Walk of Shame (Love Unexpectedly 4)

I think I hear her snort, and she has a point. I doubt Andrew’s ever heard of such a thing as a lunch break, much less calling it an early day.

Lucky for both of them, they have me.

I give a quick knock with my knuckles before opening the door to his office.

His hand is already reaching for the phone again, but he drops it to the desk when he sees me, his expression a mixture of irritation and disbelief.

“Hey, Andy!”

He sighs. “I don’t go by that.”

“Well, I don’t go by Georgiana, but it doesn’t seem to stop you from calling me that.”

“What do you need?”

“I’m starving,” I say, sidling up to the wall and looking at the boring canvas that’s a generic blend of whites and muted greens. “This is ugly—why’d you pick it out?”

“I didn’t.”

I turn. “You don’t like art?”

“I don’t have an opinion either way.”

“Can I pick something for you?”

He’s leaning back in his chair, watching me as I go from picture to picture, ugly fake plant to ugly fake plant.

“You like art?” he asks.

I shrug, coming to a stop in front of a framed diploma. “I know it. Keeps us socialite types busy. Those of us with a brain anyway.”

“Georgiana—”

“How old are you?” I interrupt, squinting my eyes at the Harvard diploma.

“Thirty.”

I point at the diploma

and turn to face him. “I thought you were about that, but according to this, you would have had to graduate from law school when you were—”

“Twenty-two.”

I stare at him. “That’s young. Really young.”

He lifts his shoulders and becomes suddenly fascinated with a file on his desk.

“You poor thing,” I murmur. “How many grades did you skip? How quickly did you blow through undergrad?”

“Fast enough,” he says in a clipped tone. “I was efficient.”

My chest squeezes a little at the defensive look on his face, and I realize that I’m getting a rare glimpse inside. It wouldn’t have been easy to be so smart so young. He must have been at least a couple of years younger than all of his peers. He would have stood out, probably struggling to make friends. He would have been alone.

Instead of gently teasing him about being a too-smart nerd, I reach forward and pluck the folder from his hands. He glares. “I have work to do. You’re the one who begged me to let you come along, so if you want to stay, make yourself busy on Instagram, or—”

“Take me to lunch, Andy.”

“Take yourself to lunch.”