Chapter 10—Simon
BY FIVE-THIRTY THURSDAY afternoon, my grandmother’s escritoire has become the most overqualified dating strategy in North America.
I stand in front of it with a screwdriver Christa approved for my use and examine the single brass screw she allowed me to remove last week.
I put it back, wait several seconds, then remove it again.
Misty appears in the library doorway carrying a stack of folders. “You’re playing with the screw.”
“I’m inspecting it.” I turn it between my fingers as if that makes the claim more credible.
She crosses the room and drops the folders on the worktable. “You’ve inspected it four times since lunch.”
I return the screw to the porcelain dish. “Why are you still here?”
“Because you asked me to move tomorrow’s eight-thirty call, send the amendments to Noah, confirm the catering numbers for Monday, and find out whether antique furniture restoration requires snacks.”
“Conservation.”
Misty stops with one hand still on the folders. “What?”
“Furniture conservation.”
She looks at the hide glue, the porcelain hardware dish, then back at me. “You’ve become unbearable.”
“I’ve become informed.”
“You learned three words and bought hide glue.”
“The hide glue was necessary.”
“You haven’t used it.”
“Christa hasn’t authorized me.” I glance toward the jar, which I admit weakens my argument.
Misty sets her purse beside the folders. “That sentence alone is worth staying late for.”
I check the time again. Christa said she’d come around six.
She also said she had no intention of discussing the trust tonight, which I consider healthy.
Jai apparently spent the morning discovering several ways Tate might legally destroy his own future.
Christa texted me afterward to say the day had improved considerably.
I haven’t asked for details. Yesterday, I told Jai I wouldn’t investigate the trust, and I meant it. Christa has enough people deciding what she needs without adding me to the list.
Misty peers into the porcelain dish. “She’s going to know you moved that screw.”
“I put it back exactly where it was.”
“That’s worse.” Her grin widens when the front door opens somewhere beyond the hall and I look toward it immediately. “Subtle.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
Noah’s voice carries from the foyer. “If nobody helps me with these children, I’m leaving one in the umbrella stand.”
Misty heads for the hall, and I follow.
Noah has their youngest tucked under one arm and a paper grocery bag under the other. Their four-year-old is sitting on the floor trying to remove one shoe, while their oldest announces that she smells pizza before she notices me.
“Uncle Simon!” She barrels across the foyer and wraps herself around my legs.
I lift her before she can take me down. “Hello, menace.”
She beams at me. “I’m five now. I ride my bike by myself.”
“I know. I was there when you got it.”
“The bell is loud.”
Noah shoves the grocery bag into my free hand. “She demonstrated that inside our house for three consecutive days.”
“I chose well.”
“You chose revenge.”
Misty takes the toddler from Noah and kisses his cheek. “You could’ve left the kids with the nanny.”
Noah finally gets his son’s shoe off and stares at it as if he has forgotten why that was necessary. “You said pizza at Simon’s. They heard you.”
“Amateurs,” I say. “You never discuss food where children can hear.”
The doorbell rings. Noah glances at me and immediately smiles.
I lower Aya to the floor. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”
He feigns innocence as Harry tries to take the grocery sack. Misty shifts Gretel to her other arm to rescue it. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You rarely need to.” I shake my head and go to answer the door.
Christa is on the other side of the door wearing dark jeans, ankle boots, and a soft green sweater beneath her coat. Her hair is loose tonight instead of pulled back for work.
She smiles when she sees me, and the past twenty-four hours recede for a second.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.” I step back to let her inside.
She gets one look at the children, Noah holding a single shoe, and Misty balancing Gretel against one hip. “I thought we were working on furniture.”
“We are.” I take her coat. “This is an unauthorized gathering.”
Noah straightens. “We’re bringing dinner.”
I concede that. “Which is why I haven’t removed you.”
Misty comes forward. “Christa, I’m Misty. We’ve technically met by email.”
Christa shifts her bag off her shoulder and offers a smile. “Only technically?”
“I haven’t sent you anything unpleasant yet.”
She laughs. “Then you haven’t reached full assistant status.”
Misty’s laugh tells me I’ve already lost whatever loyalty remained.
Harry chooses that moment to throw his shoe toward Noah. It bounces once and stops against Christa’s boot.
She picks it up and hands it to him. “I think this belongs to you.”
He takes it solemnly. “Daddy said shoes are a conspiracy.”
Noah closes his eyes.
Christa turns toward him. “Strong position.”
“I was trying to put three children into shoes at once.” He looks defeated. “I muttered it.”
“Context weakens it.”
Her grin makes my stomach flip before I can stop looking at her.
