Mad Dog (Nowhere, USA Book 2) by Ninie Hammon

Mad Dog (Nowhere, USA Book 2) by Ninie Hammon

Author:Ninie Hammon [Hammon, Ninie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Sterling & Stone
Published: 2020-10-05T22:00:00+00:00


She has never dated a black man. In actual point of fact there’d been only a handful of African Americans in all of Nowhere County when she was growing up. Stuart McClintock’s skin is a beautiful color dark, but not black-as-a-piece-of-coal dark.

She had met him in the elevator of the Hitchcock Building. They were alone, side by side, observing elevator etiquette, looking resolutely at the numbers slowly changing and not at each other. But no way could she miss how good-looking he was. His face was perfect, looked like it’d been molded from a statue in the public square in Rome. And his somewhere-way-north of six feet height made him a “presence,” even in the subdued tones of his immaculate business suit.

The doors open on his floor and in front of them is a suite of offices: Sawyer, Cohen, Hampton, Levine, Blackledge, and McClintock, Attorneys at Law.

“Is it true that the more names there are on the door of a law office, the more the attorneys charge per hour?” She can’t believe she’s said it, had thought it and out her mouth the words fell. A horrible breach of elevator decorum.

He doesn’t seem to mind, though. Smiles. A warm, friendly, disarming smile.

“Absolutely true, but it’s in descending order,” he says, his voice a pleasant baritone. “The first name gets to charge a gazillion dollars an hour, the second name only half a gazillion. I’m Stuart McClintock.” He extends his hand and she shakes it. “I get to charge a buck-two-ninety-eight.”

That’s how it starts.

After that chance encounter, Charlie goes way more than is necessary to the offices of her publisher in the Hitchcock Building, but after half a dozen visits, she gives up on ever “accidentally” running into him again.

When her phone rings a couple of weeks later, she instantly recognizes the baritone.

“Remember me, the pitiful little attorney at the end of the name game?” There was nothing either pitiful or little about Stuart McClintock. “I tracked you down through the receptionist at Hanover Publishing. She’s become my new best friend, and she could get fired for giving me your number so please take pity on her. I had to give her a coupon for full legal services for the rest of her life as a bribe.” He took a breath. “The thing is, if I got frequent flyer miles for riding up and down in an elevator hoping to run into you, I could exchange them for a ticket to Barundi. Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

Light and airy and funny. That first dinner, she had been fascinated by his hands, told him he had beautiful hands, long slender fingers. She mostly knew coal miners, she said. Their hands were imbedded with a black that’d never wash off, were scarred or missing key digits.

And she’d been gratified by his response when he discovered that Charlie Ryan was the famous C.R.R. Underhill. He loved the books, didn’t care if they were for children, he’d read them all.

Oh, they dated



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