“But I can’t promise you projects or bonuses like at Gene’s,” I say, making sure he hears the truth.
“It’s okay.Like I said, I count myself as a freelance model, but having a home base with you might be the smartest move.As long as I get to choose projects, I’m good.”
“Oh, thank God.”We laugh, the three of us exhaling at the same time.Our hands link together over the table, a little circle of three smiles.
“But a quick heads up.I promised a friend I’d be their fantasy cosplayer model.If we’re doing this together, we need to move fast so I can sign the contract with their event organizer,” Greg says, his tone shifting into something serious.
Not heavy, just focused.For a moment, we step into the same frame, united by intentions.It isn’t pressure that weighs us down, but the kind that sparks something new.A promising start, bright and close.
37
Don’t Preach
Fenella
“Gosh, I feel content.”Jessy lets out this long, loud sigh in front of Laird’s office building.I chuckle at his excitement.
We have passion and we complement each other’s work style.The friendship we’ve built over seven years means everything in my career.Even next month marks eight years of working together, and it all feels incredible.
“February second.Isn’t that a beautiful date for the company’s founding day?”Jessy giggles with that dreamy look, hope practically glowing over his head.
“Yes, Jessy.Can you believe it?Us, business owners?”I smile, my cheeks warm.Our fingers squeeze together.We squeal, jumping in joy, then crash into a bear hug.We’ve taken a huge step in our lives, and it’s too weird to believe.
A black van suddenly stops in front of us.Its tires screech from the sudden brake right at the edge of the sidewalk.I jump in surprise as it appears out of nowhere.
Three men step out of the van.They’re all in suits and sunglasses.Two of them press in on me before I even understand what’s happening.The third man stands between Jessy and me, using his tall, broad body like a wall.
“Ms.Baxter, please come with us.Our boss has made a reservation for lunch with you,” the man says.
“Well, tell your boss to kiss my ass.He can’t just send thugs to kidnap me like this.”I glare at them, furious.
“Fenella.”Jessy says my name with a trembling voice.
“Please understand our situation.There’s no need to make a scene.Mr.Evans doesn’t want us to use violence against you.”The man in front opens the van door wider and gestures for me to get in.
“Who?”The tension on my face drops as I sharpen my ears to make sure I heard correctly.
“Mr.Hugo Evans,” the man answers.
“Move aside.I’m calling the police, and I’ll blast your faces on social media until it goes viral if you don’t release her right now.”Jessy raises his voice, already pulling out his phone.
“It’s okay, Jessy.They’re Laird’s father’s men.You should go home.”I tell him quietly.Then I climb into the black van on my own, leaving Jessy on the sidewalk as the door closes behind me.
* * *
After fifteen minutes of back-and-forth calls with Laird, I’m sure this is really his father.I don’t know what he wants, but I follow along.The man in front of me stands and opens the door.
I step into the sleek lobby of the skyscraper.The elevator hums as it takes us up to the thirtieth floor.When it opens, a thick black carpet stretches out toward an upscale restaurant.
This place is always crowded.Reservations usually take months, and yet here I am, a table apparently waiting for me.Mr.Hugo Evans must be a VIP with influence across the city.How could I forget that he’s a senior partner at law firms worldwide?
Why would he invite me to lunch?And go so far as to send three men to pick me up, waiting like hawks outside Laird’s office?
The staff greet me politely, smiles wide but careful.When the men mention Hugo Evans’ name, the staff nods respectfully.He walks ahead of me and leads me to a table in the center of the room.The restaurant buzzes with sharply dressed men and women, but all of that fades next to him.Hugo Evans fills the room without trying, a predator at rest.
He sits alone, back straight, chin high, eyes scanning the city beyond the window like it’s his personal kingdom.Dark blonde hair, brown eyes shadowed beneath, a face marked by age yet hardened by power.The way he lifts a glass of wine suggests a man used to being in control.
“Mr.Evans,” a server says softly, “your guest has arrived.”
