Page 26 of Due South

“Hey, Lucy. I finished the issuer default section. Would you mind taking a look at it before I send it to the boss lady? You’ve got eagle eyes and you know this stuff backward and forward. I’d feel more confident about handing it over to India if you’ve given it the once-over.”

That might be a bit of an exaggeration because neither of us are experts on this bond stuff, but Lucy does have a knack for catching typos and inconsistencies and I really would feel better about having another person look at this before I subject it to India’s scrutiny.

She turns her face up to mine, her expression of sadness now tinged with gratitude because she understands what I’m trying to do and she appreciates it.

“Of course, Mr. Evans, I’d be happy to. I’m finishing up this call, but I’ll be right with you.”

Her calling me Mr. Evans almost makes me bust out laughing, but I manage to keep it inside. “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”

I wink at her—or try to, because winking’s never been my thing—but I like feeling as though Lucy and I are co-conspirators, and it earns me a watery smile. Better than no smile at all.

It takes a couple of minutes to wind up her call. I could leave, scrounge something in the kitchen while I wait for her to be done, but if her mom starts being crappy again, I want to be there. Maybe head it off at the pass before she makes Lucy upset again. It’s not often I feel protective of anyone. Most people I know don’t need my protection—they’re badass whereas I’m me. I’ve never been in a position to offer anyone much of anything, and while I can’t offer Lucy much, I can give her this.

Luckily, it doesn’t come to that, and Lucy’s hanging up, dropping her cell on the desk before putting her face in her hands. There’s a single sniff, and then she seems to remember I’m there, whipping her head up and swiping at her eyes.

“Do you have that report?”

Okay, so we’re not going to talk about it. Which is probably for the best.

“Yeah, sure.” I hand over the pages, and she takes up a purple pen from her desk and starts to read, circling something almost immediately.

“Two periods,” she says almost apologetically.

I wait until she’s done, watching her pretty eyes skim the pages and how she chews on the end of her pen while she concentrates. There aren’t too many marks when she’s done, but there are a few and I’m glad I thought to give it to her. She’s good at this stuff.

She hands it back with a smile, less shaky than the last one. “Nice job. It’s pretty good. I’m not India, mind you, but I think she’ll be happy.”

“Thanks, Lucy. And…” If she doesn’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to force her, especially since I can’t be here to pick up any shards I might knock off, but she needs to know. “Your mom is wrong. You’re not just a secretary. This place would cease to function without you. And you make every day better by being here.”

Her eyes have gone big and round, her mouth open slightly. I didn’t mean to upset her, but when she squares her shoulders and settles her hips back in her seat, neatening a stack of papers in front of her, I think that’s what I’ve done. Except then she looks up at me with her lips pinched between her teeth.

“Thank you.” Her throat works as she swallows. Holding back happy, grateful tears? A man can dream. “She’s not always like that and I know it’s because she misses me, but…”

“But it still hurts and she shouldn’t say things like that to you. You’re great, Luce. But can I ask you for one thing?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Don’t call me Mr. Evans again? That was, like, super weird.”

If Lucy weren’t so feminine, I might say she barks a laugh, but she is, so I won’t even think that because she’d be mortified. “No problem. Want some coffee?”

Chapter Nine

‡

December 21st

Evans

Today’s the officeholiday party. I usually try to find some excuse not to go because I see enough of these people every day, never mind spending off hours with them. It doesn’t help that the one time I did go, it was awkward. People talk to me at work, ask me questions, make pleasant workaday chatter. But when it comes down to it, we’re not exactly friends. And one can only drink a glass of champagne so slowly.

This year, though, India made it clear my presence is expected.

“Evans. You need a break. If you look at that report any longer, your brain is going to stop working altogether, and then where will I be?”

Up a creek without a paddle is where she’d be, so here I am, wearing a fresh shirt and a different tie, standing in a swanky hotel restaurant, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now. And possibly staring at the door, hoping Lucy will get here soon. She’ll talk to me. Won’t she? If for no other reason than she’ll feel bad no one else is.

I would’ve offered her a ride, but she went home to get ready for this—didn’t just take a quick shower at the office, which is what I’d done. Even India had gone home to get ready, and it shows. The white and silver cocktail dress she’s wearing isn’t something I’d ever guess she’d wear, but it looks nice on her. She’s chatting with Leo and Singh, gesturing with her hands, and she’s practically back-to-back with Cris, who’s listening intently to something Mi Young is explaining. Possibly her project with Oregon’s Department of Land Conservation and Development.

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