Page 2 of His Good Girl

“He’s not some random LinkedIn connection I can harass because I got fired.”

“No, he’s your godfather. That’s the point. It’s nepotism at its finest.”

“It’s humiliating.”

“Being employed is humiliating. Existing under capitalism is humiliating. At least be humiliated with health insurance.”

I looked away, toward the window. Outside, the city was glossed with early spring rain, all the headlights and wet pavement blurring together. People hurried past under black umbrellas. Behind them, the buildings of Seattle took over the skyline, all steel and glass and money. Somewhere among them was Rowe Tower, though I couldn’t see it from where we sat. Standing at forty-something stories of dark glass and architectural arrogance, its crown cut at an angle that made it look like it had leaned into the wind and won. Callum’s company had designed it before moving in as the anchor tenant, which had always struck me as an incredibly Callum thing to do. Build the impossible thing first. Then sit calmly inside it.

“I can’t just email him and say, hi, remember me, your dead best friend’s underachieving daughter? Do you have a pity job lying around?”

Jules’s face softened for half a second. It never lasted long with her though because she considered tenderness mosteffective when administered quickly, like a shot. “You’re not underachieving. You’ve just had shitty luck.”

“I’ve had shitty bosses.”

“You’ve had two monsters in a row.”

“Three, if we’re counting Lydia from the events place.”

“I always count Lydia. Lydia once made you reorganize orchids by emotional tone.”

“She said the centerpieces felt defensive.”

“They did not. They felt like flowers.”

I laughed in spite of myself, and Jules smiled with satisfaction, like she had cracked open a safe.

Then she leaned forward. “Listen to me. You are smart. You are organized when someone isn’t actively setting fire to your calendar. You learn fast, have taste, and you’re good with people. You have a degree. You also have a creepy ability to remember everyone’s coffee order. You are not some helpless little orphan Annie asking Daddy Warbucks for soup.”

“Please never call Callum Rowe Daddy Warbucks ever again.”

“Oh, interesting. That hit weird.”

“It did not.”

Her eyes narrowed and I just drank my wine.

Jules, being Jules, noticed my silence and pounced on it like a cat on a laser dot. “Wait.”

“No.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“Avery Melissa Hale, do you have a thing for your godfather?”

“No.”

“Oh, my God.”

“I said no.”

“You said no like a woman who has absolutely pictured that man taking off a watch.”

Heat flashed up my neck so fast I nearly choked on air. “Jules.”

She slapped a hand over her mouth, delighted and horrified.