Page 113 of Ardently Yours

“I wanted you to have the opportunities you deserved. And I didn’t want you to feel you had to keep talking to me or risk losing your scholarship. It seemed better to wait to tell you, but I misjudged the timeline. You have to admit from the moment you graduated until now, we’ve been busy with more important things.”

Her mouth drops open and her hand flies to shield her eyes. “Oh my God, I sent you an email telling you we were going to sabotage your company.”

I press my lips together hard, keep my brow stern, and dip my chin.

“Stop laughing at me.” There’s humor behind her own voice, no matter how much she’s working to pretend there isn’t.

“I’m trying not to. Look at me.” I gesture to my face. “I’m frowning.”

“You’re still laughing.”

I press my lips together harder, and my left eye twitches.

Tossing the envelope to the side table, she huffs and drops her arms.

I slide my hands down to take hers in mine. “When I showed up, I planned to send every one of your friends a warning via certified letter to scare them straight and continue with the original plans for the property. But you were so sweet and passionate. I fell in love with you that day.”

Her eyes soften, then she firms her mouth. “You’re turning this into something romantic, but you lied to me.”

“I withheld information, true. But it was an anonymous donation, not a body in a basement.”

She snatches her hands away and lifts a finger. “If you bring that up every time we get into a fight for the next fifty years, you and I are going to have a problem, sir.”

The corner of my mouth lifts, and she glares.

“That was sarcasm, not flirtation,” she says.

“I apologize,” I say immediately. “For everything.”

“I don’t believe you. You don’t think you did anything wrong.”

“Then demand restitution.”

She rolls her eyes. “Right. Because you haven’t given me enough. I’m supposed to ask for more?”

“It doesn’t have to be a financial request.”

She slides her lower jaw to the side. “Community service.”

“It would be my pleasure to service you, Mrs. McRae.”

“Don’t be cute right now. It’s an unfair advantage.” She shakes her head and appears to be thinking. “No. You don’t get to choose your own restitution. Let the punishment fit the crime.”

“Now, you’re scaring me.” There is a minuscule part of me that isn’t joking.

“Next summer. Shakespeare Under the Stars. You’re a gifted orator, you’ll look great in a codpiece, and the ticket sales they’ll make and free advertising from having you perform will be enough to cover a new sound system.”

I watch her face, looking for the smallest hint of weakness. “What if I pay for a new sound system, apologize again, and this time, I try harder to sound like I mean it?”

“I’ve passed sentencing.”

“I won’t be able to attend regular rehearsals. It would be a disservice to my fellow thespians,” I reason.

“You can perform some sonnets or monologues to warm up the audience,” she says. “You’ll make a great emcee.”

“You’re the only one allowed to fit me for a codpiece.”

“I’ll make sure your costume is extremely dignified,” she says.

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