Page 44 of Liar's Point

“Well. Uh—” She darted a glance across the room, where Leyla Breda was now arranging mugs near the coffee machine.

Alex cleared his throat. “Leyla?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh. Right. I’m out!” She crossed the room and grabbed a tote bag beside the reception counter. “I’ll be back in an hour with sandwiches.” She hitched the bag onto her shoulder. “Alex, chicken pesto or portobello mushroom?”

“Chicken,” he said. “Thanks.”

She pulled open the door.

“Wait. Come on, Ley. Seriously?”

She turned around, and Alex was glaring at the framed magazine article by the door.

“What? It’s perfect there.” She gave him a pointed look and walked out.

The second the door closed, he stepped over and unhooked the frame from the wall.

“Sorry.” He rolled his eyes. “Come on back.”

Cassandra followed him down a corridor and into a semi-unpacked office.

“We’ve gone nine rounds over this thing,” he said, stashing the picture behind the door. “She wants it front and center.”

“Your wife seems proud of you.”

He glanced up. “My sister. She’s very helpful and also very opinionated.” He removed a banker’s box from a side chair. “Please excuse the mess. Here, have a seat.”

He set the box on the floor behind a giant mahogany desk that matched the empty credenza behind it. Then he opened another cardboard box on the floor and fished out a legal pad.

Cassandra lowered herself into the side chair and settled her hands on top of her file folder.

“So.” Alex dropped the legal pad on the desk and leaned back in his chair. He smiled, and she felt a warm tingle that traveled from her stomach to the tips of her toes. “What brings you in today?”

“Well.” She fidgeted with the edge of her folder, then forced her hands to be still. “I wanted to inquire about wills.”

“Wills.” The smile widened. “That wasn’t what I thought you were gonna say.”

“You don’t do wills?”

“No. I do.” He leaned forward and rested his tanned arms on the desk. “Just most of my will clients are, like, sixty. Or new parents.”

He looked at her expectantly.

“I’m neither,” she said, fidgeting with the folder again. “I’ve been pecking around online.” She cleared her throat. “I think I have an idea of what I need? But I don’t want to get it wrong. It’s too important. You see, my brother has special needs. He lives in a group home in Arizona. I want to make sure he’s taken care of.”

He took a pen from the drawer and jotted something on his legal pad. “Age?”

“Me or my brother?”

“Both.”

“I’m twenty-seven,” she said. “Lucas is thirty-one.”

He made a note and glanced up.

“I think I might need a trust? I don’t know. You’re the expert, obviously.”

“Is it just you?” he asked.

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