He called after me. “Think you’ll feel better tomorrow night at seven?”
I smirked to myself. “Hard to tell.”
The door to his office closed behind me, and his assistant said, “Was that helpful?”
I nodded. “Very.”
Bryce’s voice came through the speakers. “See if you can get her number before she leaves.”
He must have thought I’d be at the elevators by now. Maya smirked at me, looking like she was holding back laughter. “Care to respond?”
A small smile touched my lips. I leaned over her desk, making sure she was pushing the button that connected the phone to his office. “You know where I work.”
Maya chuckled as I walked out of the reception area to the hallway with a row of elevators. Soon after I pressed the singular button fordown, one dinged open and I stepped inside the empty, mirrored square. In a few floors it would begin filling up. But right now, I was at the top of The Tower, all by myself.
The elevator whirred, making my stomach bottom out. I hated how fast these things went. I had to put my hand against the wall to keep myself from spilling my guts on the marble tile. At least I felt a little better when we hit the ground floor.
The bottom floor of The Tower was just trendy and functional—not quite as opulent as the top floor. Half of it was occupied by a two-story cafeteria area open to the floor below. The other half had been renovated to become a windowed childcare center with an indoor-outdoor park.
When I reached the center, I used my keycard to unlock the first set of doors. The director of the childcare center, my boss, was in the nursery, watching the little babies for me while I took this meeting.
After setting four-month-old Jack down in his crib, she gave me a sad look. “Told you they wouldn’t care,” she whispered. “The suits never do.”
Feeling successful that I’d done what even my boss couldn’t do, I whispered back, “This one was different.”
4.Bryce
As I walked upto Simon’s Spanish-style mansion, I thought,This is all his fault.
Simon had put the idea of marriage in my head. That’s why I couldn’t get Jada out of my mind. Then again, maybe it was her voluptuous body, her pretty eyes, and the fire that clearly burned within her capturing my thoughts. Or maybe it was because she’d so blatantly turned me down.
The last time a woman had shut me down was in college, when I was just another tech nerd in the computer science program. Since then, I’d grown a couple inches, filled out, and had a professional stylist who put me in something other than Wranglers and T-shirts that came in a three-pack. The first time I had a haircut from the in-house barber and saw the bill, I nearly shit my pants.
But I looked good, vastly improved from walking into the bargain bin barber by the grocery store.
Knocking on Simon’s massive front door, I shook those thoughts aside. In fact, with each rap of the iron knocker, my stomach sank. Simon still seemed so full of life. This diagnosis couldn’t be right.
My phone chimed in the group text, and I released the knocker to check it.
Jude: Got a lead for a rehab in Tibet. Taking off in an hour. Will keep you updated.
I let out a groan. It was over a day’s flight to that part of the world. And each second this scheme went on felt like hours. September in Dallas had me sweating just as much as Simon’s commands. So I loosened my tie until it came apart, and I shoved the damn thing in my pocket.
Iris, Simon’s house manager, opened the door. She still spoke with a slight Chinese accent, and her hair was cut at a sharp angle across her cheeks to match her personality. “Bryce. You’re the third to come by today.”
The tips of my ears felt hot under her withering stare, but I said, “I’m not here to cause trouble, Ms. Iris.”
She gave me an assessing stare, then nodded for me to follow her.
A little relieved, I kept pace behind her through the lavish foyer lined with paintings worth more than the house I grew up in. Glittering crystal vases filled with fresh, fragrant flowers decorated the tables along the walls.
Our feet echoed over the terra-cotta floor until we reached a library tucked at the back of the house with windows overlooking the meticulously landscaped yard. Simon sat in the leather wingback chair, feet resting on a matching ottoman. Even in his green velvet robe and slippers, he looked regal, poring over the pages of a hardcover book.
“Reading for business or pleasure?” I asked him.
His eyes continued scanning the page until he finally put a tasseled bookmark between the pages and closed the edition. “Is there a difference?” he asked.
My lips tipped slightly as I slid into the wingback chair beside his own.
