“Relax, gawd. I’m on a date! I met this cute guy. I think he could be the one. The party’s not ’til eight, so chill!”
“I’m not going to chill—don’t tell me to chill. Where are you? I’m going to come get you.”
“Just text me the address,” she says. I can practically hear her roll her eyes. “I’ll meet you over there. You’re putting so much pressure on me. It’s not healthy.”
The line goes dead. It takes all of my willpower not to throw the phone across the room. “We cannot afford a new phone.”
It rings again.
Salinger.
I send it to voicemail.
Lauren better show up, because there will be hell to pay if she doesn’t.
10
SALINGER
“Where is she?” I growl.
“Who?” Mandy is breathless and flustered when she and her dog careen out of the elevator, loaded down with a multitude of bags.
“The girl. Escort. Whoever you hired.”
“Please,” Mandy says brightly as she dumps all her things on my couch. “An escort? You can’t show up to a charity dinner with an escort. I found you a very nice, adult woman.”
“I don’t like nice women.”
“To be fair, she’s not that nice,” Mandy mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing! I’ll set up… in there, I guess?”
She races off to the living room beforeI can answer.
Loosening my tie, I head upstairs, ignoring the million-dollar view through the two-story window to the Puget Sound.
My focus is elsewhere, rehearsing my pitch. No, I’m not like those business-school novices. My pitches don’t sound like pitches. Mandy said Mr. Isaacs’s latest girlfriend has a corgi. If my assitant’s stupid dog does its part, it will manage to befriend the other corgi without having a panic attack. I’ll have my date casually introduce the dogs, then I’ll make a funny comment about canines being Mr. Isaacs’s business.
He’ll probably say something like, “No, I’m in shipping,” and maybe make a joke about his ex-wife, and I’ll nod sympathetically.
Assuming Mandy did her job right, my date should know to start a conversation about my work. I’ll keep it light—Isaacs isn’t an engineer. He’s failed upward, receiving ever-higher positions at his father-in-law’s company.
This is the biggest contract of my life. It is going to cement me as the top investor in the country. All the pieces are lined up. I just need this evening to go perfectly.
I throw the suit on the back of the couch in the master bedroom. The maid will take care of it.
The shower runs. A suspicious lack of doorbell ringing continues.
After a cold shower, I wrap a towel around my waist as I step out then lather up to shave. I’m just rinsing off the straight razor when something slimy and rough runs against my leg.
I strangle a curse as the pudgy corgi stumbles back, tripping over the bath mat.
“Mandy!” I bellow, wrenching open the slightly open door. “Mandy!”
“Scram,” I tell the animal. “Out.”
