As though she can read my mind, Amy says, “We’re going to target some more than others, obviously. Some of them are more likely to be on your side.”
“Right.” I hate the idea of this. First, I don’t see why I should need to endear people to me for them to make the right decision with the information they have. But I also get the feeling that Amy understands people more than I do.
“I’m thinking we focus on Munoz, Wickes, and Prentice, according to the way they’ve voted on things in the past.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, the words popping out of me before I have the chance to dial them back. Amy’s brows rise in surprise, but I’ve already asked, so I might as well finish the thought. “I mean, aren’t they going to be pissed off at McKay Capital Management if they find out you’re helping me?”
“Yeah,” she says after a minute, dragging her eyes up from the tablet on the table and to my face. “They will. But I—I knowthis isn’t right. It’s one thing to offer people money when they’re planning to sell. It’s another to try and take someone’s land from them.”
I bite my tongue to keep from saying my opinion—that there’s likely not a single transaction that’s been carried out ethically from that firm. But I’ll have to let Amy get there on her own time.
“This plan might be too simple,” I say, watching as Amy clicks off her tablet and tucks it back into her bag. “Just because I help someone doesn’t mean they’re going to like me.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says, her eyes flicking to the pine cone on the table. “You can just let your shining personality do the work.”
CHAPTER 14
AMY
My boss is starting to get suspicious.
When I first got back to Denver, he’d acted like it wasn’t a big deal at all that I was stranded. I’d lied, saying I was stuck in Granite Peaks at the little lodge, rather than admitting I’d spent the weekend with Evan at his cabin.
The moment he got my emailed debrief, he called me into his office.
“What do you mean—conditions were not feasible for investigation?”
“The roads were unsafe,” I’d said, standing in his office, trying my hardest not to show the truth on my face. “I couldn’t even get through. Have youseenmy car, Don?”
He’d just made a low, unsatisfied noise and told me to get back to work.
It’s Friday again, and I’m driving the road into Granite Peaks, which is more familiar to me now on the third time through. AsI drive, I have three separate phone calls, coordinating with the other associates working on a different case.
I’m almost into town when my phone rings, and this time, it’s not someone from work.
“Kirstin,” I say, breathless. “Hey, everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, voice flat. “Where are you? Your location shows you’re leaving town? You have another work trip?”
“I… yeah,” I choke out, because that’s not exactly true, but I can’t tell her that. How can I explain to her that I won’t be around this weekend due to a sort of anti-work trip?
“Oh,” she says, then, after a moment, “you know, Greg’s friend was talking about that opening at his firm again.”
I swallow, flipping on the turn signal and turning onto yet another mountain road, my car faithfully climbing up the winding path. “Hopefully they can find someone.”
“You remember when you were going to law school?” Kirstin asks, prodding like she always does. “The kind of jobs you’d talk about eventually taking?”
I bite my tongue to keep from saying what’s obvious about that; those jobs don’t pay the bills. They’re all stress and no payoff. And with my staggering student loans, the only way I’m going to tackle them is with a higher-paying position at a major firm.
This is one area in which Kirstin and I have always been different. She and Dad were the dreamers, Mom and I the pragmatists. And in the divorce, it sometimes felt like each parent took the kid they really wanted.
Thankfully, before I can get too lost in the past or have to come up with a response to Kirstin’s half-baked question, I hear one of the kids squeal in the background, and laugh, “Is that Jordan?”
“Ugh, yeah.” Kirstin laughs. “He’s running around in those light-up shoes.” She pauses, pulling away from the phone. “Jordy, you wanna say hi to Aunt Amy?”
For the next ten minutes of the drive, I talk to Jordan and Rae, my spirits lifting considerably when I hear their soft, excited little voices.
“All right, guys,” I say, turning off the car and sitting for a moment, “I have to get going, but I’ll see you soon, okay?”
