Page 118 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

Business decision, I reminded myself. Professional judgment. Keep a clear head.

“So,” she said, “does this mean we need to dress up again?”

“It is a high-end private auction.”

“I’m going to translate that as yes.”

“Yes.”

“Is my gala dress too much for this, not enough, or wrong in some expensive third way?”

“I suspect Mrs. Andreas will have opinions.”

“Oh no,” Quinn said, with unmistakable delight. “You’ve learned Octavia’s name.”

“I was present when she introduced herself.”

“Yes, but now you said it like a man about to voluntarily enter her domain again.”

“I require your attendance, and you require appropriate clothing.”

“Two birds, one stone,” she said.

I knew, with absolute certainty, that she was smiling. “You don’t sound too unhappy about getting another outfit,” I said.

“I’m trying to serve the client’s interests through strategic wardrobe alignment.”

“That sounds rehearsed,” I said.

“I’m very talented,” she said.

“Oh, I know.”

The words came out before I could make them less honest, and I closed my eyes briefly.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“You’re welcome.”

We stayed on the line, but neither of us spoke. In the gardens below, the fountain that fed the reflection pool continued running. Inside, somewhere beyond the balcony doors, my father was likely helping my mother settle into bed.

I thought again of care and consequence. Of the difference between building a life and merely being pulled by desire into one.

I needed to keep my head clear.

“I’ll send the details once the firm approves,” I said.

“Okay.”

I ended the call before I could find a reason to prolong it, then stood with my phone in my hand, thinking of a woman in a thrifted dress who had made me see my own home differently without ever setting foot inside it.

Then, from down the hall, my mother laughed.

15

QUINN

EMERGENCY QUINN