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I’ll do anything.’ Those were your exact words, I believe.”
    Her shoulders slump in resignation.
    “I meant, like, cleaning icing out of a ballroom carpet or helping a bride hold her dress up while she uses the bathroom. I didn’t think it would include something like this. It doesn’t seem right.”
    I cross my arms. “Why not? It’s not like it’s underhanded or scheming—”
    “It’s a little scheming,” she interrupts.
    “But in a totally harmless way,” I argue. “It’s not like any of this will hurt him.”
    She can’t be more than twenty-two, but the look she turns on me then is pure disbelieving matriarch, as if she’s already seen way too much in less than a quarter century.
    “He’s not the one I’m worried about.”
    The statement is foreboding, but I refuse to hear it. I’m only allowing positive thoughts. I’m going to Secret this into being, just like Oprah and Rhonda Byrne say to. I point to the paper in her hands.
    “Let’s make another list. In Sense and Sensibility —”
    “Oh Lord,” she groans.
    I ignore her.
    “In Sense and Sensibility , Marianne Dashwood gets desperately sick after wandering the grounds in her melancholy over the loss of Willoughby. Then Colonel Brandon, dashing hero that he is, rushes off to rescue her. This in turn allows them the necessary alone time to realize they’re in love with each other. What does that tell you?”
    “That travel during the Regency era took four times as long as it should, and without modern medicine even the common cold could kill you.”
    I doff an imaginary cap at her well-placed sarcasm, then carry on in spite of it.
    “No. It tells you that taking care of someone who’s sick makes you feel nurturing and powerful.”
    My eyes must be alight with mad glee, because she knows to ask the follow-up question.
    “And?”
    I pop another bubble.
    “ And we need to Google what I can eat to make myself violently ill without inflicting permanent damage!”
    Cas drops her head into both her hands.
    I smile and add a second piece of gum to my mouth.

    “Everything is set for Cora’s bridal shower this weekend,” Landon says around a sip of her hazelnut latte. “Cas is going to meet the rental company there in the morning so we can have a slightly shorter workday.”
    We’ve wandered down to our favorite coffee shop to go over the details of this weekend’s celebrity event. Having an office is amazing, but if we didn’t force ourselves to leave, we would spend whole weeks chained to our desks. I stir a bit more sugar into my cappuccino, which effectively destroys the leaf design the barista must have worked so hard on.
    “So we’ll work a fourteen-hour day instead of a fifteen-hour day?”
    Landon aims a playful smirk my way.
    “It’s been six weeks without a Saturday off. I’ll take whatever perks I can get.”
    I stab a forkful of lemon cake. We ordered it to share, but I’m basically bogarting the whole thing, since she’s too preoccupied checking the timeline.
    “Do you think it should alarm us at all that we’re working, like, a hundred hours a week?”
    She looks down at the plate between us with a frown, then swipes a bite with her fork before answering.
    “I think that we’ve worked a hundred hours a week for a long time. At least now we’re the ones actually making money off of it. And speaking of all the work, did you finish that CAD for Barker-Ash? I’m dying to see what you’re imagining.”
    I actually have finished the design for Liam. In fact, we have a meeting later this afternoon to go over it. But even though Landon has agreed to help me manage this project (since keeping things organized and on time is not my strong suit), I still don’t want her involved just yet. I want Liam to see the design first, and I want us to work alone as long as we can, because it feels more special that way. I look around the crowded café rather than meet her eyes. I’m a pretty terrible liar, and whatever is on