Page 171 of A Convenient Secret

“Why don’t you work behind the desk?”

She sighs, like she’s faced with an annoying child who keeps asking questions. “It’s my father’s desk.”

“Technically, it’s your father’s job, and you’re slaying it. Don’t hide in the corner, Seagull. It doesn’t suit you.”

She opens her mouth, ready to argue, but then she gives up. A hint of vulnerability flashes through her face. “You don’t know if I’m slaying it.”

“I do. I make a lot of money sniffing problems in a company, and your appointment didn’t cause any concerns. The share price confirms that.”

She closes her eyes and leans back. She looks exhausted. Fuck, I wish I could take some of her load.

“It’s exhausting. I’m so worried I’ll make a wrong step, I want to throw up half of the time.” She looks at me, and the overwhelming need to fix everything for her rams through me like a freight train.

But she doesn’t need me to fix things for her. She might have been forced into shoes that don’t yet fit, but she will fill them just fine.

“It means you care, Seagull.”

She chuckles humorlessly. “Care about not making a fool of myself.”

“Can I take you out for lunch?”

My own words surprise me. That’s not what I came for. I planned to explain how I see our future, but suddenly it feels essential to spend time with her, sharing a meal.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Let me change your mind.”

She closes her eyes. “Okay, let’s go. Where are you taking me?”

If only I knew. “It’s your city; you choose.”

She stands up, studying me. “Have you just invited me for lunch without having reservations?”

I shrug.

“You didn’t plan this?”

I shrug again, and the corner of her lip twitches.

“Are you about to do something spontaneous?”

“A very smart person told me once that it’s good to try sometimes.” I turn to the door. “Now let’s go, because we’ll be late.”

“You said you have no reservations.” She grabs her purse.

“We still need to eat at noon.”

She laughs, and a bit of my uprooted life rearranges itself back into place.

“Where are we going?” Lily asks for the fifth time, this time not hiding her annoyance.

“We’re here.”

She looks around the street, and then up at the white stucco house. “What’s here?”

The door opens. “Mr. Quinn.”

I lightly touch Lily’s back to usher her up the few stairs. “Jonathan, this is my wife. Lily, Jonathan is showing us this house.”