Page 168 of The Sweetest Return

I knew she was smiling anyway.

The outer office shifted when I walked through it. Nobody stared, but people who worked around power learned to recognize movement before an announcement came.

“Cancel anything after four,” I told my assistant.

She checked her tablet. “Done.”

No questions.

The elevator carried me to the private garage. My Escalade waited near the curb, and I got behind the wheel thinking about one thing Pops said the day before.

Put legs under it.

Traffic slowed twice on the way to Saint Aurelia, including one man who treated a green light like a philosophical suggestion.

By the time I turned onto her block, Imani was already outside.

Cream blouse. Camel coat. Wide-leg trousers. Diamond bracelet catching what little city light made it between the buildings. Braids neat, lip gloss in place, face composed enough to fool somebody who didn't know her.

I knew her.

She looked tired.

So did I, probably.

I parked.

For a few seconds we watched each other through the glass.

Then I got out.

People noticed. Somebody always did. A woman leaving the building next door lifted her phone halfway before apparently remembering manners.

Imani saw it too.

Her shoulders tightened.

I walked straight to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I know.”

“I shouldn't have left like that.”

“No, you shouldn't have.”

The hurt in her eyes made me want to soften the answer, but I didn't.

Honesty wasn't punishment.

Then I touched her chin gently.

“But you called.”

“I did.”

“And now you're here.”