Page 17 of Keller

“Let's start with six weeks for an initial assessment,” he says. “That doesn’t mean it ends then, but we should know by then if we need to keep going or you're satisfied that there really is nothing there. If you need more time after that, you justify it.”

He finally hands me the folder. It’s thin by design. Enough to start. Nothing more.

I stand and take the folder. “I’ll send you my initial outline by end of day.”

“Good,” he says. “And Quinn.”

“Yes?”

He meets my gaze. “Trust your process. That’s why you’re here.”

I leave his office and walk back to my desk. The bullpen is louder now. Phones are ringing, voices are starting to overlap as the office comes alive.

The pressure settles in my chest, familiar and sharp, but underneath it is something steadier. Purpose. Direction.

I open the folder and start reading.

The folder sits openon my coffee table. I've been staring at the same page of shipments for the week before his death for twenty minutes.

My phone buzzes and Leah's name flashes on the screen.

Be there in 10. Bringing wine.

I close the folder and shove it into my work bag. By the time she knocks, I've changed into sweatpants and pulled my hair into a messy knot.

She sweeps in with two bottles of wine and a grin. "You look like hell."

"Thanks."

"I mean it in the best way." She sets the wine on the counter and grabs glasses from my cabinet without asking. "How is work going?"

"I'm officially on my new assignment. Right now I'm just poring through everything, so nothing too exciting. But it's good."

She pours. The red catches the light from the lamp in the corner. The rest of my apartment is dim, comfortable. Exactly how I need it right now.

Leah hands me a glass and drops onto the couch. She tucks her legs under her and watches me over the rim.

"Okay, let's get to the good stuff. I need to hear about Saturday night. This vague 'I saw him and we might have hooked up in a storage room' isn't anywhere close to cutting it. Details."

"So, he's even hotter than I remember. And he's an amazing kisser."

We both devolve into laughter as I cover my mouth, surprising myself with my candor. I still can't believe I did that. My heart is racing just with the thought of it all.

"Quinn Mercer." Her voice pitches higher. "Did you have sex with him?"

"We stopped short." I set my glass down. "But it was just as hot and insane, we pushed up my dress and I had my legs wrapped around his waist. Oh, my god, I have no idea what came over me."

"Um, I'll tell you. You've been obsessing over this mystery man for several weeks. Duh, of course you jumped his bones the minute you saw him. How did y'all end up in a storage room, for Christ's sake?"

Between giggles and gulps of wine and a pang in my chest, I tell her about first talking about architecture, of all things, while he had on his mask, and then how I recognized those lips and jaw line, and that led to him offering to show me the building.

"You're living the stuff dreams are made of, Quinn. I mean, a hottie saves you in the street, then you run into him at one of the most exclusive parties in the city, masked, no less, and then freaking knock boots in a secret room while the party goes on below you."

"Correction, we didn't consumate the boots-knocking. So, technically, we weren't knocking boots. Important distinction."

"And why, pray tell, did you stop short of doing the deed? You were already there. Pop, and you're done. Don't tell me you freaked out."

"I totally freaked out," I say as I bury my face in my hand. "I mean, anyone could have walked in at any time. I don't even know the man's last name."