Chapter 1
Layne Martin groaned softly as she leaned down to unhook the pedal straps binding her shoes in place before gingerly sliding off the unforgiving stationary bike seat. A sore butt and weary legs caused her groan, as did almost every muscle in her body as they screamed for rest. She was sure her legs would take at least an hour to recover, possibly longer before she’d be able to walk.
She unwound the gym towel from the bike’s handlebars and wearily plopped down on a nearby bench, mopping the sweat from her face to stop the flow from running down her neck. The front, back, and shoulder straps of her workout halter were stained dark with perspiration. Glancing around, making sure no unwelcome eyes were watching, she wiped down her neck and as far as was prudent between her breasts, then down the length of her long, slender arms. She lifted her chestnut ponytail and blotted the uncomfortable perspiration trickling down her neck. She’d always thought of herself to be in great shape for a twenty-eight-year-old. What had happened here? Quite possibly, countless hours sitting in the law library studying briefs had finally taken its toll.
It was quiet in the adjacent weight room of the vast Wellness Center, as it usually was this early in the morning. Two young men, glistening with sweat, stood in the doorway, watching intently as Layne blotted herself. One nudged the other. “Check that out,” he said, nodding toward Layne.
“Where the hell did she come from?” his friend exclaimed. “Holy crap, she’s a beauty!” He started to leave the room to approach her, but his buddy grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Best not to go there.”
“Hey,” the young man said, pulling his arm away, “come on! I gotta meet this one!”
“Don’t even think about going there,” the friend warned, gripping his arm again. “She’ll bite your head off and spit you out in tiny chunks. Believe me, I’ve tried. She’s unapproachable.” After a backward glance or two, he turned and walked back into the weight room.
“Any idea what her name is?” the friend asked, casting Layne a final appraisal before catching up with his buddy.
“Never got that far. If you get too close, she’ll give you a warning look. Pay attention to it. Can’t miss it, it’s mean.”
“What a waste. You’re sure she’s unapproachable?”
“Totally,” he replied. “Forget about her.”
Layne’s roommate and co-worker, Barb Meier, joined Layne’s groan as she worked her feet free of the pedal straps and slowly slid off the bike beside hers. She crashed on the same bench and wiped her face, neck, and down her front. “I was hoping it would easier today,” she complained, “but apparently I’ve got a bit longer to wait or a bit harder to work.” She threw the towel over her shoulder and with a weary effort, stood up. “I’m gonna go to the weight room, lift some weights. Maybe that guy is in there.”
“What, somebody new?” Layne asked, leaning to peek into the room.
“A real cutie caught me yesterday, when I lost my balance trying to lift one of those heavy things,” Barb replied.
“I think they’re called dumbbells,” Layne offered dryly.
“Yeah. Dumbbells.” She joined Layne in peeking into the room. “Want to join me? Just remember, he’s mine if he’s in there.”
“What, join you in losing my balance, with the very real possibility of being crushed by a heavy dumbbell, with no chance of getting the guy?” Layne laughed, shaking her head and sending the ponytail swinging. “No, but thanks anyway,” she said, still busy blotting sweat, trying to catch up and stem the flow.
“A couple of cute guys poked their heads out a few minutes ago - I’d hoped they were looking at me, but I’m pretty sure they were looking at you. They backed away from the door rather quickly. They must have seen your defensive scowl,” Barb added. “But there’s usually a few other cute guys in there this time of day. Come on.”
Layne smothered another soft groan, straightening up and stretching her back. “I’m too damn tired. You go ahead, Barb. Besides,” she said and laughed, “my legs are still quivering. Not sure I can walk that far.”
“Awfully cute guys. You’re sure you don’t want to come along?” Barb persisted. “A guy or two in your life wouldn’t hurt, you know.” She paused for a brief moment. “This is the last call for the weight room and all the guys therein. The train’s leavin’.”
“Thanks, but no. No time for guys in this life, believe me,” Layne said, laughing, tapping a finger to her chest. “Besides, I’ve got to get home to clean up and make myself beautiful. You know, you’re still welcome to join me this afternoon? It could be fun. You might even find a few single guys roaming around.”
