All It Takes (Romancing Manhattan 2)

“Look.” She holds it up so I can read it.

June 1, 1914

This is a receipt, showing that Lawrence Hendricks has repaid $5,000.00 of the $20,000.00 owed to Reginald House.

Reginald House

Lawrence Hendricks

“It’s handwritten again,” she says.

“I guess we just proved that the letter in my client’s possession is authentic.”

She takes a deep breath and rubs her lips together, then nods twice.

“I agree. But this also proves that my great-grandfather was paying it back. There have to be more written receipts.”

She’s most likely right. Sienna pulls a folder out of her briefcase and sets the receipt inside, then slips the folder back where she found it.

“High five,” she says, holding her hand up for mine. I happily oblige, then pull her hand to my lips so I can kiss her knuckle and chuckle when she raises her brows, her ice-blue eyes cooling even more.

“Congratulations, Counselor.”

“Thanks.” Her voice is firm, but I see her swallow hard. “Do you kiss the hands of all your colleagues?”

“No.” I let her go when she pulls away. “No, it seems it’s just a certain sexy redhead that I can’t seem to stop thinking about. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t do it again.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m uncomfortable,” she says primly and resumes digging. Rather than sit across from her, I pull up a seat next to her, and we spend the next hour combing through without finding anything else of significance.

“It’s so odd that no one ever filed all those things together,” she mutters. “I mean, my family isn’t known for being unorganized. Except for Lou, she’s as unorganized as they come.”

“She sounds like the opposite of you.”

“Oh, she is,” she agrees with a smile. “We drive each other nuts, but we’re best friends too.”

“Have you talked since your fight?” I ask.

“No.” She finishes her sandwich and takes her wrapper to the kitchen to toss it away, then pulls two bottles of water out of the fridge and brings me one. “I’ll talk to her. We don’t stay mad for long.”

She sits back down and then sighs when she uncovers the next paper.

“Oh, Gramps.” It’s a whisper.

“What is it?”

“This is my grandparents’ marriage certificate,” she says, brushing her fingertips over their names. “I knew I’d come across things like this; I just wasn’t expecting it to punch me in the heart. They were married for more than fifty years when she passed away.”

“That’s a long time.”

“And they adored each other. He died less than a year after her, and I’m pretty sure he just didn’t have it in him to live without her.”

She wipes a tear from her cheek and tucks the marriage license in its folder, setting it aside in a pile she’s started for important documents.

“I’m sorry, Sienna,” I say and cover her hand with mine.

“Grief is a sneaky bitch,” she mutters, and I pull her into my arms, hugging her tightly.

“You’re not wrong about that.” I kiss her forehead and breathe her in, just as she pulls away and wipes the last tear from her cheek.

“Sorry about that. It wasn’t exactly professional.”

“Neither are short-shorts and bare feet, but that’s not stopping us.”

She whips her gaze to mine in surprise, then dissolves into laughter. “I’m not at the office, and I didn’t know for sure if you’d show. I wanted to be comfortable.”

“I’m not complaining.” I tuck that stray hair behind her ear again. “And when I say I’ll show, I’ll show. Last night wasn’t planned.”

“At least you texted to let me know you couldn’t make it,” she says with a shrug. “I didn’t mind eating your tacos.”

“Wait. You had tacos?”

“Yeah, I made them and everything. Brought them here. They were delicious.”

“I’m sorry, Sienna.”

“Like I said, not a hardship to eat your share.”

“Can we have tacos tomorrow?”

She grins. “If you beat me on the track, I’ll make you tacos.”

“Tacos it is then.”

“But if I beat you—”

I scoff, and she raises a brow.

“If I beat you, we have pizza.”

“You’re not going to beat me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t bet your law practice on it.”

“You’ve raced before,” I say for the eleventh time the following afternoon as I take a bite of my pepperoni pizza.

“Nope.” She smiles smugly and takes a bite of her own slice. “I’ve never driven that fast. I honestly didn’t think I had it in me.”

“Well, you clearly do.” My voice is dry, and I can’t take my eyes off her. That messy bun is back today, a red tee, and cropped jeans. We’re sitting at her grandfather’s table, the pizza set in the middle, and I’m still buzzing with adrenaline.

I want to pull her in my lap and fuck her until we’re both blind.

Instead, I take another bite of pizza.

“I think this is the first and last race for me,” she admits. “It was exhilarating, and I understand why you love it, but I’m not a thrill seeker, Quinn.”