“I don’t doubt that for a minute,” he said, turning toward the elevator.
The next morning, Phoenixgroanedupon seeing Liv in his lobby.
“If you didn’t have new clothes on, I’d guess you’d been here all night,” he said dryly to the pert brunette.
“Who else is going to introduce your new driver?” she asked, accompanying him outside.
“New driver?” Sure enough, a dark sedan livery service stood at the curbside. Inside sat an elderly gentleman with hair the same color and density as a dandelion gone to bloom.
“Don’t worry. I negotiated. Once we arrange the pickup and drop-off times, it’s not much more than an uber.” She welled with pride.
Phoenix introduced himself to the elderly gentleman and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Am I that bad off, that I need a babysitter?” he asked Liv, maneuvering into the back seat.
“You’re not the only agency head to have a driver, you know.”
“Thanks, Liv,” he managed. From the back seat, he stared at the blue accessible parking tag she must’ve ordered. Above the seated figure in a wheelchair, the placard was stamped in capital letters:PERMANENT.
Like I need a reminder that this isn’t temporary?
As they merged into traffic, the hangcard swung from the rearview mirror like a noose.
CHAPTER 30
ONE MORE CUP OF COFFEE
Phoenix
SUNDAY NOVEMBER 18
The loneliness of being home propelled Phoenix outdoors. He turned towards the Starbucks near his building. A tall woman with golden-brown hair in a long bob arrived before him. She was dressed professionally for a weekend. She wore a belted coat over dress slacks.
She eyed his cane and swung the door open for him.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome.” She stepped in behind him.
“Please,” he gestured, “you were here first.”
“I’d prefer to have an excuse to delay getting to my office. You go ahead. And if you could linger over the ordering, you’d be doing me a favor.”
Phoenix tried not to be intrigued. The granite slab of her back, like an I.M. Pei monument, was antithesis of the soft, sensual one he missed. “What horror are you trying to delay?”
“Corporate tax review.”
“Are you an accountant?”
“Actuary.”
He snickered.
“I’m not joking.”
He couldn’t help it, he laughed harder.
“I’m a CFP,” she added, seeming proud of her certified financial planner status.
