Page 110 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

Beatrice’s mouth twitched. “You’ll be fine.”

“People keep saying that.”

“They’re not wrong.”

Before I could decide whether that was comfort, the office door opened, and Helena Wallace stood there.

She was in a cream suit this morning, her silver hair twisted into a low knot, one hand wrapped around a mug of tea. She looked composed enough to make the rest of us seem like we had been assembled from spare parts.

“Quinn,” she said. “Come in.”

She’d used my name. Not Intern. Not Ms. Bradley. Quinn.

Palms suddenly sweaty, I stepped inside.

Her office had a view of the city, and it was so ordered, no object would dare exist there without purpose. A slim file lay open on her desk. The Virelli matter. I recognized the tab color immediately because I’d made the labels.

Helena closed the door behind me and crossed to her desk. “Sit.”

I sat.

She didn’t.

“I spoke with Mr. Payton this morning,” she said. “He spoke with Mr. Virelli late last night.”

My lungs considered resigning.

Helena watched my face carefully, which made me aware of every facial muscle I possessed.

“Mr. Virelli was very clear,” she continued. “The Friday meeting with Dr. Sorel exists because of your performance at the gala.”

My cheeks heated. “Mrs. Sorel facilitated the introduction. Max helped.”

“Max is the dog?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure he was invaluable.”

“He was wearing a tie.”

For one terrifying second, silence filled the room. Then Helena’s mouth moved at one corner. Not a smile. More like the idea of one had passed through and left a note. “I’ve heard.”

I pressed my lips together.

Helena set her mug down. “You took initiative in a difficult social environment. You identified an alternate path to the decision-maker. You communicated the client’s position in terms the museum’s representatives could hear. And, crucially, you didn’t overstate our legal posture.”

She sat at last, steepling her hands on the desk. “Many young attorneys confuse aggression with advocacy. You didn’t.”

The praise hit so cleanly I had to grip the edge of my notebook, which was unfortunate because I didn’t remember bringing it with me. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Ah. There it was. Weather warning upgraded.

Helena leaned back slightly. “You did very well, but that doesn’t mean you’re free to improvise without guardrails.”

“I understand.”