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Nolan runs to greet Rue, who goes directly to the kitchen to get him some juice and make coffee for us. I didn’t get home from Chicago until a little after eleven last night, and I could definitely use another hour of sleep, but it’s time to get up. I was lucky Nolan let me go back to sleep at all.
I smile as I think about the trip. It was a whirlwind of a day, but I loved every second. Pike and I found a large abstract painting for his bedroom, and I took lots of design inspiration photos for the online vision boards Cynthia maintains.
We went to an Asian fusion place for dinner, and both the food and company were amazing. Pike is warm and funny, not to mention ridiculously hot. When he walks into a room, women take notice.
I brush my teeth and put on my robe, trying not to think about whether Pike has sex with women on road trips. Or even at home. I know all too well that what a man wants someone to see and actual reality can be two very different things.
“Morning,” Rue says as I walk into the kitchen.
“Morning.”
“Mommy, can you make pancakes?” Nolan asks.
“Definitely. Pancakes sound amazing.”
“With happy faces?” He looks at me hopefully, and I nod.
“Yes. I can give them happy faces.” Nolan raises his arms up and cheers in delight.
“Am I playing with my friends today?” he asks.
“Yes, you’re going to day care at nine so Mommy can do some work.”
“Yay!” He runs out of the room, sippy cup in hand.
“How was Chicago?” Rue asks me.
“It was great.”
She looks at me for a few seconds, making me feel like she can see my thoughts and feelings. Really, she stares me down until I spill my guts. She likes to torture me with that ability.
“So is this client someone Cynthia set you up with?” she asks.
I stiffen, but try to play it cool. “Actually, no. It’s someone I came across on my own.”
“Oh.”
Her tone is bright—pleased, really, but it won’t last. Deflect, Indie.
“Should I make bacon, too, or just pancakes?” I ask.
“No bacon for me, but I will take a pancake.” She takes a sip from her coffee mug. “So who is it?”
“Hmm?” I ask, feigning confusion as I pretend to look around for my coffee mug. “Hey, have you seen my big UCLA mug?”
“It’s in the dishwasher. And the client, Indie. Who is your client?”
Shit. Red alert! Red alert!
“Ah, there it is.” I walk over to the coffee maker and pour a cup, praying for an immediate distraction that will sidetrack this conversation.
“Why don’t you want to tell me who it is?” Rue asks in a sharp tone. “Is it one of Dean’s friends?”
I scramble, trying to think of any excuse in the book to tell her. “It’s not that; it’s just that we sign nondisclosure agreements with our clients since some of them are high profile. We don’t reveal anything about them to anyone.”
She scoffs. “I’m your sister. And it’s not like I’m asking for financial information. I’m just asking who it is. I tell you about people the firm is representing all the time.”
I sigh, finally admitting defeat because of the sisterly guilt she just hit me with.
“It’s Pike Morgan,” I say, setting my coffee mug on the counter.
“What?” Rue is genuinely shocked. “The hockey player you chewed out at practice?”
I nod, pulling the pancake mix from a cabinet. “Funny, right?”
“I don’t know about that. There’s obviously more to this story than you’re telling me.”
Because God forbid I not tell her every detail of my life. I try the distraction route again.
“Do you know where the cinnamon is?” I ask.
“Do you know where your common sense is?”
I whip around, meeting her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She crosses her arms, glaring at me. “If I’m just surfing the internet on my phone and google Pike Morgan, will I find a man who is either A: happily married, or B: highly unattractive?”
I shrug. “Attractiveness is in the eye of the beholder.”
“Are you attracted to him?”
My answer comes out sounding defensive. “He is a client, Rue. Do you refuse to work for attractive male clients at the firm?”
She walks over to me, shouting in a hushed tone. “I’m a single woman without kids, not someone who literally got divorced yesterday and has a child to consider.”
Her mention of Nolan sends me over the edge.
“Screw you for assuming things. And don’t you dare insinuate I’m a bad mother.”
“I didn’t insinuate that at all. But you need to focus on him, not some hotshot hockey player.”
“Rue, I was working. Do you want to see the contract he signed, so you know I’m not lying?”
Her expression softens slightly. “I just don’t get how you guys went from fighting over a baseball to this. How many times have you seen him? How does he even know you do this kind of work?”