“Spending the afternoon in the park, sitting at a table, in the hot sun, surrounded by screaming kids? That falls somewhat short of my idea of fun, but thank you anyway!”
“Yeah, I know. You’re right,” Layne agreed. “Wish I could drop out too, but ol’ Wellington insisted. I have no choice. I’ve got to be there on the outside chance someone might actually want to make a donation.” She adjusted her weight on the narrow bench and stretched her back again. “These are young parents,” she continued, “raising a family. There’s not much money left over.”
“I don’t see how you can make yourself any prettier,” Barb commented, eyeing Layne up and down. “You’re a knockout. I’ve seen more guys that I can count on both hands hurt their necks doing double takes when you walk by, or strain their peripheral vision to the point of popping their eyeballs checking you out.”
“You’ll have to improve your lying skills, Barb, if you ever want to be a really good lawyer. Now get out of here,” Layne said, pointing to the weight room, “and practice your eyelash-batting on those cute guys you’re always talking about.”
Barb shrugged and walked away. Layne watched, knowing very well that her interest was focused on the guys rather than the weights. Layne had politely — well, okay, more often than not, not so politely — fended off more than her share of advances. Her short time at the Wellness Center gym was devoted exclusively to keeping her body slim and trim, not with hopes of attracting and meeting men. A broken engagement in her recent past soured her on the male sex, at least for any time soon. She couldn’t pack quickly enough to get away from the unpleasant memory of her cheating fiancé. And actually, as a recent junior partner in the law practice, she was far too busy to have any decent relationships, regardless of possible temptations.
~ ~ ~
Across the room, resting against a piece of equipment, Erik Rivers watched as Layne wiped the perspiration away. He intently followed the towel as it disappeared between her breasts — Lucky towel! — then down her long legs. He’d attempted to talk with her several days ago, but was met with a disinterested rebuff. And as such, she became a targeted challenge. Rarely did a woman deny Erik Rivers anything. He pushed away from the piece of equipment and started to slowly weave his way through the workout maze to the bench where she was sitting.
Ready to leave, Layne draped the towel around her neck and bent down to tie the lace on a sneaker when she felt someone join her on the bench. She turned and glanced up, expecting Barb to have returned. It was not Barb, however, but instead was the guy who had attempted to strike up a conversation with her a few days before.
“Hi,” Rivers smiled. “Mind if I sit for a minute? I’m beat!”
Layne froze him with a cold smile, sensing another unwelcome encounter coming on. “Unless I’m wrong,” she said, sliding away from the intruder, “you are already sitting. Why bother to ask?” A closer glance could have changed her mind. Under different circumstances, this one could be considered a keeper, she thought, if she was in any way interested. Maybe for Barb, but certainly not her.
“Well, yeah.” He grinned. “I guess I am. Looks like there’s plenty of room for both of us, though.”
Layne kept her forced, cool smile. “There’s going to be even more room, since I’m leaving. You can have the entire bench. The whole thing.” She got up and started to walk away.
“Hey,” Rivers called after her as he stood up. “I didn’t mean to make you leave, again! I just want to talk to you.”
“Oh, have I walked away before? I hadn’t noticed,” Layne replied dryly, turning to look at him before taking another step or two away. God, she thought, do they all subscribe to the same ‘How to meet the girl of your dreams’ newsletter?
Rivers was pissed! Women just did not do this to him! “This is the second time I’ve made you walk away. I’m sure it looks like I’m hitting on you, but I’m not. I’m not trying to get you into my bed, or get into your pants, or marry you. I’d merely like to get to know you. Is that so bad?”
Layne walked back to stand directly in front of him. “Thank you for explaining that so succulently, it makes me feel ever so much better. Look,” she continued quietly, after pausing for a moment to dissipate a bit of her anger, “you’re probably a really nice guy, but I’m just not interested. You’re a really good-looking guy too, but you certainly already know that. I’m sure you feel like God’s gift to the women. But please, I’m here to work out, not to meet guys, and certainly not to get into your bed or marry you or allow you to get into my pants. Which incidentally, in case you were wondering, there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell of you ever getting into my pants. Just wanted to clear up that point.” She stopped for another breath before continuing, her flashing eyes locked with his.
