There’s a long counter of receptionists answering the ringing telephones, and we wait impatiently for one to free up before I can ask, “Is Mr. Hendrickson available?”
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, her eyes lowering to watch her phone blink.
“Unfortunately, no.” I should have made one, but I didn’t want to tip Rick off I was coming here.
“Let me see if he’s in. What’s your name, please?”
“Devyn Scott.”
“One moment.”
She punches a couple of buttons and murmurs into her headset. “You’re in luck, Miss Scott. He’s just come back from lunch. Go through those doors, and to the right. His assistant will show you to his office.”
“Thank you.”
Talia and I push through the glass doors that separate the lobby of the thirty-third floor from the executive offices. We only need to take a few steps before a young woman not much older than Talia greets us. “He just went to freshen up. Have a seat,” she says, pushing the door open and revealing a huge office done in dark greys and teal.
“Thank you.”
“Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
“Decaf coffee with cream would be great.”
She looks to Talia.
“Same, thank you.”
I didn’t order decaf primarily for Talia’s benefit. I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.
No sooner does Beau’s assistant serve us our coffee than he arrives immaculate in a black suit and red, black, and silver tie. His eyes are warm, and he holds out a hand. “Devyn Scott. I admit, this is a bit of a surprise. The last I heard about you, you were snowed in with Rick and badgering him for an interview. How did that turn out?”
“You know, or you wouldn’t ask. Thank you for talking to us. This is my sister, Talia Scott.”
Beau’s eyes light on Talia, and if he were a cartoon, his pupils would have turned into big, red throbbing hearts. He holds her hand and squeezes, his eyes searching her face.
For crap’s sake.
Talia’s no better, her mouth dropping open, her child-like fingers curling around his large hand.
I’m amused and a little concerned. Not because of their ages. If anything, Beau being older than she is—by a good fifteen years if I had to guess—would help keep her steady. All she needs is a young punk who hasn’t gotten partying out of his system. At least Beau’s been there—not finished with that, as I think he still maintains a pretty active social life—but if he gave it up for a woman, at least he’d have no regrets.
No, I’m not quite sure ifshe’sready for something like that, but as her sister, I can only support her and hopefully guide her into making the right choices. But Beau Hendrickson is a good guy or Rick wouldn’t do business with him. I’d bet my life on that.
They’re still staring at each other, and I let them have at it, peeling off my coat and helping myself to the coffee service his assistant left behind.
I’m halfway done with my coffee when I sigh audibly, and Beau jerks his gaze away, but, I notice, doesn’t release her hand until he says, “I’m sorry, Miss Scott, let me help you with your coat.”
“Talia’s fine,” she says, easing out of her jacket as he pulls it from her shoulders.
Beau hangs it on a coat tree near the door, something I could have done with mine, but I laid it over the arm of a loveseat instead.
Talia sits on the loveseat across from me, leaving space for Beau to sit next to her.
Even I wasn’t this goofy with Rick. We’d shown restraint.
For a couple of days.
“What can I do for you?” he asks, leaning back and resting his arm along the top of the loveseat’s cushions, his hand conveniently close to Talia’s hair.