Gillian's Do-Over (11 page)

Chapter
7

Gillian
entered the small reception room of Matthew Gordon’s law office. Unlike the steel and glass offices in downtown Seattle with expensive ultra-modern furnishings that she’d visited when working at Talmadge Property Management, this space reminded her of a formal living room. Since his office was in a house, that’s exactly what it must have been. Two fabric-covered couches sat at right angles to each other, in front of the corner windows. An occasional chair was angled in the direction of the couches near a tall floor lamp. A table sat nearby, with recently-published popular magazines stacked neatly in its center. A small gas flame flickered in the fireplace on the far wall. The receptionist’s desk sat in the far corner nearest the front entry.

Gillian
willed her heart to stop thumping so rapidly, a rhythm in counterpoint to her nervous foot-tapping. She glanced at the receptionist. The woman wore a blue suit that complemented her silver hair, cut short enough to show the silver studs in her earlobes. Her voice was nicely modulated as she answered the phone and quietly chuckled at a caller’s remarks. She moved with the efficient precision of someone used to managing a law office. Even as she stated that a caller’s request couldn’t be honored, she did so with a smile that was heard in her reply.

“
Ms. Griffiths, if you’ll follow me, please.” The receptionist stood, gave Gillian a warm smile and led her down a short hall, past a door through which the flavors of newly-brewed coffee wafted, and into a room—a bedroom in a previous life?—that looked out into a back garden. The woman opened the door for her then closed it after Gillian entered.

Matt was
standing behind a large desk adorned only with a telephone, a laptop computer and a desk lamp. He was wearing black dress slacks and a bright red tie, his suit jacket unbuttoned and showing a snowy white dress shirt that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders.

He looked
more serious than that day he’d seen her at the monkey bars in the park.
It has to be his office clothes.
When he gestured for her to take a seat, his cufflinks caught her eye.
Owen used to wear shirts like that.
Matt’s gaze was warm and welcoming.
Because we’re in-the-park friends.
Her pulse leapt again when he spoke.

“
Ms. Griffiths.” After a brief pause, he asked, “Or would you prefer that I call you Gillian? Since we’re friends. From the park.”

“
Gillian, please. Why stand on formality?” She gave a little laugh, and ran a hand through her hair, aware again of her nerves. “Or maybe not, since this is business.” She rubbed her forehead as if to smooth the frown lines off her forehead.

“Here are the papers I thought you would want to see.” She handed him a sheaf of bank statements and other documents.

He
took a seat and glanced at the first page for a long minute before setting it aside and going to the next one. He did this several times before he spoke. “According to these documents, you have quite a few assets.”

Gillian
hoped he hadn’t read into his offhand remark as her cheeks heated up at the unintended compliment. To avoid gazing at him, Gillian scanned the room, noting the plaques hanging on the wall in addition to the certificate indicating he’d passed the Washington state bar. He’d been honored for his contributions to the legal community, too. One small plaque caught her eye. It noted Matt’s work as a volunteer mentor for law students at the university.

He
cleared his throat and asked, “Could you explain this large portfolio?”

“Well, I live off my salary—or I used to, when I was working. Before
Nick fired me. My savings are mostly from my earnings, too, that is, what I didn’t need for monthly expenses.”

“You must not eat much,
Gillian—with all these savings.” Matt smiled at her.

“My hips thank you for that,” she replied, feeling her cheeks
flame again. “The two large savings accounts and the stocks and bonds are from my grandmother’s estate. When she died, I inherited her house, which I sold about ten years ago. I intended to put Quinn through college with her money. But he never needed it, what with all the scholarships he received.” Daring to glance at him, she added, “I was thinking I would give him a large gift when he marries—so he can buy a house. But what I’d like to do now—since he really doesn’t need any help buying a home—is to set up a trust or something that would provide for his children.”

“How many does he have?”

“None yet.”

Matt’s gaze rose from the paper where he was jotting notes. “None?”
His eyes homed in on her face and remained there.

I’m not handling this well. Why do I keep imagining him without his shirt?
She felt her face flush. “I—let me explain.”

He sat back in his chair. “Please.”

“He and Bianca are getting married soon. They had a little pregnancy scare that turned out to be nerves. She’s an attorney. Just took an associate position with West, Neeland and York. Maybe you know the firm. Downtown.”

He nodded.

“
Anyway, I have no idea what kind of mother she’s going to be, and I just want to protect the children’s—future children’s—opportunities. I mean, what if they divorce, Quinn and Bianca? I’d hate that, but I don’t want the children to suffer and if some of my money would prevent that, it’s what I want to do. Does this make any sense?” She clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap. Hearing her own words, she wondered if Matt was now thinking she was a controlling crone not trusting her own son to take care of his children.

Matt leaned forward and began
jotting again. Before he could ask her another question, Gillian added, “And I don’t want them to know I did this. Quinn and Bianca, I mean.”

Matt’s eyes rose again.

“Well, not just yet, anyway.”

“You mean before they are parents?”

She nodded and gulped. “After it’s all taken care of, a done deal. Then I’ll tell them.”

Matt shrugged out of his jacket, and slipped it over the back of his chair, the action
again calling attention to his broad chest.

Your wife is one lucky woman, Matt. Too bad none of those online men look anything like you.
Or maybe they did. The little thumbnail photos showed very little by way of body type. And who knew if they were even photos of the men who claimed them. Gillian sighed. Why was it she now yearned for a handsome man in her life? Just because she was at loose ends employment-wise? Or was it because Quinn was getting married and she wanted to be a grandmother? But the very word made her think of herself as
old
, when she wasn’t. She didn’t have a single gray hair on her head.

