Page 96 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“Careful. If you praise me too much, I’ll start expecting healthcare.”

I didn’t smile at that, though I knew she’d intended me to. “You should have healthcare.”

Her gaze found mine, and I realized too late that I’d stepped onto the edge of something precarious again. Quinn didn’t look offended, just tired, and for the first time that night, the tiredness didn’t feel like a charming detail.

She rubbed one thumb over the cap of the water bottle. “Before you offer to restructure the American employment system, I’m okay. Tonight was good. Let me have it without turning me into a nonprofit you want to fund.”

I went still.

She winced a little. “That came out sharper than I meant.”

“No,” I said. “It was useful.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s an ominous response.”

“It was clear.” I looked out the window as I spoke. “I have a habit of seeing problems and reaching for solutions.”

“Rich people do love a solution.”

“Not only rich people.”

“No,” she said, gentler now. “But rich people have the option to confuse helping with fixing things they don’t understand.”

I’d nearly done it several times already. With the dress, the car, my flippant comment about her loans. I hadn’t even mentioned the broken door of her building, even though it had been stuck in my thoughts the entire night. I knew the difference between care and management. In theory. In practice, the line became less distinct when concern entered the equation.

“I’ll try to remember that,” I said.

Quinn smiled, though it wasn’t as bright as the other smiles she’d given me throughout the night. “I appreciate the attempt.”

“That sounds like praise for a poorly trained dog.”

“Max would never. He’s very trainable.”

“I’ll improve.”

“Good. There may be treats.”

The corner of my mouth lifted before I could stop it. “Appropriate ones, I hope.”

Amusement flickered in her eyes. “Depends how well you heel.” She pressed her lips together, then laughed under her breath. “Sorry. Too easy.”

“I walked right into that.”

“You did. But you did it gracefully.”

The car stopped at a red light. Outside, a couple stood in front of a closed bakery, arguing softly while sharing an umbrella that was too small for both of them. Quinn watched them for a moment, then leaned her head back against the seat.

“Friday,” she said, as if pulling herself by the collar back to business. “Georgiana will want the cleanest timeline possible. She’ll want a narrative that doesn’t feel like you’re trying to overwhelm her with paper.”

“I can prepare that.”

“I know. Also, I think she’ll care about institutional framing. If you come in saying the museum was wrong, she’ll defend the museum. If you say the museum has a chance to correct the record, she can be the person who makes the process better.”

I watched her, exasperated by the steadiness of her mind even while her body was visibly losing a battle with exhaustion. “You need to rest.”

She gave me a look. “Says the man who brought me to an event that required shapewear, emotional diplomacy, and a dog in formalwear.”

“You chose the shapewear.”