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Ionly see Wendy in meetings and in passing in the hallway at work on Tuesday and Wednesday, and when I haven’t seen her at all by Thursday afternoon, I head off in search of her, because I can’t stay away from her any longer. I find her in her office, talking on the phone. She smiles at me and holds up a finger, and I lean against the doorjamb to wait.

I take the opportunity to let my gaze wander over her soft red waves, her pale throat, and her silky green button-up shirt. The desk hides her bottom half, and I hope she’s wearing the narrow black skirt with the slit up the side that drives me to distraction. In reality, the skirt isn’t all that revealing, but that slit … I shake my head to stop that train of thought before it pulls out of the station.

Wendy hangs up the phone, removes all expression from her face, and says, “May I assist you with something, Mr. Hamilton?”

I tap my finger on my chin and in a serious voice say, “I believe you may, Ms. O’Halloran. I’ve come in search of some light banter with a side of hand holding.”

She fights a smile. “Then you’ve come to the right place.” She sweeps her hand toward the chair across from her. “Take a seat, and we’ll begin.”

I obey her command and then say, “Shall we start with the light bantering?”

“We shall. You may commence.”

I chuckle. “You sure we haven’t already commenced?”

Her lips twitch. “Perhaps.”

“Why are we talking like we’re in a Jane Austen novel?”

She clasps her hands in front of her and says earnestly, “Please tell me you’re a Jane fan.”

“I’ve only readPride and Prejudice,”I say, “because inexplicably it was required reading at my all-boys prep school. But it was a slog to get through. I liked the story all right, but ol’ Jane could have used a lot fewer words to tell it.” As I speak, Wendy’s face gets redder and redder, and I’m tempted to keep going to see exactly how much I can rile her up about this, but I decide I don’t want her to give me a dressing-down in the office, so I refrain.

Wendy opens and closes her mouth a few times before she can grasp the words she wants to say. “Okay, that … I mean … ”

Maybe she can’t grasp the words.

Finally, she says, “That’s not bantering, that’s sacrilege.”

“It’s sacrilege for a man to not like overly wordy early nineteenth century romance?”

She growls at me, and the sound is so cute coming from her, I laugh.

Wendy narrows her eyes. “Are you laughing at me, Mr. Hamilton?”

“Indeed, I am.”

“Then you can forget about the side of hand holding.”

She lifts her head imperiously and attempts to look down her nose at me, which is a failure, since although we’re sitting, her head is still several inches lower than mine. She tips it back so far I can see up her nostrils. I chuckle again, knowing it’ll irritate her even more.

“Wendy,” a man’s voice filters through the doorway, “do you … oh, sorry.”

Wendy’s face flushes as she quickly drops her chin, and I turn and watch Brian’s eyes flit between me and her.

“I’ll come back later,” he says and starts to turn away.

“No, come on in,” Wendy says. “Randall’s leaving.”

I face her and raise an eyebrow, and she gives a slight shake of the head. She’s not dismissing me because of anything I said. I’m guessing she wants to ensure Brian doesn’t think our relationship means we’ll be slacking off on the job.

I push out of the chair. “See you tonight, Wen.”

Her head cocks to the side, but she nods at me. We don’t have plans tonight, but I want Brian to think we do. I hope she understood my motive, but I can’t exactly explain it.

I pass Leslie’s office on my way back to my own, and I don’t look in because I’m sure she’s still upset with me, but she calls out to me, so I stop. She uses her head to motion me in, and I enter and take a seat.

In a low voice, she says, “Ash told me about your mom.”