Chapter Nine
Quinn raised the mascara brush to her right eye and swiped it under the upper row of lashes several times, being careful not to cake it on so thick it would turn into a clumpy mess.
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me come do your makeup for you,” Nicole’s voice said from Quinn’s phone lying on the bathroom counter.
“’Cause the one time I let you, I ended up looking like a hooker.”
“Hey!” Nicole’s huffiness came through loud and clear.
The brush stopped and hovered in front of her eye. Quinn scowled at the phone in mild exasperation.
“Yeah, okay. You’re right. It was awful.”
“And what did we learn?”
Nicole sighed and said in a flat tone, “Blue eyes and blue eye shadow don’t mix.”
“Thank you.” Quinn switched and applied the black goo to the lashes of her left eye. “And James and I are just going to dinner. It’s not a big deal.” Simply saying the words made her stomach lurch with excitement. “I mean, we’re not exactly walking the red carpet at a movie premiere.” It was a good thing, too. She hated dresses and the mere thought of wearing a long, formal one by a designer she’d never heard of nearly made her break out in a sweat. She was grateful to instead be wearing comfortable black jeans and a gray cable-knit pullover sweater. “Thanks for helping me decide what to wear, by the way.”
“You’re welcome. Is it sad I know exactly what’s in your closet without even being there?”
“You see me at least five days a week,” Quinn answered, her defenses up. “You’ve seen me wear everything in my closet at least a hundred times.”
She regarded herself in the mirror. Her naturally light lashes, now augmented with the mascara, were darker and fuller. She had to admit the more expensive brand of mascara Nicole told her to buy really did make her blue eyes pop. But she decided to keep that revelation to herself. Otherwise it would embolden Nicole and before she knew it, it would be The Hooker Incident all over again. So she stayed silent, screwed the cap back on the tube, and dropped it in the open drawer.
“You’ll need to get some new clothes if you start going out with James all the time.” Quinn could practically see her friend preen when Nicole added, “Which is funny since about two weeks ago, you weren’t interested in the dating scene.”
“I changed my mind.” Quinn rummaged around in the drawer and found a tube of lipstick. She pulled off the top and recoiled when garish red lipstick—a leftover from The Hooker Incident—twisted up. She tossed the tube back into the drawer as fast as humanly possible.
Quinn smiled as she thought about the man who had changed her mind. “Can you blame me?”
“Not even a little. James would change my mind, too,” Nicole answered. “I’d dump Brian in a heartbeat if James asked me out.”
“You would not,” Quinn said, calling her friend’s bluff. She found another tube of lipstick and checked the color. It was sheer, just the way she liked it.
“You’re right,” she heard Nicole sigh. “I wouldn’t.”
Quinn swiped the lipstick over parted lips.
“Besides, it would never happen. The man hangs on to your every word.”
Quinn made a face. “He does not.” She slipped the tube in the front pocket of her jeans in case she found an occasion to reapply after dinner. Then she raked her fingers through her blond hair a couple of times in a vain attempt to fluff it. She rolled her eyes. There was really no use. Until she had a personal stylist—and why would she ever—it would always be flat.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” came Nicole’s reply, complete with an incredulous snort. The teasing dropped from Nicole’s voice and Quinn heard the sincerity in it when she said, “I’m really happy for you, Q. I hope you have a good time tonight.”
She picked up her phone and flicked off the bathroom light. “Me too.” As she walked through her bedroom, she said, “I gotta go. If you promise not to text me twenty times before dessert to ask me how it’s going, I’ll give you a call tomorrow and give you details. Deal?”
“Deal. Talk to you soon.”
“Bye.” Quinn touched the screen to end the call, slipped the phone into her back pocket, and checked her watch. It was a couple of minutes before seven and James would be there any minute. From the doorway of her bedroom, she surveyed the living room. It would never be featured on the glossy pages of Architectural Digest, but at least it was clean.
Too nervous to sit, she puttered around the apartment until the intercom buzzed. When James announced himself, she pressed the button to allow him in. She considered opening the door and waiting for him in the doorway, but that seemed too eager. Instead, she stood behind the closed door and waited the twenty seconds until there was a knock. Her hand rested on the doorknob as she drew in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then gusted it out. She unlocked the door and opened it.
