Page 30 of More Than Pen Pals

I groan again.

“You have to tell him why you can’t date him,” Wendy says, “and you have to do it now.”

“Now?!”

“Yep. Maybe not this very minute, but in the next day or so.”

“But why?” I know I’m whining, but it’s only been twelve hours since my last difficult conversation with Ash.

“Because Ash Hamilton doesn’t have chemistry with just anybody. Believe me, I know. And when he sets his sights on something, you’d better watch out. He’s going after it.”

I’m not so sure. Ash isn’t doing what he always dreamed about when it comes to his career. But Wendy probably has a point. If Ash feels all the same things I do, I need to nip any notions of dating in the bud before I get myself into a situation where I lose his newfound trust and he despises me more than he did yesterday afternoon.

When I don’t respond, Wendy continues, “If he can’t go after you yet, but you might want him to go after you in the future, tell himnow.”

“What do I say to him, though?”

“Everything. Tell him every single tiny little thing—all the thoughts and feelings and facts you’re refusing to tell me. That’s the way things have to be between you and Ash from now on, considering your past. No lies. No half-truths. No secrets. Or you’ll never be anything but colleagues who avoid each other. Is that what you want?”

I shake my head.

“Then get on the phone,” she points at it, “and invite him to lunch. Rip that bandage right off. No point in stalling.” She grins at me. “And then call Sexy Shannon and tell him he needs to come see his twin sister.”

“If you don’t stop calling my brother ‘Sexy Shannon’ …,” I trail off.

“You’ll what? I can’t wait to hear the end of your threat.”

How can one woman be both so endearing and maddening at the same time?

“I … I’ll never tell you when he comes to visit.”

“Oh, you’re good.”

sixteen

Three hours after returning to my office after my chat with Carmela, I’m still fuming—not at her, but at my father.

Carmela’s husband Javier, who is a legitimate green card holder, went to the Dominican Republic to visit his ailing mother three months ago, and he wasn’t able to get back into the US because of some mix-up with his paperwork. After exhausting all other avenues, Carmela felt like her final hope for getting justice was to ask my dad for help. Little did she know, he was the last person she should go to. I wish she had come to me instead of him when this all started.

I’m determined to get her husband back to his rightful home, but I’m going to have to do it without Dad finding out, which will be a pain. Most of the people I could go to for help would go straight to him with the news.

While I’m making a list of people who aren’t loyal to my father that I can contact about Javier—which is a pitifully short list—my phone beeps. I reach over and press the intercom button. “Yes?”

“I’ve got a Leslie Beckett from Carter-Jenkins on line three for you,” Annette says.

A nest of hornets takes up residence in my belly.

She continues, “She must be new, because I’ve never heard of her. She claims it’s urgent, but I’m not sure I believe her. What do you want me to do?”

“You can put her through,” I say as professionally as I can while feeling anything but professional.

“Hi, Ash,” Leslie says when the call connects. Those two tiny words kick the hornets up a notch.

“Hey.” Somehow, I can’t form any other words.

“Can you meet me for lunch today?” she asks.

The hornets are now in an all-out frenzy. “Yes.” I have no idea what my schedule is for lunchtime, but I’ll be wherever she wants me to be.

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