A meeting? Jimmy’s supposed to tell me about all the meetings.
Adjusting my tie to rest looser around my neck, I slip in through the glass door and draw a few curious glances from bored staff members while Jimmy’s dull voice drones on at the front of the room.
“Valentine’s Day is a little over a month away, so you know what that means! Husbands will be buying expensive gifts to make up for a year of neglect, people will be buying engagement rings for the perfect proposal, single women will be buying jewelry to make themselves feel better about their lonely existence.”
An uncomfortable murmur rolls through the group while Jimmy laughs hoarsely. I scan the crowd and then, in the sea of brown and blonde, I spot her. Calliope. She sits with her eyes forward, one leg crossed over the other and her straight, dark hair tucked behind one ear. A notepad rests on her thigh, and she scribbles notes down without even looking, although I can’t imagine Jimmy is saying anything worthy of note-taking.
A subtle wince passes over her beautiful features as Jimmy starts talking again, and she lightly drums her pen against the notepad.
Pen and paper. Old school.
Ever since the kiss, I’ve been eager to reach out to her, but my cheek still stings from her slap. That was a pretty clear message to stay away, but I’m not sure how long I can keep that up for. I lost her for six, almost seven years. I don’t want to miss another opportunity.
“—so I want you to sell, sell, sell! Anything pink and sparkly goes to the girls. I want those rings front and center in the window displays, and make sure we include a placard highlighting the two-for-one deal. Nothing quite like a boyfriend with a knack for…” He raises his fists and boxes the air. “Desperate for an apology gift thatswearshe won’t do it again.”
Calliope’s face warps into open disgust while Jimmy laughs heartily, and I make a mental note for Buster to check Jimmy’s contract. If there’s a way I can let him go without making a fuss, I’m taking it.
“Anyway,” Jimmy sighs, snipping sharply. “Any questions?” Hands go up and Jimmy scowls deeply. The hands go down. “Great. Get to work! I want our warehouses empty by Valentine’s, you understand? Empty! Not a pink heart in sight!”
A collective sigh moves through the staff as they all rise and one by one, start to filter out of the conference room. There are a few curious glances sent my way, but my focus is on Calliope. This might be the perfect time to catch her attention and speak to her if it happens naturally, like in the elevator. Just as I spot her, Jimmy materializes out of the crowd and stands right in front of me, sniffing like he’s battling a non-existent cold.
“What can I do for you, Eli?” he asks.
“It’s Elijah,” I reply coldly. The moment I glance down at him is the moment I lose Calliope in the crowd. By the time I spot her again, she’s in the hall near the elevators in deep conversation with that woman, Victoria.
Damn it.
“Elijah, whatever.” Jimmy sniffs. “Walk with me. I’m a busy man.”
An arrogant one, for sure. Casting thoughts of Calliope aside, I fall into step beside Jimmy as he heads back to his office.
“Say, what happened to your head?” Jimmy taps his own temple then points to me. “Drunk night?”
I lift my hand and tenderly touch the healing cut from where Calliope smacked me with the crown. The butterfly stitches have since come off, and it’s healing nicely, with only minimal pain when I go running, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Telling Jimmy the truth doesn’t feel like the right thing to do, so I quickly spin a lie.
“A working out accident.”
“A what?” Jimmy snorts, reaching for the door to his office. “How the hell did you manage that?”
“Well, you work out, I’m sure,” I say, barely cloaking my sarcasm. “It’s dangerous.”
“Oh, sure,” Jimmy agrees hastily. “But I ain’t ever been stupid enough to injure myself.” He strides across his office and sinks into the leather chair behind his desk with a creak of springs and the slightest squeak of strained metal.
“Just pull-ups. Didn’t angle my head correctly and hit the bar,” I reply, closing the door behind me.
“Ah. You see, it’s all in the angle of the neck. If you align yourself just right, you’ll never have that issue. Maybe you should practice more,” Jimmy replies, sniffing aggressively as he smirks at me.
Work out advice from a man with a swollen, drunk belly, thinning hair, and a sniffing habit that tells me he spent far too many years snorting something he shouldn’t.
I’ll pass.
Still, I smile politely as I drop into the chair across from his desk. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”
“You ever need advice, you just call me.” He grins toothily and clasps his hands together. “So, what can I do for you?”
“You didn’t tell me there would be a meeting.” Our eyes meet, and I keep my expression pleasant. “What happened?”
“Oh, that?” He jerks his thumb toward the wall, like an invisible arrow toward the conference room. “That wasn’t a meeting.”