James stood before her with his hands deep in his front pockets and a shy smile gracing his face. He looked more handsome than she’d ever seen him, in a dark blue V-neck cashmere sweater and blue jeans. It was only by divine intervention she didn’t actually whimper. She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth and said, “Hi.”
“Hi.”
She took a step back. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you.” He stepped through the doorway and as he passed her, his scent made her toes curl. “You look lovely.”
“Thanks. You look really nice, too.” She might have sounded completely lame, but nice was the only word her thoroughly addled brain could come up with besides dreamy. She was trying hard to avoid coming off like an eleven-year-old girl gushing about her favorite member of a boy band, so nice would have to do.
James glanced around the apartment. “Nice place. Why am I not surprised by the packed bookshelf?”
“Occupational hazard,” she replied with a shrug.
His gaze settled on the two-foot-tall artificial Christmas tree sitting at the center of the square card table that served as her dining table. “Very clever. I like the scaled-down size of the ornaments,” he said of the decorations that looked like very small, very shiny gold, red, and green wrapped packages.
“It’s a good thing I like trimming it, too.” When his brow lowered in confusion, she clarified, saying, “Every time I come home from work, Rasputin has somehow managed to scatter them all over the apartment.”
“You realize he’s got you trained.” He laughed.
She grinned and said unabashed, “Completely.”
“Speaking of Rasputin, I believe I need to gain his approval before we can leave. What happens if I don’t pass inspection? Am I going to have to return to Santa Monica alone?”
“Why? Are you not feeling confident about your cat-whispering abilities?”
“Oh, I’m ready,” he answered. The look he gave her melted her insides. “There’s just a lot riding on it, that’s all.”
“I wouldn’t be too concerned,” she managed when she found her voice. “I pay the rent, so I have veto power. Besides, I’d hate for you to go back to Santa Monica alone.”
“I appreciate the consideration.”
“I have to admit I’m also curious about how he’ll react to you. I don’t have a lot of company, so he’s not around new people very often.”
“Happy to be your test case,” he said.
“Okay, here we go. Kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called. A half a minute later, Rasputin prowled out of her bedroom and slowly approached, his tail trailing behind him, tip curving up. About five feet from where Quinn and James stood, he stopped and stared at them with amber eyes.
James didn’t advance to greet the cat. Instead, he squatted down, reached out his arm, and pointed his index finger at Rasputin. He turned his head slightly to the side, stayed completely still, and waited. After thirty seconds or so, the cat started forward again, his supple shoulders rolling as he strode straight for James’s extended finger. When the cat reached the outstretched fingertip, he sniffed it, and then touched it with his nose.
Impressed, Quinn watched the greeting continue as Rasputin rubbed his cheek against James’s finger and then his hand. After the cat pushed his face against James’s hand a few more times, he scratched Rasputin under his chin. Still in a crouch, he twisted around and looked up at Quinn. “I believe I’ve just survived the crucible of the Feline Gatekeeper.”
“With flying colors.”
James stood and the cat immediately wove between James’s feet and rubbed his sides against James’s shins. “Obviously, Rasputin is an impeccable judge of character.”
“Obviously.”
There was a short pause while they both watched Rasputin continue to mark James, leaving a few stray strands of cat hair on his jeans in the process. James didn’t seem the least bit concerned. When the cat moved away to rub against the corner of the couch, James asked, “Ready to go?”
“Almost,” she answered and reached for her jacket draped over the back of the couch.
James’s phone blinged as Quinn slipped her arm into one of the sleeves. She noted the uncertainty clouding his face, obviously not knowing if she would be bothered if he responded. “Go ahead and check it if you want,” she said. She shrugged on the jacket and flipped her hair out from under the collar. “I don’t mind.”
His features cleared. “It’s probably nothing, but since it’s the middle of the night in Britain, it’s best I check.”
“Of course.” She watched his face as he tapped the screen with his thumb and grew concerned when his eyebrows puckered as he read the message. “Is there a problem?” she asked. “Do we need to take a rain check for tonight?”
He stared at the phone a few seconds longer before shaking his head. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s my sister. I’ll text her back now and ring her later.” His thumbs moved across the screen as he filled Quinn in. “She’s at a Christmas party at a friend’s house and couldn’t wait to tell me the chap she fancies has been chatting her up. She’s quite thrilled.”
