Page 11 of Just for Her
“Does it matter?” I asked. My quiet brother and the best-selling romance author were one and the same.
“Not really,” he admitted.
That was what I was afraid of. “Give it to me.”
“Okay, first and foremost, you have to hire some help. Someone capable of taking some of the work off your hands, so you can concentrate on the important stuff.”
I nodded. It was on my list of things to do. My very long list.
“Second, you need to nip this thing with Stella in the bud before it goes too far.”
I sighed and nodded again, dreadingthatconversation even though I suspected it was long overdue. “I know.”
“And third, this thing with Allison Kearney ...”
I leaned forward, because this was the part I was most interested in.
“You need to let it go.”
I blinked, feeling cheated. “Let it go?”
“Let it go,” he repeated. “If you’re not willing to compromise your principles—and I’m not saying you should—then you’ve done what you can.”
He was right, of course. Hearing him affirm my earlier decision didn’t make me feel any better, however. In fact, it rankled me even more.
“Unless there’s a reason why youcan’tlet it go,” Nick added with a smirk ghosting his lips and a devious twinkle in his dark eyes.
“Like what?”
“Your conscience. The innate white-knight tendencies that drove you into family law services to begin with. Or”—his grin grew—“whatever it is that puts a gleam in your eye when you talk about her.”
I scoffed. “That’s Nick Penn talking.”
“True,” he agreed, “but in this case, it’s not fiction. That’s how I felt when I met Kat. And Vinnie gets that same gleam in his eye whenever he talks about Haven.”
I silenced the knee-jerk denial before it could cross my lips. It would come across as too defensive, ahe doth protest too muchkind of thing that would only fuel the fire.
Instead, I went with, “Spoken like a man in love.”
“Guilty as charged, Counselor.”
Which reminded me, I needed to get back to the office. I’d already wasted far too much time. “Good talk. I have to head back. Tell Kat I said hi.”
“I will. You can tell me how it works out at Sunday dinner.”
I said nothing, because I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to make it two weeks in a row.
“And don’t even think about skipping again unless you want Ma showing up at your office and dragging you in by your ear.”
I laughed and reflexively rubbed the shell of my ear, remembering our mother’s favorite method of getting our immediate and undivided attention. “Heard.”
I was near the door when I felt it—a strange, tingling sensation at the back of my neck, as if I was in someone’s sights. I slowed and turned toward one of the alcoves, my heart skipping a beat when I saw a pair of familiar sea-green eyes looking my way.
