The Hamiltons: Laws of Love

Today he was all dark-suited, red-tied business. His shirt was starched, his cuff links were shiny, and his shoes were buffed to the kind of polish that required sunglasses to protect the eyes.

And his face—

Intelligent brown eyes framed by heavy brows. Angular cheekbones. Full lips that probably spent an inordinate amount of time kissing one woman or another. Skin so smooth she longed to run her hands all over it—every inch—just to see if she could find a flaw.

When he looked at her, she felt hot.

When she looked at him, she felt breathless.

Not a good combination if she wanted to keep her head, was it?

When you looked like Jake Hamilton, she wondered, was it really your fault that women trailed you the way rats trailed the Pied Piper?

No, she decided.

But that didn’t mean she had to be a rat.

“What’s your name?” Jake demanded.

“Charlotte Evans.”

“What are you doing here?”

Thanks for the reminder, Jake.

He still had no clue that they’d been working in the same building for years. She still meant nothing to him. Never had, never would.

“I work here,” she said flatly.

Those brows lowered, creating a thundercloud effect that would have been pretty funny under any other circumstances. He cocked his ear, probably to make sure it wasn’t playing tricks on him.

“You—” he began, faltering.

“Work here, yes,” she finished for him. “For two years now. In the secretarial pool. Thanks for remembering.”

“Now that the introductions are finished,” interjected Roger, “I’d appreciate it if I could finish up my conversation with Charlotte, okay? Thanks.”

Jake stilled, except for the tightening of his jaw, and focused all his fierce energy on Roger.

Roger blinked, looking away first with a huff of impatience.

“And you are?” Jake asked in a tone appropriate for asking a dog why he was pooping on his freshly shampooed carpet.

“Roger Miller.”

They did not shake hands, which was probably for the best. There was so much negativity in the air at the moment that any physical contact between the two men would probably lead to an arm-wrestling contest followed by the snapping of someone’s arm as it broke in two.

“And why are you here, Roger?” Jake’s voice was silky smoothness over a layer of unyielding granite. “Interrupting my employee’s workday and upsetting her?”

Roger’s lips thinned. He opened his mouth to say something that would probably be pissy if not outright rude, but there was a new interruption.

Small footsteps raced up the hallway from the kitchen, and Harry, now holding a to-go coffee cup that thankfully had a lid on it, ran into view. Please, God, she prayed, do NOT let this child drop his drink on this expensive rug.

“Look, Mommy!” In his typical greeting, Harry launched himself at her legs, giving her a quick, one-handed hug before holding up his arms and demanding to be lifted. She obliged, settling him on her hip. “I have a chocolate milk-a-ccino. Taste it!”

He offered the cup, which was smeared with something that may once have been chocolate but was now disgusting.

She tried to look rueful as she declined this generous offer. “Maybe in a minute, Harry.”

Harry, luckily, rarely stayed on one subject long enough to get his feelings hurt. “Who’s that?” He pointed a fat and smudgy finger at Jake.

“That’s my boss, Mr. Hamilton,” she told Harry. “I work for him.”

Harry gave Jake an appraising look. “I’m Harry. I’m four.” He held up four fingers.

“Nice try.” Charlotte adjusted his fingers down to two. “You know how old you are. Stop trying to pretend you’re older.”

Harry scowled at her for calling him out, and then sipped his milk in what he apparently thought was a dignified manner.

The weight of Jake’s gaze felt as though someone had covered her face with a lead blanket. Deciding that she’d avoided the moment long enough, she hitched up her chin and looked at him over Harry’s head, feeling defiant.

His reaction to this news that she was a single mother—he’d figure out that she and Roger had never been married soon enough—didn’t matter to her. Of course it didn’t. If people judged her harshly, then that was their problem, not hers. She loved Harry, who was the pride of her life, and anyone who thought less of her personal situation was a moron. And her life was too full and busy to waste time with morons.

It was just that she’d had a few painful and best-forgotten experiences with men who had wanted to date her, found out she had a kid, then took the next train to I’m outta here, never to be seen again.

Jake’s expression was still. Dark. Utterly unreadable.

They stared at each other for one lengthy and terrible moment before Jake broke free of whatever had him in its grip. Something about him eased up, making him much less forbidding, and he studied Harry for a second or two.

Harry, all wide-eyed and fat-cheeked behind his cup, stared back.

“So you’re two, eh?” Jake’s lips curled into a half smile. “That makes you old enough to get a job, doesn’t it, little dude?”

Harry darted Charlotte an incredulous glance and squealed with laughter. “A job? No way!”

“Well, you’re welcome to hang out at the office for as long as you need to, anyway. Kids are always welcome here,” Jake informed him.

Charlotte’s jaw dropped.

“We’ll find something for you to do, okay?” Jake continued. “God knows some of the lawyers around here aren’t that much smarter than you. How does that sound?”

Harry grinned, revealing his tiny set of perfectly white teeth. “Great. Yay!”

With a definitive nod, Jake adjusted his cuffs and spared Roger a sidelong look that was none too warm. “I’ll let you two wrap things up.” He paused. “Quickly.”

“Thanks,” Charlotte said.

Jake leveled all of his attention on her, which gave her the uncomfortable sensation of being a butterfly pinned to someone’s board.

“I’ll need to see you in my office,” he said as he strode off. “Five minutes.”

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