me to be at the office?” she asked, starting off toward her bedroom to find something to wear.
“If it’s all right with you, I’ll swing by and pick you up at your place. How does six a.m. sound?”
Early, she thought, grimacing. “Sounds great.”
“Liar.” His voice lilted, tipping her equilibrium. Was he…teasing her? She could feel the force of his smile in her stomach. “I’ll need to brief you before the first meeting,” he continued. “I thought we’d get to town, have some breakfast, and go over the details then.”
“I’ll be ready,” she promised, hoping she could sit across the table from this man for a second time and not lose her cool. Not that she was all that cool to begin with.
“Great, see you then.” Then he added, “Sweet dreams.”
He hung up and Crickitt stared at her phone until the light went out.
Sweet dreams? If she managed to sleep at all.
Chapter 8
F our a.m. was early. “Stupid early,” as her dad called it. But Crickitt managed to rise even if she didn’t shine. A cup and a half of coffee later, she was reasonably certain she’d buttoned her shirt properly.
She’d just finished brushing her teeth when a knock came from her front door. She gave her puffy reflection one last glance before swiping a dash of soft pink gloss across her lips and hurrying to get it.
Shane stood on her front porch in the waning moonlight, looking too good for six in the morning. Pressed suit, polished shoes, hair styled in damp waves.
“Good morning.” He flashed her a billionaire-worthy smile, one that had her thankful for the sturdiness of the door frame. “I thought you might need this.” He held out a paper coffee cup, a familiar green logo emblazoned on one side. “I called Keena to find out your regular order. Caramel soy latte with extra whipped cream.”
She accepted the cup, speechless for a second. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, I aim to please,” he said with a grin.
There was a distracting thought. “Um…do you want to come in while I grab my things?”
“Sure.” Shane stepped into her apartment, and she instantly regretted inviting him in. He looked out of place among her secondhand treasures, like a fine work of art at a garage sale.
He followed her into the living room, eyeing her furniture as he sipped his coffee. She tucked the manila folder into her canvas mailbag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”
“No tour?” he asked.
She clutched the strap of her bag, flicking a longing look at her front door. “Oh, you don’t want to see my little place,” she said, intimidated by the idea of showing it to him. She could imagine what his house looked like. He probably lived in a sprawling mansion filled with fine rugs and leather furniture, and art costing a hundred times her salary.
“You don’t want to show it to me?” He picked up a small porcelain chimpanzee covering his eyes with his hands. Gesturing to its mate, a chimpanzee covering his ears, he asked, “Where’s Speak No Evil?”
“Missing,” she said.
“Hmm.” He set the ape back on the shelf. “Have you tried milk cartons?”
There it was again, his playful side. “Not yet,” she said through a soft laugh. “They’re from the seventies, I think. I found the two of them at a thrift store a long time ago, but I have yet to locate the third. I check eBay every once in a while, and yard sales, but”—she shrugged—“no luck.”
“Why not toss them and buy a new, complete set?”
Crickitt lifted her chin. “They’re not worthless just because they’re incomplete.” Besides, they’d been with her for a dozen years, had survived three moves and any clumsy attempt she’d made to dust around them. Which was more than she could say for her ex-husband. She plucked the figurine from Shane’s hand, ignoring the tingle in her fingers as she brushed against his skin. “I’ll find him one day,” she murmured quietly.
Shane took a
“If it’s all right with you, I’ll swing by and pick you up at your place. How does six a.m. sound?”
Early, she thought, grimacing. “Sounds great.”
“Liar.” His voice lilted, tipping her equilibrium. Was he…teasing her? She could feel the force of his smile in her stomach. “I’ll need to brief you before the first meeting,” he continued. “I thought we’d get to town, have some breakfast, and go over the details then.”
“I’ll be ready,” she promised, hoping she could sit across the table from this man for a second time and not lose her cool. Not that she was all that cool to begin with.
“Great, see you then.” Then he added, “Sweet dreams.”
He hung up and Crickitt stared at her phone until the light went out.
Sweet dreams? If she managed to sleep at all.
Chapter 8
F our a.m. was early. “Stupid early,” as her dad called it. But Crickitt managed to rise even if she didn’t shine. A cup and a half of coffee later, she was reasonably certain she’d buttoned her shirt properly.
She’d just finished brushing her teeth when a knock came from her front door. She gave her puffy reflection one last glance before swiping a dash of soft pink gloss across her lips and hurrying to get it.
Shane stood on her front porch in the waning moonlight, looking too good for six in the morning. Pressed suit, polished shoes, hair styled in damp waves.
“Good morning.” He flashed her a billionaire-worthy smile, one that had her thankful for the sturdiness of the door frame. “I thought you might need this.” He held out a paper coffee cup, a familiar green logo emblazoned on one side. “I called Keena to find out your regular order. Caramel soy latte with extra whipped cream.”
She accepted the cup, speechless for a second. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, I aim to please,” he said with a grin.
There was a distracting thought. “Um…do you want to come in while I grab my things?”
“Sure.” Shane stepped into her apartment, and she instantly regretted inviting him in. He looked out of place among her secondhand treasures, like a fine work of art at a garage sale.
He followed her into the living room, eyeing her furniture as he sipped his coffee. She tucked the manila folder into her canvas mailbag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”
“No tour?” he asked.
She clutched the strap of her bag, flicking a longing look at her front door. “Oh, you don’t want to see my little place,” she said, intimidated by the idea of showing it to him. She could imagine what his house looked like. He probably lived in a sprawling mansion filled with fine rugs and leather furniture, and art costing a hundred times her salary.
“You don’t want to show it to me?” He picked up a small porcelain chimpanzee covering his eyes with his hands. Gesturing to its mate, a chimpanzee covering his ears, he asked, “Where’s Speak No Evil?”
“Missing,” she said.
“Hmm.” He set the ape back on the shelf. “Have you tried milk cartons?”
There it was again, his playful side. “Not yet,” she said through a soft laugh. “They’re from the seventies, I think. I found the two of them at a thrift store a long time ago, but I have yet to locate the third. I check eBay every once in a while, and yard sales, but”—she shrugged—“no luck.”
“Why not toss them and buy a new, complete set?”
Crickitt lifted her chin. “They’re not worthless just because they’re incomplete.” Besides, they’d been with her for a dozen years, had survived three moves and any clumsy attempt she’d made to dust around them. Which was more than she could say for her ex-husband. She plucked the figurine from Shane’s hand, ignoring the tingle in her fingers as she brushed against his skin. “I’ll find him one day,” she murmured quietly.
Shane took a
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