She could never know that our estrangement before his death has caused me to question every motive I’ve ever had in ignoring a repair to our relationship. I don’t need any extra burden added to my plate.
Grocery store be damned… I’m going to handle this right now, so I don’t have to hear from this woman ever again. I copy and paste the address at the bottom of her email, put it into Google Maps, and when I get to my car, I set out for her office, intent on not only putting her in her place but putting my brother’s ghost far behind me.
Once I get her off my back, I can be done with Brooks Dumelin.
♦
Based on outward appearances, Harlow Alston’s law firm is not what I expected. It’s in the Allegheny West neighborhood in a Victorian row house on a tree-lined street. When I googled her, her picture was in a sleek chrome-and-glass office overlooking the city. Perhaps she’s moved, but the hardened-looking older woman I saw on Google didn’t look like her office would be so cute or informal.
I easily find side alley parking, zipping my coat when I get out of my car. The wind is bone chilling. Although spring is just around the corner, it sure as shit doesn’t feel like it today. In fact, the skies are gray with darker clouds brewing. I should check the weather to see if we’re getting rain or snow.
A brass plaque hangs on the black exterior door to the rose-colored brick Victorian that serves as Ms. Alston’s office. It bears her name only, and as I enter, I find myself in a small foyer with a staircase leading up but with a velvet rope cordoning it off.
To the left is another black wooden door, and I assume that must be the law office.
Without hesitation, I enter and take a quick sweep of my surroundings. Clearly a lobby as noted by the traditional-looking furniture as well as an antique desk with a woman sitting behind it.
A door to the left is closed, and a brass nameplate on the wall beside it reads Harlow Alston, Esquire.
To the right is another closed door, also with a brass plate affixed that says Restroom. To the left of that is a short hallway that leads to the back of the first floor, but it’s darkened by shadows and presumably unused.
I’m relieved to see no other people in here because I’m so mad at this attorney for refusing to leave me alone and then threatening me, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to keep my temper under control. From a PR standpoint, I’m sure the Titans’ organization doesn’t want me running about being a dick in public.
The receptionist—a kindly looking lady who could easily pass as someone’s soccer mom—smiles up at me. “Welcome. How may I help you?”
“I’m here to see Harlow Alston,” I reply tightly.
“Of course.” The receptionist smiles again and clacks on her keyboard, eyes focused on the computer screen. “She has an available appointment tomorrow at two p.m. What type of matter is it for?”
My palms press against her desk, and I bend over her in an attempt at intimidation. “I want to see her now.”
The woman is not intimidated in the slightest. She lifts her chin and narrows her eyes. “She’s not available right now. Her first available appointment is—”
I point at the closed door to the left. “Is that her office?”
She merely presses her lips together in a clear refusal to help me achieve my goal of putting this attorney in her place.
I glance at the door and back at the receptionist. “Is she in there now?”
It’s at this point the receptionist looks alarmed, figuring me for perhaps a nutjob who might want to off her boss.
I don’t wait for her to answer, pushing off the desk and heading for Alston’s office door.
The receptionist is far sprier than I gave her credit for, and apparently doesn’t have a meek bone in her body. She scrambles up from her chair and runs to intercept me before I can open the closed door.
“Sir,” she says with authority and disapproval, “she is busy and cannot see you. It’s completely rude for you to try to go in there without an appointment.”
She nervously glances down at my hands hanging loose at my sides. I cross them over my chest to show I mean no physical harm but that I can be every bit as mule-headed as she is.
Glaring down at the small lady with a short brown bob and deep brown eyes, I ask, “Rude, is it? What’s rude is that woman harassing me to take part in my brother’s estate that I want nothing to do with. She’s damn well going to hear it from my own lips this time, so she’ll leave me alone.”
The woman’s eyes soften as she tips her head to the side. “Mr. Dumelin?”
I nod curtly.
Gone is the slight empathy that I thought I saw when she understood I’m Brooks’s brother, her face businesslike again. “It’s important that you meet with Ms. Alston. I can set an appointment for you tomorrow, or we can even try for a phone conference another time. Or you can wait to see if she has a bit of time later. But right now, she is in the middle of drafting a very important discovery that has a deadline—”
And I’m done listening to excuses. She harassed me, now I’m here.
I step around the receptionist and reach for the closed door. I twist the knob and push it open quickly before she can impede my progress. Taking one firm step into the room, I lock on a gorgeous redhead sitting behind a desk. She’s most certainly not the lawyer I saw on the internet listed as Harlow Alston.
One more step into her office and her head lifts, green eyes flashing with irritation to see me there.
A third step in, intending to close the door on the receptionist who I feel right behind me, when a low, rumbling growl emits from behind the woman’s desk. To my astonishment, a big, black, shaggy beast stands and prowls around the corner, its eyes focused on me.
Christ, the dog has to be at least a hundred and thirty pounds and looks built of solid muscle. It’s got luxurious, long black fur with a white chest and brown cheeks and eyebrows. Its legs are brown with white stocking feet, and I feel like I should know what type of dog this is, but I’m still discombobulated from the fact that it’s growling at me.
And not a warning growl, but rather one that appears to signal imminent attack as its lips peel back to reveal long, gleaming canines.
I stand utterly still, remembering somehow that you shouldn’t run from a bear as they’ll consider you prey, and give chase. Does that apply to dogs? I don’t know as I have no experience with them. My mother abhorred any animal with fur that could mess up her meticulously clean house.
The dog continues to advance ever so slowly.
“Um… would you like to call off your dog, lady?” I mutter uneasily.
The woman settles back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. She drums her fingertips on the armrests and looks amused. “I don’t know… do you have a good reason for barging into my office uninvited and without an appointment?”
“I’m Stone Dumelin.”
“Yes,” she says lazily. “I recognize you.”
“Well, you wanted to see me, and now I’m here. So call off the damn dog.”
She seems to consider my request, and I’m not sure what she’ll do. Eventually, she says Odin in a soft voice, and the dog stops in its tracks.
It doesn’t move, though, lips still peeled back. We engage in a staring contest, and I feel a slight sweat break out on my neck.