Dare to Love by user (read dune TXT) 📗

Seemed

like a piece of cake so I thought I’d try it for fun.” He laughed, and then his smile died. “Lucy, I need to talk to you about something.”

Oh no. Not right now. Not when she felt comfortable, relaxed, even happy. She didn’t want to hear his regrets about last night. She didn’t need to hear him say it was a

mistake—she already knew it.

“Wow. Look at the time. I really have to go.” She pushed past him without another

word and grabbed her purse.

“But, I—”

“Thanks for last night, Jake. And for breakfast. We’ll talk again soon,” she said, effectively cutting off his next sentence. She almost ran, in her haste to get out the front

door.

Once in the safety of her car, she exhaled, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What kind of a coward was she, anyway? They could have

talked about last night like adults, admitted it was an error in judgment, and laughed it

off. Instead, she had run.

Fearless Fairchild never ran away. What was wrong with her?

Something was seriously wrong. Lucy tapped her pen against the blotter on her desk

and stared at the deposition, not really reading the words on the page. She crossed her

legs and swung her foot back and forth, trying to calm the unexplained nervous jitters

plaguing her.

She swiveled in the chair and focused on the cherry bookshelves to the side of her desk, lined with books on case law. No, nothing there to spark her interest.

Turning halfway, she looked out the window at the fog enshrouded Golden Gate Bridge. The afternoon sun was nearly obliterated by the rolling cloud of white sweeping

in from the Pacific.

A cloud. That’s where she’d been for the past three days. She hadn’t heard from Jake

since the day she ran out of his house. Of course, she hadn’t bothered to pick up the

phone and call him, either. When she made her daily trek down the street for coffee, she

could have stopped in at the trailer. But she hadn’t.

He was probably grateful she’d left him alone. She could imagine what he must think

of her—a spoiled socialite who over-imbibed and threw herself at a man who wasn’t

remotely interested.

No, that wasn’t quite right. He had been interested, at least physically. She’d felt the

hard evidence of his interest pressing against her hip. But somehow she got the impression he thought she was way more trouble than she was worth.

He was probably right.

This whole charade had been a mistake from the very beginning, anyway. Best that it

didn’t go any further.

So why did she miss him? Why hadn’t she been able to concentrate on work for the

past three days? Why did every thought upon waking and retiring center around a tall

hunk of man with whiskey eyes and a smile that could thaw a polar bear’s heart?

“Lucille, we need to talk.”

She jumped at the sound of her father’s voice. Damn. He’d been out of town the past

couple days, and she’d avoided his calls, knowing the inquisition that would inevitably

follow.

Her father shut the door to her office and slipped into one of the dark leather chairs

in front of her desk. “You’ve been unavailable.”

“Yes, I have. Sorry. Working on a case.”

He frowned. “The Marshall case isn’t due for trial for six weeks.”

“I’m preparing in advance.”

“Bah,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You don’t need to prepare.

You’re avoiding me.”

“I am not. I told you, I’ve been busy.”

“Where were you Saturday night?”

Here it comes. “Out.”

“With whom?”

“With none of your business.”

“Why didn’t you come home?”

“It was late and I didn’t want to make the drive.”

“Where were you?”

“Out of town.”

“Again, with whom?”

Why did it always seem like she needed her own lawyer present whenever her father

badgered her with questions? She felt like she was giving a deposition.

She leaned forward on her desk and looked her father in the eye. “For the record.

On

the night of Saturday, June twenty-fifth, I, Lucille Fairchild, was out doing whatever I

wanted with whomever I wanted to do it with. The details of said evening are private,

personal, and once again, none of your business.”

“I’m worried about you, Lucy.”

She pursed her lips and inhaled, so familiar with this routine it was laughable.

When

he didn’t get his way playing stern father, he resorted to endearments and soft words. It

used to work. Not anymore. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

“You’re still seeing that construction worker, aren’t you?”

“Father, this may come as a shock to you, but I’m thirty years old and no longer required to report to you about my private life.”

“You’ve changed.” He stood and walked to her window, his hands clasped behind his back.

Ah, yes. First stern boss, then concerned father, followed by disappointed parent.

So

predictable.

“No, I haven’t.” If he’d ever bother to notice her he’d see that. She was the same person she’d always been. Deep inside, there still lurked a lonely little girl desperate for

affection from her father.

He turned his head toward her. “Why are you wasting your time on someone with whom you have nothing in common?”

“Father, I’m not going to discuss my boyfriends with you.” He raised a brow. “Boyfriend, is it? Then I take it things have escalated between you

two?”

There was a reason Raymond Fairchild was a master litigator. She’d always had to be careful what she said in front of him. He had a unique way of twisting her words

around until she had to defend herself. Well, she was her father’s daughter, and just as

good as he at manipulating words and evasion.

“Not your business.”

Silence. That meant he was thinking. Plotting. Devising new ways to attack. She mentally prepared herself for what would come next.

The door to her office flew open and her secretary, Maggie, rushed to her desk.

“Stud alert,” Maggie said in a breathless whisper, her cheeks flushed almost as red as

her hair.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, my God, Lucy. There’s this incredible-looking guy in the reception area and he

just asked for you. What a hunk of man!”

A cough sounded behind Maggie, and she whirled, her face reddening instantly.

“Oh! Mr. Fairchild, I