“Um… yeah, I guess I could probably do that. Let me just call through to Betty and check if I’m free.”
I already know I am, of course. My schedule’s wide open after this. But I pick up the phone anyway, if only to buy myself a second to breathe.
“Hey, Betty, do I have anything booked for the next hour?”
“No,” she says, and I can hear the chuckle in her voice. “You’re all clear.”
“Okay, thank you. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
I hang up and turn back to find James already standing and straightening his jacket.
“I have my car downstairs so we can take that.”
Don’t get into cars with strangers.
Don’t trust men with expensive smiles.
Don’t assume they’re taking you to lunch just because they like your pitch.
My parents never taught me that. In fact, they’d probably have pushed me into the car themselves if they thought they could score drugs or squeeze money out of the situation.
“Sure, just let me grab a couple of things, and I’ll meet you down there.”
“No problem. Take your time.” He sees himself out, and the second the door clicks shut, I’m already pulling out my phone toping Lianna my location. Because you know… you can never be too careful. Stalkers and psychos seem to be everywhere these days,and the one I’ve already got is more than enough to last me a lifetime.
I grab my coat off the rack, touch up my red lipstick in the mirror by the door, and head downstairs.
James is waiting outside the building in a sleek black car. He spots me through the window, rolls it down, and calls out, “In you get, Ms. Mitchell.”
His driver steps out immediately, opening the door for me, and I slip inside.
“Are you happy going to Lawson’s?” James asks, casually resting his arm along the back seat. “I can’t recommend the food there enough.”
“That seems a little biased, but okay.” I laugh, and he just watches me.
“How old are you, Shannen?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“That’s young to have the success you do.”
“That’s what happens when you work your ass off from a young age instead of having it handed to you.”
He smirks. “Ouch.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to take a shot at you,” I say, not really sorry at all. “But I didn’t have anything passed down to me—no trust fund, no family business, no safety net to fall back on. So yeah, I’m pretty proud of what I’ve built.”
“As you should be.” He pauses before continuing, “And look, it’s not like I don’t know I’ve had it easier than most. I was born into a name that gets me almost anything I want. But it’s easy to lose perspective.”
There’s something almost genuine in his tone, and I findmyself softening slightly.Not much, but enough that Phoenix would probably have my ass for it.
We small-talk our way through the next ten minutes—surface-level conversation about the city, the weather, and mutual acquaintances—until we reach Lawson’s Hotel.
James guides me inside with a hand hovering near the small of my back—not quite touching, but close enough that I’m aware of it. We weave through the lobby toward the restaurant, and he leads me to a small booth tucked away in the corner. We sit, and James orders a bottle of stupidly expensive champagne, which arrives almost immediately.
“So do I get to rebrand these too?” I ask, lifting a menu and flipping it over to examine the design. It’s elegant but so dated.
“You can if you’d like,” he says, pouring champagne into both our glasses. “Might as well make everything fit the theme you’re going for.”
