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But it worked. The drawer opened, though the pull was now in Christian’s hand and no longer attached to the desk. He looked down at it and frowned. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Thank you for opening it.” I walked back around the desk. “Is anything inside?”
“Yeah, it looks pretty full.”
The drawer was crammed to the very top. “Oh wow. Yeah, that is pretty packed.”
Christian leaned down and lifted the top item from the pile. It was a black, leather-bound daily planner with an orange rubber band wrapped around it. The bottom center had three faded, gold-foiled initials: JWB. My father’s. Underneath, it looked like the year was printed, but all I could make out was the two and the zero, not the last two numbers.
I leaned over and lifted the next book from the pile. It was exactly the same as the first, though I could read the year on this one. Looking through the drawer, there had to be at least twenty of them. “They’re all the exact same planner. One for each year, I guess. It looks like the date and initials got rubbed off of most of them.”
“My CPA tells me to keep my planner for tax purposes. I’m supposed to write down travel and business meetings and stuff—in case we ever get audited for things we deduct, like mileage and entertainment. But I’m not that good at it. Mostly I have a bunch of empty planners in a file,” Christian said.
I fanned the pages of a few of the books from the pile. They were definitely not empty. “These are well used. There are notes at all the time slots, with appointments and meetings and stuff, I guess.”
“Did you get a lot of John’s personal belongings?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. I wouldn’t know his handwriting if I saw it. The office had been cleaned out before I arrived. So I should probably give these to Tiffany and Rebecca.”
He held the book in his hands out to me. “You sure you don’t want a ride home?”
“I’m sure. But thanks.”
Christian nodded. “’Night, boss lady.”
“Goodnight, Christian.”
He stopped as he got to the door and turned back. “You’ve been trying to figure out who your father was… Maybe those planners can help fill in some of the missing pieces. Tiffany and Rebecca already know the man.”
“Maybe.” I looked down at the planner in my hands and shrugged. Or maybe some things are better left unknown.
CHAPTER 8
* * *
BELLA
“What is this?” Miller picked up the daily planner and plopped down on my bed.
I held a green dress on a hanger against my body. “Is this too sexy to wear to the game this weekend?”
“You own the team. Dress however the hell you like. But when did you get that? I’ve never seen you wear it.”
I tossed the dress on the bed and dug into my closet again. “I bought it for my date with Julian. But I changed at the last minute because it didn’t feel like me.”
“Who did it feel like?”
“I don’t know. Professor Marks, maybe?”
Miller’s head bent back in laughter. “That woman was definitely trolling for college boys with her get-ups. Her outfits all looked like they were painted on. There was a reason her classes were seventy-percent guys.”
“Oh?” I teased. “Were her well-known outfits the reason you took the class?”
Miller laid back on my bed with the daily planner still in his hands. “Definitely not. Did you not just hear me say the class was seventy-percent boys?”
I chuckled and turned with another outfit pressed against me. This time it was a pair of black pants and a colorful blouse. “Is this better?”
He scrunched up his nose. “That shirt is hideous. Put the dress on. Let me see who wore it better, you or Marks.”
“Okay.”
“You still didn’t tell me what the deal is with this planner.” He opened to the first page. “This isn’t your handwriting.”
I pulled off my sweatshirt and slipped on the green dress. “Oh, no. That’s my father’s. I found a bunch of them in a drawer in my desk. Or his desk, I mean.”
“No shit. What does it say?”
“I don’t know. I’m sort of afraid to read it.”
“Why?”
I smoothed the dress over my body and held out my arms. “What do you think?”
Miller leaned up on his elbows. “Wow. You look hot. Definitely wear that.”
I looked down. “I’m not sure hot is the message I want to send. I want to look professional.”
“You do. You’re not even showing any cleavage, Bella. I’m just not used to seeing your curves.”
I walked over to the full-length mirror behind the closet door. The dress did look good on me, but I still thought it might be too much for a game. “Maybe I’ll bring this and the other outfit and figure it out when I get there.”
Miller frowned. “Translation: you’re going to go with the black pants and frumpy shirt. Now tell me why you’re afraid to read about your old man’s appointments?”
