Perfect Match. Dara Girard

used to the idea.”

      Hannah was too stunned to reply, and by the time she had a cutting retort, he and Hector were gone.

      * * *

      She needed the money. That’s all that mattered. Hannah tried to remind herself that saving her parents’ house was worth the risk of dealing with a playboy and going against a powerful family that could cost her her career.

      “Isn’t this great?” Bonnie said, rushing up to her.

      Hannah returned to her desk, masking her jumbled feelings. “What’s great?”

      “This case. It’s exciting and you get to work with Amal Harper. If you win, you’ll never want for clients again.”

      Hannah picked up a pen and waved it at her friend in warning. “The word being if.”

      Bonnie frowned. “It’s not like you to be negative.”

      “I know,” Hannah said, holding her head for a moment. She let her hands fall to the desk. “I’m just a little overwhelmed. I hope I haven’t taken on too much.”

      “You haven’t.” Bonnie suddenly looked thoughtful. “You know, he’s better-looking than his photos.”

      “And you mention that because...?”

      “I wouldn’t blame you.”

      “Wouldn’t blame me for what?”

      “If something’s going on.”

      Hannah widened her eyes. “Nothing is. Why would you say that?”

      “Just the way you were looking at each other.”

      “We met briefly before, but trust me, it’s nothing.”

      Bonnie sat and crossed her legs, swinging one foot. “No, it’s not.”

      “He’s a client.”

      Bonnie began to grin. “He won’t be a client forever.”

      “I’m not his type and he’s not mine. End of story,” Hannah said, sending her friend a long, firm look that didn’t allow any contradictions.

      “If you say so,” Bonnie said, clearly not believing her but wise enough to let the subject drop.

      * * *

      The moment Hannah got home she went into her bedroom, opened her diary and stared at the carefully preserved buttercup Amal had given her, wondering if she should tear it into pieces.

      She slammed her diary shut and shoved it away from her as she sat on her bed. She wanted to rip it up, but she couldn’t because even though she knew the truth about the man, she couldn’t erase the memory of how he’d made her feel that day. She opened her diary again and gazed at the flower, lightly touching it with her finger. She’d keep it as a reminder as to why she needed to focus on work instead of men. Work she could always depend on and trust. Work didn’t let her down or disappoint her. She wouldn’t let herself get distracted by a man who’d made it an art of stealing women’s hearts. Not that she was in danger of that since she wasn’t his type anyway. You’re not my type. She wished his words made her more angry than upset, but they’d forced her to look at the mirror and face the truth of what he’d said.

      From the pictures she’d seen of him at numerous parties and events, she knew he usually went for those classically beautiful African American ladies with long hair and tiny waists. Or Caucasian women with wide eyes and long legs. Delicate beauties who looked as if the slightest breeze would make them crumble. Not medium-height women with short black hair and West African features. She knew she was attractive, but no one would mistake her for an American with her exotic features—dark eyebrows and lashes, cupid-bow lips, a sleek, long neck and dark brown skin.

      In school she didn’t look like the other kids, but her parents, uncles and aunts always showed her how beautiful she was and surrounded her with images of women like her. In travels she’d turned men’s heads while dining in Portugal and sailing in Barbados.

      She put on a deep royal-red lipstick and her favorite pair of earrings and again stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was a beautiful woman and plenty of men thought so, and Amal was blind if he didn’t see it, whether she was his type or not. She blew herself a kiss. She was a great daughter and a caring friend, and she’d save her parents’ home and show Mr. Amal Harper the kind of top-notch lawyer she was.