The Firefighter's Cinderella (6 page)

C.J.'s expression was unreadable. “I can protect you.”

“Come on, C.J. I'll just be a burden. What about your social life? Anyway, I can take care of myself.”

“Social life?” He sounded perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

“Will you please just drive me to my parents' house? Someone will be there to drive you home.”

He sighed. “Whatever you want.”

There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to go to his apartment and lie in his arms all night. But she couldn't, she just couldn't. She cared too much. It was as simple as that.

 

C.J.
FELT LIKE A FOOL
driving the heiress home to Nob Hill in her luxury car, with her sooty cat on her lap. He was done with society tonight, and pulled out his cell phone to call for a taxi.

He still felt confused by her attitude, more than confused. There was an ache in his heart that refused to go away. When he pulled up to the curb in front of the mansion, he said, “The princess is home safe and sound. I'll be calling to find out how you're doing. Okay?”

 

I
T HAD BEEN A WEEK
since the night of the fire, seven days since she'd talked to C.J. All Tasha had done was work and speak with every agency in the world about her condo. At night she was so damn tired she fell asleep with her clothes on.

The worry about people she loved being hurt because of her was overwhelming, but in her parents' fortress of safety, she felt there was no imminent danger. She'd busied herself with work, trying to salvage her life. At least she was walking normally again after a lot of stretching and a few yoga classes.

By Friday Tasha was going crazy wondering when somebody was going to find out what had caused the blaze. The buzz of her interoffice phone brought her out of her thoughts. “What's up, Daph?”

“Tasha, you have a phone call from a detective Gonzalez. Do you want to take it or are you busy?”

Tasha thought her heart would leap from her chest in anxiety. Her entire body began trembling. “I'll take it,” she managed to answer. “Thanks.” She pressed the flashing button. “This is Natasha Bennington.”

“Hi, Miss Bennington, this is Detective Gonzalez. I'm calling to inform you about the investigation.”

“Please tell me it's not arson.” She was holding her breath.

She heard a small chuckle. “For once I can deliver a bit of good news. It's been ruled an accident.”

Her breath came out in a
whoosh
. “So what was the cause?” she asked.

“The investigators I've spoken with all believe the culprit is the sixty-year-old wiring in your condo. Apparently an old fuse didn't trip when your stylists were prepping you for the ball. We're still investigating the exact time that the building caught fire after you and your team left. I'll get back to you when I have more information. Again, I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you for calling, Detective.” Tasha set the phone down with a shaky hand.
It wasn't arson.
Her body sagged in her office chair, the relief overwhelming.

This horrible ordeal had taught her one thing, until Mendez was put away, she had to be more careful in all aspects of her life. She had already taken too many chances with loved ones.

The phone rang again, and over the next two hours she was told the exact same story from the FBI, the fire investigator's office, the police and her insurance agency. Her insurance company, however, wasn't so kind. Fortunately, she had money and many places she could stay.

When the insurance agent told her how long it could take before she'd be given money to rebuild her home, she felt sick. What did less fortunate people who had lost everything in a fire and had nowhere to go do?

She couldn't think about that right now. She was having dinner with her staff tonight. She would cancel, but knew Richard and Daphne were looking forward to their firm's monthly dinner. Rubbing her temples, Tasha finished typing notes into the computer from her last appointment. She signed off with the words
you have to help this family.

How many times had she written this? She might as well stop counting, because it seemed she wrote herself that reminder after every conference with a client. Each situation was desperate in its own way.

In frustration she began to rake her miniature Zen garden. In her heart she knew the probable outcome for this young family from Mexico. The father would be deported, separating the new mother and infant from the breadwinner. It was on days like this that Tasha knew why she fought the system so hard.

Her gaze traveled to the engraving hanging on one of the walls of her modern office. The quote came from Anne Frank, Tasha's personal hero, a young woman who inspired the world with her courage: “How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.” Tasha wanted to believe that was true.

Leaning on the desk, she rested her chin on her hands and noted the flashy opulence of her office. The orange and red walls were hung with beautiful paintings. The marble floors and mahogany cabinets added a certain sophistication.

Even though she did all her work pro bono, the expensive decor made her feel guilty. But she wanted her clients to feel special, too. Her biggest splurges were
on fresh-cut flowers she brought in daily to bring life and sweet aromas into her workplace.

Just because her clients couldn't afford the top lawyers didn't mean there wasn't one out there who didn't want to give them her all. Anne Frank's words gave Tasha hope and courage to continue her fight for the amnesty of immigrants who already lived and worked in the United States.

Weary from her long day, she put her glasses down on the desk and rubbed her eyes, then glanced at the clock on her computer. She had fifteen minutes till she, Daphne and Richard were going out to eat.

Not only had she lost her condo, now she was fighting feelings for a man she knew she could never have. She wondered what C.J. thought of her now that the ball was over and he had saved her cat. Yes, they had kissed, but had those kisses meant anything to him? They were both missing Tim that night, and it was nice to have someone who felt the same way. Now that that night had passed, she imagined he was off with the newest flavor of the week.

Her phone buzzed, interrupting her musings. It was Daphne.

“Tash, do you want me to send in your next appointment?”

Tasha looked over at the planner on her computer screen. Sure enough, there was a Jeremiah P. scheduled to see her at five forty-five.

“Daph, did you add him today?” She spun around in her chair to grab a diet cola from the mini fridge behind her desk. “I don't remember an appointment for
this late in the day.” She popped open the lid and took a swallow.

“Yes, this morning. He told me it was urgent.”

“So he's another first-name-only client?”

“I wouldn't put him in that category.”

“Do I need to call security and have an officer sit outside the door?”

“No, but I'll come in if you want me to.” There was a tone in Daphne's voice that suggested this was not Tasha's usual sort of client.

