To Find Her Place (Redemption's Light #2) - Susan Anne Mason Page 0,5

be found that might point to her as contributing to the downturn in the department’s efficiency, we need to hear it.”

Garrett shifted on the sidewalk as he came closer to the address he sought. Finding evidence to destroy a woman’s career wasn’t exactly a prospect he looked forward to. However, if her mismanagement was putting an important public service at risk, and if proving himself here meant he’d be favored for the newly vacant director’s position, then Garrett would find a way to navigate a few difficult weeks. It would be a small price to pay to secure his future.

Even if that future looked nothing like what he’d pictured before the loathsome war had started.

Absentmindedly, he rubbed his hand over his chest, where one of the deadly pieces of shrapnel remained lodged. Strange how the trajectory of one’s life could be changed by an ill-timed grenade and two precariously imbedded fragments of metal.

When he reached 32 Isabella Street, Garrett stopped at an opening in the brick-and-iron wall. A brass plaque on the post read The Children’s Aid Society. Pressing his lips together, he turned down the stone pathway that led to a majestic-looking brick building, one that, if all went well, might become his permanent workplace. He couldn’t afford to let sentiment or regret derail his plans. His career—and more importantly his family’s well-being—depended on it.

On a deep inhale, he opened the front door and stepped inside, finding himself in a narrow hallway with open arched doorways on either side. From the left, the clicking of typewriter keys could be heard, and the scent of brewed coffee and lemon furniture polish hung in the air. Garrett set his hat on the hall coatrack, straightened his jacket, and walked across the polished wooden floors. He poked his head into the room on the left, where a woman, presumably the secretary, stopped typing.

“Good morning. Can I help you?” She gave him a bright smile, revealing a small gap between her front teeth. Her blond hair hung in soft waves to her shoulders.

Garrett came forward and glanced down at the nameplate on the desk. “I believe you can, Miss Benton. I’m Garrett Wilder. I’m here to . . .”

The welcoming expression fell away from her face.

Garrett stiffened but through sheer force of will kept his expression the same. “I see you’re aware of who I am.”

Miss Benton squared her shoulders, rose, and stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wilder.”

He shook her hand. “And you, Miss Benton.”

“I’ll take you back to Mrs. Linder’s office.” Miss Benton came around the desk. “She said to notify her as soon as you arrived.”

“I’m sure she did,” he muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

He gave her one of his winning smiles. “I’m eager to meet her as well.” Garrett followed the woman down the hall to where the corridor branched into a T shape. At the first office to the left, Miss Benton stopped to give the door two sharp raps.

“Come in.” The voice was melodic yet authoritative.

Miss Benton opened the door. “Mr. Wilder is here, Mrs. Linder.”

“Thank you, Melanie. Please send him in.”

Garrett bristled. She sounded like a queen inviting a peasant into the throne room. Mrs. Linder might be older and more experienced, but at almost thirty-one, Garrett wasn’t a child, and he would not be intimidated.

Miss Benton waved him in. “Go on in, Mr. Wilder.”

Garrett pulled himself up to his full height and stepped inside. “Good morning, Mrs. Lind—” He stopped short, his mouth falling open.

The woman seated behind the desk couldn’t possibly be the acting directress. This woman was young—possibly younger than he was. She wore her chestnut hair in a tidy roll off her forehead that showcased porcelain skin and stunning green eyes. But it was her boldly painted red lips that claimed his attention. Realizing he was staring, he blinked and attempted to regain his equilibrium.

Mrs. Linder regarded him steadily, her slim brows lifting in a silent query.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Because of the job title, I had expected someone of a more . . . mature age.” He summoned his professional charm and extended his hand. “Garrett Wilder. Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She rose in one fluid motion and shook his hand, never breaking eye contact. “However, I must admit that I too was expecting someone older.”

He gave a sheepish grin. “Thank you for saying that. I feel a little better now.”

He waited for her to resume her seat, then loosened the buttons on his suit jacket and sat down,