suits. Samantha's hair was tied back in a ponytail but it still had managed to blow into her face when the picture was taken. Jordan, much younger than Sam, had her mother's dark hair and tiny frame. Harris, a good fifty pounds overweight, rested a hand on his wife's shoulder and smiled for the camera.
Pictures were deceiving. His mind drifted to a similar family portrait of his. Blake's father stood behind his mother with a hand on her shoulder. His mother's white knuckles tensed on the armrest of the chair in which she sat. Blake remembered the day the picture was taken. He and his father had argued about Blake taking a summer internship to better his college applications. Edmund refused to discuss Blake working for anyone, especially for free. Edmund believed an education was necessary for bragging to one's friends. Work, however, was a four-letter word. One no Harrison would touch so long as he had a say in their lives.
"I thought my family was dysfunctional," Blake whispered.
"I think Miss Elliot wins the prize."
Funny, Blake didn't think the prize was worth winning. "Where does Samantha live?"
"She rents a townhome in Tarzana."
"Roommates?"
"Hard to say."
Then, without knowing why he asked, he said, "Boyfriend?"
Mitch's eyes rounded to him. "I didn't look, but I will." Just then, the phone in Mitch's pocket rang. He removed it and glanced at the number. "This is about the sister," he explained before he answered the call.
Mitch spoke into the line while Blake studied the names on the paper in his hand. Samantha had a lot of friends. He wondered if any of them helped her out financially.
Mitch made a whistling noise into the phone, grabbing Blake's attention.
"Okay, thanks," Mitch said before he disconnected the call.
"What is it?"
"Miss Elliot truly needs your business."
"Really, why?"
"Her sister is a patient of Moonlight Villas. Nice name for a fancy home for adults in her condition. The place racks up a six figure bill every year."
Blake felt his eyes pinch together. "And no one is helping Miss Elliot with it?"
Mitch shook his head. "None that I've found. Her friends might give her advice, but there isn't a steady stream of money coming from anywhere but her business."
A business that Blake had already researched and knew all about.
"Interesting."
"So, what's she like?"
It was the first personal question Mitch had asked.
Blake pictured her alabaster skin and the determined set of her jaw. And that voice. Damn, just thinking about it made him want to talk to her again.
"She's all business," Blake told his assistant. "You'd like her."
****
Being in control was her gig. So when Blake Harrison insisted on a dinner meeting to go over the potential wife candidates, Samantha started working out scenarios as to what Harrison was going to talk about.
Perhaps he'd recognized one of the women, or placed a last name to a face. She purposely left off the surnames of the women so her male clients had to rate the merits of the women on their attributes, not their families. Sam knew all too well how people judged her by her parents' actions. After her parents fall, she'd considered changing her name and even her hair color. She settled for moving to the west coast and avoiding the media. The tabloid attention was short lived. Once the newest scandal burst onto the scene, hers was forgotten. Living close to Hollywood constantly put the light on someone else. Her face hadn't been in the paper since her mother's funeral.
Maybe if Samantha had been a beauty and a media whore, the papers would have followed her. Dodging reporters proved easy when Sam started dressing like a wallflower.
So what did Harrison want to discuss? Maybe he'd already talked with his lawyer and needed details her papers hadn't covered. She'd thought of every conceivable loophole when she started her business. Her taxes were always paid, thank you, dad, and her contacts always kept close to the chest. Nothing she'd ever done by way of background checks or private investigators was illegal. The primary gender she turned to for information was women. Sam wasn't naive enough to believe that women weren't capable of illegal acts, but she had a hard time with trust and men. There weren't many in her life that hadn't let her down. In truth, she couldn't think of any.
The sun was still shining as she pulled her car into the parking lot of the most expensive beachfront restaurant in Malibu. Unable to avoid the valet to park her car, Sam left her