Page 12 of The Bossy One

Behind me, Olivia cleared her throat. “Actually, crying is nor—never mind, we can talk about that later.” She wrote something else down in that damn notebook.

I pulled back to check Catie’s face. “You good now? Do you want to see your room?”

Her frown gave way to tentative enthusiasm. “I have a room?”

“Of course.” It was the one I’d originally had designed for her when she and Sinead lived here, and I’d never been able to bring myself to change it to anything else. A little over a year ago, I’d finally swapped out the crib for a big-kid bed and had my designer update the décor and toys, in the event Catie and Sinead ever did come back to visit.

I stood, led Catie out of the room, and pointed to her room, which was right across from mine. Catie dashed in ahead of me, gasping when she saw the shelves of toys.

Olivia moved to follow her, but I stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You thought I did something wrong in there, didn’t you?”

“No, of course not...” Olivia was the least convincing liar I’d ever met.

“Hand over your notebook,” I ordered.

She looked mulish, but she did as I asked.

In looping, feminine writing she’d writtenExplain emotional authenticity. Below that she’d writtenacademic aptitude test: support passions + round out challenge areasandget Declan’s work schedule from his assistant every Friday if he has one?

“Emotional authenticity?” I demanded, zeroing in on the most outrageous. “What the hell does that mean?”

Several expressions flickered across her face in quick succession. It was kind of fascinating how I could see everything she felt clearly spelled out—from nervousness about speaking out to that same stubborn spirit I’d seen when she’d talked about her former charge with the ulcer.

“You told her not to cry,” Olivia explained. “But expressing our emotions is healthy. Otherwise we—” I literally saw her bite her tongue, cutting herself off.

“Oh, don’t stop now,” I goaded. “Otherwise what?”

She glared me at me. “Otherwise, we grow up into grumpy, bossy people.”

“For Christ’s sake.” I scowled and lowered my voice, so Catie wouldn’t hear. “I don’t need you to be her teacher, or an armchair therapist. I just need you to let her be a kid on summer break. That’s all. And keep her out of my office unless it’s important. Understand?” I held out her notebook.

“I understand,” Olivia said, snatching back her notebook.

“Miss Olivia!” Catie called. “Can you read me a story?”

“Sure, sweetie,” Olivia said, stepping into the room. She gasped when she saw the floor to ceiling wall of bookshelves. The picture books were all on the bottom, where Olivia could reach. I normally bought two copies whenever I sent Catie a book. That way I could keep one copy and read it over the phone to her. But after @1000words and I had gotten into a conversation about books we’d loved as tweens and teens, I’d also started stocking the higher shelves with stuff I thought Catie would like when she was older. Plus a few books I’d had as a kid that I didn’t want to get rid of.

Olivia traced her hands over the spines reverently, her disappointment with me temporarily forgotten.

“This iswaybetter than the grown-up library downstairs. I feel like Belle in the scene where she walks into the library,” Olivia joked.

“What’s that make me?” I asked. “The Beast?”

Olivia threw me a wicked smile over her shoulder, and I felt my blood heat.

Then she caught herself, smoothing her expression into something bland and cheerful. “Catie, what book do you want us to read?”

My phone started buzzing—a text from my friend and lawyer Thomas Maher.

I have news. Give me a call?

“I’ve got to make a call.” I glanced at Olivia and Catie, who were already settling into the giant purple beanbag chair in the corner. “Will you be all right?”

I wasn’t entirely sure which one of them I was asking, but Olivia nodded and Catie was already engrossed in her book, so I headed back into my office and shut the door.

I called Thomas. “What is it?”

“Hello to you too,” Thomas answered. He was an exceptional lawyer, but he loved a good conversation, and you couldn’t rush him for anything. It was one of the many reasons he’d chosen to set up a practice in Galway over the hustle and bustle of a Dublin law firm. “Are you going to make me rush through this?”

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