Page 48 of Lela's Choice

“But also provide time-out if the combatants needed it?” He was in awe of her capacity for self-reflection. “Prevent another schism in your family?”

She winced. “I left my run a bit late.”

“I’ve learned one party can’t make all the concessions. That’s not a lasting peace.”And which idiot had spouted that crap?He snagged a passing waiter carrying a tray of tiny stuffed mushrooms. “Try these, they’re renowned for their tapas here.”

Over the next three hours, the band grew louder, and the barriers between the crowd and the musicians blurred. Waiters continued to circle, taking drink orders and returning with plates of delicious mouthfuls—fish morsels, slivers of potato pancakes, slices of baguette piled high with meat or vegetable concoctions. Chits were added to a jar on their bench, and the mood became more festive and boisterous.

“Ready to go? Looks like people could be dancing on the tables soon.” Hamish gestured to some exuberant revellers nearby.

“I’m glad you talked me into coming.” She slid off her stool. “Let me pay for this.” She reached for the jar containing their food and drink chits.

“I could be charging your father.”

She shook her head. “You don’t charge your clients for your alcohol consumption or social activities.”

“You’ve let me pay for every other meal.” Her mind fascinated Hamish. “Did you think I applied a liberal interpretation to your father’s offer to pay your bills and added a margin for myself?”

Her gaze was steady. “For the short time before I worked out you’retheHamish Beauregard MacGregor.”

“Beauregard was my grandfather. Beau in the family. I have no scruples about charging your father for anything you eat, drink or otherwise require.” He still had an unanswered question. “Why are you letting him pay for you?”

“I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“You puzzled me,” Hamish said, slipping his jacket off the back of the stool and slinging it over his shoulder. “You took his money at the airport that first night.”

“I figured if I accepted his”—she paused—“hospitality, I could fund a youth worker at my foundation for a week.”

“I should have guessed.” Hamish was beginning to understand the intricacies of each move and counter-move she made. All of them calculated to preserve a delicate balance. “Would he have worked that out?”

“It’s my way of telling him money won’t decide the outcome of this search.”

“You should work for the UN. You negotiate like a pro.” He rubbed his chin. “Let me pay for tonight. Consider it my contribution to your charity.”

“My friends and I usually split the bill.” Heat rose up her cheeks. “Don’t imagine I hide in my bedroom and put every dollar I earn in the charity.”

“That wouldn’t model the behaviour you want Sophie to copy.”

“Then let me get this.” She tried to pluck the jar from Hamish’s hand.

“I’m buying tonight, Miranda, because I asked for your company, and I’ve enjoyed it.”

“I wasn’t expecting you.” Her voice held uncertainty—she hadn’t expected someone to take her seriously. She was beautiful, inside and out.

“Me, or your father’s offer?” He was under no illusions. She’d have given him nothing if he’d been her father’s flunkey.

“I should have expected Papa’s offer. Would have, if my brain hadn’t been addled after the flight. Papa wanted me where you could keep an eye on me. You’re the surprise, Hamish.”

He registered her use of his name and absorbed the pleasure of it. “Your father wields money like a weapon.”

“He came from wealth, hence Sophie’s and my trust funds, but he was subjected to constant pressure to do better.” Her eyes didn’t smile.

“There you go again. Defending him. Yet he buys power.”

“He couldn’t buy you.”

Her compliment nourished the empty spaces inside him. Her trust was a unique gift because she understood the loss and sacrifices required to live your principles every day.

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