The scraping of a chair
and a loud thud against the floor brought her back to reality. Matt was now standing. Gillian’s fingers ached to touch that shirt he wore. It had to be silk. To feel the warmth of his chest beneath it, to remove the tie and fling it—

“Gillian, I have a couple of question
s, but will you excuse me for a moment?”

She forced herself out of the haze of imaginings and became aware of raised voices in the outer room.
A distraught woman. Matt strode quickly out of his office and closed the door behind him.

Gillian le
t out a long slow breath. She
had
to get her mind off his body and onto the task at hand. Setting up a trust for her future grandbabies. The voices she’d heard before now seemed more muted. Had Matt’s receptionist—Ursula was her name—had a confrontation with someone? Or maybe two clients had attacked each other? Her mind conjured up a scene of fisticuffs in the outer office with Ursula attempting to intervene.

The door opened and Matt entered, his lips a thin line. “I apologize for that interruption
. My wife,” he blurted then looked embarrassed. “She’s been ill.”

He eased into his chair and scanned her documents again.
“Do you have a will?”

“Yes. I probably should have brought it today.”

“That’s all right. If you could drop it by the office, I’d like to see what it says about the distribution of your, uh, estate.”

Matt’s neck seemed to
pinken in the light from the side window. Or was it Gillian’s imagination that she thought he was thinking of his wife again? Or that other word he’d used when she first sat down? A riot of butterflies seemed to have invaded her stomach, competing for her attention with the tightness of her throat. She coughed into her hand.

“Would you like a glass of water?”

“No, no. That’s okay. I’m fine.”

But Matt had already risen from his chair.
A tiny moon-shaped scar decorated one finger of his right hand as he offered her a glass of water. She took the glass from him, unable to avoid touching his fingers as he transferred the glass to her. How would his hand feel touching her face, caressing her body? Her cheeks felt inflamed.
You have the most delicious backside, Mr. Gordon
. She took a quick gulp of water, praying Matt had no idea what she was thinking as she watched him move toward his desk.

“About your will
… when was it drawn up?”

She swallowed her second sip. “About fifteen years ago. Quinn was
in grade school, I think.”

“After your divorce?”

He remembers everything!
When had she told him she was divorced? It must have been one of those times in the park.

“Yes.
A few years after.” Why was her voice a hoarse croak now?
Good grief.

“Okay. I take it you own your home—where you’re living now?” Matt was scribbling notes, his head bent down just enough for the sun to highlight red
strands in his hair as a forelock slid forward. He casually brushed it back with one hand before straightening in his chair. “I’ll put something together after you bring me a copy of your will. No sense duplicating what you’ve already identified by way of items you want to pass on to others, that sort of thing.” He smiled at her, and the butterflies went crazy again.

“I’ll do that.”

He rose from his chair.

“I, uh, have another question. Different topic,” she said.

Matt sat back down.

“You know my boss fired me.
He closed down the firm and now he’s been indicted for misappropriation of funds.”

“I saw the article in the paper.”

“The district attorney called me. Sent an investigator to talk to me.”

“Are you being charged? Do you need an attorney?” Matt asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. The man seemed disappointed when I told him I’d been fired before Nick shut things down.”

“That may protect you. I’ll call the D.A. Ask him about the indictment. To protect your savings,” he added with a tight smile. “Those assets you want to place in trust for the future grandchildren.” He stopped talking and seemed to be listening to sounds from upstairs. “Unless you’d prefer that I not.” His gaze seemed to intensify.

She willed those butterflies to settle down, alight somewhere. “Would you? I’d appreciate that.”

He nodded.

This time when he rose, he walked around the desk and helped her up. She followed him out of the office and down the hall. Ursula was just setting down the phone when Matt arrived at her desk.

“
Ms. Griffiths is going to drop off her will. She’ll want to retain the original.”

Ursula smiled. “Of course.”

“Thank you for coming in, Ms. Griffiths.” Matt reverted to a more formal tone. Was it for Ursula’s ears?

“Thank you for seeing me.” Gillian offered her hand and Matt took it
. A little zing of electricity traveled from her heat-encased fingers up her arm, straight to her breasts and on to her lower body.

“Ursula will be in touch when we need to get together again. To go over things.
I’ll be in touch about the other matter.”

He continued to hold her hand, looking
slightly dazed. Finally, after what Gillian imagined must be several minutes that were probably only seconds, his strong fingers loosened their grip and he opened the door for her.

Gillian walked down the sidewalk, turned the corner and headed for her home
. She felt as though she had floated two blocks before she realized she’d left her car in the small parking area to the side of Matt’s office. She huffed out a quick breath and scolded herself as she quickly retraced her steps, hoping neither Ursula nor Matt saw her as she climbed into her car.

Matt walked back to his office, spun on his heel and returned to the reception area. “Ursula, what else is on the schedule for this afternoon?”

“Just lunch with
Marnie, and you were going to meet TJ at the club, like usual.” His receptionist raised a silver eyebrow. “Or, do you want me to call him for a rain check, given what happened earlier? I’m sorry I couldn’t intercept her sooner.”

“It wasn’t your fault.
I’ll talk to Marnie. Don’t bother with TJ. I’ll call him if I have to change things. Could you get me the file on those contractors? I want to see it before talking to TJ.” He glanced at the wall clock. “You’d better go to lunch. My meeting with Gillian went longer than I expected.”