Page 108 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

I frowned. “What?”

“That museum has ghosted us for weeks.”

“I know.”

“Helena sent two letters. Helena!”

“I know.”

“Cressler called their office five times and never got past Elaine. I’m pretty sure he’s still taking it personally.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“And you got her in a room.”

“Technically, her wife got her in an alcove. Max provided moral support. I said some words in what I hope was the correct order.”

Moira stared at me for one beat too long.

I shifted my tote higher. “Please don’t look at me like that. I slept badly and my mascara is hanging on by a thread.”

“You aren’t allowed to minimize this.”

“I’m not minimizing it. I’m accurately sizing.” I glanced toward the hall, where two associates were trying not to look like they were listening. “It’s not like I got them to return the sword. It’s an open door. A very promising open door—but still just a door.”

“After this case, I never want to hear you say door again.”

“Done.”

Moira’s smile broke through, bright and proud, and for a second, the floor under my feet felt less like a treadmill. Moira had been the first person at the firm to treat me like my brain had arrived with the rest of me. She noticed when I improved a process and asked what I thought before the partners remembered I could think. Her approval mattered to me.

“You did good,” she said.

My heart gave a small, treacherous squeeze. “Thank you.”

“Seriously, Quinn. This is the work. This. Not getting coffee or running errands. And you’re doing the damn thing.”

I wanted to absorb that like sunlight. Then the copy room printer jammed behind us with a loud, accusatory clunk.

Neither of us moved.

Moira looked at it. “Someone else can suffer.”

“That’s growth.”

“For both of us.”

I almost smiled, then noticed her expression became more businesslike.

“What?” I asked.

“Helena wants to see you.”

My stomach dropped, and it had nothing to do with my need for coffee.

“Helena,” I repeated.

“Yes.”