“Finance,” Mandy says. “Not anything that exciting. Or useful.”
I can’t resist. “She sings a different tune when it’s time for me to pay her credit card bills.”
Because I want to sell us as a couple—not because I want to feel the soft skin of her neck against my fingertips again—I trail my fingers under her hair, brushing the pads against her neck, sending the diamond earrings dancing.
We chat with the couple for a few minutes, then Mandy’s on to the next guest.
She is, I hate to admit, the perfect corporate date. My assistant seems to know who everyone is as well as their interests, always managing to steer the conversation to a topic they’re excited to talk about. Several people, when they hear I’m in finance, tell me they’ll be in touch.
“We haven’t said hi to Mrs. Dobson yet.” Mandy drags me toward an older woman with a pouf of white hair under her hat.
“We’re not going to talk to the monkey lady.”
“She’s got a big trust fund she’s setting up for her grandchildren. She might need an investor.”
“Ah, Mr. Svensson. And the woman who is behind his very generous donation, I presume.” The elderly woman smiles at Mandy.
The monkey on her hat hisses at me.
“I just love pet charities!” Mandy gushes. “And this is such a wonderful fundraiser.”
“All for a good cause.” The lady is peak old Seattle. Her family has probably been here since the gold rush. “I sense you’re a bit of an animal lover, Mr. Svensson. You don’t seem to just be tolerating Ms. Pepper.”
“I grew up with dogs and horses,” I tell her before I can stop myself.
“He’s a wonderful corgi dad.” Mandy laces her fingers with mine.
There was definitely something wrong with those hamburgers.
“You should see how sweet he is with Pepper when she has a panic attack.”
The dog has legit panic attacks? What the hell?
The elderly woman sighs heavily. The monkey blows a raspberry at me.
“It’s such a rare thing when a man loves your pet like his own child.” She strokes the mangy-looking primate with one bony hand.
“I really lucked out with Salinger.” Mandy squeezes my hand.
I’m pretty sure Mandy’s just fucking with me at this point, but I don’t care. I have an in with Isaacs.
That port contract is mine.
13
MANDY
“Um, like, there’s a man here to see you.” Lauren, wearing a short sparkly dress and with half a bottle of champagne in her hands, stumbles through my small apartment and into the bathroom.
I wince as the door slams. Then, pushing myself up from my sagging bed, I blearily push the hair out of my face and yelp when a suited man standing in the doorway clears his throat.
“Amanda Miller?” He awkwardly sets the manila envelope on the bedspread. “This is certified mail from Clarke & Turner. We’d like to come to an agreement before filing a lawsuit.”
“A lawsuit? I didn’t do anything. What is this? Why are you doing this? What do I do now?”
“Ma’am, I do not discuss the papers. I just deliver them.” The door slamsbehind him.
“Maybe it’s not that bad,” I try to tell myself as I unwind the red string from the envelope.
