with sympathy and guilt. Her cousin was right. At least Vincent Benedict had stuck around to be nagged and harangued by his elder daughter. Lloyd Ringstead had vanished, never to be seen or heard from again. David had been only four.
“Forget it. Nothing more boring than old family history.”
“I suppose,” Jessie agreed. “But I'll say this much for Dad. He does have some sense of what you might call patriarchal obligation. At least when it comes to money.”
“Only because it's a means of controlling the rest of us,” David said bitterly. “He likes being in control.”
“I know that's part of it. Still, look on the bright side. I think he'll probably come through with another loan for you.” Jessie smiled and stood on tiptoe to give David a quick hug. “Don't worry. I'll talk to him.”
“Hatchard is right. I guess I shouldn't ask you to do it. You already did enough when you convinced Uncle Vincent I was never going to be the heir apparent to Benedict Fasteners.” David gave her a rueful smile. “You know, without your help I'd probably still be there busting my ass trying to please the old man. Even Mom wanted me to try harder.”
“You'd have been very unhappy spending the rest of your life running Benedict Fasteners. Anybody can see that.”
“Not anybody. You were the one who realized it first. Thank God for Sam Hatchard. Without him Uncle Vincent would probably be trying to mold you or Elizabeth into a corporate shark.”
“I'm not sure God is the one who deserves the credit for giving us Sam Hatchard.”
David grinned as he opened the lobby door. “You may be right. He's not what you'd call real angelic, is he? Don't worry, Jessie, you can handle him. My money's definitely riding on you.”
“Dammit, David, this isn't some kind of sporting event,” Jessie called out after him as he went through the doorway and out into the night.
But it was too late. Her cousin was already halfway down the path to the sidewalk. He lifted a hand in farewell but did not look back.
Jessie stood on the other side of the heavy glass door and stared bleakly out into the darkness for a few minutes. Then she turned and walked slowly back upstairs. She wondered how difficult it was going to be to wheedle the information she wanted out of Hatch and then get him out of her apartment. Something told her it was not going to be an easy task.
She was right. She knew she was in trouble the minute she opened the door and saw him sprawled on the couch, sound asleep. He had not even bothered to take off his beautifully polished wing tips.
Jessie slowly closed the door and leaned back against it. If she had any sense, she told herself, she would wake him up and hustle him out the door.
She definitely should not allow him to spend the night there on the couch. It would set a dreadfully bad precedent. A man like Hatch would use that sort of precedent to his own advantage, no doubt about it. One thing always led to another. Come tomorrow morning, she would have to give him breakfast.
Too dangerous by far. When all was said and done, there would be no way of getting around the fact that he had made himself very much at home in her apartment.
Jessie moved cautiously away from the door, considering the best method of awakening him. She came to a halt beside the couch and stood looking down at Hatch for a long while. The strength and willpower that were so much a part of him did not appear the least bit diminished by sleep. By rights he should have looked a little vulnerable, but he did not.
Jessie wondered if sharks actually slept.
There was no denying the fact that Hatch did appear exhausted. The man worked much too hard. Fourteen-hour days plus courtship time on the side.
She studied the strong, tapering fingers of one supple masculine hand as it lay on the black leather cushion. Everything that compelled her and repelled her about Hatch was embodied in his graceful, dangerous, powerful hands.
With a small sigh,
“Forget it. Nothing more boring than old family history.”
“I suppose,” Jessie agreed. “But I'll say this much for Dad. He does have some sense of what you might call patriarchal obligation. At least when it comes to money.”
“Only because it's a means of controlling the rest of us,” David said bitterly. “He likes being in control.”
“I know that's part of it. Still, look on the bright side. I think he'll probably come through with another loan for you.” Jessie smiled and stood on tiptoe to give David a quick hug. “Don't worry. I'll talk to him.”
“Hatchard is right. I guess I shouldn't ask you to do it. You already did enough when you convinced Uncle Vincent I was never going to be the heir apparent to Benedict Fasteners.” David gave her a rueful smile. “You know, without your help I'd probably still be there busting my ass trying to please the old man. Even Mom wanted me to try harder.”
“You'd have been very unhappy spending the rest of your life running Benedict Fasteners. Anybody can see that.”
“Not anybody. You were the one who realized it first. Thank God for Sam Hatchard. Without him Uncle Vincent would probably be trying to mold you or Elizabeth into a corporate shark.”
“I'm not sure God is the one who deserves the credit for giving us Sam Hatchard.”
David grinned as he opened the lobby door. “You may be right. He's not what you'd call real angelic, is he? Don't worry, Jessie, you can handle him. My money's definitely riding on you.”
“Dammit, David, this isn't some kind of sporting event,” Jessie called out after him as he went through the doorway and out into the night.
But it was too late. Her cousin was already halfway down the path to the sidewalk. He lifted a hand in farewell but did not look back.
Jessie stood on the other side of the heavy glass door and stared bleakly out into the darkness for a few minutes. Then she turned and walked slowly back upstairs. She wondered how difficult it was going to be to wheedle the information she wanted out of Hatch and then get him out of her apartment. Something told her it was not going to be an easy task.
She was right. She knew she was in trouble the minute she opened the door and saw him sprawled on the couch, sound asleep. He had not even bothered to take off his beautifully polished wing tips.
Jessie slowly closed the door and leaned back against it. If she had any sense, she told herself, she would wake him up and hustle him out the door.
She definitely should not allow him to spend the night there on the couch. It would set a dreadfully bad precedent. A man like Hatch would use that sort of precedent to his own advantage, no doubt about it. One thing always led to another. Come tomorrow morning, she would have to give him breakfast.
Too dangerous by far. When all was said and done, there would be no way of getting around the fact that he had made himself very much at home in her apartment.
Jessie moved cautiously away from the door, considering the best method of awakening him. She came to a halt beside the couch and stood looking down at Hatch for a long while. The strength and willpower that were so much a part of him did not appear the least bit diminished by sleep. By rights he should have looked a little vulnerable, but he did not.
Jessie wondered if sharks actually slept.
There was no denying the fact that Hatch did appear exhausted. The man worked much too hard. Fourteen-hour days plus courtship time on the side.
She studied the strong, tapering fingers of one supple masculine hand as it lay on the black leather cushion. Everything that compelled her and repelled her about Hatch was embodied in his graceful, dangerous, powerful hands.
With a small sigh,
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