Free His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) by Deena Ward Page A

couldn’t concentrate. I might as well go to lunch.
    Since it wasn’t terribly hot outside, I headed to a nearby park and bought a pita sandwich from my favorite cart along the way. I sat on a wooden bench and ate, not really tasting anything.
    I could be losing my job. That’s all I could think about. A scruffy woman shambled by in a pair of ancient slippers that I thought may have once been pink and fluffy, but were now grey and matted with filth.
    I called after her, and when she didn’t turn around, I jogged over to her and gave her the unbitten half of my sandwich. She snatched it from my hand with a suspicious glare, then quickly shuffled away.
    I returned to my bench. Homeless people. You always saw them in the parks. She probably had a hidey hole around here somewhere, her sleeping spot at night. I shuddered.
    I could be her so easily. I learned that lesson when I was young, trying to support my ex-husband and myself with a couple of minimum wage jobs. A bout of the flu that lasted too long, one missed paycheck, and we would have been out on the streets. That’s how close it was every month, every week, every day.
    I had no reliable safety net back then. I still didn’t. My parents had long since basically disowned me, and wouldn’t give me a dollar even if I gave them the satisfaction of asking for one, which I wouldn’t.
    I had friends who could help a little, but not enough, and not for long. I had some savings, but once again, not enough to last for long. If I lost my job at Linton Cosmetics and didn’t find a new one within a few months ... I could be that homeless woman.
    My stomach hurt. I got up and tossed the rest of my sandwich in a trash can. I needed to walk.
    I had to stop thinking this way or I’d lose it. I was overreacting. It was too soon to panic. Wait. Listen. Plan. Then act. The four steps to rational action, that’s what Isabel had told me more than once. I wondered if I could get a temporary tattoo of it on my arm to keep me grounded during the coming change.
    And when was the last time I updated my resume? Oh, that’s right. Never. Hell.
    I wandered around the park until it was time to return to work. The fresh air and exercise did me some good, and I seated myself at my desk much calmer than when I left it.
    Around one o’clock, Isabel called me and said that one of the visitors wanted to meet with me. She said he’d come to my office for the meeting in a few minutes.
    “Be honest, polite, and give him whatever he wants,” she said. “We’ve got no secrets here.”
    I assured her I could handle it, and she told me she knew I could, which was a nice thing to hear.
    I dug around in my desk and file cabinets, pulling some files I figured the man might want to see. Then sure enough, in a few minutes, I realized someone was standing in my doorway. I looked up. Started.
    It was Gibson Reeves.
    I stood, gaped for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry. I can’t talk right now. I’ve got a meeting. So ...”
    Gibson nodded politely, said, “I’m your meeting.”
    Well, I’ll be damned, I thought. My grandfather always used to say that when something thoroughly stymied him. I’ll be damned. Seriously.
    Gibson entered, then shut the door before he strolled over and took a seat in front of my desk.
    I plopped down in my chair and stared at him. He was his usual calm, put-together self, looking as handsome as ever in an expensive, tailored suit.
    As for me, I was anything but calm and put together. My mind was calculating possibilities and explanations at a furious rate. His gaze roved over my face and down to my chest while I considered my options.
    Finally, I said, “I’m not a big believer in coincidence. What are you up to?”
    He answered, “I’m considering the purchase of Linton Cosmetics.”
    “Don’t be coy.”
    He gave a brief laugh, a momentary “ha.” I don’t think I’d ever heard the man laugh before, had I? I couldn’t recall it, if I had.
    He said, “I’m