Page 8 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“Tolstoy said every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

“Yes, he did. And every happy family is alike.”

“If there is such a thing,” I say, because I have yet to meet one.

“Christian, I admit, I do favor you, and it does have to do with knowing your father the wayIknew him. But if you’re worried I think of myself as some stand-in for him, don’t. I’ve never really wanted children, and I certainly don’t want an adult version of one. But you’ve worked for me awhile now, and I do trust you. I don’t have a clue about your aspirations, or if real estate is something that appeals to you at all?—”

“It isn’t.”

“Fair.”

“But I am interested in traveling,” I say.

“Ah. Well. Let’s start there, then. I’m going to Rome next week. If you’d like a taste of the job and travel, we could consider it a trial.”

He has my complete attention. I even find myself leaning in. “Rome?”

He nods, and I get the sense he’s trying to keep a straight face because I’m practically salivating. “Do you have a passport?”

I nod. “I’ve been to Canada recently.”

“Perfect. I’m assuming it’s a yes.”

“I need to find someone to cover my shifts?—”

“I can take care of that.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I say firmly.

He lifts both hands in surrender. “We’ll leave Wednesday. Return Sunday.”

“Okay.” I nod. “Yeah. Or wait—will you need me around twenty-four-seven?”

He smirks and gives his head a slight shake. “You’ll have time on your own. Give me five or six hours a day. Afternoon and evening. Take the mornings for yourself.”

“Okay.”This is incredible.

He stands, reaching out his hand for me to shake. I rise and meet him in the middle. “I’ll have some paperwork for you to sign,” he says. “An NDA and a contract?—”

“I thought this was a trial.”

“I do paperwork for trials, too.”

“Okay.” I let his hand go, impressed by the size and power of it. “Sounds good.”

“Oh,wonderful! I see you took my advice.”

I turn to see Marianne sweep into the office, looking sleek in what looks like a black catsuit that leaves only her arms and head revealed. I cock my head quizzically. This washeridea?Why?

“Christian’s agreed to a trial run,” Gibson tells her. “Nothing more.”

She walks over to me and runs a proprietary hand down my arm. “Perfect.” Then she looks at her husband. “May I borrow you a moment? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“I was just heading out,” I say, not that anyone asked.

“I’ll email you,” Gibson says.

“Thanks.” To Marianne, I say, “Nice to see you.”

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