Page 97 of Graciously His

“Word.” He gives me a sunny smile that makes him look impish. “So that’s why you’re in here pestering me about finding love, eh? You’ve got some for yourself and now you want to sling it all around. I should write you up for sexual harassment, boss. Tell our clients what a creeper you are, seducing your dead brother’s wife, then making suggestive comments to your vulnerable employee.”

I consider him closely, wondering if I’m insane or if, in my lovesick state, I’m seeing him clearly. Dare is brilliant beyond his years and objectively good-looking, but he’s stuck in those slasher T-shirts, working ninety hours a week, and collecting ‘90s tech and playing GameBoy in his spare time. My mind turns to Jessica, and I wonder if she happens to be between lovers at the moment, whether she might appreciate a wee challenge…

“No,” Dare says, leaning his chair back so the front legs go precariously into the air.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I can read your creepy mind, boss. Don’t set me up with some chick. I’m not fucking interested.”

I don’t miss a beat. “In women? No problem, I’m sure I can find—”

“In anything.”

“Fine, fine.” I put my palms up in mock surrender, but I see the way his cheeks have reddened.

“Thank you for ceasing the harassment,” Dare says, sarcasm thick in his voice.

We sit in companionable silence for less than a second before he reopens the laptop, his eyes already returning to whatever line of code he’d been working on.

“Gotta get you a life, brother,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder as I walk towards the door.

“Fuck off, boss.”

“Fucking off,” I call as I head back out into the main office.

I expect to find Grace in the kitchen where I left her, but Sasha is on a call at her desk. Alone. I make eye contact, but she just gives a shrug. My body goes into high alert. I command myself to stay calm as I duck into the kitchen nook. No Grace. It takes less than a minute to check the rest of the suite, then I’m back where I started, with Dare.

“What now?” he mutters, looking up. His hands freeze on the keyboard. “Hey, you okay?” His usual deadpan humour has dropped away, his voice quietly concerned.

And I know why.

I’m pale. I’m livid. Because suddenly I know, deep in my heart, that Grace has left me.

Chapter 39

Grace

Nate’s office is all quiet swank and good taste. The office manager, a slightly stooped middle-aged woman named Sasha, gives me a brief tour and we talk about the redesign Nate and Nick had commissioned when they first rented the suite. I ask questions about Sasha’s history with the company, finding out that she’s been here since they acquired premises, and that many of the design choices were hers. I’m interested in the subject, of course, but it also offers an excuse to get the full layout—down to where mail is stored.

After the tour, Sasha seats me opposite her desk in the reception area. There’s a pair of low, comfortable chairs here and a sofa that looks like it could fold out into a bed.

“I was so sorry,” she says, her tone shifting from officious to solicitous, “when Nick passed last month, Grace. He wasn’t here all that often, but he was always kind to me.”

I nod, my throat clenching unexpectedly at her words. I thought I’d become immune to grief. This is my opportunity to pursue what I’ve come here for.

“Thank you,” I say, letting some of my sorrow into my voice. “It was really hard, having him disappear. One minute, he was just out for a run, then—”

I cut myself off with a sigh. Sasha has worked with Nate long enough that I wonder if she’s too alert to emotional manipulation to take the bait. I scold myself inwardly, but I’ve come here for something specific—and this woman will lead me to it.

“It was shockingly sudden,” she says without melodrama. “I was so disturbed.”

“Yes. A whole life just—” I swipe my hand through the air. “So many things left undone. You’ll have felt some of that here. Little things Nick probably would have gotten to, but now…”

I sniff, though I’m not even close to crying. Sasha stays quiet behind her desk and I take a breath before getting to the heart of the matter.

“Did Nick,” I say, my voice low, “leave anything for me here? I know it’s unlikely, but were there any papers or—or letters he might have wanted me to have?”

She frowns slightly. “Well, there have been quite a few letters coming in for Nick, though we’ve gone ahead and notified all the relevant parties that he’s—of what happened.” She corrects herself quickly. “I haven’t seen anything addressed to you, but would you like to see the envelopes I have in Nick’s name?”