Page 25

Vanessa’s at the desk with the phone pressed to her ear, pen scribbling something in the day planner she bought. She looks up at the two of us filling her doorway and doesn’t drop a stroke. Smiles a greeting as she finishes the call.

“The twenty-eighth’s fine, I’ll have him sign it and send it back today. Thanks, Denise.” She ends the call and is on her feet with her hand out before my mother’s got both sensible shoes across the threshold.

“Hi. I’m Vanessa Daniels, I run the office. How can I help you? Oh, wait a minute. Those eyes…?”

So I stand in the office door going half-hard while my office manager charms the woman who raised me.

My mother takes the hand in both of hers and lights up like the power just came back on.

“Nora Cole. You say you run the office?”

“I do.”

“You. Run. The office. And this isn’t your first and last day?”

“That’s the third time somebody’s said it in that exact voice since I started,” Vanessa admits in a stage whisper, darting a glance at me.

“It’s only that my son’s emptied that chair four times since spring, and the last girl-”

“Didn’t make it to Friday. I heard.” Vanessa nods, face grave.

My mother laughs. The real one that I’ve barely heard since my father died, and the whole afternoon slides out of my hands as I realize these two are bonding and will undoubtedly be ganging up on me every opportunity they get.

Good thing Vanessa won’t be around that much longer.

Then the day gets even worse, because Whitmore picks that moment to come up the ramp.

He’s got the big Sea Ray yacht on the guest dock and a bill he’s in no rush to pay. He comes striding up with his sunglasses shoved into thick silver hair, tanned like every day’s a Saturday to him.

“There’s the person I’ve been looking forward to seeing.” Very clearly not addressed to me.

He walks past me like I’m not standing there, plants both hands on the office doorframe, leans in and aims the smile that says he’s already working an angle.

“Got your message about the haul-out. You said to come and find you.”

“I actually said call the office, but lucky for you, Aiden’s here.” She doesn’t stand up for him. I notice that. I notice it a lot.

“Tell you what.” He taps the frame. “Come down and see her yourself. I’ll open a bottle of Moet, you can have the grand tour and tell me what she needs. It would probably be best if we take her out on the water so you can get a proper feel for her. We’ll make an afternoon of-”

“She’s working,” I say brusquely, pushing past him.

I cross the room and step behind the desk, planting myself at her shoulder, close enough that Whitmore’s eyes go from her to me and back and then turns disappointed.

“Ah.” He comes off the doorframe, smile turning social. “Didn’t realize her husband kept the schedule. You’re a lucky man, Aiden.”

Nobody corrects him.

Husband. The word sits down in the middle of my office and makes itself comfortable. I look at the side of her face, and she’s got the customer smile bolted on, watching Whitmore, letting it stand.

So I let it stand.

Behind me, my mother makes a small, delighted sound and passes it off as a cough. I’ll have to make sure she doesn’t go and get any funny ideas.

Whitmore takes his wrong assumption and his haul-out date back down the ramp. I’ve still got one hand flat on Vanessa’s desk like I’m keeping it from blowing away.

My mother waits until the linen shirt’s out of hearing range.

“Right.” She’s wearing her stubborn expression. “I’m taking the two of you to lunch.”