"Come in."
The door opened. Catherine, my chief secretary, around thirty, sharp as hell usually. But today, she walked in guilty. I spotted it—a tiny brown crumb on her lip, right at the lipstick edge.
Damn.
I stared at that crumb, temples throbbing.
"Boss?" Catherine sensed trouble, face paling. "I just remembered something unfinished—I'll handle it." She dropped the file bag and fled, door half-shut.
Office quiet again.
I grabbed the bag, ripped the seal, and dumped the contents on the walnut desk. Papers and photos scattered.
All on Harper.
I picked up the first sheet, skimmed casually.
But page by page, my indifference froze. Brows furrowed, I sat up straight.
The file was clean.
Too clean—heartbreakingly so.
Her Dad was a drunk, drowned in debt, and bailed early. Mom remarried, ditched her and the sick brother like trash to please the new guy.
From eighteen, she'd raised her brother with congenital heart disease alone.
A dense table listed her jobs and finances.
Nursing home aide, diner dishwasher, convenience store night cashier... every gig imaginable.
Expenses: ninety percent to hospitals and pharmacies. Rest on cheap rent and food.
No luxuries. No salons, vacations, barely clothes.
For a burdensome brother, she'd sold herself to me.
Guilt. Foreign to me, but it hit now.
Maybe I should check on her tonight. Whatever the reason, newlyweds being apart too long looked bad for her.
The drive home left me restless.
For some reason, imagining her cold shoulder stirred odd anxiety.
The car pulled into the manor gates. Night blanketed the main house. Only a few windows glowed warm yellow.
I headed straight to the second floor.
Pushed open the master bedroom door. The room was quiet. The bedside lamp was on, but the bed was empty.
Shower sounds trickled from the bathroom.
She was bathing.
I relaxed, shrugged off my coat, and tossed the tie on the couch. The empty lunch bag went on the nightstand, right by that pink card.
I'd planned to hit the study for emails, wait till she finished, then... say what?
