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“I’m working. I’ll eat later.”

“You can’t skip meals, Grace.”

“I’m fine. I’ll eat when I get caught up. I have a couple waiting for me in the lobby and emails I need to send out if I want to get these partnerships started sooner rather than later.”

I let her walk out this time because of her appointment, but I’m still going to make sure she eats.

I head to the restaurant and grab a spot at the bar.

“Mr. King. What can I get you?” the bartender asks.

“Nothing yet,” Gavin cuts in behind me. “I’m taking him with me.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask. “Where are we going?”

“We are going to Hudson’s for lunch. Technically, we are going to B’s Bakery first so that I can confirm a cake for next weekend, but then we are going to Hudson’s.”

I nod. “Can you make sure a chicken salad gets to Grace’s office within the next half hour?” I ask the bartender.

“A grilled chicken salad for Miss Richford, you got it,” he repeats back to me.

“Crispy chicken,” I correct him and smile.

“She usually orders grilled.”

“That’s okay. Make this one with crispy chicken anyway.”

I follow Gavin out of the lobby, my gaze catching Grace on the way to the door.

The couple she’s meeting with laughs at something she says, and they all lean forward to look at one of the binders she has displayed on the table in front of them.

One minute she’s bombarded by her ex, the next she’s snapping at me for ending relationships every six months, and now she’s working as if her day isn’t filled with a big fucking secret.

A secret that could ruin us both.

And I hate the way she can bounce from one thing to the next completely unfazed.

I know she doesn’t want this to blow up, but there is a sinking feeling in my stomach that says she’s still not in it the way I need her to be.

And that could be dangerous for us both.

“Don’t you have to get back to the lodge?” Hudson asks after Gavin orders another beer.

“Not today.”

I want to ask him why. His sister busts her ass day after day, and here he gets a random afternoon off.

“Oh, right, the Richford rule,” Hudson says ominously.

I glance between them. What the fuck is the Richford rule?

Gavin must sense my curiosity. “My grandfather made this rule when he started the company and enforced it so much that it’s stuck. Well, it’s stuck with everyone but Grace.” He takes a pull from his drink.

“And that rule is …”

“Every Richford must choose one afternoon a week to leave the office early.”

“Why?”