Page 115

Not yet.

The word rises immediately.

I keep it behind my teeth.

“It means I’m willing to review the matter properly before I give you an answer,” I say.

“That is more than I had when I walked in.”

She begins gathering the documents, leaving copies for me to review. I stand with her and walk around the desk as she closes the portfolio.

“My office will send the underlying research file this afternoon,” Charlotte says.

“I’ll look at it.”

“Thank you, Blaire.”

“You’re welcome.”

I walk her to the door, and Charlotte pauses before stepping into the hallway.

“For what it’s worth,” she says, “I didn’t choose you because I expect you to reopen an old door for me.”

I hold her gaze.

“I chose you because seven years ago, someone trusted your work enough to preserve it.”

She leaves before I decide how to answer. I close the door behind her and stand there for a moment longer than necessary as I look back at the Kensington file sitting on my desk.

Chapter Twenty

Blaire

The house has shifted into its evening rhythm by the time I finish helping Wells with a science worksheet and convince Miles that soccer cleats do not belong in the middle of the hallway.

Dinner is mostly cleared, Hannah has gone home, and the boys are upstairs arguing over whose turn it is to choose what they watch before bed when my phone rings on the kitchen counter.

Erica.

I answer and tuck the phone between my shoulder and ear while I rinse two glasses.

“Please tell me you’re not still working,” Erica says.

“I’m not technically working,” I reply.

“That answer means you’re working,” she says.

“I’m cleaning the kitchen,” I tell her.

“That’s worse.”

I smile and turn off the faucet. “What do you want?”

“I want to remind you that normal people stop being productive eventually,” she says.

“I’ll add it to my goals,” I reply.

Erica laughs. “How are the boys?”