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Marin looked up at the shift in subject, brows scrunched. “Unpacking more boxes, why?”
“I’ve got an idea. There may be a way to tackle this issue guerrilla style.”
“Uh . . .”
His phone vibrated in his pocket and he checked the screen. An appointment reminder for his weekly call with the private investigator he’d hired to work on his parents’ case. He stood to get his things. “Look, I’ve got a few things to take care of this afternoon but can you meet me by the east side fountains around seven? I’ll explain more then.”
“Explain more about what?”
He headed toward the door, his mind already formulating a plan. A risky one. But a plan nonetheless. “Just trust me, okay? I think I have a way to help.”
She frowned for a moment, and he thought she was going to refuse, but then she stood and shrugged. “Sure, whatever you say, boss.”
“I’m not your boss.” The words came out sharper than he intended them to.
Her brows arched. “O-kay, mentor. Does it matter?”
“Yeah. It does.” He stopped in the doorway, his hand braced on it and peered back at her. “I can’t be your boss. Because if what I have in mind is going to work, it’s going to have to be strictly off the clock and off the record.”
Her eyes widened. “Donovan . . .”
He tapped the doorframe. “See you at seven, Rush.”
13
Off the clock. Marin wiped down the kitchen counter, trying to channel her nervous energy into something productive, but she ended up cleaning the same spot three times. Since she’d gotten home, she hadn’t been able to get her impending meeting with Donovan out of her mind. She had no idea what he had planned or why they had to meet after hours to accomplish it, but it had her thoughts drifting down all kinds of curving paths. Dangerous paths with Keep Out signs and flashing barricades across them. What could be so covert?
It’s not like he’d made a pass at her. He’d been nothing but professional today. And the way he’d raced out this afternoon after their last session, she was pretty sure he’d been heading out to meet up with someone—probably a woman. The thought niggled. But she told herself that if he had a girlfriend, that’d be a good thing. That would help her keep all stray thoughts about him out of her head. The last thing she needed was a resurgence of her crush on Donovan West. It’d gotten her in trouble last time. This time it could mean her job. Or his.
No thanks.
At least Nathan had been in a better mood when he’d gotten home. He’d landed a job at a late-night cafe that featured musicians and sold local art. It didn’t pay much, but he said the place was “cool” and that he wouldn’t have to wake up early. Apparently, these two things were of vital importance. The free coffee he’d get was a bonus.
She’d thrown together some dinner, and they’d eaten while he rattled on about what he’d seen in the city today. He was polite enough to ask her how her day went, but she had no idea what to tell him. How had it gone? The whole day had been fascinating but also stressful and strange. She hated feeling so damn incompetent. For the last few years at the university, her role had been like a second skin. People came to her for advice. She was the expert. The girl with the answers. Or at least the girl who knew how to find the answers. Now she was the novice in the corner, the interloper the clients didn’t want in the room. The girl who felt awkward anytime someone started talking about sex.
So she’d told Nate that the day had been “fine.” Sure. Whatever.
After dinner, she informed him she was going to meet with a few new colleagues. She almost wanted him to talk her out of it or make her feel guilty for leaving him alone. Then she’d have a good excuse to cancel on Donovan. But Nate had shrugged and said he planned to play Halo with Henry for the night and that he’d see her in the morning.
With no other excuses to hold her back, she changed into more casual clothes, slipped on her shoes, and headed out. Here goes nothing.
By the time she found her way to the large fountain, the sun was on its way to setting and the cicadas were playing their distinct songs, like a stiff wind rattling through reeds. Donovan was already there, flipping through a stack of stapled papers. He’d changed from his slacks and dress shirt into jeans and a pale blue T-shirt. Without the formal clothing and with his dark hair mussed from the breeze, he looked so close to the boy she used to obsess over that it took her breath for a second. She found herself standing there for too long just taking him in.
Donovan looked up after a while, apparently sensing he was no longer alone, and smiled when he saw her. “I didn’t hear you walk up.”
She raised a finger toward the trees. “The quiet night is not so quiet.”
He tucked his papers into a bag by his feet. “Yeah, the cicadas are in mating season. It can get deafening at this time of night. But one of the groundskeepers told me that this species only comes out from underground every thirteen years, so we’re witnessing a rare event.”
“One big bug orgy, huh?”
“So it seems.” He patted the bench. “I find it calming. Makes me want to sit on a porch and drink sweet tea while whittling wood or something.”
She laughed and took the spot on the other end of the bench, turning her body slightly toward him. “Sorry. No wood to whittle and I forgot to bring the sweet tea.”
“No worries.” He reached down and dipped his hand into his bag. He pulled out a bottle of red wine. “I brought reinforcements.”
She lifted a brow. “A little stronger than tea.”
