Page 98 of Dying to Meet You

And God help her, but she likes the strangely broken sound of his moan. Like he can’t stop himself.

She feels the balance of power tip a little in her favor.

37

Rowan

Martha Bean estimated that Harrison’s hearing would occur between ten a.m. and noon. But now it’s twelve thirty, and the only texts I’ve received are frantic ones from Natalie.

Natalie: What happened? Is it bad that they haven’t texted to say that he’s out?

I suspect that it’s not a good sign, but I reply with:

Rowan: I have no idea. I’m sorry.

My phone rings, and my heart does a somersault as the incoming call notification resolves onto the screen.

It’s not the lawyer, though. It’s Hank. And even though I’m distracted, I can’t afford to blow him off. “This is Rowan Gallagher,” I say in the calmest voice I can. “Hank?”

“Hey there, Rowan,” he says. And unless I’m crazy, his voice is a little cool. “Sorry about our meeting on Friday. I got your file, and I’ll read it tonight.”

“It’s no problem. Would you like to reschedule?”

“How about this Friday? I’ll move some things around. I know you need to line up your suppliers.”

“Thank you,” I say, wondering at how smoothly he made it sound like he was doing me a favor.

“I heard you needed a peek at the old floor plans. Is there some hiccup I should know about?”

My heart spasms. “Nope. I was just having deep thoughts about theoriginal placement of the lighting fixtures. Thought I’d take one more look while I was there.”

Am I crazy? Or is there a tense silence? “All right. Glad to hear it. We’ll do the budget meeting on Friday at twelve thirty. And I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, as well.”

“Tomorrow.” I draw a blank. “Tuesday?”

Another weird pause. “The Historical Commission dinner.”

The dinner. Oh shit!“Of course!” I say quickly. “My brain was on meetings. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Excellent,” he says. “Now I’d better run.”

“Absolutely. Me too.”

The call ends, and my muscles go limp. It’s a good thing the lawyer didn’t call when I was talking with Hank. That would’ve been a great way to pause a conversation with my boss.I’ve got to run and pick up a murder suspect from jail.

“Was that Hank?” Beatrice asks from her desk, where she’s clicking away on her laptop. “What did he want?”

“He rescheduled my budget meeting for Friday.” I scrub my forehead with one hand. “And he reminded me that he and I are going to some Historical Commission thing tomorrow night.”

Beatrice stops typing and turns to me with a grin. “Wait, are you hisdatefor the dinner?”

I answer carefully. “Only for work purposes. He thought I could help him fend off pointed questions about the new construction plans out back.”

“Uh-huh.” Her grin widens. “Hank never has just one angle, though. What are you wearing?”

“Um...” My mind blanks. Not only do I have no idea, but her reaction is a little strange. I’ve always thought Beatrice might have a thing for Hank. I wonder if she secretly hates that he invited me to this thing, and not her.

“It’s kind of dressy,” she says, turning back to her laptop. “I went last year. The doyennes of Portland like any excuse to get fancy.”