I can’t risk losing it again.
Why did I ever think showing up unannounced at Adam’s office was a good idea? I’ve been standing outside for ten full minutes, staring at the limestone facade like it could give me a sign. The folder is pressed to my chest, a flimsy shield against what’s bound to be an uncomfortable conversation.
The soft shuffle of today’s guard nudges me out of my doubt-induced paralysis. If I don’t move soon, I’ll officially cross into potential stalker territory pretty fast.
Inside, on the second floor, a woman with neatly pinned gray hair greets me with a polite, “Good morning. Can I help you?”
The space looks nothing like the open floor of our own headquarters. It’s more like an old university library, with the sun filtering through tall French windows and dark wooden panels lining the walls.
I don’t know what I expected, but it makes sense. The design is not showy or trendy. Just solid and grounded.
So fundamental Adam.
“I…yes.” I force a smile and shuffle the file in my arms. “I’m here to see Mr. Erickson.”
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, still pleasant.
Of course I don’t. Because clearly, I haven’t thought this through.
“Um…no. We’re…old friends.”
She hesitates, peering over my shoulder at the security detail, long enough to make me want to bolt back to the car. “I’m sorry,” she says gently. “Mr. Erickson doesn’t take walk-ins.”
Slowly, irritation begins to elbow past the nerves. I open my mouth to remind the boarding-school-mistress-looking woman that herbossmight want to see the head of his largest client, when an amused voice cuts through the hallway, smooth and steady.
“Of course I do,” Adam calls from a nearby office. “For anold friend.”
His office matches the rest of the floor. Warm, unfussy elegance. Built-in wooden shelves, filled with neatly stacked books and pictures of his family and hockey buddies from college.
Adam leans casually against his desk, arms crossed, a slow, wicked smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“To what do I owe the pleasure…Miss Rawlings.”
On any other day, I’d throw something witty back. But today, I can’t sit on this any longer.
I cut straight to the chase. “I came to give you this.”
The smile melts away at the sight of the brown file jacket. He doesn’t reach for it. I literally have to shove it into his arms.
“It’s been on my mind since we left your parents’ home,” I say quickly, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. “I’d like you to run it. To have the final say.”
He opens the file slowly, without saying anything, a frown digging deep lines across his forehead. It takes him forever to scan the title page.
He’s a freaking boy genius, I know he can read faster than that.
“What is this?”
“A way to help underprivileged kids,” I blurt out, hoping it will put him in a good mood, so we can move to the next, more pressing order of business. “Get an education. A chance.”
He flips to the next page, still frowning. “A grant for scholarships?”
“Yes. It should cover full expenses for a hundred kids a year,” I clarify. “Though, of course, if you want to include more—”
His brow lifts as he reads on. “This is… incredibly generous. I should’ve thought of something like this years ago.”
“We have more than enough funds.”
But then he stills. “Why is only my name on here?” His gaze lifts to mine. “Why not yours?”
