Page 90 of Ricardo

His office belongs to the business.

The club is an extension of that business.

But this belongs to him. Him and Dante.

The photographs on the wall. The keys in the bowl. The faint scent of food and the smoky snap of a fire that’s obviously lit in the next room.

I tighten my grip on my bag. “I don’t want to be in the way.”

Marisa makes a dismissive sound. “In this weather? Nonsense.”

Ricardo looks at me. “You are not in the way.”

The way he says it is simple. Final.

Marisa takes Ricardo’s wet umbrella and holds it out so it doesn't drip on her shoes. “I will bring towels.”

“I need a sealed courier envelope,” Ricardo says. “And Dario.”

“He is in the garage.”

“Have him come to the study.”

“Of course.”

Marisa disappears down the hall with efficient footsteps.

Ricardo turns to me. “We’ll send the documents first.”

Right. The documents. Doing something practical will help.

“Yes.” I open my bag, grateful for the task. “I have them here.”

He leads me down a hall past a sitting room with shelves, a dark green sofa, and lamps already lit against the storm. Nothing about the house feels cold and unwelcoming. It is masculine without being severe, expensive without being arrogant. There are books everywhere. Real books, not decorative rows arranged by color. A folded newspaper rests on a side table.

I think about the reading glasses perched on his nose this morning. I don't know if I can handle that image right now.

The study is at the back of the house.

Dark wood shelves. A broad desk. Two leather chairs. A window overlooking a rain-blurred garden. The room smells faintly of paper, cedar, and coffee. A fire is laid in the fireplace but unlit.

I think of how lovely it must be to work in this room with a fire snapping away on a cold, dreary afternoon.

Ricardo takes off his wet jacket and hangs it over the back of a chair.

I immediately become too aware of his shirt.

White and damp in a few places at the shoulders from the short walk between the SUV and the door.

I focus on the file.

Document. Courier. Mario.

Professional woman with task.

That is me.

A man appears at the study door within a minute. Early thirties, broad, dark-haired, wearing a rain jacket already zipped.