Oh shit! Do not look there! She glanced at his lips instead. Crap, not there either! On down to his chin. “I’m trying to be nice, really I am, but I’m not interested in meeting you or anybody else.”
Get into your pants? Damn! Not the cleverest thing to say, Erik thought. “Look,” he replied, “I, um, I apologize for my poor choice of words. I’m sure that was offensive as hell, and I’m truly sorry.” He shrugged as he turned to walk away, fully aware now, his choice of words guaranteed that today was not going to be the day! “Maybe some other time. I was only trying to be friendly.”
Well, strike two, he thought as he retreated. It’d been a long time since that’d happened, many years actually, but giving up on her now was not possible. The challenge was just too great, although quite possibly he could understand her feelings. He’d been approached by more than a few women in the gym and elsewhere, and that was something he did not like. “Okay,” he muttered as he left the room for the showers, “third time’s gotta be the charm.”
~ ~ ~
The Wellington Law Firm had been retained to represent a local group attempting to block the sale of a neighborhood park to an out-of-state developer. Through the years, the park had fallen into a sad state of despair due to disinterest and neglect. With young families moving into the surrounding residential areas, the city council promised to reverse its ruling of allowing the sale if funds could be raised within two months to fix whatever problems existed. And there were many to fix.
The donation drive was scheduled to start in the afternoon. A musical group was scheduled to play in the bandstand, food and ice cream stands were set up, tables and chairs set in place, and there were games and fun things for all ages. A separate table was set up for Layne to receive whatever donations may be offered. As the newest, and therefore the lowest, member on the Wellington Law Firm totem pole, she was selected to be in charge of accepting and keeping track of the donations. And on a Saturday, yet.
The afternoon turned blazing hot in the Texas sun, and Layne was thankful to be sitting in the shade of the table’s canopy. The park was full of those who ignored the blitz campaign by the developers wanting the property, but for the most part, they were young people without much in way of discretionary funds, so the donations were coming few and far between.
Layne was counting what few donations she’d taken in, feeling that perhaps she should try hawking the project like a circus barker, when she happened to glance up and see an old pickup truck wheeze into the parking area. It was a rusty, dented, tired old relic of its former self when it was new, many years ago.
The pickup stopped and Erik Rivers reached down to shut off the ignition. He peered through the dust-covered windshield at the park grounds. Damn! Everyone appeared to be nicely dressed, even the children running around at full throttle. He should have cleaned up, at least beaten off some of the dust and scraped off a bit of the mud from his knees where he landed after being thrown from the damn horse. He should’ve had a wrangler break the critter, not himself! That was what he paid them for! He opened the door and started to slide his stiff, sore body out. He had to make his donation and hurry back to the ranch. There was worked to be done, and today he was one cowboy short.
Layne watched with interest as the door opened and long legs in dusty, mud-encrusted, well-worn jeans dropped to the ground. The rest of a cowboy snaked out and started a slow, limping walk into the park. Her interest grew when it became apparent that the cowboy was weaving through the milling crowd directly for her table. As he got closer, she tried to make out the face partially hidden under the sweat-stained ten-gallon hat but could not.
As Rivers approached closer still, he recognized the woman at the desk. The girl from the gym! What a stroke of luck, he thought. No chance of escape. She’s got to talk to me now!
Finally, as he got closer to Layne’s table, River’s face became clear. It was the idiot from the wellness center! As good-looking as the guy was, anger still flashed through her. How dare he! How dare he continue his advances here, in the park! Oh. My. God! What if he’s a stalker?
“Hi,” he said with a broad grin, hurrying the final couple of steps to Layne’s table and leaning hands-down on the front of it. “Well, how’s this for a coincidence? We meet again! I suppose you’ve got to talk to me now?” He shot a quick glance down at her breasts, which were pushing tightly against her blouse. Oh boy, better not to go there . . .
