Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
This Finn was still hot, and somehow an even better kisser, but most importantly, not at all a dickhead. I didn’t think he’d laugh at me if I told him I wanted him, but it was a relief to know I didn’t have to risk it. I was going to get my orgasms, and I didn’t have to put myself out there by asking for them. My secret smile might have been a little smug.
I focused on the mess around me. I had most of the loose papers back in the bin. Wedged by my foot, I found a cloth journal beneath a leather-bound ledger. And under that, a dull brown alligator briefcase with brass latches and a combination lock. The latches had popped open, maybe from the impact of the briefcase hitting the floor, revealing about an inch of the interior. Not enough to see inside.
So far, I’d resisted looking closely at anything, but this was different. For one, the suitcase looked modern—at least from the standpoint that it was clearly not from the 1930s—and it had probably been locked. Which meant someone, at some point, hadn’t wanted other people to know what was in it. I didn’t know the combination, so I couldn’t risk closing it until I knew what was inside. I told myself I wasn’t wasting time. Looking now, before moving it further and losing the chance to see what was inside, made logical sense.
Moving into a cross-legged position, glad I was wearing leggings under my uniform dress, I pulled the briefcase into my lap. The dull brown alligator skin with the brass latches screamed 1970s. Prentice. No one else would have had something that looked like this. Prentice’s father, Reginald, had still been around back then. Prentice hadn’t forced him out of the business until the mid-eighties. I never knew Reginald. He died the year I was born, but from what my mother said, alligator and brass was not his style.
The hinges resisted, creaking as I forced the lid fully open. Unlike the haphazard piles of papers in the bins, the briefcase was neatly organized. Inside was a short stack of file folders, the labels faded with time.
Nothing about them said historic document to me. I glanced at the two bins beside us. Everything else was old. Pre-1960s old. Curious, I flipped open the top file folder. A contract for something. It was hard to tell exactly what. A partnership agreement? Contracts were not my area of expertise. I’d taken business law in college, but that had been a while ago.
In the first paragraph, I saw the name Sawyer. Not a surprise, given whose house I was in. Skipping the rest, I flipped to the signature page. Prentice Sawyer for Sawyer Enterprises. Signed February 23, 2012. The other signature lines had company names, the signatures themselves impossible to decipher. I moved to the next file folder. Another contract, also signed by Prentice, and the same two company names. Some of the pages had handwritten notations in the margins. I couldn’t tell if they’d been added later or were part of the contract. They weren’t initialed, which suggested they’d been added later, but I wasn’t sure.
“What do you have there?” Finn asked. I looked up to see that he was finished re-packing his own bin and was waiting on me.
“Contracts,” I said, staring down into the briefcase. “Your father’s contracts. I think this is his briefcase. I need to bring it to Griffen. It doesn’t belong with the rest of this stuff.”
“How did his briefcase get in the bin?”
“That’s a good question,” I said slowly, thinking. “Maybe when Mom was reorganizing the attic, she threw it in here. I don’t know.”
Finn dropped the last stack of papers into his bin and snapped on the lid. Standing, he said, “If you take the briefcase, I’ll get the bins. We can bring the bins downstairs and drop off the briefcase with Griffen on the way.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” I set the briefcase down, careful not to close it accidentally, and finished putting the last of the papers and journals in the bin so Finn could stack it on top of the other.
Something about the tacky yet modern briefcase and those neat file folders hidden amid the hodgepodge of housekeeper’s records felt off to me. My mother could have dropped the briefcase in one of the bins, but how had Sawyer Enterprises contracts gotten into the attic in the first place?
Finn hefted the two bins and turned down the hall to the elevator.
Between the bins and Finn’s large frame, the elevator felt too small. I had a moment to wish I had my hands free, that the ride would be longer, and then the door unlocked and we were on the first floor.
Chapter Twenty-Six
SAVANNAH
Finn led the way to Griffen’s office, setting the bins down outside and giving the door a quick rap. He opened it without waiting for a response, sticking his head through to ask, “You busy?”