“No. Nora and I are co-owners of Lum-Weston Industries. Oliver is a friend. I owe him a favor, so here I am.”
“Hm. It’s a pretty big favor to take time from your life to spend in suffering.”
“I’m not suffering.”
“Then I guess I need to work you harder.” One corner of her mouth tips up.
It’s almost a smile but not quite.
“I guess you do.”
She presses her lips together. “Nora is also a solvency expert?”
“Yes. We work together, but we have different strengths. She’s brilliant. She speaks multiple languages, she can gather data like you wouldn’t believe, but she’s not as good with people. She has a hard time reading subtext or being sensitive to undercurrents. She’s like a blunt force of nature.”
We make a good team. I schmooze while she intimidates, which is ironic considering she’s barely five feet tall.
“What does a solvency expert do, exactly?”
“We review businesses that are struggling for ways they can improve or turn a profit. Sometimes we buy them out ourselves and restructure them, depending on our capacity and their individual needs and goals.”
I observe, communicate, get people to open up, research, then I fix all their problems.
“I know you find it hard to believe, but I enjoy making a difference in people’s lives. Finding what will make them happy. I want to help you too. I just have to figure out how to do that and keep my promise to Oliver.”
Her nose wrinkles with open skepticism. “Sounds impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible.”
Her brows lift. “If you solve my business’s problems, I won’t have a reason to sell to your friend.”
I tilt my head. “There’s always a solution. We just have to find the right one.”
She frowns. “What does he want with my land, anyway? To turn it into ugly high-rise condos? Puppy farm? Slaughterhouse for adorable bunnies?”
I chuckle. “No. He wants to turn it into a kids’ camp.”
Her brows drop into a furrow. “Really?”
The front door bangs open. “Honey, I’m home,” a feminine voice rings out.
A twentysomething dark-haired woman saunters in, smiling brightly. She looks a lot like Finley except her hair is a shade lighter, her eyes are wider, and her mouth is a little thinner. She’s wearing dark leggings, giant furry boots that go nearly to her knees, and a tight neon-pink tank top, visible under a fur-lined coat.
She heaves an exaggerated sigh when she sees Finley at the desk. “Of course you’re still working.”
Finley gets up, blocking me from view, and hugs her. “You’re back.”
“Only for a few days.” She cranes her neck to peek around Finley at me.
Finley steps to the side, hiding me again.
“There’s a music festival in Florida next week.” She peeks over Finley’s shoulder. “It’s too cold up here this time of year for me to hang for too long.” She ducks to one side. “But I was passing through and thought I would, um—” She fakes left then pops around Finley on the right, smiling brightly. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” she asks without removing her gaze from mine.
“He’s not my—”
I stand, sticking my hand in her direction. “Archer Weston.”
“Hey, Archer Weston.” She drags out the syllables in my name and then rests her hand in mine briefly. “Taylor Fox.”