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“You’ll figure it out. Don’t push it. You had a highly demanding career; allow yourself to unwind.”

“That’s what Nora Flemming told me.”

He frowns. “The model?”

I nod. “Former model. I met with her to get advice on the transition from the job.”

“That’s smart. I’m sure there are other women like that you can talk to.”

“She offered me a job,” I blurt out.

He raises his eyebrows. “What job?”

I tell him about the opportunity.

“You’d be good at that,” he says simply, like there is no doubt in his mind. It’s an endorsement I didn’t expect.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to take it on.” I look away because I don’t want to disappoint him—the story of my life.

“You will know when you’re ready. Nothing good transpires when we push too hard.”

“You work hard.”

“That’s different. I don’t chase. I allow things to happen, and I’m building a company, and I invest my time where it matters the most. Working hard because something fulfills you and pushing hard to busy yourself are not the same thing.”

“I hardly busy myself.” I snort.

I’m moping around like a lost puppy most days. Tidying up my clothes, organizing my pictures, knitting, browsing, or reading about burnout.

He cocks his head, challenging me.

“Okay, I’ve been busying myself to stop the thoughts.”

“Why don’t you let the thoughts flow instead of quieting them? I know it’s scary to start something new, but avoiding it won’t make you happy.”

“How would you know?” I scoff, mostly because I need to shield myself from his truth. It’s safer.

“Merged is my something new. Before, I only invested in ventures as a silent partner. If something went south, I’d lose money, but nobody would know. Merged is the first company with my name openly attached to it.”

The formidable Cormac Quinn was hiding behind silent investments? It’s not the actual fact that shocks me, but his willingness to share that tidbit with me. Have I worn him down enough so he opens up?

“What made you take the leap, and why would you jeopardize it with your reckless partying?” I probably shouldn’t ask, because talking about himself isn’t ever on the table, but the question slips out before I can stop it.

He looks away, and when his eyes return to me, there is a storm behind them. “My point is, I know something about starting something. You need the idea to come to you, and that won’t happen if you’re distracted by self-pity or noise you create to protect yourself. You might miss what matters if desperation rules you.”

I’m not getting more answers about him. I lost him already, I know. At least for now. But that doesn’t matter, because talking to him has been the best part of my day.

I don’t have to be alone with my own thoughts. I can assess them through his eyes. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m grateful for these unexpected chats.

“I have to go to the office today. I’ll see you at the fundraiser.” He stands up abruptly and marches out of the kitchen. “Eat your lunch before you leave.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Daddy.”

He pokes his head back in, scowling. “Careful.”

His warning is wrapped in desire.

The ginger Persian kitten is super tiny in my hand, curled up, purring softly. I’m almost worried to breathe so I don’t disturb or break it.