Page 29 of Gold Rush

“Offering. Only one of us is a billionaire, and it’s not me, but I can afford that much.”

She glances around the fancy reception area before commenting, “You make twice as much as I do. At least.”

“Fine, you can order a large. Even add a flavor shot.”

“Incredibly generous, but I should go.”

I study her expression—poised and unreadable. I have no idea where the Manhattan Public Defender’s office is located, but it’s not on this block. She went out of her way to come here and request to see me.

“I’ll go with you. I was headed out to grab lunch anyway.” My stomach grumbles, conveniently on cue.

Rory hesitates, then nods.

I hold up my legal pad. “Gotta leave these notes. I’ll be right back.” I start to turn away, then glance back. “Unless … you want a tour?”

If I leave her in reception, I’m concerned she might not be here when I come back. She seems skittish, which is not a word I’d normally associate with Rory.

She looks surprised by the invitation. Her fingers flex on the strap of her bag before she says, “Sure.”

I sweep my arm out in a dramatic gesture, indicating she should walk first.

Most women would sway their hips or flip their hair, showing off certain assets. Rory strides past so fast that I have to hustle just to be a step behind her. Anyone observing us would surely think she was the one employed here and I was the guest.

“You don’t know where you’re going,” I call after her, although, so far, all she’s had to do is stay straight. Rory doesn’t slow her pace, so I add, “Left,” when she reaches the turn. I force my eyes to remain on the smooth strands of her ponytail rather than allow them to dip lower.

This hallway leads directly into the bullpen, so it isn’t much of a tour. Rory pauses at the first cubicle, finally allowing me to pass her. A handful of the other associates have wedding photos displayed on their desks. One or two showcase sonograms. Most have pictures with significant others or parents or siblings. There aren’t any frames on my desk. That’s never bothered me before, but now, trying to view the office through Rory’s eyes, it occurs to me that the space beside the computer appears rather empty.

“This is me,” I state, dropping the legal pad beside a stack of binders.

“Nice view,” she comments, glancing past the cubicles at the row of windows with a prime vantage of Manhattan’s iconic skyline.

“It’s a green screen actually.”

Her lips quirk, and there’s a burst of satisfaction that normally accompanies making an entire room laugh.

We start back the way we came.

“What is your off⁠—”

Someone calls, “Flynn!” before I have a chance to finish the question.

I turn to see Jacob Patterson, a third-year associate, walking this way. He has one hand tucked into the pocket of his suit pants, a friendly smile fixed on his face.

“Any idea where Haley is?” he asks when he reaches us.

“I believe she’s still in a meeting,” I reply, quickly checking my watch. Twelve twenty—a new record for Jay. “Should be over soon. I’ll let her know you were looking for her if I see her.”

“Thanks, Flynn.” He might be talking to me, but Jake’s attention has drifted. He’s focused on Rory. “Hey, I’m Jake. Have we met before?”

She smiles as they shake hands, which annoys me for no reason. “Rory. I don’t think so. I don’t work here. I’m just visiting Flynn.”

“Oh. Oh, right.” Jake lets go of her hand, clearly making the incorrect assumption about our relationship.

The look he casts me is almost … envious, and I like that even less.

“Headed out to grab a quick lunch before the Hawkins depo,” I say, subtly letting Jake know we’re in a hurry.

“Enjoy.” He takes a step back, then snaps his fingers, refocusing on Rory. “You interned for Judge Randall, didn’t you?”