“If you’re here to make a donation, I certainly will. That’s one of this job’s drawbacks. Are you here to make a donation?” Layne asked, swallowing another flash of anger.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” he replied, removing his stained hat to run a sleeve across his tanned forehead to blot the perspiration.
Whoa! A close-up! A gal could get interested, she supposed, if she had the time or wanted to. She quickly straightened that thought out!
“What will your donation be?” Layne asked as politely as possible, tearing her eyes away and sorting a few papers on the desk before she embarrassed herself. What the hell was she thinking? She quickly picked up the pad and pen to record the transaction.
“A couple dollars, I suppose, but first I’ve got to know to whom I’m speaking and giving my money to.” Finally, this was the perfect time. There was nothing better than a captive audience. She had to speak, and speak nicely to him, and quite possibly, favor him with a smile - or even a date, if he worked things right.
“You’re speaking to Layne.”
“Layne. Nice name. Layne who?” he inquired pleasantly.
“Layne Martin,” she answered coolly. I’ll play your silly little game . . .
“Layne Martin. That’s a pretty name.” He reached across the table and offered his hand. “I’m Erik.”
Layne ignored his outstretched hand, and certainly did not favor him with a smile. “To whom am I speaking?” Layne asked. “Erik who?”
“Erik Rivers.” Still his hand reached across.
And still she ignored it. His name was vaguely familiar for some reason, but she couldn’t place it. “I see you dressed for the occasion,” Layne said sarcastically as she surveyed him. She couldn’t help saying it. Somehow, she wanted to hurt him, wanted to rub his face in his arrogance, wanted to embarrass him, anything to wipe his cockiness and infuriating self-assurance away.
Erik glanced down at his dirty jeans and brushed away a few smudges of dust and dirt, realizing that by now it was too late. “Yeah,” he said, “I had a little work to finish and didn’t have time to clean up. Wanted to get here as soon as I could, before the party ended.”
“Sure glad you made it in time,” she replied dryly. “Don’t know how our party could continue without you. I never would have guessed you came straight from work, not that anyone else would’ve guessed either, I suppose.” She shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked at him with as blank an expression as possible. “I’m guessing you’re a farmer, possibly a laborer, of some sort? Looks like you’ve been . . . playing in the dirt.”
“Actually,” Erik replied, with his own flash of irritation, “I just got thrown from a horse. I’m a rancher, of some sort, and just landed in the dirt.”
“There’s a difference in farming and ranching? Are many people aware of that? Anyway,” she continued, impatient to get this finished and have this Rivers idiot be on his way, “how much were you planning to donate today?” Judging from his appearance, Layne thought anything over ten dollars would be quite a struggle.
Hiding his anger and frustration, Erik gave up and pulled his unshaken hand back. He reached into a pocket of his well-worn denim jacket and withdrew a checkbook and pen. He laid the checkbook on the table, then scribbled a figure and his signature on a check before tearing it off and handing it to her.
Layne took the check and studied it, struggling to maintain a noncommittal expression. Oh, he thinks this is funny! She wanted to laugh! “One million, five hundred thousand dollars. How very nice,” she finally said, looking up at him with a forced, cool, albeit sweet smile. “Thank you, this will certainly be put to good use.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, turning to walk away. “I’d like to stay and get to know you, since I can’t seem to do that at the gym. But, like it or not, I’ve got lots of work waiting back at the ranch.” Never, absolutely never had Erik Rivers, The Erik Rivers, been at a loss for words, but this gal was totally uncharted territory!
“I’m sure there’s lots of work waiting,” she muttered to herself, watching him walk away and climb into the ratty old truck. She waited until the truck had driven away, out of sight, then took one more look at the worthless piece of paper before tearing it into pieces and stuffing them into a pocket.
