"I gotta go now." He clears his throat and I have a suspicion that his eyes aren't exactly dry right now. "I just wanted you to know."
"Go on then." I have to clear my throat to keep talking. "Tell your crew I said hi."
He laughs and hangs up.
I put the phone down.
Jazz is watching me across the table with a question mark on her forehead.
"The piers project came through," I say. "Dad has his contract back."
Jazz reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, once, short and firm.
"This is amazing news," she says, her face breaking into a wide grin.
I check the time and push back from the table.
"I have to get Agatha from the library," I say.
Jazz stands with me. She walks me to the door and hands me the last croissant in a small paper bag, because she's Jazz andshe likes to stuff me with food that I regret later. Well, that's a lie. Who in their right mind could regret Jazz's baking? Not this gal.
"Just be careful with your heart," she says, at the door.
"I'll try."
She hugs me, quick and solid, then holds the door while I go.
The afternoon has gone gold while I was inside, the light going sideways through the oaks on Main Street and making everything look briefly, unreasonably beautiful.
I walk to the Rolls and climb up into it, which is not particularly graceful, and I sit in the driver's seat. I pull out of the parking spot and point the car toward the library.
And I try not to wonder if I'll see Demetrius tonight in the kitchen.
Chapter Eight
Demetrius
Thephoneringsatexactly the wrong moment.
I have papers spread across the entirety of Cornelius's old desk, and I am deep in a line-by-line of the Windemere asset transfer schedule that has required every functioningneuron I own. There is coffee going cold at my elbow. There are three separate memos from Patel I haven't answered yet because Patel, bless his efficient soul, has decided that more communication is always more helpful.
I am, in short, a man buried by work.
"Yeah." I nearly shout into the receiver.
"Mr. Thornwood. I hope I'm not interrupting."
Gertrude's voice is startled and high-pitched and I immediately regret my impulsiveness. I'm not normally quick-tempered, but this deal has me all in knots.
"You're never interrupting, Gertrude." This is true. Gertrude calling means something has happened that requires my attention. She never calls when something doesn't require my attention. She is constitutionally incapable of wasting my time. It's one of the things I respect about her. "What is it?"
"I have Hartley on hold." A pause, precise as a period. "He says it's the Windemere agreement."
Of course it is. He's one of my best lawyers and the one I put in charge of the Windemere acquisition legal team.
I put down my pen. "Put him through."
The line goes quiet, then Hartley's voice comes through. James Hartley has been my corporate counsel for nine years. He is an elf with the cadence of a tenured professor delivering bad news to undergraduates, which is to say he never uses one word when four will do, and he never delivers the problem before he has delivered the extensive, fully annotated preamble.
