place for me. He truly saw the value in me, even when I doubted myself. And now he has to realize that he needs to place that same value on our relationship and our family.
Turning right, I pass a maze of cubicles, a small galley kitchen, and then, after another right turn, I see my old desk, positioned in front of Michael’s closed office door. I have a dark thrill at the thought that he hasn’t found a new personal secretary yet. He swears no one can replace me.
I secretly hope the position stays open indefinitely.
“What are you doing here?” someone calls.
Spinning, I repress a gasp. “Travis.”
His hair is greased and swept to the side, in that cool and casual way he seems to have nailed down. He’s wearing a tight-fitting black dress shirt that completely covers his tats, along with black slacks and blue Converse sneakers.
“I wanted to talk to Michael,” I answer.
“Simple phone call wouldn’t cut it?” His tone is teasing.
“Not today.”
“Couldn’t you talk to him after work?”
“I could, yes.”
I leave it at that because he doesn’t understand. How could he? He’s not the one being watched in Ravenwood every second of every day. He’s not the one being held under the microscope by Dean and Samara. I can’t talk to Michael the same way when they’re there, hanging on our every word.
And there are things I really need to discuss with him.
He hasn’t made a single effort to address my concerns about the second master and nursery. Not even a mention of it.
He’s not taking me seriously. He doesn’t know how much it’s bothering me. At home, he’s been able to blow me off, and I’ve been too timid to push the issue, too conscious of prying eyes and ears. But here, at work, he means business. And today, I do too.
“You might be waiting here awhile.” Travis leans back against my old desk, toys with the paper clip holder. “You just missed him.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Afraid not.” He eyes me curiously. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, though. Do you know if the detectives are any closer to—you know…”
“No, I don’t think so. Or, at least, they’re not telling us that they are. They ask the strangest things. Sometimes I think they’re asking over and over again to make sure the story doesn’t change, or we don’t accidentally reveal some new piece of information. It’s as if they’ve already made up their minds that Michael’s guilty.”
“How awful,” Travis says, though his tone doesn’t match his words. He sounds almost…relieved.
“I wish they’d leave us alone so we can go back to focusing on our family.” When my own words echo and come back to me, I gasp, covering my heart with my hand. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I should be more sensitive about Joanna.”
“It’s not rude, it’s honest.” He twists a paper clip until it breaks in his fingers, and then tosses it on the desk. “And you don’t need the added stress. You shouldn’t have worked here as long as you did. Joanna never held a real job, so I don’t see why you’d have to either.”
“I think I’d like to volunteer somewhere eventually,” I say, recalling the conversation with Rachael my first day at Ravenwood. “I’ll look into it after our baby’s born.”
“Joanna volunteered at a healthcare foundation—I’m sure you know that already—but it was basic charity work. Nothing too demanding. Everything was on her terms, but that’s no surprise. Listen, I was heading to lunch.” He pushes off the desk and walks so close beside me that he touches my shoulder. “Why don’t you join me?”
“I—I don’t know.” Going to lunch with one of Michael’s employees doesn’t seem like a good idea. “I should probably stay and wait for Michael to come back.”
“He won’t be back for