Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars #6)(33)

Heath lifted an eyebrow.

The old man studied him suspiciously, and Annabelle’s cheeks plumped in a kitten-ate-the-cream smile. “Mr. Bronicki, this is Heath Champion, otherwise known as the Python, but don’t let that worry you. He hardly ever sends seniors to prison. Heath, Mr. Bronicki is one of my grandmother’s former clients.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mr. Bronicki blinked but quickly recovered. “If you’re her lawyer, maybe you’d better tell her how a contract works.”

Annabelle bristled all over again. “Mr. Bronicki is under the impression that a contract he signed with my grandmother in 1986 is still valid and that I should honor it.”

“It said satisfaction guaranteed,” Mr. Bronicki retorted. “And I wasn’t satisfied.”

“You were married to Mrs. Bronicki for fifteen years!” Annabelle exclaimed. “I’d say you got your two hundred dollars’ worth.”

“I told you. She went loony on me. Now I want another one.”

Heath didn’t know which was more amusing, Mr. Bronicki’s jiggling eyebrows, or the indignant twitching of Pebbles’s whale spout. “I’m not running a supermarket!” She spun on Heath. “Tell him!”

Ah, well. All good things had to come to an end. He went into lawyer mode. “Mr. Bronicki, apparently your contract was with Ms. Granger’s grandmother. And since the original terms seemed to have been fulfilled, I’m afraid you don’t have grounds for complaint.”

“What do you mean I don’t have grounds? I got grounds, all right.” Eyebrows hopping, he started hammering Annabelle with one grievance after another, none of which had anything to do with her. The more he ranted, the more Heath’s amusement faded. He didn’t like anybody but himself browbeating her.

“That’s enough,” he finally said.

The old guy must have realized Heath meant business because he stopped in midsentence. Heath moved closer, putting himself between Bronicki and Annabelle. “If you think you have a case, talk to your nephew. And while you’re talking to him, ask him to fill you in on the laws against harassment.”

The bushy eyebrows drooped like dying caterpillars, and the old guy’s aggression instantly dissolved. “I never harassed nobody.”

“That’s not what it looks like to me,” Heath said.

“I didn’t mean to harass her.” He wilted even more. “I was just trying to make a point.”

“You’ve made it,” Heath replied. “Now maybe you’d better leave.”

His shoulders dipped, his head dropped. “Sorry, Annabelle.” He made his way out the door.

A loose lock of Annabelle’s hair whipped her cheek as she spun on Heath. “You didn’t have to be so mean!”

“Mean?”

She hurried out on the porch, her flip-flops slapping the wooden boards. “Mr. Bronicki! Mr. Bronicki, stop! If you don’t ask Mrs. Valerio out again, you’re going to hurt her feelings. I know you don’t want to do that.”

His reply was subdued. “You’re just trying to make me do what you want.”

The flip-flops thumped more softly down the steps, and her voice grew wheedling. “Would that be so bad? Pretty please. She’s a nice lady, and she likes you so much. Ask her out again. As a favor to me.”

There was a long pause.

“All right,” he replied with some of his former spunk. “But I’m not asking her out for Saturday night. That’s when Iron Chef’s on.”

“Fair enough.”

Annabelle returned, a satisfied smile on her face. Heath regarded her with amusement. “I sure hope I never have to go head to head with you in the wrestling ring.”

A furrow formed along the bridge of her small nose. “You were mean. He’s lonesome, and arguing with me gives him something to look forward to.” She eyed him suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

“Your phones aren’t working.”

“Sure they are.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, jeez…”

“Forgot to pay your bill?”

“Just for my cell. I know my other phone’s working.” She disappeared through the archway. He followed her into her office. Quality art posters filled the long wall behind her computer desk. He recognized a Chagall and one of Jasper Johns’s white-on-white American flags.

She lifted the receiver and, when she didn’t hear a dial tone, looked mystified. Heath picked up the cord dangling next to the ancient black answering machine. “It works better when it’s plugged in.”

Annabelle shoved it back in. “I was trying to fix it last night.”

“Good job. You’ve never heard of voice mail?”

“This is cheaper.”

“When it comes to keeping in touch with your clients, never cut corners.”

“You’re right. I know better.”

The fact that she didn’t try to argue took him aback. Most people went on the defensive when they screwed up.

“I don’t make a habit of not paying my bills,” she said. “I think what happened with my cell was subconscious. We’re not getting along.”

“Maybe counseling would help.”

“In what universe did I ever think it was a good idea to let my mother find me whenever she wanted?” She sank down in the chair, her expression an entertaining combination of indignation and woe. “Tell me you’re not here because you canceled your date with Rachel tonight.”