“Sit down,” he commanded, and Gabby took a seat in one of the chairs across from his desk.
He looked directly at her. His eyes didn’t linger on her face. He didn’t do a double take. Nothing. He took no notice of the nose. Instead, he said, “This week, your top priority should be party planning.”
“Party?”
Kramer looked over across the desk. “One of our most important clients is flying in. Instead of taking him out to dinner, I want a cocktail party with all of our investors on Saturday.” His phone flashed with a notification. His wallpaper was a picture of himself posing with a red sports car.
“You meannextSaturday?” That didn’t even give her two weeks. “That’s hardly any time.”
“It’s not rocket science. Just get all the investors in one room, add liquor, and there you have it.”
If he were throwing a frat party.
“Do you have a venue in mind?” she asked. What kind of party was this supposed to be? How fancy? She had literally zero clue.
He took a giant bite of donut. Talking with his mouth full, he said, “Get Jan or what’s-her-face to help you if you must. I want to impress the shit out of these guys. They need to go home thinking eStocks is the biggest game in town.”
“Could we possibly throw this at the end of the month?”
“You’ve been at home resting for a week. Kick it into gear, Camille.”
“What about the guest list? Do you have a list of major investors you want me to invite? I’ll need to know how many people are coming and who to send invites to.”
“Figure it out. This is what I hired you for. I’m not going to do your job for you.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. Kramer must have sent the email to Darcy while she was busy being dead.
“Please. I want to get right on it.”
With an expelled breath and annoyed look, he hit a few buttons on his keyboard. “I don’t know how you don’t know this, but there’s a list of our high-priority investors. Pick it up from the printer.”
She started to thank him, but he’d already swiveled his chair to face his bank of monitors.
On the way out of his office, she picked up a piece of paper as it slid out of the printer, literally hot off the press. She scanned the still-warm piece of paper. One name jumped out at her.
Sergei Orlov. Bingo.
Monday, midmorning, eStocks Enterprises
Gabby hurried down the hall to the bathroom, thankfully empty. Like the spy she was, she checked under the stall doors for feet before she started talking to Markus. Sure she was alone, she said, “Markus, can you hear me?”
“I’m here.”
She gripped the counter and leaned in close to the mirror for a blackhead-level inspection, and peeled a line of silicone glue off her nose like it was one of those peel-off masks designed to clean your pores. They were probably just glue too.
“Well, you look great, just not like Darcy.”
Gabby jumped back. For just a second, she’d forgotten he could see everything. This was a level of closeness she’d didn’t typically engage in with anyone other than her kids. She and Phil hadn’t been one of those couples who peed with the door open.
After the shock of sharing her pores with him, it hit her—Markus had said that she looked “great.” She went all gooey and smiled into the mirror like he’d just hit on her.
“Can you reapply the nose?” Markus asked, ignoring her dopey smile.
Still stuck on the fact that she looked “great,” she didn’t answer. Sure, it was the kind of word that a teacher wrote on top of a kid’s spelling homework, but it did something to her. He was waking her up, reminding her she was a woman, not just a mom.
“Can you reapply the nose?” Markus repeated.
“Oh, uh… no.” She pulled a wadded-up silicone ball out of her pocket. “It melted in the coffee.”
