Again.
Iron Man
And since the proceeds are going to vets, you’d better bring your A-game.
Self-tan…
Manscape…
And oil up like a “Magic Mike” halftime show.
Me
I hate you.
Iron Man
PS. The client wants to meet with you.
Can you get uptown in an hour?
I blow out a slow breath.
Why yes.
Yes, I can.
Because God forbid actual work take precedence over my new profession…
Eye-fucking unstable women in an elevator.
I text Brian back.
Me
No problem.
Iron Man
You sure?
Because you seem to be stuck in an elevator.
My finger’s already punching his number.
He picks up. “Yello?”
I keep my voice low. The elevator’s packed now. “How the hell do you know where I am?”
“I’m a VP at a multibillion-dollar global conglomerate,” he deadpans. “I have eyes everywhere. Bwahahahaha.”
My gaze flicks to the ceiling corner.
Dome camera. Flashing red light.
I discreetly flip it the bird. “That explains how you know I’m in an elevator. But how did you narrow it down to JFK?”
“Other than the fact that you’re on a corporate phone with government-grade, twenty-four-seven ass-tracking surveillance?” A pause. “That and Travis is still waiting by the curb, wondering if you’re ever coming back.”
