Page 130 of Wild Card 13

The words should not have carried any meaning beyond the obvious. Unfortunately, my body had never been particularly interested in obvious meanings where Ty Burns was concerned.

A hotel room in New York surfaced without warning. His hand at my waist. His mouth against my neck. The quiet afterward, when neither of us had known what to say without making the night real enough to survive the morning.

I looked down at the packet before the memory could settle fully. “You can sit.”

“Generous.” Ty stepped into the office and set his gym bag beside one of the visitor chairs. He did not close the door behind him. I noticed that immediately and hated myself slightly for noticing at all.

He lowered into the chair across from my desk, then stretched one long leg beneath it as if the furniture had personally failed to account for professional hockey players. His phone stayed in his hand. He glanced down at the screen while settling back, balancing the chair briefly on its rear legs.

Dottie watched him. I watched the chair. “Those are not designed for that.”

Ty looked up. “For sitting?”

“For whatever you’re doing.”

“I’m sitting.”

“You’re testing the organization’s liability coverage.”

He lowered the chair onto all four legs for approximately three seconds. Then tipped it back again. I inhaled slowly through my nose. His attention shifted away from his phone and traveled around the office instead.

There was not much to see. My desk. Two chairs. A row ofoperations manuals and reference binders arranged along the low cabinet beneath the interior window. A framed photograph of Arlo and me on North Line’s rooftop sat beside the lamp. My coffee mug waited near the computer, untouched since before Charlotte’s termination.

Most of the personal evidence in the room belonged to Dottie. Her bed occupied the corner beside the window. A folded blanket rested across it. Her water bowl sat on a rubber mat near the cabinet, and a woven basket held enough toys to suggest she had negotiated a much better relocation package than I had.

Ty’s eyes paused on the basket. “Dottie moved in faster than you did.”

“This is an office.”

“I’ve seen waiting rooms with more personality.”

“You spend a concerning amount of time in medical facilities.”

“Occupational hazard.”

I opened the packet in front of me. “Should we begin?”

His gaze stayed on the nearly bare wall behind my desk. “You could put something up.”

“I could also conduct the meeting you are here to attend.”

“A plant, maybe.”

“It would die.”

“Picture?”

“There is a picture.”

His eyes moved toward the photograph of Arlo and me. “One picture. Very bold.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I know.” The humor disappeared from his voice so quietly that I looked at him before I meant to. Ty had lowered his chair again. Both feet rested on the floor now.

The office suddenly felt smaller than it had a moment earlier. Too quiet. Too enclosed, even with an open door and an entire wall made of glass.

Ty tapped the edge of his phone once against his knee. “Besides,” he said, his voice lighter again, “you’re sticking around now. You might as well make the place look like you’re comfortable here.”