Page 5 of Honor

Mr. Hunt: My watch is ready for pick up. Do that before you deliver the dry cleaning to my home. I’ll send you the address of the jeweler.

Since I’m lugging around an extra few pounds in the form of his suits, it took me a minute to respond to him.

Silence is one of my boss’s pet peeves because he sent another text my way a minute later that wasn’t warranted.

Mr. Hunt: Confirm you’re alive, Miss Starling. If not, whoever sees this message first needs to deliver the suits in the phone owner’s possession to the Vidori Capital offices on Fifth Avenue.

I fired back a text laced with a pinch of attitude.

Evie: I’m fine, sir. Thanks for asking. I’ll pick up the watch as requested.

He easily won that round of our mild sparing by shooting me back a quick reply.

Mr. Hunt: I wasn’t asking. Guard the suits and the watch with your life.

“I’m Lottie.” The woman in front of me turns and takes the extra step of introducing herself. “Lottie Rushing.”

“Evie Starling,” I offer with a nod of my chin. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Her gaze darts back to the counter where the jeweler is engaged in a conversation with a man. The clock is ticking closer to my noon deadline to get the suits to Mr. Hunt’s apartment, so I can only hope that Lottie will get her turn to talk to the jeweler soon and she’ll make it quick.

“Are you from New York?” she asks.

It’s a common question. I told my mom it was an icebreaker when she visited me three months ago, and two people asked her that very question when she was sightseeing in Times Square.

I wanted to join her, but Mr. Hunt wouldn’t give me the time off. I learned my lesson that day. Cleo told me to always file my requests for a personal day with Baden.

I wasn’t sure that advice was accurate, but my employment contract backed her up. There is indeed a clause on the third page about submitting a request for time off to any of the partners of the firm. That’s the move I’ll make the next time my mom is in Manhattan.

“Not originally,” I tell her. “You?”

“I was born and raised in California,” she says. “I moved here for the peace and quiet.”

“Didn’t we all?” I laugh.

She smiles brightly. “I needed a change, and Manhattan seemed like the place for me.”

“How’s it working out for you?” I ask because why not talk to someone when you’re stuck waiting?

“Better than I ever could have imagined. I found something here I didn’t know I was looking for.”

That piques my curiosity. “What did you find?”

She points toward the jeweler. “A fiancé.”

I glance his way again to find him with a pair of glasses perched on the edge of his nose while he peers over the frames at a bracelet in his hand. He reminds me of my grandpa, but I’m not one to rain on anyone’s parade, so if Lottie likes older men, good on her.

“He seems nice,” I say with a bright smile. “Congratulations to both of you.”

“Oh, God, no.” Her head falls back in laughter. “He’s a sweetheart, but it’s not him. I’m picking up my engagement ring. I had to get it sized down.”

Struck with embarrassment at my assumption, I let out a chuckle. “I’m sorry. I just thought…”

“That I really liked older guys?”

I nod. “Something like that.”

“My fiancé, Randall, is a bit older than me,” she confesses. “I’m talking five years, not fifty.”

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