“And you don’t like him.”
“No, I don’t. I find him to be obnoxious and tiresome.” He slipped the phone into his back pocket and returned her gaze. “It’s that obvious?”
“Let’s just say I recognized the big brother face you were just wearing. I’ve seen it myself a time or two. As a little sister, I can tell you Sophie might act like it annoys her when you go all big brother on her, but deep down she appreciates you care and are looking out for her.”
“Thanks. It’s nice to know a baby sister’s perspective.”
“Happy to help.” She picked up her purse and keys from the kitchen counter. James went out the door first. She made sure the lamp on the table was on, closed the door, and locked the dead bolt with her key.
They walked past the row of town houses on their right. When they’d traveled about halfway between Quinn’s apartment and the front gate, a man in long shorts and a sweatshirt came up the stairs from the complex’s parking garage below. He carried two canvas bags full of groceries. “Hey, Quinn. Going out tonight, huh?” The man smiled while giving James a quick inspection.
“We are. Rick, this is my friend James. James, Rick is the complex manager. He lives here with his wife and two munchkins.”
Rick set one of the bags on the sidewalk and the two men shook hands. “Where are you off to tonight?”
James smiled over at Quinn and said, “I’m taking this lovely lady to dinner at a little Italian place in Santa Monica.”
“Well, that sounds like fun,” Rick replied. Even in the dimness, Quinn saw his eyes twinkling at her.
Never comfortable being the center of attention, Quinn moved the conversation along. “What are you and the family up to tonight?”
“We’ll be popping and stringing popcorn while we watch Christmas movies.” He chuckled and added, “With a six- and an eight-year-old, there might be more eating than stringing.” He picked up the bags by the handles. “I’d better get inside before they send out a search party. It was nice meeting you, James. You two have a nice evening.” He started up the steps to his front door. She knew the man could barely wait to get inside and tell his wife, Emily, Quinn was actually going out on a date.
“Thanks. Tell the kids I said not to eat too much popcorn.”
“Will do,” he called back just before the door closed.
“He seems like a friendly neighbor,” James said as they started walking again.
“They’re a nice family. I babysit the kids once in a while in exchange for them taking Rasputin when I go out of town.” Quinn reached the front gate and pushed it open.
“That seems like a fair trade,” James said and opened the car door for her. Once she’d slid into the passenger seat, he shut it, ran around to the driver’s side, and climbed in the car next to her.
The conversation stalled and the silence that descended wasn’t the laid-back quiet that settled over them on other occasions.
Quinn snuck a side-eyed glance at James. His relaxed posture and the slight smile on his face as he accelerated and merged the car onto the 405 Freeway seemed to indicate he didn’t feel the same level of discomfort she did, or any at all, for that matter. That alleviated her mind a little since he didn’t appear inclined to pull the car over, make her get out, and end their date right there on the spot due to her lack of sparkling conversation skills. It still didn’t stop her from overcoming the silence by putting voice to a trivia dust bunny that kicked up in her brain when they zoomed past a green freeway sign announcing the distances to the upcoming off-ramps.
“Did you know Mulholland Drive is named after William Mulholland? He supervised the building of the Los Angeles Aqueduct in the early part of the twentieth century. L.A. wouldn’t be the city it is today without the water that first aqueduct brought.” After her short and somewhat blurted history lesson, she swallowed and hoped he didn’t find what she’d said completely lame.
“That’s interesting,” he said. “He must be revered around here.”
“I think most people don’t even know who he was,” she said, pleased he seemed interested in her bit of brain lint. “Plus, some of the things he did to secure the water rights up in the Owens Valley where the water came from were pretty sketchy. And one of the dams he personally inspected collapsed and the water killed hundreds of people. So there’s that.”
He looked over at her for a split second before he turned forward again to face the sea of red taillights from the cars in front of them as they sped over the Sepulveda Pass. “I enjoy your bits of random trivia. Your ability to remember information like that is indeed a gift.”
She smiled and the nervous knot in her stomach fully untangled when she realized he was referencing their conversation at the coffee shop.
“Okay, so you’ve seen me use my superpower a couple of times. What’s yours?”
