I feel like I should know what type of dog this is, but I’m still discombobulated from the fact that it’s growling at me.

  And not a warning growl, but rather one that appears to signal imminent attack as its lips peel back to reveal long, gleaming canines.

  I stand utterly still, remembering somehow that you shouldn’t run from a bear as they’ll consider you prey, and give chase. Does that apply to dogs? I don’t know as I have no experience with them. My mother abhorred any animal with fur that could mess up her meticulously clean house.

  The dog continues to advance ever so slowly.

  “Um… would you like to call off your dog, lady?” I mutter uneasily.

  The woman settles back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. She drums her fingertips on the armrests and looks amused. “I don’t know… do you have a good reason for barging into my office uninvited and without an appointment?”

  “I’m Stone Dumelin.”

  “Yes,” she says lazily. “I recognize you.”

  “Well, you wanted to see me, and now I’m here. So call off the damn dog.”

  She seems to consider my request, and I’m not sure what she’ll do. Eventually, she says Odin in a soft voice, and the dog stops in its tracks.

  It doesn’t move, though, lips still peeled back. We engage in a staring contest, and I feel a slight sweat break out on my neck.

  But then the woman calls him to her side with a snap of her fingers. “Come lie down.”

  The dog immediately turns and pads back to her side, a testament to how well trained he is. I bet she could have easily said attack, and I’d be history.

  The dog doesn’t lie down and instead sits beside her chair so that he remains visible.

  I think the fucking dog is sending a clear message that he’s watching me.

  The woman leans to the right, locking eyes with the receptionist. “It’s okay, Bonita. You can close the door behind you.”

  “Would you like me to bring in a coffee or tea service?” Bonita asks politely. I keep my eyes on the dog.

  “No, that won’t be necessary. We only offer that to our polite guests.”

  My gaze slides to her, my irritation growing deeper at this predicament I’m in. I thought I was going to be able to walk in, bully her into backing down, and walk out in peace. Instead, the attorney I’m looking for isn’t even sitting behind the desk, and I came pretty close to having my throat ripped out by her dog.

  “I’m looking for Harlow Alston. Can you tell me where she is so I can have a few moments of her time to discuss the fact that I don’t want shit to do with my brother’s estate?”

  The redhead leans forward in her chair, clasps her hands on her desk. “You did see the sign outside the door that said Harlow Alston, did you not?”

  I roll my eyes. “Of course, I did. I also googled the woman, and she’s about thirty years older than you with gray hair.”

  The woman nods in understanding and stands from her chair. “That would be my aunt, Hayley Alston. Her firm is across the river, downtown. I’m Harlow, and I’m the attorney who contacted you.”

  This throws me off. I came in hell-bent on putting this woman in her place, but in my mind, I’d envisioned me going to battle with that older female attorney who looks like she eats nails for breakfast.

  I’m not prepared for this stunning woman who doesn’t look like she could be more than her late twenties and more suited to a fashion runway than behind a desk practicing law.

  Also, she’s not dressed like I imagined a lawyer would be. She’s wearing jeans and a colorful sweater, and her hair is up in a ponytail. She most definitely doesn’t look like the bulldog litigator I’d been expecting.

  She’d be exactly the type of woman I’d hit on in a bar, and if I was lucky, would go home with at night.

  She holds out her hand across the desk. “I’m glad to meet you finally, Mr. Dumelin. May I call you Stone?”

  I refuse to shake her hand or give her permission to use my first name. But I move closer to her desk so that my imposing height speaks to her. “I’m not staying. I’m merely here to tell you that whatever I need to do to get you to leave me alone, just tell me. If I have to sign a release, I’ll sign it. I don’t want anything to do with my brother’s estate. Most certainly don’t want you contacting me again.”

  Harlow seems neither offended nor angry by my proclamation. If anything, she looks sorrowful. But that makes no sense, so I disregard it.

  “I wish I could do that, Stone. But I made a promise to your brother—”

  “You mean, you took money from my brother to carry out his legal wishes,” I snap.

  She takes a breath and lets it out slowly to maintain her composure. “There are certain things we must do for his estate—”

  “Which I’m not interested in,” I growl. “And you’re not hearing me.”

  “I’m hearing you loud and clear.” Her tone is tight, eyes flashing like dark emeralds with fire behind them. “But you’re clearly determined to be a jerk about this. Your brother went out of his way—”

  “My brother never did anything out of his way for me,” I roar at her, stepping backward and stumbling over one of her guest chairs. It enrages me further, and I swipe at it, sending it tumbling end over end. I faintly hear something crack—maybe one of the legs—but I’m beyond giving two fucks.

  The dog beside the attorney utters a low growl but doesn’t move. I expect my outburst to have her attention riveted on me, but she’s instead looking at the chair lying on its side.

  I glance at it, note it looks delicate with spindled legs, brocade covering the seat, and intricate, inlaid carvings on the back. Not my taste at all, and the leg is clearly broken at the base where it attaches.

