“Not the greeting I was hoping for,” he said, jamming his hands in his pockets.
“I don’t like surprises.”
“All surprises? Or only unexpected visitors?” When she said nothing, he asked, “Are you going to invite me in? It’s chilly out here.”
Ramsey didn’t move immediately, making it clear that she was going through a list of pros and cons before she answered. Finally, she stepped back and opened the door wider. “Shoes,” she said, pointing to where her boots and a pair of sneakers were lying on a rug inside the door. He was out of uniform so she was certain he was wearing a pair of designer socks. She wasn’t disappointed. At first, she thought the pattern was primary color polka dots, but on closer inspection she saw the dots were really balloons.
Sullivan followed her eyes to his feet. He wiggled his toes. “Christmas gift from Aunt Kay. Not what I would have chosen myself but I appreciate the effort she made.”
Ramsey wondered if Kay had stolen them and then immediately felt petty for entertaining the thought. “Nice,” she said, taking his coat and hanging it on the coat tree. “Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Beer? Water?”
Sullivan rubbed his hands together, warming them. “Coffee.”
“How about hot cider?”
“Even better.”
“Give me a couple of minutes.” She left him to get comfortable in the living room while she disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned, he was sitting in the leather armchair with his feet up on an ottoman. He was holding her Kindle, swiping the screen with his index finger to peruse her library. It felt weirdly personal, more like an intrusion than a casual interest, and it occurred to her, not for the first time, that she was the one with the problem, not him.
Ramsey stood beside the ottoman and extended the hand holding the cider mug. When he took it, she kept her hand extended until he got the idea that she wanted her Kindle back.
“Favorite book?” he asked, giving it over.
Ramsey closed the cover and returned to the sofa, resuming her curled position in the corner. “Right now, it’sThe Count of Monte Cristo.”
“Right now?” he asked. “It changes?”
“Sure. It’s a terrific revenge story. Today I’m thinking about how to get some of my own back, so it’s my favorite.”
Sullivan nodded, thoughtful, and sipped his cider. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. Did Paul fire you?”
“No. That would have brought him all the attention he was trying to avoid. He lectured me. Blah blah this. Blah blah that. He used to be tolerable, even reasonable. I don’t know if Ridge management has him by the balls, but he’s hard to like these days, harder to respect.”
“Is that a shared opinion?”
“I don’t know. I avoid conversational complaining with my coworkers. Too toxic.”
“Have you decided on a particular manner of revenge?”
“If I had, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Probably a good idea.”
Ramsey reached for the folded throw on the back of the sofa and pulled it over her legs.
Watching her, Sullivan said, “If we were at my house, I would build a fire.”
It was as if he had plucked the thought right out of her head. His mind reading abilities did not endear him to her. She had not yet decided how close she wanted him to be. Surely, she had some say in the matter. Didn’t she? “What happened to your report,” she asked. “Did you bury it?”
“No. I spoke to the chief. He’s going to handle it.”
“He’s friends with Owen Holloway?”
“Friendly at least. They play poker together.”
“I wonder what Janet Holloway will think about it all being handled on the side.”
“Relieved, I expect.”