He tilted his head in thought. “Hmm. I’m not sure I have one.”
“I’m sure you do.” She studied him and then snapped her fingers. “I know. You can get any cat you meet to instantly like you.”
He took one hand from the steering wheel and rubbed the back of his neck with it. “Yeah, well, about that. I got lucky. I didn’t have the first clue about how to make friends with a cat, so I read what to do on the Internet. I’m surprised it worked.”
“You could have fooled me. You looked like a natural. Maybe it really is your superpower.”
“Perhaps.” After a short pause, he nodded. “I know what my superpower is. You saw it earlier today, and I’m not talking about cats.”
She assumed he wasn’t talking about his ability to charm the socks off her, so she filtered that out. “Give me a minute.” She stared out the window and thought back to earlier that day. She’d first seen him outside of Mysterious Art Collector Guy’s house. Her gaze fell on the tall, cylindrical building at the Sunset off-ramp. Every time she drove past it, it reminded her of the air filter that went in Tom’s 1990 Camaro. He was always tinkering with its engine and she’d sometimes helped him by passing him whatever tool he needed. A spark ignited in her brain and the two memories fused. “Supercars,” she said. “Your superpower is knowing all about supercars.”
Warmth spread through her at his smile. “Very good. I’ve loved cars since I was a little boy. I can’t help but be fascinated by their look, their sound, their speed, the engineering that goes into them.” James peered over at her and popped a shoulder up and down as if embarrassed by this revelation. “I’ll never be able to afford one, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to admire them from afar.”
“Maybe you won’t be able to afford the Spyder we saw this morning, but a Lotus Evora might be doable someday,” she said blithely.
She felt an immense sense of pleasure at the shock he showed when he sat up straight. “How do you know about Lotus?” He sat back and sighed. “Why am I surprised? I should know better by now.”
“There’s a British car show I channel-surfed past one night when the three hosts and their racing driver—”
“The Stig,” he said, supplying the name of the show’s enigmatic and mute driver whose identity was hidden behind a white helmet with a black visor. James practically bounced in his seat with excitement.
Quinn grinned. “Yes, the Stig. Anyway, the four of them were racing through central London, each using different modes of transportation to see who got to the city airport first. From then on, I was hooked.”
They spent the rest of the drive chatting and laughing about the show, its hosts, and the different races and challenges the three had been on. As James parked the car on the street not far from the restaurant, Quinn sighed and said, “Someday, I’d love to go on an adventure like those guys have, like to South America or Africa. Shoot, I’d be up for driving from London to Edinburgh, for that matter. I’m not picky.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Money, or lack thereof. My grandfather and I were talking about my love for adventure at his birthday party last weekend. He was in the import/export business and traveled a lot. When I was little, he and I would pore over this ratty old map of the world and he’d regale me with stories of what it was like in those exotic places he’d visited.”
“So he understands your desire for adventure.”
“Since he was the one who fanned the flames in the first place, yeah.” An affectionate smile flitted across her face when she recalled those times when she sat at her grandparents’ kitchen table, absently munching on the warm cookies her grandmother made while her grandfather spun stories that kept her completely spellbound. “Anyway, he said I should put five dollars in a jar every single day and at the end of a year, I’d have enough money to buy a plane ticket to just about anywhere I’d want to go.”
“Have you taken his advice?”
“I can’t afford the jar.”
James snickered, shut off the engine, and looked at her. “I hope someday you will go on your great adventure.” He held her gaze and smiled. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Shall we?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
They walked a block to the dimly lit restaurant, and once inside, they picked their way through a crowd of people to the seating hostess. Their reservation confirmed, James’s hand rested at the middle of Quinn’s back as they followed the menu-carrying young woman to a table for two next to a window.
James held Quinn’s chair for her and once they were both seated with menus in hand, she took a moment to absorb the atmosphere. As promised, white twinkle lights were strung around the windows and twisted through the leaves of the potted ficus trees placed throughout the restaurant. Rather than kitschy, they worked in concert with the white tablecloths to give the place a casual yet elegant ambiance.
“I don’t care if the food here turns out to be marginal, I love this restaurant,” she said.
James raised his gaze from his menu and beamed at her. “The fact every table is full and people are waiting makes me think the food will be excellent.”
