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I stand. “Yes. Blaire Wilson.”

She offers her hand. “Eleanor Kensington. I’ve heard very good things about you.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ve had a strong team to work with.”

Eleanor glances toward the open folders.

“How much have you managed to untangle so far?”

“More than we expected in the first week,” I tell her.

“A few records needed more attention than the existing catalogue suggested.”

Her eyes sharpen with interest rather than concern.

“Does that worry you?”

“No,” I reply.

“It usually means the collection has more history than the paperwork can hold.”

Eleanor smiles.

“I like that answer.”

Ross is still beside me. He no longer has any reason to be. Eleanor notices that too. Her gaze shifts between us once, subtle enough that I almost miss it.

Then she looks at Ross.

“You seem rather upbeat today,” she says.

Ross pauses.

“Do I?”

“A little.”

There’s nothing teasing in her tone, which somehow makes the comment land harder. Ross glances at me briefly before returning his attention to his mother.

“It’s been a productive afternoon.”

Eleanor’s smile deepens just slightly.

“So I see.”

She leaves it there. Ross does too. I return my attention to the folder in front of me, but the numbers blur for several seconds before I manage to focus again.

By the time I get back to my apartment, the city outside the windows has settled into evening. I leave my heels near the door, drop my bag onto the chair beside the small dining table, and call Chloe while I put together something resembling dinner.

She answers almost immediately.

“How’s London?” Chloe asks.

“Busy,” I tell her as I open the refrigerator.

“But good. The collection is better than I expected.”

Chloe laughs softly. “Coming from you, that means something.”