Melinda Curtis - Summer Kisses

Trust me with your grandfather? With your things? With you?

Becca’s gaze rested on the ground, where, presumably, she’d find her lost common sense. Instead, she saw a glint of copper, barely visible in the dirt beneath the toe of Flynn’s sneakers.

It couldn’t be a penny. It had to be a leaf or a rock or something.

She could feel Flynn’s gaze upon her, gauging her character. “Old Virginia didn’t write a will or anything?”

“I have no proof. Only my word.” She tried not to sound bitter, but she was afraid she failed. “It doesn’t seem like you have much faith in people.” And yet, there was the penny, clearly visible when Flynn shifted his feet, an indication that she should accept.

“Since I became wealthy, my faith in my fellow man has been put to the test.” Flynn tipped up the brim of his baseball cap. “However, I am good at offering second chances. Are you good at accepting them?”

Becca searched his face to see if this was some kind of cruel joke.

He wasn’t joking. His blue eyes reflected a combination of sorrow and regret. He wanted to believe the best in her. Wanted, but couldn’t quite. “For my grandfather, if not for me.”

Her determination to refuse him wavered. If she took this job, she’d see Flynn every day. A daily opportunity for attraction to bloom and cause complications. Complications to the lawsuit, to her equilibrium, to her heart.

None of that mattered as much as it should. Edwin needed good care and she could give it to him.

As if sensing her capitulation, Flynn named a generous hourly wage.

Part of her wanted to accept the indecent sum. The sensible part of her realized it would only make her look guilty in his eyes. And others.

She snuck a glance at the penny again, at President Lincoln’s wise stare.

It was official. She was nuts. “I’ll take half that an hour.” It was what the agency would have paid her.

Flynn started to protest, but she’d have none of it. “That’s my going rate. Take it or leave it. I won’t let you overpay me.”

He chuckled mirthlessly. “Everyone lets me overpay them.”

“Then you’re a gullible fool. I can work for you until my hearing. In exchange, I want a letter of reference from your grandfather.”

He cocked one burnished eyebrow. “Why not from me? I’ll be the one paying you.”

She shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, when in fact she’d sell her wounded soul for two good references. “Okay, I’ll take both.” The combination was a one-two punch that could knock the lawsuit against her off its foundation.

“Let’s shake on the deal.” Flynn’s smile didn’t penetrate her armor. She was ready for it this time.

Their hands met in midair.

Becca told herself she felt nothing.

She was a horrible liar.

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