Her heart stuttered. Usually, hearing her name in its entirety meant nothing good, but on his lips, it was somehow . . . well, it was something. She cleared her throat. “And why would that be, Oliver?” She tested his given name, thinking she would sound playful. Instead, she sounded rather breathless, and it made her scowl.
“I am perhaps proving you wrong, to some extent. You suggest I do not form opinions based on limited observation, and yet I have formed erroneous opinions about you based on observations obtained mostly in—well, contentious circumstances.” He paused. “I had assumed you to be a person of extreme self-preoccupation.”
His comment stung, and she stared at him for a moment before looking away and biting the inside of her lip. She opened her mouth, but the words caught. She cleared her throat and swallowed. “My entire preoccupation, my entire world these last few years has focused on righting the wrongs to the shifter community. It has given me a sense of purpose, I suppose, but no small amount of trial as well.” Her lips tightened. She didn’t know why she felt the need to explain herself to him. His opinion of her meant nothing, and furthermore, he’d been one of those trials that had made her life difficult.
“Emmeline.”
She didn’t trust herself to look at him. Her eyes felt suspiciously hot.
He placed his fingertips on her shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “Emme.”
She huffed a small sigh and looked at him, narrowing her eyes and forcing back the mere thought of self-conscious tears. Why on earth would she allow his opinion of her to carry such weight?
“I have never doubted your devotion to the cause, never once considered you selfish. In my mind, your life and your activism have been one, and it was my erroneous assumption that your perception allowed analysis of only those things. I ought to have realized you’d figured me out as well. I’ve never doubted your intelligence, merely the scope of your observation.” He paused. “If I have wounded your sensibilities, I apologize.”
“Wounded my sensibilities,” she muttered and looked away again. “Detective, if my sensibilities weren’t wounded the first time you carried me over your shoulder out of the PSRC meeting gallery, they certainly aren’t now.”
“Ah yes. That was the second time I’d had occasion to make your acquaintance. I don’t think I ever formally apologized for knocking the breath out of your lungs so abruptly.”
Emme cast him a side glance, her bruised feelings easing. “You’ve performed that maneuver more than once. It would be good of you to apologize now.”
He inclined his head. “You have my apology. It would also be good of you to say, ‘Detective-Inspector Reed, I apologize for the yelling and repeated beating of the cowbell that disrupted the meeting and necessitated your presence in the first place.’”
She sighed. “Ah, but that would be an insincere apology.”
He smiled before turning his attention back to the street. “As would mine.”
Finally, her lips twitched into a reluctant smile. His glib admission had garnered him more respect from her than anything else he could have said.
They continued in comfortable silence for a time, and her thoughts turned to the amount of time she had at her disposal before leaving town. She pulled her notebook from her reticule and flipped through pages of notes, lists, and a multitude of tasks that ordinarily wouldn’t have overwhelmed her. She wasn’t ordinarily concerned for life and limb, however, and was finding it bothersome.
“The visit with Carlo this afternoon will not be long,” she told him as she added a note to one of the lists.
“Carlo?”
“Oh,” she shook her head, distracted. “Signore Giancarlo. ‘Carlo’ is his address of preference casually.”
“I’ve never met the man, only heard he is of a noble Italian family and galvanized the shifter relations community into a strong, international voice.”
She smiled. “That he has. I was intimidated at our first meeting, but he is charming and humble, disarming.”
Oliver’s attention vacillated between their conversation and the street around them. “He must be personable to establish such familiarity with colleagues so quickly. Not common in elder generations.”
Emme looked up in surprise. “Oh, he is not elderly; perhaps that accounts for it. Plus, he is Italian, you know, and very warm.”
Oliver looked at her, brows raised in equal surprise. “I had assumed . . . That is, I supposed one who had made such accomplishments on an international stage would be of a . . . mature nature.”
“One might assume as much, but as a matter of fact, he and I are the youngest of the entire organization. Most of our members and representatives have known several years of experience in the field.”
Oliver studied her, his expression inscrutable. “It is certainly to your credit that you’ve accomplished so much at a young age.”
Emme shook her head and waved her hand. “I do not fool myself entirely. As the face of the organization, it has not escaped my attention that my literal face may have played a significant role in securing the position more than my merit. I do hope I’m proving myself as more than just a pleasant image, however. I’ve been told by the representative from Austria-Hungary that I compensate for my lack of experience with enthusiasm.” She smiled and turned again to her notes.
Oliver was silent for a moment and then said, “Not only have I misjudged you, I was completely wrong.”
Emme frowned. “How so?” She added a note to the margin of her packing list to insist her mother track down the larger trunk as the necessity of it was her fault.
“You’re not self-absorbed. I do believe you’re entirely self-ignorant.”
She jerked her head up and squinted at him. “I do not even know what that means.”
“The attention you brought to the Extermination Act culminated in its dismissal. Do you not suppose that such an accomplishment would warrant a person a fairly significant role in any related organization?”
“I was one of many voices, and I would never delude myself into believing otherwise.”
He shifted in his
