Liv parted the crowd with one sharp shoulder and took her place at Phoenix’s side with a tilt of her chin. “Mr. Walker, we need to prep before your ten a.m.,” she said, looking up at him through glinting glasses.
“Sure, thanks. Excuse me, everyone.” He followed Liv down the long corridor to his office overlooking Midtown.
“Do I really have a ten a.m.?” he asked, out of earshot of the others.
“Yes, you’re scheduled for a rendezvous with a double espresso,” she said, indicating the miniature handled mug on his desk.
“Brilliant. Thanks.”
Relieved to have a moment off feet untested for marathon workdays, he sank into his chair and stared at the cool white expanse of his desk. Liv’s neat efficiency kept the objects to a minimum. His Mac sat open, logged into an email account showcasing no unread messages. A picture of his parents with him and Caleb at their last birthday celebration stood in one corner. Which reminded him of the photo with Orchid that she’d framed from their sunny day in Cannes.
No time to contemplate where that picture had gone, as a steady stream of co-workers came by to welcome him back and inform him of business dynamics.
By two p.m., Phoenix still hadn’t had time to eat the roast beef panini Liv had brought back during her lunch break.
She knocked, and pushed through the glass door to interrupt his conversation with Dex. “Five minutes,” she told the big guy, “and then Mr. Walker has to leave for an appointment.”
The barrel-chested executive leaned back, chair groaning in protest. “With whom?” he boomed.
“It’s a private meeting, but I think he’s interviewing replacement executive creative directors,” she snarked, allowing the door to swing shut on the appreciative audience behind her.
Ten minutes later, Dex got up to leave. “It’s not been the same without you, buddy. You let me know anything you need.”
“Sure, thanks. I appreciate you and Fiona coming to see me in rehab.”
“You’re looking good.”
“Maybe better than right after I was run over by a train, but I doubt that I qualify forgood.”
Liv peeked into the office, her brown-slicked hair and cat eyeglasses sending enough of a message without saying anything.
“Okay, okay.” Dex ambled out as she entered.
Phoenix looked up at his administrative assistant. “I don’t have an appointment, do I?” Suddenly, he realized how tired he felt.
“You are on half days until further notice. Dr. Liv’s orders,” she said, picking up his uneaten sandwich and placing it into an oil-spotted paper bag already heavy with other contents. “I’m taking you home.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said.
She walked out with him, matching her pace to his, carrying her rigid, structured purse in one hand and his bagged lunch in the other.
At the street, she put up a hand for a cab and one pulled over within minutes as if no one dare ignore the efficiency she embodied. He caned down the curb to the door she opened for him, grateful to sink onto the seat. She shut his door and then, surprising him, slid in on the other side, behind the driver.
“East Eighty-Fifth at York,” she told the bearded man, pulling the door shut behind her.
“You don’t have to come with me,” Phoenix said, resting his cane against the side of the door.
“When else am I going to get an excuse to sneak out of work early?”
“You must have an ogre of a boss.”
“Yup. The worst.”
“You probably won’t even get Thanksgiving off.”
“Never,” she agreed, lips stretching across her tiny face.
He turned forward, facing right into the cabbie’s ID picture. The swarthy fellow overflowing with facial hair didn’t have the doughy bulbous nose or bushy eyebrows of the homeless man. But there was no telling that to the images suddenly racing through his mind. He shut his eyes to stop picturing the bearded guy with crazed eyes leaping for the tracks.
