Page 110 of When Hearts Remember

I blow out a breath. I thought I hid it well. “No. Honestly, I didn’t really follow the financial analysis.”

“That’s what I thought. I ended the meeting early because I want to help you.”

“Help me?”

“It’s okay to ask for help, you know that, right?”

“Do you always help interns? Aren’t you a CFO and busy?” I bite my lip, feeling my face burn again.I shouldn’t have asked that. Are you a fucking idiot, Lexy?

A choked sound escapes him. I snap my eyes back up again, finding him grinning, the rare sight sending my heartbeats into a fritz.

“Became a loner. Barely smiles. Turning into a block of ice. I worry about him.”Lana’s words at the club floats to the surface.

I made him smile.

Feminine pride sweeps through me, and my lips twitch.

“You always speak your mind, don’t you?” He chuckles, then suddenly freezes, as if he’s surprised. “Just like before,” he murmurs under his breath.

“What?” I must’ve misheard because it made no sense to me.

“Nothing.” He clears his throat and glances at the clock. “I have the afternoon cleared. Why don’t I explain the metrics to you?”

His eyes hold mine captive. There’s a wistfulness inside them—a hint of sadness. His chest stills, like he’s stopped breathing.

I blink. “What?”

The strange expression vanishes, and a half-grin makes a reappearance. “You’re a parrot today. I’m offering my help. Tutor you on the financial metrics. Unless you don’t think you need—”

“Oh, I definitely do!” I sit up straight, flummoxed at the recent turn of events. But who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

He’s uncharacteristically nice today and has made no comments abouttheeventat Mystique.

Maybe I can pretend it was just an alcohol induced dream?

Standing up, he shrugs off his navy suit jacket and hangs it on the coatrack. His rippling muscles strain under his sky-blue shirt and navy vest—this is a man who works out. Religiously.

God, blue really looks good on him.

Then he strides to his desk, picks up the phone, and presses a button. I look around his office. I was too nervous during my presentation to admire the modern elegant decor of dark woods and sleek lines.

Books line his shelves along with placards and awards. It’s obvious this man is well read and successful, and from what Lana said—he got here by himself. I inwardly wince as I think back to how I accused him of nepotism back when I was in the hospital.

I need to apologize.

There are large, framed photos lining the walls—black and white, artistic of exotic locations.

I eye the two closest to me. One of him in a desert, the sun beating down his face, an orange parachute strapped to his back. Another one of him at a beautiful beach, the waves lapping the shoreline.

He’s a traveler. I grin at the tidbits I’m learning about this mysterious man. They make him more human.

Then I notice how in each photo, he’s standing to the side, completely off-centered, his smile strained. He’s holding something, a book or a—I inch closer to take a better look when he speaks.

“Debbie, hold my calls for the rest of the day.”

“Sir, what about your meeting with Mr. Vaughn tonight?”

I frown.Vaughn? Who? Charles?

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