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"Endearing. How's that?"
"Acceptable, I suppose." Turning sideways to the door, I gesture toward the nearest chair inside the office. "Come in."
Emery follows me inside and drops onto the chair I'd indicated. Her chair. That's how I've come to think of it, since she often throws her body into that seat when she invades my sanctum.
I set my erse on the desk's edge in front of her, my hands loosely linked over my lap. "Your visa has been approved."
"Wow, that was fast."
"I have a friend at the Home Office. He had your application expedited." My lips twitch into a near smile, but not because of Emery. It's a reflex or…some such rot. "Stephen Beckham is an old friend from university, and he was extremely grateful for my help in sorting his father's estate after the old man passed away. His father had been senile and married an exotic dancer, then tried to amend his will."
"Makes me look like a sane choice, huh?" Emery rocks back in her chair, the front legs lifting off the floor a touch. "Thought you couldn't talk about your clients."
"The details appeared in newspapers. It was quite the scandal at the time."
"Were you mentioned in the stories?"
I lift one shoulder. "A few times, but no one cared about the solicitor. Thanks to his venture capital business, the old man had been a celebrity of sorts even before Graham Oliver defamed him."
"Graham? You mean the bod ceann?"
"Very good. Maybe I'll teach you naughty Gaelic later."
"Sounds like fun." She eyes me with curiosity. "What did Graham do to your friend?"
"He published a story about Stephen's father. Though there was a kernel of truth to it, Graham perverted the facts into a sordid tale worthy of a Roman emperor. A London tabloid latched onto the story."
Emery nudges my leg with her foot, which is covered by what my wife calls a sneaker. "Never told me you're a famous solicitor."
I close a hand over the desk's edge. "I am not famous. No one would remember my name, it was years ago. The case did…elevate my financial standing, however."
She sits forward, both hands on the chair's arms. "Are you saying you made a lot of money off this Stephen guy's case? Is that how you got so rich?"
"In part." I fiddle with the cuff of my sleeve. "Stephen was very grateful, as I said, and generous with more than his money. He recommended me to a few others in need of legal assistance, people who could afford to pay a high price for it and were more than willing to do so. Lachlan advised me on how to invest and grow my earnings."
"At least that's one mystery solved." She leans back, crossing her shapely legs. "Damn, your first wife must really hate herself for dumping you. If she'd stuck around a little longer, she could've had the rich husband she wanted."
I reach behind me to retrieve a sheet of paper, then offer it to her. "Information concerning our bank accounts. You can access them online with my sign-in credentials, but you'll need to visit the bank with me to become a signatory. We can take care of that whenever it's convenient for you."
"No rush." She takes the paper. "Thanks. The way you're so on top of things makes me want you on top of me."
"After the wedding, Emery."
"Whatever you say, Rory baby."
I extricate a set of keys from my pocket and toss them to her. "For the house doors, interior and exterior. We rarely lock the doors, no need to. You also have your own keys for the vehicles and the carriage house where they're kept, so you won't need to borrow mine again."
"Cool." She tucks the keys into her hip pocket. Then my wife stands and stretches, extending her arms above her head far enough that her shirt rides up, attracting my attention to her belly. "I hope you won't be a grump about the wedding when my family's here."
"I am not a grump."
"You are, but I think it's cute." She eases her body between my legs, resting her hands on my thighs. "You could at least try to think of our wedding as a cause for celebration. Do it for me."
Without thinking about it, I settle my hands on her hips. "I'll try. For you."
"Aw, you're such a sweetheart."
"Emery," I all but moan.