Quinn nodded and began to study the menu when a young woman about her age arrived at their table. “Good evening. My name is Molly. I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?”
The innocuous question flooded Quinn with anxiety. She rarely drank alcohol, and when she did, it was usually some microbrew her brother John had run across and insisted she try. It was clear the place had an impressive and extensive wine collection, as evidenced by the giant floor-to-ceiling racks filled with hundreds of bottles housed behind a glass wall. She really did want to take advantage of the collection and try something, but had no idea what to order.
Quinn eyed the thick folder containing the restaurant’s wine list lying on the table as if it was a coiled rattlesnake about to strike. Deciding the best course of action was to kick the can down the road, she said, “I’ll just have water for now.”
“For me as well,” James said.
The waitress moved off and neither spoke as they perused their menus. She wondered if this was the kind of restaurant that served minuscule amounts of food on giant plates. When she snerked, James looked at her and asked, “What?”
She bit her lower lip in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. That was involuntary. I was just wondering what the portion sizes are here and it reminded me of the time I talked my dad into taking my mom and me to a swanky seafood restaurant in San Diego for her birthday a couple of years ago.”
“I can’t wait to hear,” he said. His gaze settled on her in anticipation.
Quinn couldn’t stop the grin at the memory. “My dad ordered salmon, asparagus, and potatoes, right? He’s all ready for a big old slab of fish, especially since he didn’t eat his salad.” Quinn pinched her face in a scowl and lowered her voice to imitate her father. “‘I’m not gonna eat a salad that looks like the pile of weeds I pulled out from the planters yesterday.’”
James laughed. “I know exactly what he’s talking about.”
She nodded excitedly. “Right? So anyway, the waiter arrives and with a grand flourish, sets the plate the size of a serving platter in front of my dad. At the center of this huge plate was a piece of salmon about the size of a quarter. Three skinny little spears of asparagus were off to one side and two golf ball–sized boiled potatoes were on the other. That was it.” She laughed. “I felt so bad for him. The look on his face was priceless. He stared down at his food with this mixture of confusion, disgust, and betrayal.”
James’s eyes rounded. “Oh no.”
“You know what, though? He didn’t say a word about it. He would never do or say anything to ruin my mom’s birthday, and since he’d already made a snarky remark about the salad, he cleaned his plate in about a minute and that was it. Although later I did overhear him tell my brother George prisoners of war get more food than that place served.”
James barked out a laugh and then ducked his head when a couple at a nearby table looked over at them. He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “I assume your mum knew what was going on.”
“Oh sure. She knew he wasn’t thrilled, but she also wanted to honor the sweet thing he was doing for her, so she didn’t say anything about it. On the way home from the restaurant, she said, ‘Robert, thank you for taking me to such a lovely restaurant for my birthday. It was a wonderful treat. And as much as I enjoyed the birthday flan at the restaurant, what I’d really like right now is a chocolate milk shake from In-N-Out. Would you mind stopping? You and Quinn can get something, too, if you like.’”
“That was her way of giving him permission to eat something else.”
“Mmm-hmm. ‘Well, Marie,’ he said. ‘It is your birthday and I’m not going to stand in the way of getting anything you want. I don’t want you to eat alone, so I’ll get a little something for myself.’”
A smile split James’s face. “He ate a Double-Double, didn’t he?”
“Yup. Animal Style. Mom said it was one of the best birthdays she’d ever had.”
James leaned back in his chair. “You’re quite close to your parents, aren’t you? They sound like a remarkable couple.”
“I am and they are. To me, they’re the model of what makes a marriage work: love, commitment, respect, faithfulness, self-sacrifice, gratitude, trust, grace, forgiveness.” She wondered if she’d completely freaked him by uttering the “M” word, even in the context of making an observation about her parents’ marriage.
To her relief, he didn’t run screaming from the restaurant like his hair was on fire. “You’re lucky to have such a great example.”
Intrigued by his comment, she was about to ask him a question about it when Molly, their server, returned with their waters and asked if they were ready to order.
“I’d like the pollo pomodori secco,” Quinn said, sure she was slaughtering the Italian pronunciation.
“Very good. And you, sir?” Molly asked.
