“We’re already here,” I say. “You can meet her and if I’m not feeling any part of this, we’ll leave.”
“And if this whole meet and greet starts fucking you up, I’m pulling you out.” Shaw and I have been grieving in our own ways. He’s shed his tears, but he’s said almost nothing. Still, I know he’s hurting. He steps past me and I take hold of the back of his neck as we walk down the hall. He’s tense as fuck and not from bending over his workbench all afternoon. He stops suddenly, rolling his neck into my grip as he looks up at me.
“I just need a second.” He closes his eyes, his long lashes touching his skin. I pull him closer and brush my lips over his brow. His arms wrap around my back and I feel a shuddered breath roll through him.
“We can go. I can tell her I’ll meet with her tomorrow. You don’t have to do this.”
“No.” He releases me and lets out a deep breath. He’s fighting like hell to hold back some completely appropriate tears and this time he wins. “Come on.”
We continue down the hall and turn two corners before we arrive at her suite. I see Brooklyn Lewis just outside her doorway, tipping a young waiter. She’s wearing a long-sleeved, black and teal, silk sleep shirt and nothing else. Even her feet are bare.
“Hey,” she says, her voice oddly cheerful. “Come on in.”
We follow her into the suite. There’s a covered platter of food on the table along with a bottle of Chardonnay and three wine glasses. “I didn’t eat on the road. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” I say.
“And I just got the extra glasses to be polite. I’m gonna fuck up that whole bottle.”
I hold back a snort and incline my head toward her. “If there was ever a time to drink, it’s now. This is Shaw. Christopher Shaw. Shaw, Brooklyn Lewis.”
“Nice to meet you,” Brooklyn says as she shakes his hand.
“You too.”
“You guys make yourself comfortable,” she says as she goes ahead and starts to fill all the wine glasses anyway.
“None for me,” I say, but Shaw takes a glass with a quiet thank you.
“How was traffic getting over here?” she asks.
“You want to talk about the traffic?” Shaw says.
“Oh?” I watch her as her neck snaps back in surprise. “Okay.” She sets down her glass and slides easily into a seat at the small dining table. I watch as she pulls her leg up so she can perch her foot on the seat as well. Her whole thigh is exposed now as well as the teal silk underwear she has on. She glances over at me before she turns her attention back to Shaw. “We’ll skip the small talk then. Let’s get right to it. I have my questions, but you’re my guests. So please, I’ll eat while you grill me.”
She pulls the cover off her platter and the monster cheeseburger waiting for her makes her stomach growl. She doesn’t seem embarrassed though. She just grabs her knife and cuts the thing in half before digging in. I take a seat in the armchair by the window and take in the way Shaw is watching her.
“We didn’t come here to grill you,” I finally say. The sound of my voice releases the tension in Shaw’s shoulders. He sets down his wine glass and takes a seat on the firm sofa in the middle of the room.
“I’m sorry, Brooklyn,” he says, sounding more like himself. Shaw’s a prick in his own way. Still, all puffed up with women he’s just met isn’t really his style.
“It’s okay. I’ve had to stop myself from cussing my boss out like every day. I get the short fuse. This is bullshit and no one understands why. Or even if they do, it’s like they are trying to comfort you with a rake.”
Shaw chuckles and reaches for his wine again. I watch him take a deep sip before he lets out a breath. His shoulders finally relax.
“I have to say, you two are quite the pair.” She nods toward me before nodding in Shaw’s direction. “A tall-slim and a swole for no reason. I mean, Josh was cute, but I don’t know that I would have given him the time of day with the two of you around. How’d this all come together?”
“How’d we meet?” I ask for clarification.
She nods, her mouth full of burger.
“At a party for a shared client, actually. A scientist from the Cape.”
“Kind of an awkward guy. Not a lot of friends,” Shaw adds. “He invited his lawyer and his carpenter—”
“You’re a carpenter?” Brooklyn asks.
“He’s quite the craftsman,” I say. Shaw’s work speaks for itself. He likes to let it do the talking. In public, I like to brag for him.
