A beat. She bites her lower lip. “I believe forty is somewhat excessive.”
“Try me.”
Her guilt dissolves, and she nods, this time with the ghost of a smile playing across her face.
“I do need to finish a few things here,” I tell her. “Go hang up those clothes. I’ll call you back later.”
“Alright.”
“Prudence.”
“Yes?”
“The sunset dress. Wear that tonight.”
Her smile breaks wide open. “I will.”
We hang up.
I stare at the dark screen for three full seconds. Then, break into a wide grin. I can’t help it. I tap her name and call her back.
She answers on the second ring, confusion creasing her brow. “Ronan?”
“It’s later.”
A beat of silence. Then a laugh—bright, startled, and unguarded—bursts from her and hits me the way good whiskey does, straight to the bloodstream. I’m grinning at my phone, full-on idiot, zero shame, and I don’t care.
“You are very strange,” she says, still laughing.
“I’ve been told.”
“I like it.”
“Good. Now go open those shoe boxes.”
She’s still laughing when she hangs up, and I’m still grinning when Margaret appears in my office doorway holding a stack of contracts.
She stops. Blinks.
“Mr. O’Rourke?”
“Margaret.”
She’s staring at my face in shocked confusion. “Are you…smiling?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird. I’ve worked for you for six years, and I have never seen a smile like that on your face.” She sets the contracts on my desk. “It suits you. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you look anything other than calculating or annoyed.”
“That’s enough, Margaret.”
“It’s really nice to see, is all I’m saying.” She turns to leave, then pauses at the door. “Whoever she is, she’s good for you.”
Margaret’s gone before I can respond.
I lean back in my chair, spinning a pen between my fingers and sit with what Margaret just said.
She’s not wrong. It has been a very long time since I smiled at anything that wasn’t a closed deal or a tactical victory. It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt truly happy.
