“But you said—”
“I checked Maguire’s new model before it goes out to reviewers. It’s not good, and on top of that, he made a stupid statement about the privacy of their system in an article. Watch it; they’ll be down by four percent next Monday. We wait until then.”
Everett’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly in admiration.
“For now, tell them we’re mulling it over.” Simon continued to march down the hallway. “But I would like to speak with Oskett’s representative. We’ll discuss it when I’m back on Wednesday. Anything else?”
“Not for tonight.”
“Good. I’ll see you Wednesday.” With a further quickening of his pace, he left Everett in the dust. Jogging down the staircase, Simon arrived at the main space of the hotel: the bustling, lively casino with the famous Golden Luck Fountain on one side and amusic lounge and a bar on the other. He stopped, closed his eyes, and breathed.
Peace.
No more reporters, no more presentations; not for a few days. God, he needed to unwind—although this hotel probably wasn’t the best place for it. At least a few people were bound to know Aries had a presentation here tonight, and some reporter might fly in and find him at the bar. So, where could he …
“Jinx! No. No, come back!”
The crowd gathered around one of the gambling tables parted, gasps and yelps following a small fur ball—a golden retriever puppy—as it zoomed through the massive room, whizzing between chairs and tables and people like a skier on a slalom track.
Simon stepped onto the collision path, kneeled, and caught the puppy. “Hey there, buddy. Take it easy.”
The puppy proceeded to lick his hands and face, not at all bothered with Simon being a stranger.
“Jinx!” A woman burst through the crowd, coming to a screeching halt before them.
She looked like a contradiction. Her black slacks and a crisp white shirt suggested a held-back, perhaps even boring occupation, but her silvery blond hair swept around her shoulders like she was a model bound for a photoshoot, and a healthy ruby glow of her cheeks indicated her last few minutes had been anything but boring. Simon guessed she was neither: not a boring office worker, nor a model, simply because she lacked a few inches and the haughty demeanor of one.
Which left the question—who was she?
“Thank you for catching him.” She dropped down to her knees.
“No problem.” His lips drew into a smile. She had pretty eyes—a pale greyish blue, like the sea after a storm. Oh, that wouldbe a nice place right now—but he brought himself back to the present. “I assume he’s yours.”
“My beloved menace.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes flicking from the dog to Simon. “Come on, Jinxie. We gotta go now.”
Simon gently nudged the dog away. She scooped him up and stood, Simon following suit.
“Thanks, uh …” A little crease appeared between her eyebrows as she searched his face.
She didn’t recognize him. Otherwise, she’d already be hitting him with any version of the all-too-familiar,Oh my god, you’retheSimon Montague?
In a split second, the solution blazed through Simon’s mind. A break—a reprieve—something fun to do, anything—
“Wait.”
She turned. Her eyes rounded and, maneuvering while still holding the puppy, she reached into her small traveling bag with one hand. “Right. How much do you need?”
“What?”
“For helping me stop Jinx. I have, uh …” She pried a weathered leather wallet open with her teeth, fished out a few banknotes, and mumbled something.
“You don’t need to pay me,” he said. “I wanted to ask … would you like to go for a drink?”
“Aigh—” She put away the wallet and repeated, “Right now?”
“Kind of. Yes.”
He studied her posture as she deliberated. She’d been slightly hunched, shoulders slouched forward in a despondent manner, but she drew them back, and a smile lit her round face. “That would be nice. As long as I’m not the one serving it.”