Noah notices and smirks. I decide murder remains inappropriate in front of children.
We end up eating pizza because Christa admits she hasn’t had dinner and because removing the Piersons after they’ve opened three boxes would require more force than I’m prepared to use.
The children supply most of the noise. Aya tells Christa about a classroom guinea pig named Frances, and Harry interrupts to insist Frances bit somebody.
Gretel drops crust twice and laughs both times.
She snatches it from Noah the first time and stuffs it in her mouth, fresh off the floor.
Christa slides the fallen piece away before she can retrieve it. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
Gretel answers by dropping another one.
“I think she likes you,” Misty says.
Christa looks at the girl, who is now attempting to feed pizza cheese to her own sleeve. “Her standards are questionable.”
“Runs in the family,” I say.
Noah looks across the table. “You seem cheerful.”
“I’m eating pizza.”
“That’s definitely it.”
I kick him under the table.
He jerks and nearly loses his drink. “Did you just kick me?”
Misty doesn’t even look up from cutting the toddler’s pizza. “Whatever you were about to say, you probably earned it.”
Christa watches me over the rim of her glass. “Violent billionaire. That’s disappointing.”
I shrug. “Every man has a limit.”
She smiles. “That’s a suspiciously elegant way to say difficult.”
Noah laughs. “He likes you.”
I turn slowly toward him, delivering a death glare.
Noah lifts both hands. “What? She should know.”
Misty points the pizza cutter at her husband. “You lasted twenty-three minutes.”
Christa’s attention comes back to me. She’s trying not to smile.
I take another bite and refuse to help anyone.
Aya looks between us. “Uncle Simon likes lots of people.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She considers that. “Mostly us.”
Noah begins laughing again while I make a mental note to revise my will.
By six-forty, Misty is gathering plates while Noah negotiates with three children who have staged a rebellion against coats. Christa crouches near Gretel to fix a zipper that has caught the sweater underneath it.
Misty comes to stand beside me near the stairs. “You could tell her.”
“No.”
Her eyebrows lift. “She’s filed.”
I glance toward Christa. “That doesn’t mean she owes me an explanation of what she wants next.”
Misty waits until I look at her again. “I meant the furniture.”
I narrow my eyes.
She smiles sweetly. “Interesting answer though.”
“No.”
“Simon...”
“You’ve interfered enough.”
She walks away without agreeing, which warns me, but I’m powerless to stop whatever she’s plotting.
Noah has finally wrestled coats onto the other two children when Misty hands Christa her purse. “Before we go, you should know the escritoire wasn’t actually urgent.”
I close my eyes.
Christa turns toward me. “Excuse me?”
Misty points toward the library. “He’s owned it for seven years.”
“I know he’s owned it for seven years.” Christa studies me. “He told me he’d suddenly decided it couldn’t wait.”
Noah picks up the toddler and shifts her onto one hip, clearly settling in for entertainment.
I give Christa my most reasonable expression. “It needed attention.”
“Urgently?” Her lips twitch.
Noah is as helpful as ever. “That’s subjective.”
Misty coughs into one hand.
Christa’s eyes narrow. “How subjective?”
“Moderately.” I hold her gaze.
Another cough, and I glare at Misty before conceding. “Marginally.”
Christa starts laughing.
Noah grins at me. “This has been worth putting three children into coats.”
“I helped with Gretel,” says Christa, still grinning.
I point at Noah. “Your friendship is becoming conditional.” I look at Misty next. “So is your employment.”
Looking completely unmoved by the threat, Misty relents enough to say, “The conservation problem is real. Three people looked at it before Christa, and Simon refused to let any of them strip the finish.”
“Thank you.” I nod at her.
“You’re welcome.” She waits half a second. “He also came home from Caldwell and asked me to research Christa Kaffey.”
Christa stops laughing as I stare at Misty.
She remains utterly unrepentant. “Her studio, technically.”
“Misty.”
“You told me to find the best way to contact her.”
Noah looks between us. “Did you use the furniture as an excuse to ask her over?”
“I had furniture.”
Christa presses her lips together. I can’t tell if she’s amused, alarmed, or angry.
“Several rooms of it,” Noah says.
I thrust my finger at the door. “Leave my house.”
Misty takes Gretel from him. “He moved a board call for her first visit too.”
Christa laughs again, harder this time. At least she isn’t angry or scared that I’m a stalker.
I open the front door myself. “Everybody out.”
Noah gathers Harry with visible reluctance. “I feel like we’re leaving before the best part.”
“You are.”
Misty kisses my cheek as she passes. “You’ll thank me later.”