Page 129 of Dying to Meet You
She frowns, twisting her bracelet and giving me a serious, blue-eyed frown. “I don’t know how far back that stuff has been digitized. But I guess I can poke around and see.” She grabs a pad of sticky notes. “Who’s the employee?”
“Betsy Jones.”
She tosses the pad aside. “Well, that’s easy enough to remember. I’ll try, okay? But if I found something—what would you do with it? How far are you willing to take this?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I’m just trying to make peace with the work we’re doing here. I want to know if the Wincotts have a clue about the bad adoptions.”
Beatrice blows out a breath. “I’ve basically given my life to this family. I’ve always felt that was a worthy investment. Really hope I wasn’t wrong.”
“I hope so, too.”
“Yeah. But at the same time, Marcus Wincott is dead. You may never get your answers. And Hank wouldnotappreciate us digging into this.”
I think of Hank last night, looming over me on the front porch. His entitled smile. And this job suddenly feels a lot less valuable. “Let’s just make sure he doesn’t find out.”
46
Coralie
About one day after Coralie accepted her pregnancy as a thing that’s really happening, her breasts tripled in size.
At least it felt that way.
Consequently, she did some bra shopping last night after work, and what’s the point of a new bra if it’s not a little sexy? And what’s the point of sexy if nobody notices? She’s paired the new, lacy bra with a pink blouse that’sslightlysee-through. And as she dressed this morning, she’d wondered how long it would take her boss to notice.
About two seconds, apparently. When he enters the office midmorning, his eyes go immediately to her bustline.
“Hello, Mr. Wincott,” she says silkily. “How was your breakfast meeting?”
“Long,” he says gruffly, his eyes lingering another moment on her chest, before he turns his gaze to the IT guy leaning over the tangle of cords in the corner.
Mr. Wincott makes a face, and Coralie smiles sweetly.
“Coffee ready?” he asks.
“Almost.” It isn’t even a lie.
“Bring me one in ten?”
“Of course.”
She waits until the techie leaves and then fixes Mr. Wincott a cup of coffee. After carrying it into his office, she shuts the door behind herself.
He looks up. Smiles hotly.
The weird thing is that she sometimes enjoys moments like this, with his gaze focused like a laser on her body. She moves languidly toward him, hips swaying.
He’ssomuch older than she is. She’s not attracted to him in thetraditional sense. Still. That hungry look in his eye makes her feel special. It’s like a drug sometimes.
There must be something seriously wrong with her.
“Is he gone?” The boss waves in the general direction of the outer office.
“Gone,” she says, and he smiles. “He was here to fix your broken fax machine.”
“I think he was here to admire your tits.”
“They are spectacular.” She sets the Wedgwood cup and saucer on the desk. Then she circles the desk and slides into his lap.
