Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“A big one?” I stop mid-step to contemplate what it could be.
I wouldn’t put it past my brother to send me something to put a smile on my face. Sean has been known to drop a few dollars on unexpected gifts I never asked for, including a three-foot tall ceramic sculpture of a clown and a miniature likeness of the Empire State Building crafted entirely of Popsicle sticks.
His reason behind every one of those gifts has been that he wants to do his part to support the creative souls of this city.
I’m on board with that which is why I’ve saved every gift and have them on display in the library in my apartment.
I may not look at them frequently, but I take pride in owning one of the most eclectic art collections in Manhattan.
Huck nods. “More mid-size, I guess. Whoever dropped it off left it on my desk during my coffee break. There was no return address on it. Just your name.”
I glance toward my office. “Can you put in a delivery order for two sandwiches from that place Sean likes? You know what to get, right?”
He pushes back from his desk to glide to his feet. “I can do one better. I’ll handle ordering, pick up, and delivery.”
I watch as he slips the strap of a small leather messenger bag over his head. His hand immediately rakes his blond hair to straighten it back into place.
“Sparkling water to round out the menu?” he asks.
“Sure,” I answer back. “Something for you too.”
“That’s why I’m taking on the task.” He grins. “They make the best pastrami on rye in Manhattan.”
I laugh. “I suspected as much, given how often you charge one to your expense account.”
He shrugs. “What can I say, sir? The stomach wants what it wants.”
I shoot him a look and a smile. “Indeed. I told Sean to be here at one, so…”
“So get my ass in gear.” He slaps his hip. “Do you need anything else while I’m out?”
“That’s it.” I steal a glance at the plain package on my desk.
It suddenly hits me that Sean’s gifts are always wrapped in elaborate foiled paper, and more ribbons than ever need to sit atop a box.
The package in my line of sight looks like a plain white cardboard box.
“I’ll be back in fifteen.” Huck scoops up his phone from his desk. “Call if you need me.”
I won’t need him. I do need to figure out what the hell is waiting for me in my office and who sent it.
Five minutes later, I exit the elevator and approach the reception desk of Thorsen & Associates. The red-haired guy sitting behind it is a familiar face. He worked for Wells for a year before deciding that he wanted to trade in men’s briefs for legal ones. He’s currently interning at the law firm to get a feel for it before he commits to going back to school.
“Eamon,” I saw as I approach where he’s sitting.
He pushes to his feet. “Hey, Declan. How’s Huck?”
That immediately puts a smile on my face because that’s a love connection waiting to happen. The two of them have been playing phone tag for weeks. Huck has no reason to call Eamon but has done so repeatedly under the guise that I want to leave a message for Rook. That has resulted in Rook showing up at my office after work on more than one occasion to go for a beer or to grab dinner. Huck arranged all that without my direction so that he could talk to Eamon.
“Fine,” I answer with a grin. “He’s a good guy.”
The smile I get in response tells me he agrees with my assessment.
“I’m here to see…”
“Rook,” he interrupts me. “He’s already on his way down, so stay put.”
I shake my head, but before I can tell him I want a moment with Abigail Duvall, he’s shifted his attention to something behind me.
“Cheryl!” he greets someone with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re late as usual.”
The scent of lavender floats in the air as a woman takes the spot next to me. Her ring-laden fingers brush a path over my forearm. “Listen to him pointing out the obvious.”
I steal a glance at her. I recognize her immediately as one of Rook’s long-standing clients. She owns a chain of yoga studios in the city.
Her gaze wanders from my face down to my hand. “I use those too. The color is perfect, isn’t it?”
I curl my fist around the pink sticky note in my left palm. “I use the standard yellow ones. This was stuck to a package I received a few minutes ago.”
“From a lovely lady?” she asks while Eamon places a call to one of the attorneys on Rook’s payroll.
“You know it.”
Abigail left the note. It was stuck on the toe of my left sneaker. I hadn’t noticed them missing, but it makes sense that she ran out with a pair of my shoes after our night together. It would have been torture for her to shove her feet back into the tight resin shoes she was wearing when she arrived at my apartment.