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"I'll help you."

The words came out before she'd decided to say them, but once out, she didn’t regret them.

"That's not part of your job."

"I'm aware of what's in my job description. I read it twice before I signed it."

"Alli, I’m not being polite. It's going to be a bad afternoon. You didn't know her. There's no reason you should have to sit in a dead woman's bedroom going through her drawers because your boss asked you to."

And he had known her, yet he was willing to do it. A highly paid executive who could have simply written a check, and it would have been magically done. He didn’t have to get his own hands dirty.

"You're not asking. I offered. Those are different."

"They're not, when I'm the one signing your paychecks. I want to be sure you know you can say no to me. That matters to me more than the boxes do."

From what she’d heard about Sam’s father, Joel Winslow would have happily accepted her offer of help and then found a convenient excuse to let her do all of it while he golfed.

"Okay," she said. "Then here's my honest answer. I'm curious. I'm not going to pretend I'm not. I’ve been sitting at that woman's desk for a week, and I keep finding her handwriting on things. Sticky notes in the drawers. She had a whole system I'm still reverse-engineering. I've never met her, but I’ve spent a lot of time with her. And I respect her. I don’t think her personal items should be packed by someone who doesn’t care either.”

Sam was shaking his head, but he was also smiling. She had the distinct feeling she’d won this round.

"And," Alli said, "I think somebody should be there who liked her. Even if I only liked her theoretically. That seems like the bare minimum a person is owed."

He didn’t respond right away, which was not unusual. She’d already noticed that he took his time and didn’t rush into things. She liked that about him. He was…thoughtful and deliberate. She had a feeling that he wasn’t the type to blindly rush into anything.

"Okay,” he finally relented. “But you can change your mind.”

“Okay, and I won’t change my mind.”

"The memorial's tomorrow evening," he said. "We could do the condo in the morning. Be back in time to get changed."

She mentally ran through Sam’s meeting schedule. There wasn’t anything there she couldn’t reschedule for another time.

"That works."

He glanced at the stack of files on his desk, then at his watch.

"We’re gonna be buried if we're out all day."

"Then we stay late tonight."

“Dinner is on me then," he said. “I can have Tate send over one of his large pizzas, or we can have anything else you might want.”

She hadn’t lived in town long, but she was well aware of the Tate’s reputation for delicious pizza. While she had different food the other night when dining there, everything had tasted outstanding.

They worked the rest of the day steadily, barely stopping except for a few short breaks to stretch their legs or get a drink refill. Right at dinner time, a delivery guy showed up with a piping hot large sausage pizza with tons of extra cheese. It smelled amazing, and her empty stomach growled in anticipation. It was all she could do not to simply shove the first slice into her face without chewing.

Luckily, he appeared to be as hungry as she was, and between the two of them, they made a dent in the massive pie before their stomachs were full.

By seven, the floor had emptied out. The whole place went so quiet you could hear the elevator moving three floors away.

They'd migrated without discussing it, from his desk to the small conference table by the windows, work spread flat between the paper plates and plastic cups from dinner. They both sat on the same side because the files were easier to read that way.

It put her shoulder about eight inches from his.

She was aware of it. Not constantly, of course, but every time she reached across him for a folder, or he leaned in to point at a line item and she caught whatever he wore, something clean and faintly like citrus, and lost about four seconds of whatever she'd been reading.

“I appreciate that you’re working late tonight,” Sam said, stifling a yawn. “I hope your brother isn’t worried about you.”