Page 58 of Sinclair Duet

“If he can make it, I’m sure he will.” Johnathon tipped his chin to the suitcase. “May I leave this with you?”

“You may take it away.”

Johnathon’s lips pursed. “Mr. Sinclair was explicit in wanting you to have it—oh, and the contents.”

I shook my head. “Fine. Do you know what’s inside?”

“I believe it’s your clothes for the trip. He didn’t want you to have to pack.”

I lifted a brow. “He packed for me?”

“No, he had his personal shopper do it.” Johnathon smiled. “I believe you have everything you’ll need for the meetings and free time.”

“In Ashland, Wisconsin,” I said in disbelief.

Johnathon removed his phone from his pocket and after a moment, looked up. “I just sent you your itinerary. The Sinclair plane will be ready for you tomorrow at seven thirty.”

“You can tell Mr. Sinclair I can’t possibly go away for the weekend on such short notice.”

Johnathon’s smile dimmed.

“Never mind. I’ll tell him.”

“If you’d prefer, I can pick you up at seven. If you would rather drive, there is an attachment on the email with directions to the airport.”

“Has it changed?”

“Ma’am?”

“Is the plane at the private hangar near the Indianapolis Airport?” It was where it was when I worked for Sinclair.

“Yes. If I pick you up, you won’t need to worry about parking.”

“Parking?” My thoughts were scrambled. “Shit. I can’t get out of this, can I?”

“I’ll be back here at seven.”

I looked down at my watch. “Great, I’ll see you in ten hours.”

Johnathon nodded.

Opening the door, I said my goodbye before going back inside. Duchess peered around the corner, checking to see that Johnathon was gone. “Damien complains about communication. He’s the one who doesn’t communicate.”

Duchess approached the metallic rose-colored suitcase with caution, sniffing as she moved.

“Do you think we should look inside?”

Her round green eyes stared up at me.

In the middle of my foyer, I laid the suitcase down on the floor and unzipped it. I almost hated to disrupt the contents. Everything was folded precisely. “What the hell?”

Does Damien think I don’t own clothes?

There were two blouse-and-skirt combinations, a pair of wool slacks, blue jeans, and a few tops, including a soft sweater. There was also a long black dress. The label read Brandon Maxwell.

Okay, I didn’t own any two-thousand-dollar dresses.

Opening the other side of the suitcase, I found multiple pairs of shoes and a cosmetic bag. Inside the bag were all the cosmetics I used and others nicer than what I used. This felt wrong. If I was supposed to meet the CEOs, I shouldn’t do it playing dress-up.

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