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She arched a brow at him. “I read a lot about your family when I was assigned your father’s estate—”
“Why were you assigned to it?” Griffith interrupted.
“Excuse me?”
“This is a rather high-profile account for a junior associate to take on.”
She sighed. “It is. My boss had it. When you declined to meet with him for so long, he put it on me, too. I think he thought I could either succeed where he hadn’t or, if it all fell apart, he could blame it on me. Either way he gets the win.”
Disgust slithered through him. “And you never get any of the credit.”
“He’s brilliant when it comes to law. Unfortunately, he only cares about the law as it benefits Nettleton & Thompson.” She looked at him then and narrowed her eyes. “Back to the estate. Your parents were both involved with a number of charities and start-ups.”
“Yes. My mother invested quite a bit of her time and money supporting independent artists, fashion designers, photographers.”
“And your father, if I remember correctly, financed scholarships for underprivileged youth in his home country of Greece.”
“He grew up extremely poor. My grandfather founded Lykaois Shipping when my father was a teenager. He started off as a dockhand and worked his way up.”
“You must be proud of them.” She glanced at the papers, then back at him. “What causes are important to you?”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Causes,” she repeated. “You know, charities, philanthropies.”
“I maintain donations to all of the charities and trusts my parents set up.”
A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Is there nothing you care about personally?”
Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking, he shrugged.
“I continue to support the causes my parents championed. I ensure alterations to match inflation. I’m not capable of more.”
She frowned. “Not capable or you don’t want to open yourself up to more?”
He flashed her a cold smile. “Monsters aren’t capable of giving much, Rosalind. I give money. That’s my limit.”
Her frown deepened. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” He pointed to his scars. “Inside and out.”
“I don’t believe that.”
The quiet conviction in her voice hit him. Made him, for the first time in years, want to be something more than the shadow he’d turned himself into. Drifting in and out of life, marking time until it was all over.
More temptation. More yearning. He didn’t want to end their time together just yet. But he couldn’t stand one more moment of talking about the damned contract. Talking about his life and all of his failings.
“Let’s talk about you.”
Her eyes narrowed as her nose wrinkled.
“Me?”
“Yes. You intrigue me. Tell me more about Rosalind Sutton. The woman who let her boss walk all over her without question.”
She shrugged as a pale blush stole over her cheeks.
“Not much to tell.”
