Chapter 5
Dove was fully prepared for cleanup duty.
She’d spent an hour meditating that morning, separating self from other as one’s aura did not have to take on another’s.
Blocking herself from the negative energy into which she’d be walking.
She had a small lavender sachet tucked into the middle of her bra, between her breasts.
And knew what music she was going to cue the second she walked into space that was her own.
In spite of the fact that another had inflicted harm there.
One sight of Mitchell Colton and she was grasping to hold on to her calm.
Bending her head, she inhaled like she was taking in the last air left on earth.
Focusing on the lavender scent wafting up to her, she walked through the back hallway of Repo and up the stairs to the second floor and her damaged sanctuary.
The Repo maintenance guy had installed a brand-new lock for her the day before.
Her thoughts more on the lawyer than awaiting messes or new locks, she went with what was hitting her strongest. The man looked too good in a suit. Put those muscled arms and broad chest in a shirt that delineated them, rather than a jacket that hid them, and you had a whole new set of problems.
Or at least, in that moment, Dove did.
Wow.
All of the adventuring Colton men were fine specimens of the male ideal, but Mitchell… She’d had no idea he was so well endowed.
Turning to say something pithy, to rile him and get herself into a different mode, she stumbled on the step instead. He’d been closer to her than she’d realized. Her gaze had been shooting downward, to meet his gaze steps below. And instead landed on the fly of his jeans.
Which much more clearly hugged what it held than suit pants had done.
Wow.
Endowed indeed.
Infused as she was with the sight and the thoughts it engendered, she nevertheless made it into her studio without gagging over the sights and smells awaiting her.
Dipping her head for sniffs of lavender again and again, she proceeded across the room to the counter and cupboards that served as desk, storage and sound system station.
And zeroed in on feeling her own strength over the destructive emotions of whoever had violated her space.
“The police wanted me to check to see if anything’s missing,” she said.
“Detective Welding was going to accompany me here last night, but I told him I’d rather look in the morning.
I’m supposed to call him with a report. He said they took a look and saw my sound system untouched and laptop still hooked up under here…
” She pulled out the keyboard drawer that slid from under the countertop, opened the computer and saw the home screen flash on normally, and continued with, “So they aren’t expecting me to find anything gone.
And without that, there’s really no evidence for them to act upon at this time. ”
She was talking too fast. Glad to see her electronics where and how they belonged. She hadn’t even noticed them the day before.
But the rapid speech was more a result of the tsunami of sexual desire that had hit her on the stairs.
Mitchell Colton? Really?
Good to know her spirits had a sense of humor. And were using it to help her get through the process that lay immediately ahead.
“You have cleaning supplies around here?”
Even Mitchell’s voice was sending pleasant shivers through her. With a grin, and a quick thanks to the loved ones she couldn’t see, Dove bent to the cupboard below her laptop and pulled out a bucket filled with environmentally friendly cleansers, sponges and towels.
Pulling out a filled spray bottle and a couple of cloths, she passed the rest to the man who’d come up to the counter beside her. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah! Fine!” Her tone was a little on the squeaky side.
He didn’t know her well enough to know that, though.
“Just eager to get this done, for obvious reasons, of course,” she said as she sprayed and dropped to her knees to get the smears of what appeared to be ketchup off her cupboard.
“Let’s get to work. I want to hear your ideas and will do whatever it takes to implement them as soon as possible. ”
She might not be able prevent some of the things that happened around her or even, in part, to her.
But she did have control over her own response to them.
And of the thoughts and topics that she allowed to hold her focus.
She could refuse to linger on that which brought negative energy into her heart.
To replace such things with positive thoughts that were also relevant.
Like the fact that Mitchell Colton had ideas to help her save her father’s business. And that nothing within her own minimally lucrative business had been damaged. Cleanup only cost a few dollars in supplies. And some elbow grease.
Her sound system and laptop, which could have imposed prohibitive costs, were fine.
