Looking For Mr. Right

Candy Garland stood on the busy street corner outside the lawyer’s Bel Air, California, office readjusting her floppy denim hat with three big daisies on the front of the turned-up brim. Summer was still a couple of months away, yet she was sweating like a sumo wrestler in a sauna. She’d never been to a will reading before and was nervous as hell.

Mason Stoneworth had been the wealthiest man in the state of California, owning the biggest cable TV company around. He had also been the loneliest. In fact, she had been his only friend for the past five years.

Tugging on the hem of her flower print dress, she inhaled a fortifying breath to steady her nerves, placed an unsteady palm on the sun-heated doorknob, and walked inside. The muted sounds of conversation she had heard just seconds ago halted as everyone in the room looked in her direction.

Two older women sat in chrome and leather chairs to her left, both dressed in black, shapeless dresses. Candy recognized them from the funeral as Mason’s daughters. A young man sat to the right, giving her an intense twice-over. This was his out-of-work, twenty-five-year-old grandson. Candy thought he would have stopped drooling by this age, but there it was, running down one corner of his mouth like a baby cutting teeth. She shivered inwardly at the sight.

A composed man sat behind a polished oak desk, wearing a navy suit that probably cost a fortune. This must be Mason’s lawyer. Somehow, she expected him to be nearly as ancient as Mason himself. On the contrary, she doubted the man gazing steadily at her was a day over forty. He had deep gray eyes and dark brown hair with amber highlights that were picked up by the harsh fluorescent light overhead. His jaw was square and strong; the kind that said he could be a stubborn ass or a loyal friend.

Candy then realized they were all still staring at her. Or, more precisely, her attire. She felt a hot blush jump to her cheeks and held her plum colored envelope purse in front of her as if it would somehow hide her.

“Looks like I’m underdressed.” She glanced at her vibrant dress and red pumps that showed how much she adored retro clothing, then grimaced. “I didn’t know it was formal.”

Mason’s daughters sniffed and looked away. The younger man continued to stare at her. The lawyer—Brandon Right was printed in gold leaf on the nameplate at the front of his desk—averted his gaze, cleared his throat, and fiddled with a stack of papers at his elbow.

If she hadn’t closed the door behind her she would have slinked back out and died on the other side of it right on the sidewalk. She was never one for knowing what to wear for which occasion. The leftover Kung Pao chicken she’d had for breakfast started pecking away at her insides.

Brandon Right stood up, gesturing to an empty chair at the side of his desk with an upturned palm. “You look fine,” he said, his voice projecting the same level of reserve his eyes held. "Please, have a seat."

The two women mumbled something under their breath in unison.

Mr. Right ignored them.

Candy wanted to smack them.

Whispering her thanks, Candy scooted past the three observers and took the chair to the right of the desk. When she sat down she felt somewhat better at not being on display.

A look at the man behind the desk, however, showed he was eyeing her hat and sunglasses. Faster than lightning she reached up, plucked the hat off her head, glasses off her nose, and rested them on her lap along with her purse. Mr. Right’s eyes widened, and she figured her hair was in its usual state of total chaos. This was not a good time to be fiddling with it, so she figured it would just have to stay in wild disorder.

Candy swallowed hard, eager for this to be over with.

BRANDON TRIED TEARING his gaze from the electrifying woman at his side, but found it impossible. She radiated so much ... life. Her perfume entered his office three feet before she did, and her attire was just as energetic as the aura she projected. Not that he believed in or knew anything about auras. The body clothed beneath the second-skin dress was petite and gently curved.

The eyes that had been hiding behind a cheap pair of dark glasses turned out to be a shocking deep-violet color. Had to be contacts, he mused, knowing such a natural eye color couldn’t possibly exist. They contrasted perfectly against her caramel colored skin. His mind wandered over various ethnic combinations that would create such striking features.

