Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

hanging around that seem suspicious?”

      She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

      “Any odd phone calls?”

      “Not that I can recall.”

      “Have either of the other girls been acting strange? Asking questions about the storage room or security?”

      Her delicate shoulders lifted into a shrug. “Well, they wouldn’t ask me those questions because I don’t have any more access than they do. We all share an email account and work out of this room, and we take turns at the front desk and help Sean organize his schedule.”

      “So no one is in charge?”

      “Just Sean. There’s no hierarchy among us interns.”

      Wren had a good poker face, he’d give her that. He couldn’t be sure if she was telling the truth or hiding something, since her initial defensiveness seemed mostly related to the painting.

      Excitement stirred inside him. Imagining her sitting at this very stool, her mind on him as she swept her brush over the canvas, caused a tight ache in his chest. Why would she choose him?

      Drawing a deep breath, he shoved the questions aside. Right now he was on company time, so those curiosities would have to wait until later. He dug a card out of his jacket pocket. “Here’s my number. If you see anything out of the ordinary, give me a call.”

      “Sure.” She took the card and turned it over in her hands. “I’ll do that.”

      Silence hung in the air but he couldn’t tear himself away from her. Not yet. Not when she’d been the ghost in his mind for the last few days. The faint sound of Quinn’s voice floated into the room. She was still questioning the other intern.

      “I haven’t seen you around much.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants.

      Her lips lifted into a rueful smile. “That’s because I’ve been avoiding you.”

      “Honest. I like that.”

      “Well, cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it? You’re a smart man. I wouldn’t try to pull one over on you.” Her fingers toyed with her necklace, causing the blue stone to shift and catch the light. It was roughly cut, raw and natural in its beauty. Like her.

      “I felt like we had unfinished business after the other night,” he said. That was putting it mildly.

      “That’s what I’ve been avoiding.”

      So maybe he hadn’t misread the signals. “Why?”

      “I had a rough time back home and I came here to get away from it all. I’m still…wounded,” she said carefully, her eyes focused on the window that looked out into the alley behind the building. “I don’t want to get hurt again.”

      “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not planning on hurting anyone. Well, other than the bad guys.”

      “Of course.” A smile crossed her lips but it didn’t quite come up to her eyes. “Very noble of you.”

      He cleared his throat. “If you feel like company tonight, I have a very comfortable couch and I’m not a terrible cook, if I do say so myself.”

      It was probably wrong for him to engage with her outside the boundaries of the job, but hell, they were neighbors. This conversation could have happened anywhere. And besides, this was Quinn’s assignment, and other than supervising her site visits, she’d be doing the investigative portion. So it wasn’t like there was a conflict of interest.

      Wren’s hesitation thickened the air around them. “A comfortable couch?”

      “Yeah, that thing people sit on while they watch TV? It’s long and has cushions—”

      She swatted him and laughed. “I know what a couch is.”

      “So come and hang out on mine. We’ll eat, have a drink… We don’t have to address the unfinished business if you don’t want.”

      The furrow of her fair brows tugged at his heart. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

      “You don’t know anyone in the city, as you said the other night.” He shrugged. “I thought you might like the company.”

      “Another noble gesture.”

      “And my apartment is fully furnished, so there’s that.”

      She tried to purse her lips but a grin broke through. “Are you judging the state of my apartment, Rhys?”

      “Not at all.”

      “I’m going for the bohemian-chic look,” she said unconvincingly. “It’s all the rage.”

      “Is it?”

      Her tinkling laugh echoed against the high, white ceilings and the sound barreled through him. Damn, that sound could put him on cloud nine. “No idea. I’m just making things up as I go.”

      “That’s all any of us can do.”

      At that moment Quinn stuck her head into the room. “Ready to go, boss?”

      He stepped away from Wren, suddenly aware of how they’d gravitated toward one another. The space had shrunk between them until her shoulder was mere inches from his. She seemed to have that effect on him.

      “Yes, let’s make a move. I’ll meet you out front,” he said. When Quinn retreated, he turned back to Wren. “If you decide to come over, I usually have dinner around seven.”

      He actually had dinner precisely at seven every night, but he suspected that would sound a little type A if he said it aloud.

      “I’ll keep that in mind.” She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and a light flush crept over her cheeks.

      As he walked out of the studio, he forced himself to keep his eyes forward. If she came over, great. If not, well, he wouldn’t push it. But his body was already coiled tight with the thought that she might want to pick up where they’d left off.

      He’d just have to be careful to keep a clear demarcation between his work and his extracurricular activities. But it wouldn’t be an issue—he had no reason to suspect Wren was involved in the security breach. She had her own paintings—what could she possibly need with Sean Ainslie’s?

       5

      WREN HAD BEEN on edge ever since Rhys had shown up at work. Not just because he’d appeared as if the images in her head had come to life, but because he was there hunting for things she’d done. Naively, she’d assumed that when her attempt to get into the storage room had failed her boss would be none the wiser.

      Wrong. Now he’d hired a security company to come in and investigate, which would no doubt throttle her ability to play detective.

      So why was she standing at Rhys’s door, her hand poised to knock?

      “Because you’re a glutton for punishment, that’s why,” she muttered. “You don’t know when to back away.”

      Her logical side—she did have one, though it was the runt of the litter—said it would be better to keep in contact with Rhys so she could stay abreast of his company’s investigation. Her emotional side thought that sounded manipulative, and she supposed it was. But the fact that Sean had involved a security firm meant he was extremely serious about protecting his privacy, and that made her even more suspicious of him.

      So she’d have to forcibly ignore her guilt about lying to Rhys. She didn’t like being dishonest, but she wasn’t about to give up on finding justice for Kylie.

      “You’re doing it for her.” She stared at the gold-plated numbers on Rhys’s door for