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“I’m sure you’d find a way to spend it,” Roarke drawled.
“Was that a crack about how women shop a lot?” I asked tiredly, and Roarke barked out a laugh.
“No, even I wouldn’t make a joke that bad. I was just saying, when you have plenty of money, you find ways to spend it.”
I looked at his expensive desk, his designer suit and his shoes.
“You know that from personal experience?”
“You asking me how much money I make, Ms. Riley?” Roarke taunted. “Because I think that’s probably against the rules in the handbook.”
I blushed. “Of course, I wasn’t asking.”
Roarke shrugged. “I don’t mind. I don’t brag a lot, but I’ve made some really good investments over the years.”
“So, your marital assets would be around what Mr. Martinez’s are?” I asked. I couldn’t help being curious. He carried himself the way that men with a lot of money did, so I always assumed he was a millionaire like my father.
“Bit more than that,” he murmured, and my eyes widened.
I didn’t say anything more, though, not wanting him to think I was interested in his money. I didn’t want him thinking I was interested in anything about him at all.
ROARKE
Over the nextcouple of weeks, Magda continued to come to my office after lunch, and we took turns on who bought lunch. While we were waiting for the hearing date, I found out that she loved dumplings and wontons, and that shehatedsalad with a fiery burning passion.
“Even the ginger salads?” I asked her one day. “They’re just lettuce and sesame seeds with that great ginger dressing.”
She wrinkled her nose, looking pretty cute if I admitted it to myself. Where had that come from? Cute? What the…?
“That’s exactly it. I don’t like lettuce.” Hearing her voice pulled me out of those disturbing thoughts.
“You’re weird,” I muttered.
“You’re the weird one,” she shot back. “You don’t like Italian food.”
“I don’t like tomatoes,” I corrected. “It just happens to be in a lot of Italian food.”
“I eat cherry tomatoes raw and unseasoned; I love them,” she responded.
“You’re a freak of nature,” I said, groaning, and she actually laughed. It was a strange sound, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard her do it. It was a pretty laugh, loud and open, coming from her chest instead of a nasal giggle like I’d expected.
Fuck. I was struck by how pretty she was when she smiled and laughed. I’d finally been able to crack her sense of humor and the difference in her was huge.
I used humor as a front, most of the time, having a hard time expressing any of my emotions. I joked and teased people, and it seemed to get me through life. Unless I was in court because there, I was all business.
“We’re going to have to start working in my office,” she said, and I frowned.
“Why’s that?”
“It’s so messy in here,” she complained. “You can’t possibly know where everything is.”
“Ask me for a brief in the case,” I said to her.
She stared at me blankly.
“Come on, ask me,” I repeated.
“Brief number twenty,” she said after a moment, and I reached underneath a pile of mail in my ingoing box and grabbed it, handing it to her.
