Page 109 of Dying to Meet You
“Fine. Yes. You can’t talk me out of applying! You know what? We’lldiscuss this later. I have to go.” A half second later I hear the smack of her phone on the desk blotter.
Shit.
“I’m off my call, Rowan. You don’t have to lurk there.”
I walk into the office. “I’m sorry. That sounded like a bad moment, and I wasn’t sure I should stay.”
She looks utterly shaken, and for once it’s not me who’s having a small breakdown at her desk. Beatrice rests her head in her hands and lets out a growl of rage.
I can pretty much guess what happened here. “Is this about the director’s job?”
“He posted it today. Anational search.” She lifts her face, and it’s red. “He told me I should apply to be the assistant to the director and work my way up. Which we all know is aload of crap.”
“An actual load of crap,” I agree. “If the director they hire ever leaves, they’d just...”
“Do another national search.” Beatrice rolls her eyes to the ceiling, as if looking for guidance from the trompe l’oeil ceiling. “He says that the director’s job is really a development job. That it has to go to someone withinfluence. He just means a white man with money and Ivy League connections.”
“I’m so sorry.” I sink down in my chair. “That’s lazy thinking on his part. Nobody cares more about this job than you do.”
“Nobody,” she says firmly. “At least he’s your problem tonight. Not mine.”
“My problem?” I repeat.
An eyebrow lifts. “The Historical Commission dinner. Before he ruined my week, Hank told me to tell you he’d pick you up at six.”
“Oh God. That’stonight?”
Her eyes widen and all of a sudden her mood shifts. “You forgot? Need me to find you a blowout? I’ll call in a favor.”
“No, no. It’s fine,” I backtrack. “I’m good. But what the hell am I going to wear? I can’t even remember the last time I put on a dress.”
She gives me a grin that’s slightly feral. “I want pictures from this date.”
“There will be no pictures,” I say, checking my calendar just to make sure it’s true. And, yup, it’s right there. I’ve just been too overwhelmed to keep track of my life. “This isnota date. Hank just expects to be bombarded with questions about the renovation, and he wants my help answering them.”
“I’m sure that’s part of it.” Her smile is bitter. “But you’re also the kind of woman he wants at his side. The right degree. Old Maine family. Age appropriate, yet still good arm candy.”
“He’s definitely not my type. Honestly, I always thought he was moreyourtype.”
“Ohhellno.” She laughs dryly. “Hank’s like a brother to me. Even if he weren’t on my shit list, I wouldnevergo there.”
It’s a pretty convincing reaction, but I still don’t buy it. She seems downright obsessed with the whole Wincott family, and Hank especially.
“Besides, I’d never date anyone that high maintenance,” she says. “His manicure is better than mine.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “Good point.”
“Should we get coffee? My turn to treat.”
“I can’t even do coffee. I’ve got an off-site meeting.”
“Oh?” She sits back in her chair. “It’s not on your calendar.”
“What calendar? I’m a walking wreck. We covered this already.” But of course, I left my meeting with Detective Riley off the schedule. I don’t want to have to explain to Beatrice why I’ve volunteered to spend time with the cops.
Since I don’t even know myself.
***
