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CHAPTER TWELVE
Pondering the likelihood that I just happened to show up at the right time and at the right place as unlikely, but possible, I remind myself that’s exactly how I got the job at Riptide. Dismissing my weird vibe about this job and the other Allison, at least for now, I walk to the coffee bar and order a latte, a cinnamon mocha that is a house specialty, apparently. A few minutes later, I’m sipping a truly delicious drink when I settle behind my desk. I open the drawer and pull out the red envelope. Inside I find two airline tickets to Italy, with dates that have passed. There’s a note that reads: We need this. That’s all. There’s no signature. There was no signature on the card with the necklace, either. Maybe this explains where Allison is right now. Maybe she went to Italy. She wouldn’t need the paper tickets. And yet, the dates for the travel are mid-August. It’s October 11th today and everyone seems to speak of Allison’s departure as more recent. And besides, would she really leave the auction in limbo for a trip with a lover?
I guess some people might, right? I’m just not one of those people. Yes, I left the museum without notice, but the truth is, my job there wasn’t something that required a special knowledge of art or collectibles. It was just something to keep me from focusing on my mother’s mortality. And the fact that my role wasn’t huge is exactly why my supervisor easily let me go for the Hawk Legal job, with nothing more than a Saturday morning good luck email. Even so, I emailed her back an offer to help on the side. She declined. And that was for a job that was not a big deal. The auction isn’t just about Hawk Legal. It’s about a charity event to help other people.
There’s a shift in the air, and I look up to find Tyler Hawk standing in the doorway. I inhale slightly, taken aback by just how good-looking my new boss actually is, not sure why I haven’t truly acknowledged that fact until now. He’s tall and handsome personified, in a dark blue suit fitted to his athletic body. There is no question that Tyler Hawk screams power, money, and demand.
And I’m not sure how long he’s been standing there, watching me. Too long, I decide. “Hi,” I say, sliding the tickets back into the envelope, and shoving it under the folder. “I’m here, but you know that, right?” I cringe with the stupid rambling, trying to tell myself that most people find it more charming than stupid, but he’s staring at me with hooded eyes, and somehow, I don’t think Tyler Hawk is one of those people.
“I see you found the coffee bar,” he comments. “I hope we’re up to Riptide standards?”
“Oh yes,” I assure him quickly. “The restaurant, the office, it’s all wonderful.” I settle my hand on the file. “I’m about to dig into Allison’s work. Is there anything I should know?”
“Read the file, and then we’ll talk,” he replies.
“Am I allowed to contact the clients and introduce myself?”
He walks into the office, toward me, and I push to my feet. We end up face to face with the desk between us. Well, as face to face as we can be with him towering over me. “Are you going to pitch them Riptide?” he asks softly, a challenge in his words, his blue eyes, so unlike Dash’s in their sharpness, their darkness, steady on my face, watching my reaction—looking for a reason to send me packing.
I could bristle at the question, but I don’t. Instead, I say, “I understand that any high-profile client represents money for your firm. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your business. And while I also understand that you fear my loyalty is with Riptide, not Hawk Legal, I can assure you that I’m motivated to build allies, not enemies. And—” I hesitate to get too personal.
He seizes on my hesitation. “And what, Ms. Wright?”
I could hold back, the way I could have bristled at his last question, and perhaps I should, but he already knows about my mother. And in some way, this right now is my interview, the one we bypassed, and I have to respect his need to trust me. “I need this right now. The fact that this is a charity event motivates me. It gives me a purpose that doesn’t include worrying about my mother.”
His eyes narrow. “She’s in remission, though, correct?”
“She is,” I confirm, “but cancer is forever a part of her life. When it’s time for me to leave, you’ll probably be pushing me out of the door. It’s hard to leave her behind.” I’ve now taken this a little too far, and I add, “I wouldn’t use your client list to pitch Riptide. If a mutually beneficial opportunity comes up, I’ll talk to you about it.”
