Chapter 8: Staff Are Off Limits

I don't remember the meeting.

I remember sitting very straight and writing nothing on the page in front of me.

I remember the Tokyo call, and Regan's elbow nudging mine, and a man from catering telling me about a lobster shortage.

At ten-thirty the department heads stood, and Brody Kincaid said, "Ms. Stanwood, a word."

Regan looked at him, then at me, and then she left and shut the door.

He walked to the window and stood with his hands in his pockets, looking out at the park.

I stayed by my chair.

"Close the door," he said.

"Your sister just closed it."

"Then lock it."

I looked at him.

He turned around.

"Not for that," he said. "For privacy."

I locked it.

Then I stood against it with my arms folded, because it was the farthest I could get from the window.

For a long moment neither of us spoke.

He looked at me, and I looked back, and I hated how well I remembered every inch of him.

"Jack," I said.

"Don't."

"That's what you told me your name was."

"It's my middle name. Brody Jack Kincaid." His voice was level. "I've used it exactly once, on a beach, because I wanted one week of being nobody."

"You said you fixed leaks."

"I said I fix things. I do."

"You said you were a handyman at a hotel group."

"You said that. I didn't correct it."

"That's the same thing."

"I know it's the same thing."

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