Page 25 of Sinful Sorrow

“You’re applying personal feelings to a professional relationship.” I draw a deep breath and try not to feel small under the beady stare of the man who, it seems, wishes to adopt me as his daughter. Since he already has such good practice with his other two. “I’m not avoiding you, Mayor.”

“Justin.”

My eyes pop wide, while in my stomach a ball of nerves ping-pongs like a nasty little troll jumping up and down on his bridge. “Hm?”

“My name is Justin. And this is not just a professional relationship. I care that you’re okay, Mayet. So if you insist I chase you down and hold you hostage in your own office, then I suppose that is what I will do.”

“You’re the mayor!” I shove up from my chair, skipping from small to indignant, and stalk toward the windows that overlook the city. “You’re the dude who came on as our city’s leader after an unfortunate incident between me and the last one. You think you get to interfere because I’m young and female? Like I can’t run my building without your thumb on my forehead?”

He scoffs. Which, in itself, is entirely irritating. “Am I interfering in your work, Doctor? Or am I requesting welfare checks to ensure you’re alive and safe?”

“I’m not your daughter!” I spin and snarl when I find not only Aubree pressing her face to the glass, but Fifi, too. And beside them, the blonde and beautiful and equally annoying Doctor Raquel. Because they’re nosy and rude. All three of them. Incensed, I drag my eyes to an amused mayor and sneer. “You have daughters. Two of them. They’re intelligent and successful. Married. And one of them, a parent. You have a wife. And a house. And an entire city to maintain. I insist you do not add to your workload by worrying about someone you didn’t even know this time last year.”

“And since we’re talking, I suppose I should inform you I insist on worrying about a capable, educated, married, successful woman I did not know this time last year. You can throw as many tantrums as you like, Mayet. I assure you, my daughters have performed many throughout their lives. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop calling your office and annoying your studious Ms. Lewis.” He doesn’t even look behind himself. Yet, he jabs a thumb in the trio’s direction and has Seraphina ‘Fifi’ Lewis’ eyes popping wide. “She gets exceptionally mad when I’ve called for a third time in one day and you still have not returned my call.”

“It’s not her job to get mad,” I grit out. “It’s her job to answer the phones, keep the media off my back, and do whatever else is in her job description.” Which, I admit, I don’t entirely know.

Lawrence’s lips curl up on the side. A tiny smirk I’m not sure many others in this world get to see. “You probably owe her dental expenses. I’m certain she grinds the enamel right off her teeth because of you.”

“Risks of the job. Now that you’ve established I’m both alive and well, and I’ve voiced my boundaries once more, I think that concludes our meeting.” I gesture toward the door. “It was a pleasure.”

He chuckles, shaking his head gently side to side and staying exactly where he is, perched in an exceptionally uncomfortable chair. “Your boundaries being not to worry about you. Because I am not, and I quote, your father.”

Maddened, I straighten my back and dip my chin. “Precisely.”

He clicks his tongue. An instant, galling denial. “I think I’ll stay a few minutes more. My next meeting isn’t until midday, which is,” he checks his watch and takes his time reading the hands, “twenty minutes from now. Heard you recently came into some real estate?”

“Good lord.” I drop my head back and almost thunk it against the glass. “You’ve talked to Archer.”

“I’ve made a phone call here and there. Oddly, the detective answers, even when he’s busy.”

“Because he’s dedicated to the ‘let’s annoy Minka’ cause you’re so set on leading. I haven’t come into real estate, by the way. My husband has real estate. There’s a difference.”

“The fact that you’re married makes it yours, too.”

“Only when I divorce him! At which point, I’ll take half of everything he inherited and spend it on something that would aggravate him almost as much as Operation: Coddle Minka aggravates me. Until that point, I have no desire to discuss the house he owns.”

“The one right beside mine,” he inserts. “You mean that acre of property up on the hills, with a house big enough to cater to anything you could ever wish for in the future, the gardens that could probably do with a little tending, and the lawn that is seen to every single week despite no one being there to enjoy it? That house?”

“As Copeland City Mayor, I find it disingenuous that you pay so much attention to my assets that you become familiar with a gardener’s schedule.” I roll my eyes, as though to make the man feel silly. Though I’m not sure I have the ability to affect him that way. “I’m confident you have other, more important things to occupy your time.”

He chuckles, completely unaffected by my pettiness. “I employ the same gardener, Chief Mayet. It makes for easier travel between jobs, and sometimes, when I work from home and have a few spare moments, Gustav and I manage an enjoyable discussion and tour of the grounds. Walking in the grass is good for one’s health.”

“Gustav?” I wrinkle my nose, though I’m not sure why. “That’s his name?”

My phone rings again. But it’s not Fifi attempting to connect a call, considering her nose is currently pressed to my glass wall. It’s not Aubs—same reason. It’s someone who has my direct line phone number. But it’s not Archer, because he calls my cell.

“You stare at it often?” Lawrence glances at the phone, grinning when I make no move to answer it. “I imagine there are many people left wanting when they try to contact you.”

“My job requires concentration.” I swallow the nerves in my throat and breathe a little easier when the trilling stops and the phone quiets. “Often, I’m solving a puzzle. And puzzles require uninterrupted thought. That stupid thing is the bane of my existence.”

“So it comes with negative feelings,” he ponders. “Anyone who attempts to communicate with you using it is already disadvantaged.”

I drag my focus from my desk and meet his eyes instead. “You could say that.”

“So perhaps I contact you another way. Text. Or email. That way, you’re not interrupted. You can respond on your own time. And the fact it’ll sit unread on your device until you’re ready means you’ll get reminders.” He picks a speck of lint off his pants and holds my stare. “Reasonable?”

“You’re really set on this—this…” I point between us. “You won’t take no for an answer?”

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