Page 2 of Thick and Thin

My eyes focused on that box as he began to eat. I really needed to talk to him about his mother, but how would I start? How could I explain away that I’d been reading those journals like novels over the past couple of months without saying a word to him?

I just had to start. That was all there was to it.

“Uh…” I began, dabbing at my mouth with the napkin, “there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Was it the apprehension in my voice that caused his brow to furrow like it did? “All right. Does it have to do with work or is it personal?”

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Both.”

And then his phone rang again, seeming louder than it had before. When he glanced down at the screen, he said, “I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.”

He was barking at the phone before he’d walked out of the kitchen again. Although I had no idea what was going on, I gathered that the person on the other end had called the woman named Sophie and things were miraculously better—or at least on their way to improving.

But Sinclair’s voice drifted down the hall toward the east wing and his words faded. I imagined he was heading toward his office, maybe needing to examine some paperwork or perhaps realizing he didn’t have much privacy.

While he was gone, I finished my small bowl of stew. Even though I hadn’t eaten all day, I wasn’t too hungry, and I began to wonder if my appetite would ever return. Getting up from the table, I took my dirty dishes to the sink to rinse off before placing them in the dishwasher.

Then Sinclair returned.

But he didn’t go to the table. Instead, he came straight toward me. Had his heated conversations had anything to do with me?

When he pressed his lips to mine, I didn’t think so. Without another word, he led me upstairs to his bedroom where we made love…and, try as I might, I couldn’t help but fall in love with him all over again.

But the time to tell him about the journals had passed.

As he held me in his arms, Sinclair said, “I’ll have to heat up my dinner again. Edna makes it every few weeks during the fall months. She knows I like it.”

“I liked it, too.” Again, I was poised, waiting for the perfect time to tell Sinclair about the journals, wondering if I would find the courage.

“It’s a good thing it reheats well. But I had to deal with some work issues. We’re hosting a fundraiser in Washington, D.C. tonight and one of my staff members has been begging to do one solo, so I let him.”

“Kind of like what you were doing at WCC?”

“Yes. Leona does most of the work there for getting extra donations, so I don’t have to worry about it. I just have to show up. But we do a lot of fundraising for other charities and for the foundation itself throughout the year. This was one strictly for collecting donations for the foundation so we can make sure to have enough in next year’s budget to spend on worthy causes.”

“Is it hard work? Fundraising?”

“I think that depends on one’s skill set. Jordan is trying hard to acquire the skills he needs but he panics easily. Tonight, we had a celebrity—a famous pop star—scheduled to be there to help promote the fundraiser. In fact, she was the main draw to getting people in the door. But Jordan hadn’t connected with any of her people earlier in the day. Another one of my staff is good about keeping tabs on all guests and especially for rounding up people to endorse our cause—so I told Jordan to call her—Sophie—because she had all the phone numbers. There were some issues with our guest’s private jet, so her arrival was delayed.”

My head swam as I tried to figure out who the celebrity was—but I didn’t want to ask.

“But, as Shakespeare would say, all’s well that ends well. She arrived in time, ready to do what she’d signed up for. And good thing, because I was prepared to tell Jordan he’d never get this chance again.”

I didn’t realize that my expression must have given away the fact that I felt sorry for Jordan. I knew what it was like to disappoint the boss.

Sinclair stroked my cheek. “I didn’t. I’m giving him another chance to try. You must be rubbing off on me.”

What did that even mean?

But while he was feeling kind and hoping maybe I really was influencing his tendencies, there was no better time than the present for me—also as his employee—to tell him about what I’d found. “Cory, there’s something I need to tell you.”

His right eyebrow arched in that sexy way it always did, curious, quizzical. “All right.”

I shifted my gaze to his chest, where I began tracing a pattern on his smooth skin, hoping that distraction would keep me focused and unemotional. “As I’ve been going through things downstairs, I’ve found a lot of personal items.”

His voice told me he found that doubtful. “What do you mean by personal?”

“There’s a trunk and some boxes—and they were full of loose pictures, medical records, business proposals…”

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