After wolfing down the lasagna, the heavy meal doing the job so she could feel her toes again, she paid her tab and slipped outside. She scanned up and down the street, realizing she had no idea where his law office was. Quickly googling it, she followed the path laid out, getting a few crazy looks as she rechecked the map and turned herself around a few times, then finally caught sight of the inconspicuous converted house not far off Main.
Shoulders back, hair probably frizzy from the wind, Claire swallowed the shiver in her throat and pushed open the door. The front was dim, the receptionist desk empty, as if they’d already closed up for the day. A voice from the back hollered, “Hang on.”
From the sole glowing room in the office, Lincoln popped out, immediately smiling when he saw her. “Hey, Claire. I wasn’t expecting you to drop in, and I suspect Grady wasn’t either. He left a bit ago.”
“Oh.” She glanced around, wondering how rude it would be to turn tail. The office was nice. Soothing mountain pictures, natural wood and metal furniture, and walls of books. But it lacked the energetic, positive vibe of Black Op. “I’ll catch him later.”
“Claire?”
“Yeah?” Shit. Did Grady tell him anything? Judging by the concerned, curious, amused smile and elevated eyebrows, he knew everything. Her cheeks flamed red.
“I know I should stay out of it, but Grady’s had a hell of a time of it lately. Are you planning to string him along, or do you have feelings for him?”
Lungs heavy, as if filled with fluid, Claire worked her lip between her teeth as she decided how to respond. “What did he tell you?”
Lincoln lowered to sit on the corner of the receptionist’s desk, folding his arms over his chest. Earnest, he settled his gaze on her. “That he feels awful about what happened, and that he knows he crossed some lines he shouldn’t have.”
“That’s utter bullshit,” she huffed. “I’m the one that crossed the line. Do you know where he is? I need to talk to him.”
“Probably still over at Black Op.”
Claire backed up and murmured, “Thanks.”
“Claire?”
“Yeah?”
“Go easy on him.”
She offered a weak smile and returned to the chill evening air. The wind had grown stronger the few minutes that she was inside, and she pushed against it to make her way into Black Op. As busy as it had been the other night, she waved to the greeter and snuck up the stairs.
The far office was glowing, a shadow pacing in the soft light. Claire inched past Grady and Zane’s darkened offices and found Freya painting madly in what was clearly her studio, a large space with tall windows and dozens of blank and completed canvasses. Freya silenced the music and smiled knowingly. “Hey, Claire.”
“Hi, Freya. I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“No worries. I should have stopped an hour ago, but sometimes I get sucked in.”
“Did you paint the one in Grady’s office?”
“Since when were you in Grady’s office?” Eyebrow halfway to the ceiling, Freya grinned. “Never mind. Yes, that was me. He needed the breath of fresh air.”
Why did everyone seem to think Grady was helpless? Sure, he’d said himself he was struggling, but it was as if all his friends encased him in heart-protective bubble wrap. “I really need to talk to him. Lincoln said he might be here?”
“You just missed him.”
“Okay. I’ll catch him at home, then.” If she could avoid Patricia and Ryder. That house seriously had ears.
“Actually, he’s crashing at Asher and Sophie’s tonight. The guys have some... things they need to take care of.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll call him.”
“Claire? I mean this in a good way, give him a few days to collect his thoughts.” Freya rinsed her brush in the jar of water and pulled her apron over her head. “It’s all about timing.”
“Timing.” Claire mulled on that one for a moment. “Did he tell you what happened?”
“He didn’t have to. He looks as miserable as you do.”
Cringing, Claire rubbed her eyes and stepped back. “I messed up.”
