I tossed my duffel on the bed and stood in the middle of the living room, hands on my hips, waiting for the sense of relief I’d always felt coming home from a job.
It didn’t come.
For the next few days, I ordered takeout Chinese food and ate alone. I watched a movie alone and went to bed in a house alone.
Come Monday morning, I went to the office.
It was a large building that sat between its twin and a yoga studio. The sign on the frosted glass door felt wrong. Reaper’s name itself wasn’t on it, but his fingerprints were in every account.
“Look what the goat dragged in,” Reaper drawled from his desk when I walked in. His hair was cut short. Same white shirt buttoned all the way up, a jacket with patched elbows. Screens glowed around him. Through the whole trip, I’d spoken to him about Milly and the ranch, but seeing him behind a desk in asuit instead of his Navy uniform, the one I saw in my nightmares from that night, made me laugh.
I hung my coat on the rack by the door.
He gave me a once-over. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean, you still sound like you, but you look all wrong,” he said, squinting. “Haunted.”
“If you’re flirting with me,” I said, batting my eyes.
Reaper might be my boss, but he was also my CO in the Navy. He’d seen me at my best and my worst. When I left the Navy, he offered me a job. He helped me rebuild my life. I’d gone to school for accounting and estate accounting before and during the Navy. I just never thought I’d have to fall back on it. Reaper gave me that fresh start.
“Maybe,” he joked. “But I have an HR training video that says no.”
Behind him, my office waited, desk, chair, files stacked in neat piles. It had once been the center of my universe.
“I honestly thought you’d come back within a week,” Reaper said.
“You have very little faith in me.” I sat in the chair opposite his desk.
“Oh, I have tons of faith,” he countered. “But when you brought up an asset named Milly, I had second thoughts. Now, after seeing you, I’m not sure what to think.”
Harris looked up from his cluttered desk when he heard me. Late forties, old money, and not coldhearted enough to be the bad guy in the courtroom, but his eyes missed nothing.
“Adams,” he said, gripping my hand. “You look like you got run through a combine.”
“Close,” I laughed. “Montana. It’ll do that.”
He sat in a chair next to me. “How’s the ranch?”
“On fire,” I said automatically, then corrected myself. “Was. Past tense. It’s… rebuilding. Pole barn went up. Clinic opens tomorrow.”
“And the account?” he asked.
I thought of Milly on the porch, the way her voice had wobbled when I told her I was leaving. “She’s… good,” I said. “Strong. Stubborn. Browne already filed the paperwork.”
He nodded slowly. “I meant the estate.”
Right. The numbers.
“It’s solid,” I said, shifting gears in my head. “Penny’s planning was airtight. Once Browne executed the addendum, everything ran smoothly. No hidden liabilities. Investments are stable. Land’s clear. A couple of small accounts we’ll need to monitor for residual activity, but nothing to report otherwise.” I smiled absently, remembering Milly’s attempt at organizing. Colored tabs. Color-coded highlighters and corresponding color-coded pens. It was a mess.
Reaper huffed a laugh. Harris’s mouth twitched.
“And you?” Harris asked.
“Me what?” I said.
