doubted
myself for coming to L.A.
“Well, at least it got you out of Vegas
for a while. You can’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed taking … a break.” She was
quiet for a moment, and then she said so softly I could barely hear her over
the hum of the exercise machines, “August is helping me get a copy of your
father’s will.”
I squeezed my eyes closed and hated that
the mention of my dad’s last will and testament automatically brought to mind
the conversation I’d had with Margaret’s lawyer seven years ago. “I’ve seen it
before.”
“But you don’t have a copy of your own,”
she reminded me. “And now you have me. I’m not about to let some lawyer
scare me into backing down.”
Opening my eyes, I laughed because it was
the only thing I could do not to burst into tears. “No, you’re bypassing
lawyers and a paperwork trail so you can look at it.”
Pen lifted her shoulders, making an
unconcerned face when her eyes dropped to her sweaty skin. “Yeah, well, there’s
that too.”
Chapter 7
The next morning, I walked
in to my office to find a pleasant surprise. The event planner coordinating
Margaret’s fourth annual Halloween Charity Ball had left me a voicemail over
the weekend. Although she sounded somewhat irritated, her message still took
what felt like a hundred pounds of pressure off my chest.
“Ms. Connelly?
This is Natalie Roche, from Natalie Roche Events. I received your messages, and
I’ll be able to accommodate your needs. I can meet you at ten-fifteen Monday
morning in the Heritage Ballroom. If you can’t make it, please call my cell.
Once again the address is—”
Sliding
Margaret’s coffee to the edge of my desk, I grabbed my LCD tablet and jotted
down the address. I replayed the voicemail to make sure I got it right before
hanging up my work phone and texting everything I’d written down to myself. It
was 9:28 now, which meant I’d have to leave to meet Natalie as soon as I was
finished checking in with the stepmonster. Balancing her latte, my purse, and
the folder full of information she’d requested last week, I flipped off the
light switch and went across the hall to her office.
She was already
behind her desk, looking formidable in a white tailored suit that only Margaret
Manning-Emerson could pull off in October, and her blond, highlighted hair was
twisted into an elegant knot at the nape of her slim neck.
“Did you enjoy
your trip to New York?”
“Did you
rearrange the Paris trip like I asked you to?” she countered, referring to one
of the instructions she’d given me in the email she’d sent while she was away
last week.
I lowered her
coffee to the silver coaster by her right hand and the folder next to her
desktop monitor, eyeballing the laptop she was hastily pecking away on without
pause. God, I couldn’t wait to get a look at what she kept hidden away on that
thing. Dragging my attention from the second computer, I pointed to the
folder.
“Everything for
the Paris trip is right here. Also, the hotel upgraded you to the presidential
suite free of charge after I let them know what you said about your last stay
there.”
“Good enough.”
Although I’d hoped I wouldn’t be thinking about him so soon, hearing her mutter
those two words instantly reminded me of Oliver. I thought back to what he’d
told me last week in his office, about her reaction to his speech problems when
he was a child, and I fought to keep my gaze neutral. To keep myself from
slamming her computer screen closed, regardless of what flesh might be in the
way.
“Any progress
with Roche?” she questioned.
“I’m actually
headed out to meet her now.” Pressing the point home, I reached into the side
of my used Prada bag and fished out my car keys. “She’s expecting me to meet
her at the venue in less than an hour.”
Margaret’s head
popped up, her fingers hovering motionless above the laptop. “What did you
say?”
The smile I
offered her was the first
myself for coming to L.A.
“Well, at least it got you out of Vegas
for a while. You can’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed taking … a break.” She was
quiet for a moment, and then she said so softly I could barely hear her over
the hum of the exercise machines, “August is helping me get a copy of your
father’s will.”
I squeezed my eyes closed and hated that
the mention of my dad’s last will and testament automatically brought to mind
the conversation I’d had with Margaret’s lawyer seven years ago. “I’ve seen it
before.”
“But you don’t have a copy of your own,”
she reminded me. “And now you have me. I’m not about to let some lawyer
scare me into backing down.”
Opening my eyes, I laughed because it was
the only thing I could do not to burst into tears. “No, you’re bypassing
lawyers and a paperwork trail so you can look at it.”
Pen lifted her shoulders, making an
unconcerned face when her eyes dropped to her sweaty skin. “Yeah, well, there’s
that too.”
Chapter 7
The next morning, I walked
in to my office to find a pleasant surprise. The event planner coordinating
Margaret’s fourth annual Halloween Charity Ball had left me a voicemail over
the weekend. Although she sounded somewhat irritated, her message still took
what felt like a hundred pounds of pressure off my chest.
“Ms. Connelly?
This is Natalie Roche, from Natalie Roche Events. I received your messages, and
I’ll be able to accommodate your needs. I can meet you at ten-fifteen Monday
morning in the Heritage Ballroom. If you can’t make it, please call my cell.
Once again the address is—”
Sliding
Margaret’s coffee to the edge of my desk, I grabbed my LCD tablet and jotted
down the address. I replayed the voicemail to make sure I got it right before
hanging up my work phone and texting everything I’d written down to myself. It
was 9:28 now, which meant I’d have to leave to meet Natalie as soon as I was
finished checking in with the stepmonster. Balancing her latte, my purse, and
the folder full of information she’d requested last week, I flipped off the
light switch and went across the hall to her office.
She was already
behind her desk, looking formidable in a white tailored suit that only Margaret
Manning-Emerson could pull off in October, and her blond, highlighted hair was
twisted into an elegant knot at the nape of her slim neck.
“Did you enjoy
your trip to New York?”
“Did you
rearrange the Paris trip like I asked you to?” she countered, referring to one
of the instructions she’d given me in the email she’d sent while she was away
last week.
I lowered her
coffee to the silver coaster by her right hand and the folder next to her
desktop monitor, eyeballing the laptop she was hastily pecking away on without
pause. God, I couldn’t wait to get a look at what she kept hidden away on that
thing. Dragging my attention from the second computer, I pointed to the
folder.
“Everything for
the Paris trip is right here. Also, the hotel upgraded you to the presidential
suite free of charge after I let them know what you said about your last stay
there.”
“Good enough.”
Although I’d hoped I wouldn’t be thinking about him so soon, hearing her mutter
those two words instantly reminded me of Oliver. I thought back to what he’d
told me last week in his office, about her reaction to his speech problems when
he was a child, and I fought to keep my gaze neutral. To keep myself from
slamming her computer screen closed, regardless of what flesh might be in the
way.
“Any progress
with Roche?” she questioned.
“I’m actually
headed out to meet her now.” Pressing the point home, I reached into the side
of my used Prada bag and fished out my car keys. “She’s expecting me to meet
her at the venue in less than an hour.”
Margaret’s head
popped up, her fingers hovering motionless above the laptop. “What did you
say?”
The smile I
offered her was the first
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