“As tempting as it is to order the salmon,” he said, and sent a wink Quinn’s direction that nearly knocked her out of her chair, “I believe I’ll have the ciopinno.”
“Excellent.” Molly collected the menus and turned to leave. She took a step, stopped, spun back around, and pointed the tip of her pen at James. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
Taken aback, James looked up at Molly and said, “I don’t think so.”
“I feel like I seen you somewhere before. Do you live around here?”
“No, I’m sorry I don’t, although I have been here in Santa Monica the last week or so. Perhaps that’s it.”
“Maybe. I must be wrong since the person I thought you were didn’t rock a cool British accent and lived in Colorado,” Molly said and playfully wrinkled her nose at James.
Quinn didn’t know whether to laugh at the woman openly flirting with her date or punch her in the mouth. While the second option would have been much more satisfying, it was the less reasonable course of action, so she rested her clasped hands on her lap and pasted a placid smile on her face.
For his part, James wore a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be on the lookout for my American doppel-gänger.”
“If you find him, let me know,” she replied in a husky voice. She glanced over at Quinn who continued to watch the exchange with a bland expression. Molly seemed to realize she wasn’t actually in a singles bar and said in a vaguely chastened tone, “I’d better go put this order in for you.” She hurried away.
James winced. “Quinn, I’m so sorry about that.”
“It’s not your fault. You can’t help it if women flirt with you all the time.” She was guilty of it herself. “Molly probably shouldn’t expect a big tip from me, though,” she said in a dry tone.
He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back, and narrowed his eyes at her. “And I suppose you didn’t notice every eye of the male population in this room on you as we walked to our table.”
Her response was to guffaw and roll her eyes. “No, all eyes were on the seating hostess in the low-cut number.”
“Trust me. They were on you.” He paused before rocking forward and resting both elbows on the table. “But let’s forget all that and start again.” With a devilish twinkle, he said, “Tell me about yourself, Gwen.”
She laughed, delighted at the way he dispelled the strain brought on by Molly the Flirtatious Waitress. “It’s Quinn, actually. Quinn Ellington.” She set her elbow on the table and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. With a playful smile, she said, “I’m twenty-six years old and a librarian.” She paused to enjoy the brilliant grin that erupted on James’s face. “I love pizza, a good book by a roaring fire, and long walks on the beach.” After a beat, she finished with “Oh! And all I want for Christmas is world peace.”
Still grinning, James said, “James Lockwood. I’m twenty-eight and I work in insurance. I like fast cars, a pint of porter, and a good book by a roaring fire.” Quinn’s insides turned to goo when his smile went lopsided. “And all I want for Christmas is a Lamborghini necktie.”
“I’ll be sure to talk to Santa about that tie,” she said. “So, James, how did you get into the insurance business?”
“Nepotism, pure and simple. My uncle is my boss. My mum hounded him until he hired me. I didn’t think I’d like it since it sounds incredibly boring, but it’s turned out to be a pretty good job.”
“How’d you get lucky enough to be the one picked to come here and work with Mysterious Art Collector Guy’s collection?”
“I’m the only person in the office without a significant other, so my being gone for any length of time wasn’t going to be a hardship. Some of the people actually thought this would be a difficult assignment.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m not finding it difficult at all.”
She blushed and hoped her face didn’t glow like a hot ember in the dim light. To combat the sudden onset of cottonmouth, she sipped some water.
“What about you?” he asked. “What made you decide to become a librarian?”
“I was a sophomore at UCLA and had no idea what I was going to do with my life,” she said and set her glass down. “I was at the library studying one afternoon and the table I was sitting at wasn’t far from the reference desk. It wasn’t long before I wasn’t studying at all. I just sat there and watched the librarian help people who came in with all kinds of questions. I remember thinking, ‘What a cool job. I want to do that.’ So I went over to the librarian and asked him what I’d have to do to work at a reference desk. He told me I needed to go to grad school and get a master’s degree in library and information science.” When James’s eyebrows rose in surprise, she chuckled and said, “Who knew, right? Anyway, from that moment on, I knew it was what I wanted to do.”
“You’re very good at it.”
She smiled her thanks. “I guess my work this past week was worth the money?”
There wasn’t a hint of doubt in his voice when he answered, “Every penny.”