“What do you mean? Are we talking about the same Princeton?”
“People change. He came to congratulate me after he found out that Joan had awarded me the assignment.”
Violet’s wide-eyed gawk sparked a new, terrible thought.
“You don’t think he felt bad for me and talked Joan into giving it to me, do you?” Orchid asked.
Her friend recovered her composure and straightened. “Honey, you deserve that assignment. That’s why I put most of my money on you.”
“Most?”
Violet shrugged and gave a little grin. “Hey, a girl’s gotta diversify her holdings.”
“Besides, I don’t think P is Princeton,” Orchid mused.
“Who do you think it is?”
“I just got off the phone with Peter. He’s almost as eager for this trip as I am.”
“What would he be apologizing for?”
“He was a drunken mess, and he hit on me.”
“YouareMiss Popularity,” Violet said. “Could it be anyone else?”
Orchid opened her mouth. No sound emerged.
Violet glanced at her phone, shrieked “I’m going to be late for my next meeting!” and rushed out.
Later that day, Orchid picked up her phone and called counterAgency. She’d been busy these last three weeks, since she’d seen Phoenix. Questions still remained about his father’s wishes. Why had Phoenix agreed? Why had his dad picked her? Had Phoenix ever considered being honest and telling her? And how much had he swayed Joan’s decision to send her to China?
She called Phoenix. Not for him. For her. There remained too many questions.
He answered on the second ring. “Orchid, you okay?” He puffed air, like he was finishing the last sprint of a marathon.
“Yeah, how about you? You sound like you’re dying. Not that I’d care,” she added.
“At least I know where I stand,” he said. “Sorry, I left a client meeting to take your call, and now I’m walking around trying to find a quiet spot.”
“Take the client meeting. I just called because I got some flowers.”
“Oh, good, I hope you like them. And the message, too,” he added.
“I’ll let you go,” she said.
“No, it’s okay. I’m in the stairwell. The door just clicked shut, so I hope I can get back in.”
She pictured him crouched in the staircase and she chuckled, despite her residual ire. “I’d guess the prez should be able to get back into his own agency,” she remarked.
“I’m not at counterAgency, I’m at REBBL.”
“You’re pitching REBBL… right now?”
“That’s okay. How are you?”
“But this is the account you’re trying to win!”
“Never mind work. Are you ok?”
