Page 13 of More Than Pen Pals

“To explain.”

“I don’t need her to explain anything to me,” I lie. I desperately want to know why she pretended to be a boy, but I’m not about to ask her. I realize it makes no sense that she wants to explain it, and I want her explanation, but I’m refusing to allow her to give it to me. However, my pride and stubbornness overrule the logic.

“Oh, but you do.” Wendy gives me a sunny smile.

I growl in reply, and her eyes widen, but the smile stays in place.

“This situation has nothing to do with you, Wendy.”

“It has everything to do with me.”

“Care to reveal how?” I link my hands together, set them on the desk in front of me, and lean toward her. I’m more than ready to refute any reason she might provide. I didn’t graduate at the top of my Harvard Law class for nothing.

“I know you, Ash. You’re curmudgeonly already, but if you try to avoid or ignore Leslie whenever you come over to Carter-Jenkins, you’re going to kill the mood every single time. We don’t need that kind of energy over there.”

“Curmudgeonly?” I know I’m not the most positive person, but I’m offended by her characterization of me. And I’m a little surprised. How can she be interested in me while also thinking I’m a grouch?

“You’re an adorable curmudgeon, I’ll admit. But you still often remind me of a grumpy old man.”

I think I’m even more offended by the “adorable” description. I shake my head to get my mind back on track.

“I know there’s a heart of gold inside you, though,” she says dramatically, with a hand over her heart. “You’re a good man, Ash Hamilton, and that’s why I know you’re going to give Leslie a chance.”

This woman is maddening, but how am I supposed to argue with her without looking like more of a grumpy old man? She’d make an exceptional lawyer.

I sigh and lean back in my chair. “I’m sure you have a plan for this already.”

“There’s a reservation for two in my name at Chez Patrice tonight at eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”

Wendy stands and thrusts a hand out across my desk. My own right hand automatically reaches out and grasps it before I realize by doing so, I’m agreeing to her scheme.

“Excellent,” she says. “I knew I could count on you.” She’s out the door before I can formulate a response.

I’m stunned by how easily she roped me in. And I’m baffled by her ability to get a reservation at Chez Patrice. The latest hotspot in downtown Chicago has a three-month waitlist. I’m also surprised by Wendy’s unusual demeanor. She’s usually completely flustered around me, but she was in full-on confident PR maven mode just now, like she typically is around everyone else.

My mind wanders to Leslie. Though I’m still angry, I need to give her a chance to explain, especially since I can’t avoid her for long. I can’t imagine there’s a good reason for what she did, but I won’t know until I hear what she has to say. I well know you can’t put together a compelling argument unless you’re aware of all the facts.

I jump in my seat when my brother pops his head into my office, also without knocking. I make a mental note to start locking the door.

“Did I see Glinda scurry out of here?”

When nobody else is around, Randall refers to Wendy as Glinda the Good Witch fromThe Wizard of Oz.Since it’s an accurate moniker and not especially disrespectful—who doesn’t love Glinda?—I let him get away with it.

Randall steps inside and takes the seat Wendy recently vacated. “What did she want?”

I consider what to share with him. I don’t particularly want his input again, but he doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere. The quickest way to make him go away will be to give him what he wants.

“Apparently I’m going to dinner with Leslie tonight.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Dang, Glinda’s good.” A smile spreads across his face, and if I were a violent man, I’d be tempted to smack it off. “No wonder the top brass all love her over there. I’d pay good money to see her face off against you in a courtroom.” He taps his finger to his lips. “You think she could pass the bar without going to law school?” He nods. “I bet she could. She’s deceptively brilliant.”

“You done having a conversation with yourself?”

He bobs his head from side to side a few times. “I guess. I’d ask what’s got you so much grouchier than normal, but I already know.”

“I’m not grouchy!” I say louder than I intended.

He chuckles. “You know what Annette calls you when you’re not around?”

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