Only problem was, that made her the quarterback-but she planned to stay on her toes till the end of this game. Which meant she had to maintain control.
“Fine. But let’s make it quick. The storm’s moving in.” She stepped back and reluctantly invited him in.
Kyle shuffled forward a step, and stopped immediately when Brinks issued a growled warning, his bared-tooth snout level with Kyle’s most vulnerable parts.
She grabbed the dog’s leather collar and attempted to pull him back, but the mutt refused to budge. “As you see, he’s a mite overprotective, so you’d best mind your manners.”
“Hey, boy.” Kyle spoke softly, holding his palm near Brinks’s snout. The dog took his time before accepting the offered sniff, and rather than his customary lick of approval, Brinks backed off just enough for Kyle to enter, then sat, keeping their visitor well within his sights.
Bolstered by the rare glimpse of Brinks’s underused guard dog skills, Shayna pushed the door closed against the wind’s pressure. She had promised to hear Kyle out. She hadn’t said a thing about being pleasant.
“You’ve got fifteen minutes, Mr. Anderson. One cup of coffee and then you’re gone.”
Kyle’s jaw ached with the effort of keeping his teeth from chattering. His custom-tailored suit and silk-lined Armani wool coat were no match for the frigid temperature and howling wind. He’d held on to his stern posture by willpower alone, but Christ, he’d been seconds from folding when she’d finally opened the door.
Of course, he’d prefer death by icing to having that behemoth dog pin him to the wall by his balls. He wanted that partnership, but he didn’t want it that badly.
Keeping one eye on Cujo, he assessed Shayna’s personal space, looking for insight into her character, the kind of impressions and vibes you couldn’t access through paper trails.
The cabin’s spacious main room had the wide-open feel of a converted warehouse loft. In L.A., this space would rent for a small fortune. Wide-planked pine floors bore the scars and marks of old age beneath a sheen of polish. The furniture was an eclectic mix of new and old, littered with an abundance of odd-shaped pillows in every color imaginable. The overall effect was vivid and energetic, yet still homey and comfortable.
“Great space.” He followed her to the kitchen, trying not to notice the sway of her full hips or the way her black leggings hugged her short but shapely legs.
“Thanks.” She gestured toward a sturdy oak chair. “Sit.”
The pony she called a dog was sprawled out in front of the fridge, his jet eyes sparkling, as if the mutt found humor in her ordering Kyle around. Refusing to be intimidated by a house pet-or his fierce-looking owner-Kyle removed his damp coat and threw it over the vacant chair she’d indicated.
“I’d prefer to stand.” He leaned against the counter.
“Suit yourself.” Neither of them spoke while she got the coffee going. When she turned, the glint in her sleepy amber eyes warned him she intended to fire the first shot.
“So, tell me, Mr. Anderson-” she folded her arms and glared at him “-what kind of proposal does Dr. Walker have for his bastard daughter?”
Her bluntness surprised him. He’d expected her to dodge the point as long as possible. “You’re aware of Ms. Hoyt’s plan to blackmail my client?”
“Yes, but I made it clear to her that I don’t want any part of it.”
“Unfortunately, she’s decided to proceed anyway.”
“I figured as much, but regardless, Patty’s actions have nothing to do with me.”
“That’s a very naive statement, considering your mother’s blackmail threats center around your birth.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps, but without my help, her claims are just hearsay, right?”
“Hearsay?”
She spun and started rummaging in the cabinets but not before he saw the tinge of pink staining her cheeks. When she blushed, she reminded him of the first time he’d seen her. All that naturally unadulterated beauty in a sea of silicone implants and hair extensions.
“I’m a big Law & Order fan,” she mumbled, pulling down a couple of coffee cups and filling them.
“Me, too.” He accepted the cup she handed him, handle out, to avoid the possibility of brushing fingers. “Without your corroboration, her claims would indeed be hearsay, if the matter went to trial, but Patty isn’t threatening to sue Dr. Walker in a court of law. She intends to drag him through the court of public opinion.”
“Ah.” She smirked, intelligence sparkling in her eyes. “A much more dangerous venue for your client, to be sure.”
Kyle hid an unexpected grin behind his cup. He’d always admired women with quick wits. “In light of recent career developments, my client is justifiably interested in maintaining his good public reputation.”
She snorted, obviously not buying his PR spiel. “Either way, I won’t become involved. If your client wants to keep his ex-mistress quiet, why doesn’t he just pay her off?”
“Because this isn’t the first time she’s promised to take the money and disappear forever.”
She didn’t look a bit surprised. “Still not my problem.”
“True, but you are a part of the solution.” Offering her his most reassuring smile, he removed a bulky envelope from his breast pocket. “Dr. Walker and I have formulated a simple resolution, one that insulates both himself and you from Patty’s threats, both present and future.” He held the envelope out. “Take a look. It’s a very…generous compromise.”
Kyle’s wording was eerily similar to what he’d told her in that hotel lobby. Unsettled, Shayna took the envelope and slid a shaky forefinger under the seal. Instinct told her this would not be good.
Watching the papers emerge, she felt as anxious as a tourist at a snake-charming demonstration. Rationally, she knew the papers couldn’t harm her, but that didn’t stop her inner warning alarms from clanging ninety to nothing.
Her teeth worried the inside of her lower lip as the pages slipped free. Atop the bundle was a cashier’s check, made out to her, for two hundred fifty thousand dollars.
Stunned, she tentatively touched the dollar amount, half expecting the check to be a mirage. When it didn’t vanish under her fingers, she forced her slack jaw back into place. A familiar sick pain twisted in her gut. Patty had said Walker would pay big bucks to keep Shayna’s existence a secret, and she’d been right.
So much for her hope that the other fifty percent of her DNA contained a smidge of human decency. Obviously, Patty Hoyt and Steven Walker were cut from the same cloth.
“Ms. Miller?” he asked gently.
Floundering to make sense out of what was happening, she shifted her focus to his face. One side of his mouth kicked up, cranking his dimple to life. That pleased, confident smile brought the entire bizarre situation into crystal clear focus.
This man expected her to be thrilled, to simply agree to whatever Walker had in mind, pocket the check and send him on his merry way. No doubt with a grateful hug and hearty thank-you. She’d never been so disappointed or outraged in her entire life.
“Shayna?” Kyle’s normally robust voice was smoother than fresh cream. “I’m sure that much money comes as a shock-”
“Shock? It’s an insult!” she hissed. She could practically feel the blood draining from her face. Brinks immediately scrambled to his feet and came to stand at her side, his massive body braced against her hip.
Her temper, which normally took forever to erupt, rose to a full boil as she bundled the wad of papers, check and all, and chucked them at the trash. They bounced off and landed under the table. The placid look on Kyle’s face melted into confusion, but not even temporarily rendering him speechless could lessen Shayna’s anger.
“What does your no-good client expect in return for a quarter of a million dollar payoff, Mr. Anderson? Maybe he wants me to murder Patty and bury her body on my mountain?”