So thinking, she stood, cued up the playlist that had come to her during her pre-cleanup meditation that morning. And focused on the golden glow that shone from the wood of her cupboards as they became cleaner than they’d been since she’d first rented the place.
She should have thought to polish them sooner.
And had just found a reason to be thankful that some unknown entity had spurred her on to getting it done.
Spending time alone with Dove in the quiet of her studio was not an easy thing.
Mitchell found himself almost thankful for the smells of rotten food that permeated the areas he was working on—anything to keep his feet, and thoughts, firmly planted rather than flying around among the clouds painted on a back wall.
Or falling into the trance the music Dove had playing was trying to suck him into.
Shame on her for that one. Trying to manipulate him into…what?
Helping her? She already believed he was on board to do that.
To…desiring her? No music needed for that one. The clothes had it covered.
And she hadn’t given any hint of coming on to him. Or even noticing that he was male. He was a lawyer. He was help that she needed to save a business. Not a sexual being.
On his hands and knees, he was halfway across the floor when he heard what sounded like a cow mooing. He glanced over to see Dove standing near the end of the wall of cupboards she’d been cleaning, staring at her phone.
She had a moo as a ringtone? A new thing. He certainly hadn’t heard the sound in her father’s office the day before.
But then, she’d had a call. It appeared that whoever was currently communicating with her had texted.
Getting back to his work on the floor, Mitchell cut off all thoughts of Dove St. James. Whoever she talked to was no business of his.
Her feet walking on his clean floor, heading toward him, was. He looked up as she reached him, saw her handing her cell out to him.
He took it. Glanced at the screen, and then, recognizing the number, gave it his full attention.
Switching immediately into work mode, he stood.
“Fletcher dropped his offer by ten thousand overnight,” he said aloud what she already knew, while his mind drew the obvious conclusion from the maneuver.
The shady businessman was upping the pressure he was putting on Dove. Severely.
A person generally only did that when they believed they had someone over a barrel. When their target was running scared and ready to respond to being squeezed.
Pulling his own phone out of his pocket, Mitchell called Eli. Just like his older brother called him anytime he needed lawyerly advice for a case.
The call was short. Succinct. One sentence from him. And one back. Mitchell had eyes on Dove the entire time. The white lines around her lips, the stark glint replacing the usual warmth in her eyes held him there. As though, by a phone call, he could assure her that she’d have no reason to fear.
And that it was his job to do so.
Neither impression was valid.
“What did he say?” she asked as soon as he lowered his phone from his ear.
Mitchell paused, choosing his words carefully, as was his way, and Dove said, “He said something you didn’t like.”
She was right about that last part. Which anyone watching him closely could have discerned. That did not mean she had any special powers enabling her to read people.
Him in particular.
“Your face got stern,” she said, helping him along.
“Brad Fletcher has no alibi during the hours this place was vandalized.” He gave her a longer version than Eli had delivered. “He says he was out fishing. Alone. A team has been assigned to keep eyes on him.”
Her cheeks paled as her eyes continued to seek something from his that he knew he didn’t have to give. For a split second there, he almost wished his did.
Until she said, “We have to get to my dad.”
We. Not I.
Blockades shot up inside him. Even as warmth oozed between them at the familiarity. At being considered a part of something that meant so much to someone.
He shook the thought away.
Because she was right. Whaler needed to know what was going on, to protect himself if nothing else, and the lawyer he’d thought he’d just hired was the proper man for that job.
Not the daughter with whom he had emotional investment and who might try to soften the blow.
“I’ll drive,” he told her, dropping his cleaning supplies on the counter and heading toward the door. He waited until she’d collected her purse and joined him and then, with a hand at her back, and eyes taking in everything around them, he escorted her out to his car.
Working. Only working.
Pro bono work, possibly.
But still, one hundred percent work.
His earlier conundrum with an unwelcomed awareness of the auburn-haired woman in her out-there clothes had nothing to do with the very real concern currently flooding through him on her behalf.