Page 101

Then came the more di cult task. Opening a file on her computer, Libb

y printed the name and address of every currently active client. One by one, she wrote each of them a

note asking them to stick with her despite the disclosure they’d soon learn about. She promised to make herself available to address any concerns they might have and encouraged them to call the o ce and make an appointment next week to talk in person.

Hours later, she had a tall stack of envelopes to deliver. As she turned out the light in her o ce, she had the nagging fear it wouldn’t be hers forever. As Libby took the elevator to the basement, she expected to be the only person in the garage. After midnight on Saturday, the only people around were some of the law o ces, but even their spots had been empty when she pulled in.

When she saw Reagan’s orange pickup truck parked on the other side of the closed gate, she immediately guessed something terrible had happened.

“What are you doing here?” Libby asked as she approached the gate.

Reagan was sitting in her driver’s seat with the window rolled down and apparently half asleep. Clearing her throat as she sat up, Reagan rubbed her eyes. “Waiting for you, obviously.”

“Obviously,” she echoed with a soft smile.

“Come on, get in. I’m sure you’re exhausted as hell. No reason for you to drive home alone.”

“How are you this thoughtful?”

“I don’t know, but it’s a terrible habit I’ve been trying to break.” She smirked as she responded in what had become a customary exchange. “Are we going to stand here all night or are you going home?”

Libby cocked her head to one side. “Well that all depends, doesn’t it?”

Reagan quirked a dark brow made even darker by her blonde hair. “On?”

“On whether you mean your home or mine.”

“They’re both yours,” Reagan replied before motioning for her to get in.

“Then to the pottery it is,” she decided before holding her access card up to the little black box to open the gate so she could slip out and leave the crushing weight of fear behind.

C H A P T E R 3 7

WAKING up in Reagan’s arms with her phone switched o was the first time since Libby was a child that she’d been free of crippling pressure and expectations. The light streaming in from the studio’s high, cloudy windows was as beautiful as ancient stained glass. Everything was full of hope and possibility. She turned on her side to look at Reagan. Angelic in the soft light.

Libby wondered how di erent everything would have been if Janice hadn’t sent her over. Devoid of other options, Libby would have chosen one of the acceptable guys whose headshots she’d taped to her conference room windows.

Where would I be now?

Brushing blonde hair out of Reagan’s sleeping face, Libby’s heart jumped. She couldn’t remember whether she truly believed in destiny before Reagan, but she had no doubt about its existence now. There would’ve been no other way for them to cross paths without conspiratorial fates.

At her touch, Reagan’s eyes fluttered open. “Everything okay?” she murmured groggily.

“Mm hmm,” she replied, placing soft kisses on her throat.

“Don’t leave me another hickey. I can’t throw pots while wearing a turtleneck,” she grumbled, running her hands

along Libby’s nude back.

“Or . . . I can promise to leave it somewhere below your neckline,” she countered.

Reagan squirmed in approval. “I didn’t know you had such an animalistic need to mark me.”

Libby continued sliding down Reagan’s body. Judging from the strength of her desire, she’d been dreaming about wanting her.

“I have a lot of needs,” Libby replied as she slipped between her thighs, wrapping her arms around them like Reagan had done to her. She’d read some articles about techniques for doing this, but she figured there was no replacing practical experience.

“Then I guess I have to do my best to meet them,” she replied, her hips digging into the mattress before Libby had even touched her.