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“I hope you ate already.” Finley hated the idea of Matt waiting until this hour just so he could eat with her.
“I only got home at nine.” He shrugged. “The timing actually worked out for us to have dinner together.”
Like he would have eaten without her. He was far too much of a gentleman.
The table was set. The bottle of wine he’d opened stood waiting for Finley. Steam rose from the marinara sauce ensconced on a bed of pasta. Colorful salads sat in bowls. All of it looked amazing.
Cat lounged on a stack of boxes standing next to the back door. His tail whipped as he cast Finley an uninterested glance. The boxes held Derrick’s clothes. Finley intended to put them in the garage with a host of other items headed for donation. The back door was as far as she’d gotten with them. Generally, Matt would have taken care of the heavy lifting without her even having to mention it, but he wouldn’t move any of Derrick’s things unless she specifically asked him to. It was a respect thing. Finley loved him all the more for it.
“You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” she insisted as the scent of herbs and spices had her sinking into the chair he’d pulled back.
“I have a hidden agenda.”
“Wait.” Finley held up a hand, then reached for the wine and refilled her glass. She indulged in a long swallow, sighed, then said, “Okay, go ahead.”
He laughed. “It isn’t that bad,” he assured her. “In fact, it’s good. But first, we eat.”
Matt sat at the other end of the small rickety table. He portioned the marinara and pasta onto a plate and passed it along to her. Then did the same with another plate for himself. For a while they ate. She munched on her salad and overindulged in the pasta. By the time she placed her fork on the empty plate, she was stuffed.
Matt poured her more wine, then set the bottle aside. “I understand you met with the committee the Judge put together.”
Finley rolled her eyes. “You mean the band of serious donors she assembled.”
Matt sipped his wine. Usually he was a beer man, but there were just some dishes that cried wine, he would say. “How do you feel about the support they offered?”
Finley pondered the question. “I feel like I’m not ready to commit to anyone as to what my platform will be.”
Matt’s smile was restrained, no matter that his lips twitched with the need to let it slide across his face. “Did you say as much?”
“Mostly I just listened.”
He knew her too well to believe for a second that she would go for the promises and the backroom deals. No way. That said, she comprehended that it took money to run a successful campaign. Why couldn’t she just tell the folks about herself and what she wanted and be done with it? The answer was easy and wholly frustrating. Because her opponent would spend millions proving she was the worst person on the planet and that no one could do the job as well as him.
“When you officially make your announcement,” Matt said, his gaze steady on hers, “the governor will announce his support.”
Her jaw dropped. She snapped it shut. “Are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t he give you his support?”
“Because I’m a bit of a has-been. I crashed and burned publicly. Not to mention I’ve done some veering over the line when it came to finding the truth about what happened to Derrick.” She wanted to be excited. She really did. The governor’s support was a big deal, and she had no doubt that Matt was primarily responsible for it. But she had to be realistic. She came with a considerable load of baggage. Every scrap of which Briggs would dig up and use against her.
Matt knew the things she had done. Gunshots echoed in her brain as a blaring reminder. She had been present at the killing of two of the three men responsible for her husband’s death. She blinked at the memories. Ignored the memory of blood spatter on her face. But she hadn’t killed anyone. Was she guilty in some way of how their deaths came about? Maybe.
Did she have regrets?
Not a single one.
Those bastards had deserved exactly what they got. Carson Dempsey, the pharma king ultimately responsible for Derrick’s murder, would get what he deserved as well. His trial was coming up in a few months. He was on house arrest with his passport seized and his accounts frozen until then. His wife had left him, and all his friends had turned their backs on him.
The idea made Finley incredibly happy.
“Fin”—Matt reached across the small table and placed his hand on hers—“you are an amazing person. An incredible attorney. But above all else, you have this way of seeing and understanding people. And you care about justice. About the truth. Few who rise to a position of considerable power have that.” He shrugged. “Maybe they did once, but it’s long gone by the time they reach that pinnacle. I know you. You won’t let that sense of right go. You will be exactly who you are, no matter how high and how far you go.”
She did not deserve this man. She studied his handsome face, the trusting eyes she knew as well as her own. Every line and angle of his face was etched in her memory. Matthew Quinn was a very, very good man ... friend and now lover.
“You have to stop doing this, Matt.” She squeezed his fingers.
“Doing what?” That handsome face rearranged into confusion.