~ ~ ~
Monday morning and the Wellington law office was already a whirlwind of activity. In her little out-of-the-way cubbyhole office, Layne swept an area clean on her cluttered desk and sorted through the last of the donation vouchers and checks. She was organizing them to present to Mr. Wellington, the founder and head of the firm. His close friends knew him as Keith, while everyone in the law firm knew well enough to address him as Mr. Wellington. She scooped the voucher slips and checks into an envelope and was almost out the door when she remembered the torn-up check. She wanted Mr. Wellington to see what she was up against, trying to get anyone to make a substantial, serious contribution.
Wellington was at his massive desk, studying a brief when Layne poked her head in. “Got a minute, Mr. Wellington?”
Keith Wellington was a hard-driving, no-nonsense man, expecting no less than total effort from his employees. Under his severe leadership, the practice grew quickly. He was always seeking young, intelligent lawyers to add to the practice, and Layne filled his requirements precisely, other than the unpleasant fact that she and another employee, Barb, were female.
“Okay,” he said curtly, sliding his work aside and impatiently waving her in. “Come in, close the door.”
She entered, closed the door, and put the voucher-filled envelope on his desk. “Not much, I’m afraid,” she said. “Three hundred dollars is all.”
“This is it?” Wellington said, looking at the envelope, obviously displeased. “That’s not good.” He scowled up at Layne. “What were you doing, serving ice cream?” He shook his head as he studied the vouchers. “I guess we’ve got to find other people to do this. We need better results than you’re able to give, apparently. This won’t get anything off the ground. And,” he cautioned, mostly to himself, “we’re not saying anything about this to the city council any time soon.”
Hiding her hurt and anger, Layne agreed that it was a rather dismal showing, but what did he think she could do? Hold a gun to people’s heads to force a donation? She turned to leave, then stopped and approached Wellington’s desk again. “I forgot one thing,” she said. “I did get a check for one million, five hundred thousand dollars.”
“What, some kid with Monopoly money? Or were you sucking on a pint hidden in your purse?” His patience was running thin. “I’m not in the mood for nonsense this morning.”
Layne quashed another flash of anger that swept through her. “No, it was a check, a stupid joke, so I tore it up.”
“Do you have the pieces?” Wellington asked impatiently, anxious to get back to the work at hand.
“Yes, I do,” Layne replied.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Show me!”
Layne smothered an angry reply to his curt command, dug into a pocket, and withdrew several pieces, then dug again for several more. “That’s all, I think,” she said, flipping the pocket inside out to make sure.
“Well.” Wellington sighed, looking at the pile of work waiting for him on his desk. “See if you can put a few pieces of the puzzle together and get a name off of it. See who this idiot is.”
Layne spread the pieces on the desktop and started with the upper left corner piece, where the name was usually printed, and began adding to it.
Impatiently, Wellington came around his desk to watch. He stared down at the printing on the few scraps she’d put together. “What . . . The . . . Hell?” he blurted. “Erik Rivers?” His head shot up, eyes burning into Layne. “You tore up a one and a half million-dollar check from Erik Rivers?” Wellington pushed her aside and quickly joined the remaining pieces to the puzzle, then turned to Layne in astonishment. “Do you know who Erik Rivers is? Do you have any damn idea who Erik Rivers is?”
A bad feeling, a really bad feeling, washed through Layne as she numbly shook her head. “No,” she finally managed. “He drove into the park in a ratty old truck, and he was probably dirtier than his truck. How was I to know who he was?” And she still had no idea.
“You actually have no idea? Erik Rivers. You really don’t know?”
“No, I really don’t.” How the hell was she supposed to know who he was? Oh boy, nothing good is going to come of this . . .
“Well, first of all,” Wellington said, with no little anger, “that miserable old truck, as you call it, was his father’s and is very dear to him. And he’s a close friend of mine, very close. And, he is a very important client of ours, if not the most important.”
“And,” Wellington continued, slowing down a bit in an effort to control his anger, “he owns one of the largest cattle ranches in all of Texas that’s been a landmark for generations. And also, but certainly not last, as the only heir to the ranch, he happens to be quite rich and intelligent. He wasn’t a rancher all his life. He made a dollar or two developing computer software.”
