Page 34 of Ricardo

That surprises me, though perhaps it should not. Julia O’Brien has the kind of work ethic that’s a blessing and a curse. A blessing as an employer because she does not leave things undone. A curse for her because the people around her will learn to rely on that.

I stand in the hall for a moment, just outside the opening to the sitting area, debating whether to continue forward or turn back.

If she is working late, there is a reason. If she thinks she is alone, she may prefer to remain that way.

Then something shatters. A small tinkle of glass against the floor.

A second later, Julia says, very clearly, “Fuck me.”

My smile turns into a full grin.

Well, well.

Miss O’Brien has range.

I step into the sitting area. “I see that thing brings out the best in everyone.”

Julia, who was crouched and reaching for the broken glass on the floor, jerks at the sound of my voice. She startles upward and hits the back of her head on the edge of the counter with a hard thud.

“Shit,” she snaps, dropping back down and pressing her hand to her head.

My amusement disappears.

“I’m fine,” she says immediately, though her eyes are squeezed shut and her jaw is tight.

I cross the room quickly. “You are bleeding?”

“No. I don’t think so.” She opens one eye and looks up at me. Her expression is somewhere between pain, embarrassment, and murder. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I see that.”

“Do you always materialize behind people?”

“I walked.”

“Like a ghost.”

Despite myself, I laugh. “May I?”

“I am fine.”

“I would like to be the judge of that.”

She looks at me for a second, then lowers her hand with a sigh.

I step closer and crouch beside her, careful of the glass. She sits back on the floor in her tailored suit, knees bent slightly, one hand braced behind her.

Her hair is pinned, but several strands have come loose around her temples. Her lipstick has faded. There is a small crease between her brows, and her eyes look brighter than usual.

Tired, I think. Frustrated probably as well.

I lean in enough to look at the back of her head without touching her. There is no blood. A little redness beneath the hair near the base of her skull, but the skin is intact.

“No blood,” I say.

“Wonderful. I’ll alert the press.”

“You may have a bump.”