  Not an ounce of shame for that.

  “Do not contact me again,” I warn ominously. Her eyes slide my way, wary and passive. “Email me whatever I need to sign to release you from whatever obligation you feel you need to soothe your conscience for the work my brother hired you to do. I’ll get it back to you immediately. Contact me again, and I’ll report you to whatever agency governs people like you.”

  Gone is the wariness, and her eyes blaze again with anger, but she watches me mutely. I stare at her resolutely, conveying the silent message I’m not to be fucked with. When I think she understands, I pivot sharply and head for the door.

  Past the broken chair.

  I glance down at it but not at her. “Send me a bill for that, and I’ll gladly pay it.”

  I don’t look back as I storm out of her office and hopefully toward a life that is now free from my ghosts and demons.

  CHAPTER 5

  Harlow

  My heart thumps hard after Stone Dumelin leaves my office, slamming the door behind him. And despite that very unpleasant experience, I honestly had not expected any different. Over the course of my friendship with Brooks, I had come to know Stone, and I’d been steeling myself for this confrontation.

  It’s why Brooks hated to ask me to be the one to make sure this all gets settled. It’s why he hated to name me trustee, but he knew I’d fight tooth and nail to see that his wishes were carried out. More than just Stone being a thorn in my side regarding the estate, I was contacted by his father yesterday asking about “his share” of things.

  I don’t know if Stone told his father to contact me, but I doubt it. I know they weren’t on the greatest terms when Brooks died. I could see that firsthand at the memorial service where Stone would try to comfort his mother, but she’d pull away. I saw it when his own father ignored him, and it was clear by his words at the service that he felt he only had one son worthy of mention.

  This behavior was also not a surprise. In fact, Brooks had told me once that his family was so fractured, nothing would ever put it back together.

  I believe him now.

  There’s no sense in calling his father back yet. I have to advise Stone about Brooks’s will and trust, which is the first order of business. Once I do that, I will call his father and tell him what he’s entitled to, but I’ll put it off for now.

  I move around my desk and squat to the broken chair. The leg is completely snapped off, and I want to grind my teeth with how blasé Stone was about breaking it.

  Send me a bill, he’d said.

  As if anything could replace the broken leg on this eighteenth-century Hepplewhite that is part of a matching set. It’s not only worth a small fortune, but more importantly, it was my great-grandmother’s, lovingly passed down to the eldest daughter in each generation. My mother gifted me with them two years ago when I opened my law firm, believing I’d enjoy them far more than she would.

  Sending Stone a bill wasn’t going to undo the damage.

  “Well, he was as pleasant as a cornered porcupine,” Bonita says from my doorway. I look up to see her wringing her hands. “I’m sorry… I tried to stop him.”

  “Oh, it’s okay,” I assure her as I rise, holding the chair leg. “He’s just like Brooks described him, and I would never want you to try to stop someone that much bigger than you.”

  “If only I’d had time to get my Mace out of my bag,” Bonita muses.

  “No,” I drawl in exaggerated censure. “We do not mace clients either.”

  “Pity,” she quips, and I snort with laughter. Stepping forward, she holds her hand out. “Let me have it, and I’ll see if I can superglue it back on.”

  Rather than give her the broken leg, I pull it into me protectively, my mouth gaping.

  “Just kidding.” She laughs, pushing her hand closer. “I’ll go put it somewhere for safekeeping, and I’ll start contacting antique repair stores to see how we can get it fixed.”

  “Thank you, Bonita.” I give her the wooden leg, my fingers grazing over the intricate carvings down to the rectangular spade foot. “I’m going to take Odin for a walk and grab a salad down at the deli. Want something?”

  “No, thanks,” she replies. “I brought in a sandwich. Did you finish the Graves’ discovery?”

  “I’ve got about another hour.” I really should sit down and finish it now, but after that encounter with Stone Dumelin, a walk would do me good as well. “I’ll dive into it when we get back.”

  ♦

  Four hours later, I can’t finish the damn Graves’ discovery. It’s due in three days, and I’ve got a little extra time, but I always like being ahead on my deadlines. I’m a planner, and I had planned for today to be the day I’d finish it. I can’t do it tomorrow as I’m in court most of the day, and the day after I’m taking a continuing legal education class. It has to be finished today so I’m not scrambling on the due date, and I’m not reduced to asking for an extension, which isn’t my style. I like getting my stuff done to show I’m prepared and ready for battle at all times.

  It’s that stupid Stone Dumelin who’s thrown off my entire day. Just a two-minute exchange with him, and I can’t stop worrying about Brooks’s estate and whether Stone will cooperate.

  Actually, I don’t wonder about that. I know he won’t, and I know he’ll never step foot in this office again. It makes it infinitely harder to carry out Brooks’s wishes, and the most I can do is reach out in writing and give him a bit more explanation.

  And until I send out that communication, I know I won’t be able to concentrate on anything else.