Page 45 of The Villains We Make

“Me either. I like him, actually.”

My phone rings and I glance at the display before hitting answer. “Morning, Nigella.”

“Morning. Is Ophelia with you?”

“Right here,” Ophelia says.

“Good. Just got off the phone from one of Carlisle-Bent’s lawyers. I’m guessing you’ve been to see him?”

“We have. He works fast,” I say.

“He’s sent some preliminary paperwork. Where are you?”

“We’re heading to the house now.”

“Can you come to the office instead?”

I glance at Ophelia, who nods. “Sure, shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Great. See you in a little bit.”

“What did you think of Chandler?” Ophelia asks once we disconnect the call.

“He’s a piece of shit and he’ll be up to something. If he’s cut out completely, at least.”

Ophelia opens the music box on her lap and touches the small dancer inside. “My grandfather is not going to last long, is he?”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe I can come back tomorrow and spend a little time with him.”

I nod, my mind split as we descend into silence until we reach Nigella’s office. It isn’t her office exactly. She uses one of the conference rooms of another law group she’s partnered with when she’s in Boston. The offices are housed in a building downtown. Once I park, I text Hamish the address and ask him to meet us here.

The receptionist is expecting us and shows us to Nigella’s makeshift office. Her laptop is open on one end of the long table and she’s looking over a sheet of paper she places on one of the many stacks before her. Her assistant is standing at the copy machine that looks like it’s been rolled in just for them. He’s printing and collating copies.

“Thanks for meeting me here. It’s easier. Coffee?”

“I’d love some,” Ophelia says, and Nigella gestures to her assistant who hurries off to make one. “I’m not used to whiskey so early in the day.”

“Meeting was that good?” Nigella asks, eyebrows high.

“It was different than expected,” I say. “In a good way.” I wrap my hand around the back of Ophelia’s neck and squeeze. “Right?”

She smiles and nods.

When Nigella’s assistant returns, he hands Ophelia the coffee and Nigella begins to explain what the lawyers sent.

“Do you need me for this part?” I ask, interrupting. Both women look up at me.

I keep my eyes on Nigella who tilts her head but answers. “No, not really. This is mostly for Ophelia to look over.”

“Why?” Ophelia asks.

“I need to get some work done,” I say.

“I can drop Ophelia off at the house when we’re done,” Nigella says.

“I’ve already called Hamish. He’s on his way. He’ll take her back to the house if you wrap up before I’m back.” I turn to Ophelia. “Do you mind?”

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