And that hair! There must be five pounds of black curls falling to her shoulders. Brandon no longer wondered why Stoneworth had found her to be such good company. In fact, she had probably kept him going a lot longer than the doctors and their various prescriptions had. Just looking at her had his own heart beating double-time and an erection springing to life. Imagine what she could have done for an eighty-two-year-old man! Although he knew their relationship had been purely platonic, that was the last thing going through his mind.

Heat swam to Brandon’s face as he realized the direction of his out of line thoughts. He also realized that he was staring at her—and everyone else in the room was staring at him.

He tamped down his libido, angry with himself for allowing desire for a stranger to surface. Reshuffling the papers on his desk, he gave a cough to clear his constricted throat. “Now that we’re all here,” he looked at each person in turn, giving a slight nod of his head, “Ms. Sawyer, Mrs. Pembrose, Mr. Pembrose, Miss Garland, we can read the will.”

A hush fell over the small room as he extracted a pair of wire framed reading glasses from the pocket of his dress shirt and slipped them on. “I, Mason Stoneworth, being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath my Beverly Hills estate and the sum of my net worth to...”

Everybody sat up at attention. The crying jag Mrs. Pembrose had been so convincingly sharing with everyone in the room stopped. Miss Garland looked confused, her feathery black brows bent in a small frown. “To Miss Candy Garland for being the only person who was there for me in my final years.”

Three gasps in quick concession came from Stoneworth’s family members. Miss Garland blinked several times as if waking from a dream. She looked more bewildered than ecstatic about the prospect of receiving such a huge fortune.

Brandon prided himself on the accuracy of his gut instinct. It came with the territory of being a lawyer. Like a sixth sense, he could sum people up in less than thirty seconds. Though Miss Garland was boisterous in her attire, he seriously doubted she was the gold digger Stoneworth’s family had accused her of being.

“But—why me?” Miss Garland was the first to speak, eyes wide, a slim hand held over her chest.

“Yes!” Ms. Sawyer exclaimed. “Why her? She’s not even blood related.” She bunched her hands into fists as she sat perched on the edge of her chair, looking ready to punch the woman who stood in the way of receiving her share of her father’s fortune.

“Mr. Stoneworth stated that she was a friendly, dependable companion in his time of need.” Brandon used his most professional tone, though he felt like tossing the two women and the panting young man out on their asses. He, too, had been close to Stoneworth and was aware of everything his family had done. Or, more precisely, what they hadn’t done.

“I’ll just bet,” Ms. Sawyer shot back. “How did he die, Miss Garland?” She leaned forward, an acrid smile on her collagen-injected lips as she glared at the other woman. “Perhaps you were too friendly for such an old man. If you know what I mean.”

“I object!” Miss Garland sprang to her feet, knocking her hat, sun glasses and purse to the floor.

“Miss Garland, this isn’t a courtroom, and I’m not a judge.” Brandon picked up the items and placed them on her lap when she sat back down, taking an appreciative glance of her bare legs as he did so. He quickly tore his gaze away, eyeing the other woman who’d made the comment. “Please keep your remarks to yourself.”

The woman sniffed, hiking her chin up.

“Regardless of anyone’s feelings or opinions, Miss Garland is the sole recipient of Mr. Stoneworth’s estate.” He removed his glasses, set them on the blotter before him then held up a forefinger. “With one stipulation.”

The room became silent. Nobody breathed as he leaned back in his leather chair, hands laced lightly over his chest as he spoke once more. “Miss Garland.” He looked at her. “It seems that Mason Stoneworth cared a great deal about you and was concerned for your future. So much so in fact, that for you to receive his Beverly Hills home and very generous bank account, you must find a husband within three weeks of the reading of the will or all assets are to be divided equally between his relatives.”

All heads turned back to Candy who was plucking the silk daisies from her hat. “A ... husband?”

Once Stoneworth’s relatives realized they were left nothing, they got up to leave, David Pembrose tagging along after his mother like a docile hound dog. Mrs. Pembrose stuck her purse under her arm and gave a...