“Daph? If he's
your
type of guy, I'll definitely be needing security.”

“That was low, Tasha.” Her assistant sounded hurt.

“Come on. The last guy you lined me up with stalked me for a week. He tried to woo me with promises of beer, roadside camping and ‘hot loving' if I would make the annual pilgrimage to Sturgis, South Dakota, with him.”

“I still don't understand why you didn't come with us. It was a total blast.”

“A Harley Davidson convention is not my idea of fun. Sorry, Daph. Can we talk about this after the appointment?”

“You can buy me a drink.”

“That's easy, since we're having dinner together,” Tasha said. “One more time. Is there a need to call security?”

“No.”

“So he's not very good-looking?”

Daphne laughed. “Smoking hot is how I would put it.”

“For heaven's sake, send the poor man in. And I hope he hasn't overheard you.”

“Why?”

“You know I take our clients' privacy seriously. That's why your desk is at the far end of the reception room, so no one can hear you talk, or did you forget?”

“Aren't we allowed to date potential clients?”

“What?” Tasha was beginning to feel edgy. “No, and stop being such a tease.”

“You're no fun, Tasha.”

“Tell me something I don't know.” She hung up and waited for her appointment.

 

C.J.
SAT IN THE RECEPTION AREA
of Bennington law firm wondering how Natasha was going to feel about seeing him. He'd been trying to reach her since the night of the ball.

He'd gone through a string of emotions from anger and frustration to worry. It was more than just a physical attraction to the beautiful brunette who ran this office. He admired her strength, her dedication, and was beginning to have strong feelings for her.

She'd changed her cell phone and hadn't bothered to call him. It annoyed him that he'd been forced to call Detective Gonzalez to find out whether the fire was arson.

C.J. had tried to reach her at her parents' house, but the housekeeper told him all information regarding Miss Bennington was private. To his chagrin, the McGinnises had decided to go out of town the day after the gala.

He sucked in his breath. Soon enough he'd find out some answers and—

“Jeremiah?” The secretary with pink-and-purple
streaked red hair poked her head around her privacy screen. “You can see Ms. Bennington now,” she purred.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, then made his way to her office door. When he'd searched for her firm, he'd seen it was on Market Street, near the Embarcadero, in the heart of the financial district.

Good thing he kept slacks and a bomber jacket in his locker, just in case he had to go on a hot date when he got off duty.

“Excuse me….”

C.J. turned and almost bumped into the pixielike secretary. “Sorry, I didn't see you. Am I going the wrong way?”

She blushed. “No.”

“Is there a problem?”

“I'm not supposed to do this. And believe me, I never do, but would you like to go out with me sometime?”

He was taken aback. Normally he was keyed in to women and knew when they were going to make a move. For the first time in his life he realized he wasn't interested in playing the field. Tasha had him wound up so tight he couldn't even think straight. “Uh, what's your name?”

She looked so sure of herself it made him uncomfortable. “Daphne Grant.”

“I'm sorry, Daphne, but I'm interested in another woman right now, and so I'm not seeing anyone else.”

Annoyance flashed in her eyes. Obviously this girl was not used to being turned down. “I'm not that easy to get rid of,” she said saucily. In her tight, silky shirt and black miniskirt, she sashayed back to her desk.

Now if Tasha wore an outfit like that…C.J. shook
his head to clear it, then turned and knocked on Tasha's door.

“Come in,” he heard her call.

He opened it and was met by an odd grating sound. Tasha was sitting at her desk, scraping gravel in a flat wooden box with a tiny rake. She was frowning fiercely.

Even angry, she looked beautiful. Her hair was pulled up in a chignon, showing off her exquisite face. Her shimmery, lime-colored blouse brought out her olive complexion and vivid green eyes.

He couldn't resist baiting her. “Agitated, Benny?”

“I'm not agitated.” She looked flustered. “I'm just raking my Zen garden.”

C.J. closed the door and walked to her desk. “As a firefighter I've saved a lot of properties, but never a Zen garden.”

“You know I hate that name.”

C.J. started strolling around the office, looking at the paintings. “You hate being called Benny?” He feigned innocence. “Well, I hated it that your cell number changed. Sometimes we just have to deal with the things we hate.”

“Why don't you go find a soft, willing woman who wants your company?”

“Tasha…” No one could get to him the way she did.

“How about I phone you later tonight?” she suggested.

“No.”

“Please don't make me call security, C.J.” Tasha spoke quietly tone.

“Tell me why you have so many toys on your desk,” he said, ignoring her threat.

He could see a smile cracking. “I have some very long conference calls and I get bored.”

That made him laugh.

“I've got an appointment at five forty-five who's already waiting,” she said. “You sweet-talked your way past Daphne to get into my office. I've wasted enough time. Please leave or I'll call security.”

“Now why would you have to call security on Jeremiah P.?”

Tasha chuckled. “No—your middle name couldn't be Jeremiah! Really?”

“It's a family name.”

“You're lying.”

“Good one, Counselor. I hate the name Jeremiah. Only my parents and superiors know of the atrocity. I don't think even Tim knew. I always believed he would use it against me at an opportune moment.”

“Oh, he
would
have,” she assured him.

“My brother, Jake, calls me Jeremiah every chance he gets.”

Tasha got up from her desk, driving everything from his mind but desire. For her. If she had any idea what a black pencil skirt, heels and form-fitting dress shirt did to a man, especially this one, she'd go running from the room.

But her sunny disposition was back and he needed to pay attention to what she was saying. She walked over to him, her eyes dancing with laughter. “So what's your full name, then?”

Now her perfume was driving him wild. C.J. looked at the beautiful woman within touching distance. “Let
me take you out to dinner and I'll give it to you in pieces throughout the evening.”