But his advice…
Telling me to speak with Lou...
It’s like he knew.
He must have sensed Lou’s depth, his history.
Gratitude, sharp and immediate, surges through my chest.I need to thank him.But texting anything explicit about petitions, or Bancroft, feels like walking a tightrope without a net.
I pick up the card and my phone.
Fingers flying before I can second-guess myself, I type out the simplest, safest message I can come up with:
Very successful meeting with Lou.
It’s vague, almost cryptic, but he’ll understand.
Taking a shallow breath, I hit send, my thumb hovering over the screen a second too long.
My phone, still clutched in my hand, lights up instantly.No discreet chime of a text, just the jarring ring of an incoming call.
There’s no name, only the number.
I haven’t had the chance, or perhaps the nerve, to save it yet.
My stomach plummets.Panic flares.
Did I say too much?
Is something wrong?
I stare at the screen, thumb frozen, heart hammering.The ringing goes on and on, a harsh, demanding sound that fills my office, then abruptly stops.
Silence.
Voicemail.
A shaky sigh escapes my lips.
Maybe—
My phone flares to life again.Immediately.Same number.
Damn it!
Rolling my eyes at my own ridiculous avoidance, I take another breath, trying to steady my hand, and swipe to answer.
“Hello?”I try for casual, but my voice comes out thin and breathless.
A beat of silence, the faint crackle of the connection, then his voice, unmistakable, fills my ear, sending a familiar thrill straight to my heart.
“And so the fight begins,” he says.
His voice sounds intimate, leaving me reeling.“Yes.”My answer comes out meek.
“You don’t sound so sure.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.“Sorry, I was distracted,” I lie quickly.“Anyway, yes.I don’t know how you guessed it from briefly meeting him, but Lou is key to this whole thing working.”
