Ann Christopher - Case for Seduction

There went her self-esteem, slipping another several notches.

As though Jake Hamilton hadn’t done enough of a job on it the other day by not remembering her from work. The whole time they were chatting it up at Starbucks, he’d had no idea that she was one of his employees.

None.

True, they worked on separate floors and had only interacted, in passing, at the firm’s occasional staff appreciation luncheons. He wasn’t involved in the firm’s hiring process and had probably never had the need to come to the catacombs, where she worked. True, she hadn’t laid eyes on him in several months, probably since the last staff Christmas party, and then only from a distance across the crowded conference room.

But, still.

How could she feel good about herself when she’d made such a non-impression on him? When she recognized not only him, but all the other Hamiltons who worked at the firm, because she made it her business to know the faces of the people who put food on her table? The bottom line was that she’d been here at the firm for years and he didn’t recognize her or know that he and his family were her employers.

He did not, in short, know her from Adam or Eve.

Yeah. That had been a swift kick to the solar plexus. Especially because she was so exquisitely aware of who he was and had been since the second she first laid eyes on him. She’d been a brand-new employee the day that he strode out of the elevator and gave her a crisp nod as she was getting on.

She’d been stunned.

What woman wouldn’t be?

And now, two days after their interlude at Starbucks, she was still deflated and agitated, her poor stupid head filled with images of the unexpected heat she’d seen in Jake’s eyes, and Jake probably hadn’t given her a second thought. He’d probably hooked up with Ashley the barista, Avery the disgruntled sex buddy, or any one of the dozens of women he probably kept dangling at any given time.

The jerk.

A sexy jerk, yeah, but still a jerk.

Anyway, the issue now wasn’t Jake Hamilton, or how much he’d seemed into her the other day, or how he’d asked her out to dinner, or how he was, in fact, nothing but an inveterate player who’d probably only hit on her at Starbucks because it was a reflex with him, like coughing when his throat was dry.

The issue was her self-esteem, which had been in a steady decline for ages, ever since she told Roger about her accidental pregnancy (ripped condom) and saw the look of absolute horror on his face. It was as though the only thing worse than having an unplanned baby at that point in his life was having an unplanned baby with her.

Then there’d been the breakup, which wasn’t quite as brutal as the one in that old movie The War of the Roses but had been tough nonetheless. Then they’d gone to court to establish everyone’s parental responsibilities, and then she’d shelved her plans to go to law school full-time because she had to also work and support a child.

Roger, meanwhile, had blithely continued with his education and career because his daddy had more money than God and was happy to foot the bill.

Must be nice, eh?

Now she was a typing drone in the secretarial pool, a single mother juggling diapers, toddler tantrums, unscheduled illnesses and pediatric visits, and a part-time law student managing a class a semester. He, on the other hand, was deep into his residency and well on his way to becoming a real-life Dr. McDreamy.

Not that she was bitter, she thought, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him. Much.

But at the rate she was going, he’d be a millionaire with a thriving practice and his first yacht while she was still trying to finish a first-year law student’s course load.

Was it any wonder she felt invisible half the time?

Well, she was sick of it. Sick of being a second-class citizen—and an invisible one, at that. If she didn’t stand up for herself and her needs, who would? Roger? Please.

She was tired of being a doormat, and it was going to stop.

Right now.

Roger seemed to have given up on trying to understand how her job was relevant, and moved on to the only important thing in any conversation, as far as he was concerned: his wants and needs and any petty annoyances that might inconvenience him.

“Why can’t you call your mother to come pick Harry up?” he asked, a note of challenge in his voice now.

“Well, first of all, since today is your day with Harry, it’s your responsibility to care for him. Not mine,” she reminded him. He scowled. “Second, even if I wanted to call her, my mother is in doctor’s appointments and physical therapy for most of the day.”

“Shit,” Roger muttered, mostly to himself. “What am I going to do now?”

His narcissism was really amazing, she thought. True and pure, as unadulterated as winter’s first snow.

“Mom’s doing pretty well, by the way. Thanks for asking. She has much more energy after the heart procedure.”

Roger’s lips thinned with growing annoyance. “Glad to hear it. I always liked her.”

“Right.” She checked her watch and saw how much of her precious time had ticked away. That brief wasn’t going to type itself. Not to mention the fact that this was the floor Jake Hamilton worked on, and the longer she hung out here, the greater her chances of running into him, which would be awkward, to say the least. So she and Roger needed to wrap this up so she could go back to the basement, where she belonged.

“You need to take Harry and go, okay? Drop him off at your mother’s or something. She’s always glad to see—”

“I can’t,” Roger said flatly. “I don’t want to interrupt her spa day. You’ll have to—”

Sentences that began with you’ll have to always ended badly. It was a rule.

Accordingly, she marched up to Roger and got in his face. So much for being a team.

“Kindly do not tell me what I need to do,” she began, keeping her voice low, because he would not reduce her to a banshee here at her place of employment. Thank God there was no one else around at the moment to see this developing scene; the last thing she needed was gossip. She always took great pains to keep her private life private, and the other staff would have a field day with any little tidbit about her personal life. “You need to call in to the hospital and tell them that—”

Roger loomed over her, his features contorted with anger. “I can’t just—”

“Is there a problem?” asked a cool male voice behind her.

Oh, God.

Charlotte stiffened with sudden paralysis, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach like a stone, probably landing somewhere deep in Philly’s sewer system.

She knew that voice. That voice belonged to the absolute last person she wanted to see. That voice, like the person who owned it, was nothing but trouble.

Roger’s arrogant gaze flickered past her shoulder, and his voice, when he spoke, was so condescending that she wanted to dropkick him into next year.

“I don’t believe anyone asked for your input, my brother.”

Apparently Jake Hamilton felt the same way about harming Roger. His frigid tone, when he responded, was like being assaulted with ice chards.

“I’m afraid you’re getting my input, my brother. Since you’re standing in my building and badgering a woman, you’ll be getting a lot of my input.”

Roger’s face turned a blotchy and angry purple.

Uh-oh.

“It’s okay,” Charlotte said quickly, trying to defuse the situation before these two badasses decided to take their dispute outside or something. Embracing her inner coward, she kept her back to Jake and hoped he didn’t recognize her voice. “We were just having a—”

That was as far as she got before Jake swooped in, clamped a hand on her upper arm and spun her to face him. She spluttered a protest; he ignored it. His intent gaze locked in on her face, skating over all her features as though he needed to double- and triple-check to make sure it was really her, and his emotions were raw and as readable as a Times Square billboard.