“You don’t eat liver, but you eat squid?”

“Not squid. Calamari.” I gave him a saucy smile.

“Mind sharing?”

“What about your foie gras?”

“Reid eats it. I actually hate the stuff.”

I couldn’t help myself. I burst out in laughter. All right. Things were calming down now. The server returned and Roy ordered the calamari and a bourbon. Funny, I didn’t mind him ordering the calamari for me. Maybe because we were going to share it.

Maybe because he wasn’t Blaine Foster.

“Just a glass of water for now,” I said, when the server nodded to me.

“Not drinking tonight?” he asked.

“I might have a glass of wine with my dinner. I don’t want to overdo it. I have to be in the office early tomorrow.”

“Meeting?”

“No. Just a lot of work to do.”

Go ahead, I dared him in my mind. Comment about my work again. I double dare you. I triple dog dare you.

He kept his mouth shut.

I perused the menu, deciding on an entrée. Trout amandine sounded good. Or the salmon. I wasn’t much into red meat.

“Charlie,” Roy began.

I looked up and met his gaze. “Yeah?”

“Did you find a therapist for Lacey?”

“Several, actually. I sent her an email before I left. I was able to talk to all of them and explain the situation, and they all felt they could help her.”

He cleared his throat. “Would you mind sharing that information?”

“Not at all. With whom?”

Once more, he cleared his throat. “With me.”

32

Roy

Guts.

And strength.

I’d used all my guts and strength to ask Charlie for that information. I sat, waiting for her to interrogate me about why I wanted it.

Seconds—that seemed like hours—passed before she said, “Of course I will.”

I lifted my brow. Anything else? Wasn’t she going to ask why I wanted it? Didn’t she care?

“Thanks,” I finally said. “Just email me what you emailed to Lacey.” I bent back over my menu.

Nothing looked good. My appetite had waned.

Charlie sat across from me like a cross between an innocent angel and a naughty vixen. She was amazing.

She’d understood my painting in the lobby of the Wolfe building.

She might have understood it even better than I did.

She said the painting was hiding something, and she kept looking for a key.

I’d told her there was no key, but was I right?

Why would she be looking if I hadn’t left clues for a key?

Maybe a key did exist.

Maybe I just needed some help to find it.

Help from guided hypnosis?

Probably couldn’t hurt.

But maybe help from the woman in front of me. The woman who’d helped me reach a new plateau of pleasure. A new plateau of…

The word hovered just above my consciousness, and I captured it.

Love.