Page 117 of Sugar

“Whatever it is that you want, go for it.”

Her eyes widened before she schooled her features. “Even another aquarium closer to my desk?”

“Yes.” I barely had to think about it before adding, “And one in here, too.”

“What? Really?” She waved her hands. “Wait. No. That’s not why I’m here.”

“What then?”

She stepped in and closed the door. “How was your weekend?”

I hated mindless small talk, so I raised a dark brow. “Fine. Why?”

“You rushed out of the Wilkins engagement party fast.”

“Was there an issue?”

“No. Hank understood. And I added three consults to your calendar after the new year. You’re welcome.”

“I saw. You clearly handled things in my place as competently as always.”

“Wow. With that kind of appreciation, my ego might gettoobig.”

I blinked at her.

“So everything is okay?”

“Again, it’s fine. Are you going to tell me why you keep asking, or am I supposed to play Twenty Questions to find out?”

“Because along with cutting out early on Saturday, you missed a meeting with Adriana Davies yesterday afternoon.”

Even if I wanted to, there was no hiding my shock at that. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d forgotten an appointment. Hell, I wasn’t sure I’d ever done it. But despite the time I’d spent in my home office the morning before, my thoughts hadn’t been on work. I hadn’t even opened my calendar. And other than glancing at email subjects to make sure they weren’t marked urgent, I’d barely looked at my phone.

I’d been too distracted by Maddie.

With Maddie.

InMaddie.

I reached for my phone, but she cut me off. “Matt was here. He handled the PI for her case, so he was able to go over the findings and the options moving forward. His notes should be in the system.”

Of every client I could’ve let slip through the crack, the studio heiress who was being sued after hitting someone with her car wouldn’t be top of my list. Especially since her doting father was also a client—and one who single-handedly funded my house purchase thanks to his… eccentric business and personal life.

Since that kind of case was outside my varied wheelhouse, I’d only agreed to review it in order to recommend the best suited representation. But when our PI found footage that showed the victim had haltingly thrown himself in front of her car—and documented evidence that his injuries were exaggerated—the open and shut case turned into easy money.

Unless I missed a damn meeting and lost both Davies as clients.

“If anyone asks,” June continued, “your grandmother died.”

“She did. Forty-five years ago.”

Her face softened with the kind of sincere—yet incredibly fake—sympathy that’d earned her the coveted spot at the front desk. “Can we ever really put a timeline on grief?”

I made a mental note to follow up with MattandAdriana as soon as June left, but that apparently wasn’t all there was.

Because my day had peaked before seven, dammit.

“Did your disappearing act have anything to do with the Tripp Carter situation?”

---