“So the check was good,” Layne said quietly, almost to herself, realizing what a colossal understatement it was!
Wellington’s head shot up in astonishment. “For God’s sake, yes! The check was good! It would’ve been good if he’d made it for fifty and a half million!”
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea . . .”
“Well.” Wellington sighed, running his fingers through what little hair remained on his head. “Go back to whatever you were doing, if you were doing anything worthwhile. I’ll have to think about where we go from here. If we had that check, the park would be saved, and this office would get a substantial commission. Without it, the park is lost, and quite possibly, Miss Martin, so is your employment in this practice.”
Wellington watched as Layne, on the verge of tears, left his office. He pulled a cell phone from a shirt pocket and poked in several numbers. It was answered after two rings.
“This is Erik,” a voice answered.
“Erik, Keith Wellington,” Wellington replied.
They spoke on a personal level for several minutes before he explained the reason for his call.
“Erik,” he said, “the very generous donation you gave the girl at the park was destroyed. Torn up.”
“Torn up? How the hell did that happen?” Erik asked.
“The girl at the donation table, remember her?”
“Yeah. Layne Martin.”
“You know her?” Wellington asked in surprise.
“Yes. Well,” Erik corrected himself, “I don’t really know her, but I sure as hell would like to. I know who she is when I see her. She’s kind of hard to miss. Why the hell did she tear it up?”
“Apparently she thought it was a joke. She said you looked like a homeless person who lived under a bridge, so she tore it up. We just now put the pieces back together.”
Homeless person? Erik paused for a moment. “You know I’ll send another check, Keith.” Under a bridge?
“Hell,” Wellington replied, “never had a doubt about that. But look, before you send another, I want to pass something by you. You could have some fun with this.”
“Sure. Go ahead,” Erik said, quite bothered by the woman’s descriptions. Homeless? Under a bridge?
“Why don’t I tell her she’ll have to explain the problem to you in person? She’s got to have some sort of punishment for such a stupid move. Normally I’d fire her on the spot, but this will give you a little fun and teach her a lesson. Then I’ll fire her.”
“If she had to do that, she may refuse. She’s probably embarrassed to death.”
“And lose her job on the spot? Immediately?”
“Keith, I’d hate like hell to see that happen, and be the cause of it.” Wellington was going a bit overboard, he thought, but it would be one hell of a way to get to know Layne Martin. And convince her he was not a homeless person, living under a bridge.
“Well, Wellington said, “Why don’t you add a little spice to this?”
Erik thought for a moment. Finally he said, “what if she has to complete a certain number of conditions before I’ll write another check? And thus save her job - something like that?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Wellington laughed. “Control her life for how long?”
“I don’t know, a couple of weeks or so, I suppose.” Erik laughed. “She just blew a rather large donation, and your commission would have been substantial, as you know. She’ll more than likely be a bit pissed about this, but if you insist, she’d better do it.”
“I doubt that being a bit pissed will even begin to describe how she’s gonna feel, but it could be interesting, for sure.”
“You get her during the day, there at the office,” Erik suggested, “and I get her for as much of any other time as I want. How’s that?”
“Are you sure this is what you want to do, Erik? I mean, this whole idea could backfire and blow us all to hell.”
“Well, I’m the one who wanted to meet her,” Erik said. “What better way? But I’d really hate to see her lose her job.” Erik paused for a moment. “I’m gonna have to insist on something.”
“Sure. What?”
“If she goes through with this, she’ll keep her job. If you hired her, she’s got to be a damn good attorney.”
“Well, we’ll see,” Wellington said. “She’s pretty good for a girl. But one thing I’m gonna do, Erik, is make it sound like all this is coming from you. Totally your idea. Okay with you? Keep me out of it.”
Erik thought for a moment. “So, the name of this game is called How To Make A Very Nice Girl Hate You In A Couple Of Easy Weeks?”
“Yeah,” Wellington replied, “something like that, but make it for as long as you want.”