She’d expected me to be late. I’d wager she expected me to say the wrong thing in front of someone important, screw up my measurements, and-or disappoint her otherwise. I had the suspicion that if she could have done the job herself, she would have.

The thought made me want to do the job to the best of my ability, if for no other reason than to prove her wrong.

Into a gilded elevator we stepped, and the doors closed, sealing us in silence.

“Did you actually bring a pad and pen this time?” she asked, eyeing me.

“Nope.”

Her brows clicked together, her lips opening to speak, but I headed her off.

“Pencil.”

She gave me an unamused look, but the smallest curve at the corners of her lips belied the expression. “Clients are set to meet me here in a few minutes, so try to stay out of the way.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Her eyes narrowed. The elevator dinged.

I swept a hand toward the door. “After you.”

She strutted out, nose in the air. “Thank you for putting on an actual shirt,” she said over her shoulder and without an ounce of graciousness.

“I’m not an animal, Lila,” I said with a lazy smile on my face.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She cast a teasing smile over her shoulder and pushed open the grand golden doors, revealing rows of white chairs with a dais at the end of the aisle where countless couples had promised their lives to one another. I mourned the muffled sound of her heels on the carpeted row. “A dog maybe, digging for bones?”

“You must be a cat person,” I guessed.

“More of a Betta kind of gal.”

“Not a goldfish?”

“They crap too much.”

I chuckled at the thought of Lila Parker dealing with feces of any species. “And how about you? A poodle maybe. All that white, long legs, snobbish, with a pedigree, for sure.” I scanned her form clinically.

She came to a stop at the dais, turning to face me. “If I’m a poodle, you’re a lab—big, dumb, and with too much mouth for your own good.”

One of my brows rose in challenge, though my lips gave her a cavalier smile.

At the sight, the tension in her shoulders eased. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to forgive me. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“It’s all right. I’m a Bennet, remember? I can take it.”

When she rewarded me with a quiet laugh, I realized she didn’t look as together as usual. Something about her eyes, dulled and smudged with shadow. Her hair wasn’t as flawless as was her norm, evidenced by that stray lock of her bun I’d fantasized about and the copper glow of occasional flyaway hairs.

She hadn’t slept, and I wondered why. Wondered who.