He Loves Me Not (The Hawthornes of New York 1)

I haven’t thought twice about that case since Mr. Rockford’s kids came storming into our offices looking for a piece of his estate.

The will was read right after the funeral as requested by the dearly departed.

There were a few gasps in the room, some choice curse words fired in my direction, and a declaration that the will would be fought in court.

What do you expect when someone dies with two estranged kids?

The wars that wage in courtrooms after death are almost always powered by greed. It drives people to try and get their hands on what’s left behind.

Thomas skims a hand over his light brown hair. “You were supposed to meet with Clarice Blanchard this afternoon to go over her will. You blew her off.”

I glance up from my desk to where he’s standing a few feet away. “I rescheduled.”

It was a risky move. Clarice’s estate is vast. The majority of her wealth is to be directed toward a handful of charities after her death. Those change as her interests change.

She wasn’t thrilled when I called her yesterday to postpone our meeting until tomorrow. I did it to clear my afternoon for Miss Marks. I didn’t realize that would be a waste of my time.

“Why?”

I expected the question. Thomas thinks that we need to share everything when it comes to work. I disagree. He has his clients. I have mine. Occasionally, one of us will go to bat for the other.

“I’m not answering that.”

He laughs. “I know where you were, Rome. That’s not a secret since you’ve been going there every Tuesday for years.”

“Not every Tuesday,” I correct him. “I thought I’d need more time today. It turned out I didn’t. End of story.”

I look past him when I see my executive assistant approaching the doorway. “I’m flattered that you care enough to notice.”

“Mr. Hawthorne.” My assistant, Chad, taps his knuckles against the doorjamb. “I found that information you requested, sir.”

Thomas’s gaze volleys between Chad and me. “What information?”

I push to my feet. “That’s none of your business.”

“I’m getting a fuck-off-Thomas vibe coming from you.” He laughs. “Should I close the door on my out?”

“Please.” I nod. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

He knows that’s not true. Once the clock hits six, I’m out the door. The days of work monopolizing my life are over.

“Tomorrow then.” He flips his hand in the air to toss me a backhanded wave. “Later, Rome.”

Chad pushes a piece of paper at me as soon as the door clicks shut. “I wrote down everything I could find.”

I scan it. “You found all of this in thirty minutes?”

He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m good at my job.”

I glance at the paper again. “I hate to admit it, but I’m impressed.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I’m taking my girlfriend to dinner with her folks, so I’m leaving now. I need to pick up my best suit from the cleaners.”

I look over the three-piece navy suit he’s wearing. “I pay you enough that they should all be your best suits.”

He taps a hand against the lapel of my dark gray suit jacket. “You’re a Berdine kind-of-guy. I’m still shopping off the racks.”

Mention of the designer brand that I typically turn to makes me laugh. “Point taken.”

His gaze drops to the paper in my hand. “My search resulted in a couple of images of her. She’s beautiful. Who is she?”

“You know better than to ask that.”

He pushes a strand of blond hair back from his forehead. “It was worth a try.”

“Go home.” I gesture toward my office door. “Make a good impression on your future in-laws.”

Both of his hands dart in the air. “I’m too young to be thinking about marriage, Roman.”

“Does your girlfriend know that?”

I don’t bother trying to remember her name because this is his third girlfriend in six months, and I can’t keep track.

A nod of his head answers that question.

“I need you here thirty minutes early tomorrow for my meeting with the Hubers.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he slides out his phone. “It’s already programmed into my calendar. Do you want me to arrange for the delivery of a dozen daisies to the mysterious Miss Marks before I take off?”

I drop my gaze to the paper in my hand. “You wrote that she loves daisies. How the hell do you know that?”

He gestures to the laptop on my desk. “Look at her socials. She’s always taking pictures of daisies and posting them on Instagram.”

When I asked Chad to find out where Bianca works, I had no idea that he’d stalk her social media pages. I was going to set aside time for that adventure tonight.

“I’ll take it from here.” I point at the door. “Goodnight, Chad.”

He taps the face of his watch. “It’s not even four, old man. Goodnight to you too.”

I huff out a laugh. “I only have five years on you.”