Page 33 of Miss Manage

Chapter Eighteen

CHARLOTTE

Idrew in a slow breath, forcing the tension from my shoulders. Vulnerability wasn’t something I handled well. Yesterday had dragged me to a place I didn’t visit often, where my composure slipped, and control was nowhere to be found.

I hated having anyone witness my vulnerability yesterday. Especially not someone who could easily wield it against me. “I’d appreciate your discretion. About…everything yesterday.”

His brows pulled together, irritation flashing across his face. “Why the hell would I tell anyone about it?”

“That’s not what I meant.” My voice softened while my nerves ratcheted. “I just don’t like owing someone.”

Something flickered across his face. A mixture of frustration tangled with understanding. “You don’t owe me anything, Charlotte. You went into shock, which is natural after what you did yesterday. You saved a man’s life. Anyone would’ve needed time to recover, and I wanted to give you space.”

“You did,” I admitted quietly. “I suppose I should simply say thank you and leave it there instead of picking it apart.”

“You should.” His gaze sharpened. “But you’re not.” He tipped his head, a half-smirk curving at his mouth. “You’ve got trust issues.”

My lips tugged faintly, the closest thing to a smile I could muster. “Probably.”

The silence that followed thrummed, alive, charged. Finally, he exhaled and lowered himself into the visitor’s chair, leaning forward as though letting me in on something private. “Yeah, well…so do I. And if the roles were reversed, I’d probably feel the same way right about now.”

The admission hung between us, disarming in its honesty. For the first time since meeting him, it felt like we were standing on the same side.

“And what would you propose if the shoe were on the other foot?”

“Something to make it feel balanced?”

I nodded, pleased he understood.

His eyes narrowed slightly, contemplative. “If I were to ask you a favor, something which helped me, but I wouldn’t want you to go around telling people about it, would it make you feel better? Even the score?”

I arched a brow. “Maybe.”

My skepticism made us both laugh, tension bleeding out of the room. If he knew what type of favor I was picturing, he’d never look at me the same.

“My daughter,” he started, leaning back, his voice softer now. “She has a school paper. She needs to interview a professional woman about what it took to get where she is. When I told her I had a woman as a boss, she asked if she could interview you. If you agreed to do it, then it would mean a lot to her. And…it would help me.”

“Why didn’t you just flat-out ask me?”

We answered in unison: “Trust issues.”

“I don’t like to entwine my personal and professional lives, and asking a favor felt awkward until now.”

I set my pen down. “How would it work?”

“I was thinking a baseball game.”

I couldn’t imagine working on a paper in the stands of a game.

“My father has a suite at Petco Field. Quiet, private. Samantha could do her interview while your son could come and watch the game. Maybe he’d enjoy a Saturday afternoon game?”

Austin lived and breathed baseball. “My son would absolutely love it. If it’s not too much trouble?”

“You’re the one doing me the favor, so no trouble at all.”

“Great.”

“Good.”