Page 40 of Break My Rules

She whisks away in a swirl of silk and red lipstick, and I continue inside, pleased. I shouldn’t be sneaking time to work on my project for the foundation, but it means a lot to me to carve out a small part of my days here that are about me and my passions, and not just avenging Wren.

Plus, it gives me the perfect excuse to get to know Hugh better, and figure out what he has going on, beneath the nerdy, ruffled surface. But when I get to his office, I don’t see him around. “Is Hugh coming in this afternoon?” I ask the nearest intern, who’s stationed at a desk right beside his door.

“Let me check…” the guy replies, helpful. Peter, I think his name is. He clicks on his desktop computer, and I can see from the angle that he’s looking at Hugh’s schedule. “No,” he reports. “Sorry, it looks like he’s out in meetings for the rest of the day. Did you need anything?”

I pause, thinking fast. If I can just get a closer look at that calendar…

“Actually, yes,” I reply. “Hugh said he was pulling some information for me, the donation data and distribution information for the last three months….?”

“Sorry,” he gives an apologetic shrug. “He didn’t mention it.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” I reply, looking concerned. “I need them ASAP, and I really can’t move ahead without them.” I give him a hopeful look. “I don’t suppose you could track them down for me?”

“Of course.” The intern efficiently clicks into a few different documents. “I can email them right over.”

“I meant printed!” I blurt, remembering from my tour that the print room is way in the back of the office, out of sightline from Hugh’s corner. I flash him another smile. “And bound, if that’s OK. In triplicate.”

“That might take me a little while,” he says, getting to his feet.

“No problem!” I beam. “I can wait.”

Peter heads off to the copy room, and I look quickly around. The main floor is open plan and buzzing, but luckily, everyone seems occupied.

I slip into Peter’s chair, and tap through to Hugh’s calendar, which is still up on screen. It’s a daily schedule, blocked out with meetings, trips, calls…

I quickly click back, to last year, and focus in on the date of Wren’s attack. Whoever took her kept her in that cell for more than twenty-four hours, and I’m hoping I can find enough in Hugh’s schedule for that time period to count him out—or at least give me an alibi to verify.

November, October…There. I find the weekend in question and check his commitments for the dates.

The whole weekend is blocked out.

I gulp. There’s a notation to show he’s not available—but there’s no meeting or event listed which might explain him being tied up for that period of time.

Dammit.

My hopes fall. I wanted to rule him out easily, but instead, this looks more suspicious than ever. The Blackthorn party wouldn’t take up the whole weekend; Hugh told me himself he only attends them as a family obligation and networking opportunity. I click around some more, thinking maybe there’s a side note or something to justifying the blackout, so I can—

“Tessa, hello!”

My head snaps up. Hugh is crossing the office towards me with a genial smile on his face.

Shit!

I quickly click out of his calendar and manage to bring up the documents Peter found, so by the time Hugh reaches me, the screen is covered with perfectly innocent spreadsheets. “Hi!” I blurt, bouncing out of the chair. “I thought you were in meetings all day.”

“I am,” Hugh says, looking rueful. He’s dressed smartly in a suit and tie but carries a battered leather messenger bag slung across his chest. “I left the shiny new pitch folders behind, and God forbid we try and woo donors without some glossy pictures of all our good deeds.”

“God forbid!” I echo, too loud. My heart is racing from the near miss, but I try to act casual. “I just stopped by to pick up some numbers, help pitch the influencers with data about our other campaigns,” I add.

“Priya shared some of your emails, to keep me up to date with the project,” Hugh says, “It’s all shaping up wonderfully.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” I reply, bashful. “They’re just ideas for now.”

“Everything starts as ‘just an idea,’” Hugh corrects me. “And believe me, I’ve seen some terrible ones.”

“You mean, it’s a low bar around here?” I joke, and he chuckles.

“Learn to take a compliment. Or is Saint not showering you with enough of them to make you used to high praise?”

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