Page 29

“Real feathers, you mean?”

“Wings. Attached to me.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “You're telling me you grew enormous black wings for Halloween?”

“I didn't grow them for Halloween.”

He sounded as calm as he'd been explaining permissions to Martin on Friday, which made the answer even more ridiculous.

“Cillian, please. I can be furious with you and still admit you had an extraordinary costume. You don't have to invent something else.”

“I'm not inventing it. I can show you, but I can't do it in this building.”

I glanced toward the door, suddenly aware of how many people were a few steps away. Whatever Cillian was claiming, I didn't want Jenna or Martin walking in on the conversation.

“Show me where?”

“My place. I have room there, and nobody else needs to see.”

I studied him. He'd admitted the masquerade deception without trying to wriggle out of it. That didn't make his latest claim any easier to believe.

“You understand why I'm not inclined to take your word for anything right now.”

“I do. That's why I'm offering proof.”

He didn't touch me or move toward the door. I considered refusing. I could finish my day, go home, and decide that any man who claimed to have real wings was someone I was better off avoiding.

But I'd felt those feathers against my bare shoulders and watched them fold inside an elevator. If he was lying about them, I'd know soon enough. If he wasn't, I needed to see for myself.

“After work,” I said. “I'll drive myself. You can give me the address, and I'll decide when I get there whether I want to come inside.”

“That's fair.”

“I haven't forgiven you.”

“I didn't think you had.”

He gave me the address. I entered it into my phone and put the phone in my desk drawer before I could change my mind or ask another question.

When he opened the door, the ordinary noise of the office rushed back in: a telephone ringing, Jenna greeting a client, the muffled conversation of employees heading toward the elevators. Cillian paused on the threshold.

“I meant what I said about being sorry, Everly.”

“Then let me finish my work without worrying about whether you're hiding another surprise in the conference room.”

He gave a brief, rueful nod and went back to the assessment.

The remaining hours demanded my attention whether I felt like giving it or not. I approved the caterer's setup, moved one luncheon guest away from an adviser she'd argued with at the last event, and ate a sandwich at my desk between appointments. Taryn stopped in once to ask why I was so quiet, but accepted my answer that I had a lot on my mind. She knew I'd had a wonderful Saturday. She didn't yet know the rest, and I wasn't ready to tell her.

At five, I shut down my computer and retrieved my phone and car keys from the desk drawer. Cillian had left the assessment paperwork where it belonged, and the updated schedule showed the final checks completed. I could have driven straight home. Instead, I entered his address into the navigation app and headed toward the harbor.

***

The building stood a few streets back from the working waterfront, an old brick warehouse converted into loft apartments. Streetlamp reflections shone in its tall windows, and the wind coming off the harbor carried the smell of salt and wet leaves. I parked in the small lot beside the building and sat for a moment with the engine off.

I knew how to handle a difficult conversation. I didn't know how to prepare for one involving a man who claimed to possess actual wings.

I got out of the car before that thought could become a reason to drive away.