The Case of the Bygone Brother (An Alex O'Hara Novel)

CHAPTER 2

"Who?" I was still thinking about crushes and heartbreak.

"Indiana Jones, Harrison Ford. Isn't he the same age as your dad?"

Unfortunately, he was right. The 'Indy' I knew and loved existed in movies from the Seventies and Eighties. I'd worn out VCR tapes. Now my DVDs were in danger of going the same way.

Nick gave me a smile worthy of Indiana Jones and Han Solo. "C'mon, give me a kiss and tell me you're glad to see me."

"I'd rather kiss a Wookie." In order to sit up, I placed my hand on his chest. It was strong, like his heart if the thudding was any indication. I straddled him, my skirt riding up my thighs, and tried to fix my hair.

He laughed. "You always did have a thing for Star Wars when we were kids."

"Still do," I muttered, anchoring the last hairpin. Hang on, was that the front door?

"Hel-lo?" An older woman's voice warbled from the outer office. "Is anyone here?"

My one o'clock was early. My receptionist still hadn't gotten back from lunch. Don't come investigating, lady, I prayed as I scrambled to my feet. My stocking-clad foot slid on the polished floor. Nick grabbed me to keep me from falling. I flopped face down on top of him instead of the floor.

"Oh, dear. Am I interrupting something?" The woman standing in the doorway looked down at us. "Uh, Mr. O'Hara? I have an appointment."

I levered myself off Nick, more carefully this time, and tried to look presentable. I tucked in my navy blouse-belatedly realizing the top three buttons had come undone, confirming to Nick that my bra matched my panties. I remedied that situation. Consigning Nick Palzetti to the netherworld, I found my shoes. This was all his fault. If he hadn't startled me, I wouldn't have fallen. Okay, I shouldn't have been climbing on furniture.

I approached the woman and held out my hand. "I'm Alex O'Hara."

"Cecilia Yoder." She was an attractive woman in her mid-seventies who hadn't let age keep her from being trim and stylish.

After shaking hands, I said, "This way, ma'am. My office is in there."

I ushered her out of the room I used for storage. It had been Nick's father's office when he owned the agency along with Pop. What a dynamic duo those two had been. Still were. Frank O'Hara and Tony Palzetti. A wild and crazy Irishman and a sexy Italian. The Pops were enjoying Arizona sunshine while in another month we would suffer gray skies, a gray lake, and gray days.

I led Mrs. Yoder into my office, formerly my Pop's. In anticipation of the appointment, I'd cleared my desk except for the computer, phone, a legal pad, and the Mont Blanc pen the dynamic duo had given me when they handed over the firm last spring.

'Handed over' gives the wrong connotation. Pop always said that people didn't cherish what came free. Thanks to the Bank of O'Hara & Palzetti, I had a business loan that rivaled the national debt plus a sneaky clause that said Nick had the option to buy in for his share of the firm. Frank and Tony, aka The Pops, weren't dumb. They knew what they were doing when they sold me fifty-one percent. They knew how much I wanted the firm, how hard I was willing to work for it. Who knew what Nick wanted? He'd shaken West Michigan dune dust off his Dockers long ago. Now he was back.

Hang on. Had The Pops sent him to check up on me?

Mrs. Yoder lingered in the doorway, disapproval fairly shouting from her. "I believe I have made a mistake."

I put on the matching jacket to my gray skirt. "Ma'am?"

"The, uh, scene I interrupted . . ." She pursed her lips, giving me that 'you Jezebel' look. Yet I saw hesitation in her expression, too. Uncertainty.