Page 17 of It Starts With A No

She certainly wasn’t expecting Seth Anderson in his black suit, so nicely tailored she was glad she didn’t have her suit jacket on. Because it would look pathetic compared to his.

Perhaps she should have taken Mr. E’s offer of a new, tailored office wardrobe.

Was her off-the-rack wardrobe why no one was giving her the time of day at work?

“Good morning.”

Clary blinked once. “Good morning,” she said belatedly. Mind off his suit.

“I went to the hospital, and they told me you insisted on being discharged.”

“I stayed the night. The doctor said I was fine, so my leaving shouldn’t make things difficult for the director.”

Seth stared back at her, just as he had last night at the hospital. His gaze seemed to search her eyes for something.

For what exactly? She wasn’t sure. “Do you need something?”

He shook his head. “A detective wanted to speak to us last night, but the hospital director told them you needed to rest.”

“I didn’t know that.” That was something she never appreciated: people going out of their way to cater to the Eolenfeld name. The Eolenfelds themselves reveled in it.

But Clary wasn’t an Eolenfeld.

“I told the detective we could meet here,” Seth continued. “I thought I’d pick you up and take you home, anyway.”

She cocked her head and moved aside. “Come in.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he stepped in.

“Fine.” She closed the door. “I do have a rather stupid question.”

He scanned the place.

The brown leather couch, wooden coffee table, and built-in TV console and shelves had all been there for as long as she could remember. She remembered sitting on that same couch and watching Friends on the old box-style TV with Mrs. E and her mother.

Those were the days before …

Before she understood the concept of death.

Before she realized humans could be monsters. Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she asked, “What happens if a car’s left unattended on the road?”

“It gets towed.”

“And where should I go to find it?”

A corner of his lips curled back. In amusement? Disbelief?

“I’ve never really driven much. I got my license because Grandma Moretti thought that was a necessity.”

“Had a chauffeur?”

“In New York City? Public transport.” She strode past him. “I would offer a tour, but I doubt you’re interested.”

“You would be right.”

She nodded and gestured toward the couch.

“It’s a nice house,” he said with a shrug. “Nice perk.”

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