Page 44 of His Daughter

I tilted my head. "You reviewed a forty-page financial summary in thirty minutes?"

"The numbers are clean. Revenue figures match the public filings. Subscriber data is consistent with the platform's reported metrics." He paused. "It checks out."

I frowned. "That was fast. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He met my eyes. "It checks out, Mr. Hale."

Something about the speed of it nagged at me, but Graham had been at my side for a decade. If he said it was clean, it was clean.

The penthouse was quiet when I got home. The lights were dimmed. The kitchen smelled like the roasted chicken Mrs. Parrish made.

Thea was on the couch.

Lena was asleep on her chest. Thea was reading with one hand — another romance novel, bright cover, seemed like a different one from the nursery. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her legs tucked beneath her. She was wearing leggings and an oversized T-shirt.

I stopped in the hallway. I'd seen her hair down once before. In my bed. The night I pulled the pin, and her curls fell past her shoulders. The memory of it was so immediate that my hand tightened on my briefcase strap.

She turned a page without looking up. "How was the meeting?"

I stiffened for a beat and finally moved. I didn’t know she’d seen me.

"It was work." I set the briefcase down and loosened my tie. I walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of water.

I leaned against the counter. She still hadn't looked up from the book. "I need you at an event tonight."

That got her attention. She looked up. "Why?"

I took a sip of water. "It’s business. I’m required to show up with someone. Will you do me the honor of being that someone?"

She was quiet. “Declan…”

I left the glass on the counter and moved to the living room. “Please. Treat this as a networking event for your nonprofit. You won’t even know I’m there.”

She sighed. "What would I wear?"

"I'll handle that."

"I don't need you to buy me a dress."

"I know, but you’re doing me a favor. It’s the least I could do. I'll have options sent over. You choose. Whatever you don't want goes back." I smiled. "Think of it as a professional courtesy."

"A professional courtesy."

"Between colleagues."

She held my gaze for three seconds. Four. Then she closed the book — her thumb holding the page — and said, "Fine. But I'm wearing whatever shoes I have."

The ballroom was gold and crystal and the soft murmur of money being polite. Chandeliers the size of small cars hung from the ceiling. A string quartet played music that sounded expensive. Waiters in black moved between the tables, carrying trays of champagne that nobody needed, but everybody took.

I was in my element. Black suit. Tailored shirt. I moved through the crowd, greeting, smiling, shaking hands, and remembering names and wives' names and children's names. I checked my watch. Thea should be here any minute. Her makeup ran late, and Caine had already started calling. So we agreed to meet here.

I was barely paying attention to the conversation one of the guests had dragged me into.

When Thea walked in, I stopped moving.

The dress was midnight blue. It was the one I thought she'd choose — simple, floor-length, fitted through the waist with a low neckline. She'd done her hair up, with the same stray curl at her temple.

No other jewelry except gold studs in her ears and red lipstick. She looked like herself, which was, as always, the most devastating thing about her.