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“Who’s that?”
    Afia blew into his office looking harried and pretty as hell. “My assistant.” He’d been wrong about the ponytail. Instead of making her less attractive it only accentuated her pixie features. Pert nose, high cheekbones, huge eyes fringed with thick, dark lashes. Her glossy straight bangs grazed perfectly arched eyebrows. A foot taller and she could’ve been one of those waif-like, anorexic models splashed all over MTV. Even though she’d dressed down in red-leather sports shoes, slim-fitting black pants, and a tailored crimson blouse, she still looked dressed up. Ms. Brannigan, stunning as she was in her floral-print halter dress, paled in comparison. Then it struck him. It had nothing to do with outer beauty. Afia St. John radiated an innocence that seduced a man into a stupor.
    Jake frowned.
    His client panicked. “If this gets back to Anthony—”
    “It won’t.” He nabbed the folders from his desk and crossed the room, chin lowered, gaze intent on Afia. “This office prides itself on maintaining confidentiality.” Hopefully, she’d get the point and make a discreet exit.
    She hovered on the threshold, one hand on the doorknob, her sable-brown gaze bouncing back and forth between him and the leggy, teary-eyed blond. Then she spotted the shattered mirrored compact and winced. “Someone’s cursed.”
    Ms. Brannigan burst into tears.
    Jake shoved the folders into Afia’s hands. “Alphabetically by last name. Thanks,
Jinx
.” Grasping her shoulders—damn, they were bony—he spun her around, nudged her into the reception area, and shut the door. So much for discreet.

     
    So much for making a good impression.
    Afia had tried on four different outfits before settling on her low-riding rayon pants and knock-around CK shirt. She was determined to please the cranky P.I. from her functional ponytail to her Dooney & Bourke sport utility shoes. The only reason she was late was because she’d asked Rudy to stop by the daycare center. She’d promised to deliver hats and scarves for “dress-up day.” A day she was going to miss because of her new job. Mrs. Kelly had detained her further, trying to ascertain when she could volunteer a few hours. An impossible task since she didn’t know her work schedule. Something she’d promised to rectify as soon as she got back to the office.
    Then she’d asked Rudy to drop her two blocks from the Bizby. She couldn’t
lose
the limo as it belonged to Rudy and, even though she could no longer afford his services, he insisted on driving her when his schedule allowed. He also insisted on escorting her to the front door of the timeworn walk-up, worrying that she’d run into an unscrupulous character along the way. He’d sworn it wasn’t because he thought she attracted trouble. He would have done the same for any female, which she tended to believe since Rudy was an innate protector and true gentleman.
    Unfortunately, it had taken him ten minutes to find a parking space.
    She’d jogged two blocks and run up four flights of stairs, barging into Jake’s office with an apology on her lips and the intent of organizing his unkempt desk in record time.
    Instead, she stood on the buckled carpet of the cramped reception area, holding folders that he’d told her to file, although how could she when the filing cabinet was in his office? She spun on her rubber souls and stared at the door Jake Leeds had essentially slammed in her face.
    Was there no end to this man’s hostility? Rudy would tell her to confront the jerk. “
Aren’t you weary of being a doormat
?” He’d surprised her with that question after she’d told him she’d agreed to resign from the Seashore Charity Committee. Although Harmon had managed to keep her latest fiasco out of the newspapers, he hadn’t been able to stop her neighbors’ wagging tongues. Word of her misfortune had reached the president and vice-president of the SCC board the day after she’d lost Frank’s house. She