Page 13 of Honor

He was right.

“The gardener was here yesterday,” Miss Starling alleviates my concerns. “I popped up to visit him briefly before he left, and the space looks heavenly.”

“Hear that?” Baden punches my bicep. “It’s heavenly, Reid. Let’s pull this together because I smell a deal on the horizon.”

I smell roses because I just took two steps closer to Miss Starling.

“Baden, I’ll have all the items you requested delivered.” She shoots me a glance as she accentuates the last word.

I bite the corner of my lip to stop a smile.

“Thank you, Evie.” He brushes past her on his way out of my office. “I’ll go say hello to the Bogners. I’ll bring them up to the atrium in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll have everything ready,” she promises.

I know she’ll deliver on it because she always does.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Evie

I stareat the conference room door, willing it to open, but it remains shut.

It’s been over two hours since Mr. Hunt, the winery owner, and a handful of lawyers entered the room. I thought this might be the time I’d earn an invite into the inner sanctum during an actual deal negotiation, but that didn’t happen.

The only time I’m required to be present in any of the conference rooms is when Mr. Hunt tells me to go in there and double-check that no one left anything of value behind after a meeting.

I’ve been tempted to ask,like whata multitude of times, but it’s not my job to question the whats or the whys. It’s my job to scour the imported area rugs covering the polished concrete floors to search for a wayward pen or earring.

The only thing I ever did find was a nickel. I pocketed it because I viewed it as a small tip for spending ten minutes wasting my time.

I rest my back against the cushioned bench that I’m currently sitting on. I don’t know who decided on this design accessory, but these benches that dot the office corridors could double as day beds. They are that comfortable.

Plucking my phone from my lap, I scroll through the most recent texts and emails I’ve received. Nothing warrants my immediate attention, so I decide to trim my contact list.

I do it every six months or so to remove the names and numbers of the men I’ve dumped or those who never bothered to call me back after our first date.

Since there’s only one to delete, I sigh.

Mr. Hunt keeps me so busy that my social life has taken a hit.

My weekends are usually mine and mine alone because I need the extra hours to catch up on laundry, grocery shopping, and sleep.

Devoting any of that precious time to a potential new boyfriend doesn’t hold a lot of appeal right now.

Besides, the last guy I semi-dated got tired of me blowing him off every time Mr. Hunt ordered me to stay late for work.

He told me I had to choose between my job and him. I laughed my way through my response as I explained that I’d never want to be with a man who would push me into a corner like that.

Whatever was brewing between us ended on the spot.

My fingers stall when I notice the newest entry to my contact list: Lottie Rushing.

I tap on her name to open a new text message conversation and type out a greeting.

Evie: Hey, Lottie! This is Evie. We met earlier today at the jewelry store.

I press send, hoping she doesn’t think I’m desperate since it’s only been a few hours since we crossed paths.

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