Graves blinks twice before looking up at me with wide eyes. “I’m good, Mr. Alexander. And you?”

“The week is just starting. Ask me in a few days,” I reply, the mask slipping in place as much as I try to fight it.

“I wanted to . . . I wanted to apologize again for Jodi making a scene in the lobby—”

“How did you meet?” I say, interrupting him.

“At a bar a few months ago. I didn’t think I’d have a chance with a woman like her, but when we got talking and I explained that I was an architectural grad student, she changed. I know you used to be . . . involved . . . with her. I read it in the papers. I now know she was using me to get to you.” His voice is bitter with veiled anger lying underneath.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Gregory,” I reply. The turn in conversation makes me feel uncomfortable. His assumption that Jodi is a topic appropriate for the workplace, let alone a subject to discuss with me. He’s an employee, a subordinate, and somehow we’ve now got a woman in common.

“You live and you learn, right?”

I offer him a polite smile, nodding in agreement. “Indeed.” Needing to move the conversation along, I change the subject to something more work related, hoping to move him along. “Did you still have those plans you wanted to show me? I know it’s been awhile but we could have a look at them later today if you’d like?”

His head jerks back and I watch as something works behind his eyes before he quickly covers it up. “That would be fantastic. I know you are a very busy man.”

“I have a clear schedule this afternoon. Pop by after lunch and I’ll go over them with you.”

A wide smile covers his face. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

“We can’t call ourselves mentors unless we actually help our interns, can we?” I joke.

He nods in understanding. “I really appreciate you doing this, Mr. Alexander.”

The elevator dings and the doors open out onto our floor at the top of the building.

Grant is talking to Annie and raises an eyebrow when he sees Graves offer a small wave before walking down the corridor to where the intern cubicles are.

“What was that about?” he asks when I reach him.

“Just following up on looking over his designs, that’s all.”

“Stoking the hero worship a little bit more?” he jokes.

“Hero worship?” I ask in confusion.

We start walking toward my office. “He’s a fully-fledged member of the Callum Alexander fan club.”

“You’re full of shit, Richardson,” I reply.

“Believe what you want. I just know he’s never asked me to look at his plans,” he says jokingly.

“Feel free to look at his plans whenever you like.”

“I might just do that.”

Shaking my head in mock disgust, I move on. “Did we locate the waterfront plans?”

“Oh yeah, they were in the archives for some reason. We pulled them out and sent them off to Cal/OHSA.” He looks at his watch and frowns before looking back up. “Want to go grab a coffee down the road?”

“What’s wrong?” I say, gesturing to his watch.

“Nothing. I just have some free time and I checked with Annie—you’re free for an hour or two. I just figured I can update you on the status of some of the other projects.”

Still perplexed at his sudden urge to leave the office to talk, I nod in agreement. “Okay. We can go over the new specs for that Iowa job.”

He smiles and he seems to relax. I turn to the reception desk. “Annie, take messages. We’ll be back in a little bit.”

“Will do, Mr. Alexander.” She flashes me a knowing smile, fully expecting what comes next.

“Callum, Annie.”

“Yes, Mr. Alexander,” she replies saccharine sweet.

“What about me, Annie?” Grant pipes up beside me.

“Yes, Mr. Richardson.” And with that, she loses her composure and gives a soft laugh as Grant and I turn toward the elevator. “Before you go, Mr. Alexander, Ms. Malestrom called this morning. She said she needed to speak with you urgently.”

“This is getting to be beyond a joke.” I growl. I nod to Annie as Grant and I make our way into the elevator back down to ground level.

We make our way out the door and ignore the photographers parked outside—waiting for a prized shot of me, no doubt—and make our way toward the cafe on the corner of the block.

“You sure know how to pick ’em, Cal.”

“There’s nothing I want to say to the woman, but I’m starting to think I need to tell her that directly. She has no concept of discretion or decorum. She sold her soul to the devil in red lipstick and published details of my private life.” Grant makes a guttural sound in his throat, like he’s choking, causing me to look at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

He shakes his head vigorously. “Nothing. Just . . . nothing.”

“Carmen doesn’t need anyone else helping her taint my name and reputation. I seem to be doing a grand enough job of that myself.”

“Did your dad not talk any sense into you about that?” he asks.

“He might have. Doesn’t erase what I did.”

“Seriously, Cal. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up about this. And if you talked to Luce, you’d know she doesn’t blame you either.”

My body grows tense so I decide a change of subject is in order.

“Any leads on the collapse?”

“Yeah. Kevin rang me first thing this morning. He’s handed over information to the police. They say it wasn’t a professional job. The device used was likely homemade, very amateur apparently. But thankfully there wasn’t more damage done. Unfortunately there were no fingerprints left on anything. Well, that’s not true. There were too many people coming and going on site to eliminate prints.”

“So no leads then? That’s a concern.”

“You’re telling me. Since you threw me under the bus, I’m fielding calls from journalists, clients—you name it. If they’re not asking about the future of the waterfront museum, they’re asking about you. Clients want guarantees that we’re going to honor our contracts. They’re concerned that the recent press might have a detrimental effect on productivity.”

“Richard asked me to step down, remember? I asked you to take over and you refused. I did what had to be done.”

“At least I don’t have the ‘dirty drafter’ title. That headline is so ridiculous it’s funny.”

“I’m failing to see the humor.”

“That’s because you’re in the middle of it. Once the dust settles and the shit storm clears, you’ll be back to being the darling bachelor of the Bay.”

“You’re welcome to take over that title, too.”

“If it’ll help me find candidates for the next Mrs. Richardson, I’m not gonna say no.”

I can’t stop myself from laughing now. A true, genuine laugh, something that I haven’t done in what feels like forever. “Heaven help the single women in San Fran.”

“God’s will be done, and all that,” he remarks.

“You’re terrible, you know that?”

He just smirks at me. “You love it. The firm is going to be fine, you’re gonna be fine, everybody’s gonna. Be. Fine.” he reiterates. “We’re not going to lose face because of a few news reports about your apparent deviant and abusive tendencies. Now about that Iowa tender . . .”

We step through the doors of the cafe and walk up to the counter, ordering two Americanos and stepping aside to wait for our drinks.

Grant’s phone dings from his pocket. Pulling it out, he looks at the screen and smiles before looking up at me and grabbing his takeaway cup just as the barista places it on the counter.

“Look, I’ve just remembered I’ve got an appointment I can’t change. But stay here; enjoy your coffee.” He looks over my shoulder then back to me. “And it might pay to turn around while you’re at it.” He cups my shoulder and squeezes before moving past me and walking toward the door.

Still processing his words, I grab my cup and slowly turn around before coming to a dead halt. Because sitting at a table at the far wall of the cafe and looking straight at me is Lucia.