“It’s annoying.”
“Sorry.” Our desks are close, and he’s probably fed up after over a week of this.
When it buzzes again, he snatches it up. “Call this number again, I’ll bury you, face first.”
“Who thefuckis this—!” Viv’s screech is so loud, I can hear it clearly from my desk.
“An assistant.”
A pause. She probably didn’t expect that. “Put my sister on the line! I know that bitch is there.”
Tolyan stares lazily into the middle distance. “Of course. Who may I say is calling?”
“Vivienne Webber! Do you know who my daddy—”
“Tofu brain.” He hangs up. “Why do you put up with this?” he asks me.
You have no idea. But he seems genuinely curious as he waits for a response. Probably nobody dares to raise their voice to him. Not unless they’re full of liquid courage.
Since I can’t tell him the truth, I paste on a smile. “Family. Can’t kill them, can’t live without them.”
“Family is like a dog that hasn’t been housebroken. Train them until they behave.” He turns back to his laptop. For the hundredth time, I wonder what it is that he does all day. He says he organizes files, but nothing stored on the cloud requires that kind of full-time attention.
My phone shakes again. An impatient sigh wells, and I reach for it, about to turn it off. The text preview on the screen stops me.
–Adam: Hey! You free for lunch?
We haven’t talked in a while, not since I messaged him that I was fine after the SportsBrews fiasco. I’ve been busy, and so has he. Huxley & Webber keeps its associates busy, determined to get its money’s worth and more.
I smile a little as I type my response.
–Me: Yeah, sure. Around noon?
–Adam: Should be fine. Meet you at Tomate? I can make a reservation.
It’s a popular Italian restaurant, specializing in pizza and pasta, about four blocks from the Pryce Family Foundation. Heand I went there all the time until he started to get busy at work and Mom became sick.
–Me: Sure. See you there.
As soon as I send that, a new text pops up.
–Huxley: Can we do lunch today?
I bite my lip at the five short words. I wish I could hear his voice to gauge if he’s still upset. But regardless, I’m a little bit torn. If I hadn’t just said yes to Adam, I’d agree to meet Huxley. He’s had some time to cool off, and we need to discuss our next step.
Besides, I’m dying of curiosity and anxiety over what he’s been stewing about and what he plans to say. I know this won’t be a friendly social outing.
–Me: Sorry. I already have a date.
–Huxley: A date?
Why does it feel like he disapproves? He and I don’t have the kind of relationship where he gets to act possessive.
–Me: A LUNCH date. Just made it before you texted me. How about tomorrow at one?
–Huxley: Fine.
–Me: Okay. I’ll go to your office.
