Page 61 of Crash Course
Lowering herself into her chair, she paused for a few seconds, taking in the light gray walls, bookshelves stuffed with law books and her leather sofa and chairs. If she went ahead with her plan for a new office, she’d need something big enough to fit everything. Maybe she’d set up appointments for the weekend to look at the few spaces she’d seen online.
Add it to the to-do list.
Ignoring her laptop, she flipped open the first file Layla had handed her. Before she’d started reading, her intercom buzzed.
"Cilla? Paul Benzman is here for you."
Paul? What was this about? It wasn’t unusual, per se, for her father’s second-in-command to show up, particularly if he had a legal question because, sure, why not ask Cilla when they had in-house lawyers?
Curiosity hounding her, she mulled it over. She should tell him to come back later. That she was in the middle of dealing with the problems of her paying clients.
Then he’d complain to Dad and she’d have to see him anyway. Who had time for this nonsense?
"Thanks," she told Layla. "Send him in."
She flipped the file closed and stood. Seconds later Paul appeared at her door. As usual, he gelled his mousy brown hair into place and his navy suit, white shirt, and paisley tie were pressed to perfection. Cilla wasn’t a fan of paisley, but Paul’s wardrobe wasn’t her problem.
"Good morning," she said.
"Morning. Thanks for seeing me."
"Of course."
She waved to her guest chairs in front of the desk. "Have a seat."
He chose the chair on the left, straightening his tie as he sat. Paul had that way about him. All slick polish and pristine suits. When he started picking at invisible lint on his slacks, it was time to move him along.
"What’s up, Paul?"
Abandoning the lint, he peered across the desk at her. His mouth dipped into a frown and he squinted. "What are you doing?"
Huh? If she was supposed to know what he was talking about, she didn’t. She rolled her hand. "About?"
"You were in Morgan yesterday. Why?"
Cilla’s limbs simultaneously turned to steel, paralyzing her in place.He knows. How the hell . . .? And did he know Cruz was with her?
She could easily explain two single people on an outing together, but anyone within five miles of her father knew Cilla had little time for dating.
Despite her raging panic, she forced her body to a relaxed state and eased back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. "Last I checked, I don’t report to you. And you have no right to question me on my whereabouts."
"You’re denying it?"
"Not at all. I am, however, a tad curious how you know I was in Morgan."
"Easy. I checked in with the Tates this morning. They’ve had an offer—an extremely generous offer—for over two weeks. I’d like an answer. Imagine my shock when she rattled on about meeting you. She’s a talker, that one."
Oh, Sherry.The woman had inadvertently outed Cilla.Dang it."She is," Cilla said. "I experienced that when I met her."
Paul stared with cold, dead eyes that sent a fresh bout of panic swarming her. She’d have to be careful here.
"So," he said, "again, I ask, why were you in Morgan?"
She could fabricate something. Spin a tale that he might—or might not—believe. Either way, he’d inform her father and then she’d have to deal with him, too.
Might as well admit it. Cilla leaned in, resting her elbows on her desk. "I’m sure by now you realize I saw that toxicology report on the plane."
"Yes. I was irresponsible about leaving it."
