Read Pieces of You for Free Online Page A

outside who says she needs to see you.”
    “You’ve got my appointment book.”
    “She says it’s urgent.” She pulled the words out like warm taffy.
    “Sylvia, they all say it’s urgent.” He checked his watch. “I was getting ready to leave.”
    His secretary leaned forward, her pink-tipped fingers gripping the edge of his desk. Sylvia was the “Queen” of secrecy and embellishment. “She says it’s about your family.”
    “Annie?”  
    “No, not Annie, she would have said, I think. I tried to quiz her but she shut up tighter than a clam.”
    Annie was his only family, at least the only family he claimed. His father was dead, and the aunts and uncles were all back in Corville, but Quinn hadn’t thought about them since Rupe’s funeral.
    Sylvia appeared much more curious than he was to find out about the mystery woman. “Your horoscope today said, ‘Old paths cross with new ones.’”
    Quinn sighed. “Okay, show her in. But tell her five minutes because I’ve got a plane to catch.” He ignored the arched brow. “Just tell her.”
    Less than three minutes later, Sylvia ushered in a small built fifty-something woman, dressed in a beige, linen suit and fat gold hoop earrings. Her salt and pepper hair clung to her head like a curly cap and she wore dark glasses. Ah, the glasses are the reason she’s here.
    “Ms. Rita Sinclaire, Mr. Quinn Burnes. Quinn, Ms. Rita Sinclaire.” Sylvia sidled up to the second wingback chair as though she were going to settle in and ask her own share of questions. “Thanks, Sylvia. Go ahead and take off.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes myself.”
    “Oh. Sure.” There was such disappointment in her voice Quinn almost told her to stay and take notes but that would only prolong the meeting. 
    He waited until the door closed before he turned to the woman in dark glasses. “Sit down, Ms. Sinclaire.” He gestured to one of the chairs and pretended politeness. “What can I do for you?” The woman remained standing. And silent. “Ms. Sinclaire?” Just his luck she’d drag this meeting on with too many pauses and not enough answers.
    “The watercolors in the lobby,” she finally managed, “they were signed by a Burnes. Is that you?”
    “My sister.”
    She cleared her throat. “Do you paint?”
    “No.”
    She nodded slightly, moved toward a chair and sat down. “Painting is very soothing, but it can be very unsettling, too.”
    “I wouldn’t know.” He didn’t believe for a half second she had any information about his family. It had all been a ploy to meet with him.
    The woman clasped her hands together and continued as though she were a renowned art critic. “I’ve always loved oils myself, so much more vibrant, but painful. Some people avoid them, they say they reveal too much.”
    The eyes, tell me about the eyes.
    “Have you ever worked with oils, Mr. Burnes?”
    “I’m not trying to be rude, Ms. Sinclaire, but I really don’t think you came here to discuss my artistic abilities. It’s late and I’ve got a plane to catch.”
    “Of course, you do. I know you’re a very busy man. And very well known, too.”
    Here it comes.
    “I read all about you. You’ve made quite a few headlines.”
    Which is why you’re here.
    “It isn’t every lawyer who can win cases against the likes of fast food chains and major department stores.”
    Quinn picked up his pen, turned it over between his fingers. “You told my secretary you wanted to talk to me about my family?” But we both know it’s really about your eyes.
    “That’s right.”
    “There’s just my sister and me.”
    “Oh. And your parents?”
    “Dead.” How far is this going to go before she takes off the glasses and exposes the real reason she’s here?
    “Dead.” There was the slightest pause. “How long ago?”
    “Look, that’s enough. Tell me why you really came here. It’s about your eyes, isn’t it? You’re injured and want restitution. You