“I’m afraid Catalina won’t back down without an apology. And you know how my mother is.”
His expression sours before he catches himself. “Fine. Then I’m—”
“I’d like the ashes first. It’s been a year.”
“Of course. The urn is in my trunk.”
I gesture for Claude to approach, then turn back to Nelson. “Can you give your fob to my assistant so he can bring it up?” I’m not budging on this. If I don’t act now, Nelson will find a way to avoid giving me the ashes because he knows giving them up means giving up any final hold he has over Grace.
“It’s a black Lexus.” He rattles off the plate number. “Underground parking level two.”
“Got it.” Claude leaves.
“So. How about you make that call to your mother?”
“My assistant isn’t back yet.”
Nelson clears his throat. “Could we move to your office? Have some coffee, perhaps?”
You expect me to serve you coffee?“I need to go out soon.”
Nelson rolls his weight on the balls of his feet as we wait, shifting back and forth to burn off nervous energy. His eyes scan the office, but my employees are too discreet to stare blatantly. They’ll gossip afterward in the breakroom.
An elevator door opens. Grace steps out, followed by Claude, who is holding a huge white urn. She’s wearing a brilliant smile, which fades when she spots her father.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“What areyoudoing here?” he says, stiffening.
“I’m here to have lunch with my husband.” She comes over, loops her arm around mine and gives me a kiss, which I return with a grin.
“You got it?” I ask Claude, since he seems to be struggling a bit. The kid has a pencil neck and even thinner arms.
“Yup.” He huffs. “This thing isheavy.”
Grace looks at him with mild curiosity.
“My new assistant, Claude. Claude, my wife Grace.”
“Hello.” His greeting is polite and friendly. “Nice to meet you.”
She smiles warmly. “Likewise. I’d offer to shake hands, but yours seem occupied.”
“Please put that in my office,” I say to Claude, who disappears.
“Now. What about that phone call?” Nelson says.
“I haven’t heard an apology yet.”
Nelson’s face twists. His pride won’t let him admit he’s in the wrong.
“A sincere mea culpa isn’t such a high price to pay for keeping a partnership at Huxley & Webber,” I point out.
“No,” he agrees reluctantly. “Look, Grace. I’m sorry for all the misunderstanding—”
“On your knees,” I say.
“What?” Red suffuses his cheeks.
