I shoulder the door open, then tip and rate him on my phone as I walk like a professional speed walker.Technically, I’m not running, but two people step out of my way without being asked.
The building is a gray stone high-rise with ornate architecture that screams old money.So very Hargrove.I weave toward it through the morning commuter crowd, sayingexcuse mehaphazardly, never meeting anyone’s eye.
A text message from Whit comes through, which doesn’t surprise me.
How long?
As if I have time to message him back.
I’m not sure which family member of mine decided to have my grandma’s will reading downtown on a Monday morning.I should reprimand them just like they’re going to reprimand me for my tardiness.Every Hargrove family meeting comes with silent scorecards, and I’ve been docked marks before the meeting has even started.
The revolving door deposits me into a marble lobby that holds that distinctive smell of polished leather no matter the amount of air freshener they’re pumping through the vents.
I locate the elevator bank, jab the up button, and look at my phone once more.The elevator arrives, and I’m immediately absorbed into a wall of morning commuters with their briefcases, coffee cups, and someone’s aggressively bold cologne choice.
I can’t see anything except the back of a man’s very wide shoulders and the floor numbers crawling upward, one excruciating stop at a time.
All my excuses cycle through my head on a loop, loading my ammunition before I walk into that room.
The L was running behind.
The Uber took the wrong route.
The delivery truck that couldn’t park without blocking two lanes of traffic.
Every reason is legitimate, but not one of them will matter to a single person in that conference room.
But I wouldn’t be the whimsical baby of the family if I weren’t late and loaded with excuses.God forbid the family narrative lose its favorite character.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Got it, Whit.Almost there.I open my phone to give him a quick thumbs-up, but the text message isn’t from him.
EB: When are you coming back to town?Let’s get a date in the books.We can go out… or preferably stay in?;)
I stare at Easton Bailey’s text for one second longer than I should, then pocket my phone.
I absolutely do not have time for him right now.
Finally at the fourteenth floor, I get ready to squeeze my way through the herd of people to fight my way off this metal box, but when the doors open on the fifteenth floor, five other people are getting off.They take their sweet time, so I almost get smashed by the doors before I make it out alive.
I scan both directions before I spot the name etched into frosted glass on my right.
Edmund Mills, Attorney at Law.
The font alone is professionally stuffy.Perfectly Hargrove-like.
The receptionist pauses mid-typing when I push through the door.Her eyebrows lift at the slightly windswept hair from a woman who has been in transit since before dawn.
Okay, slight exaggeration, but I feel as though I’ve been racing for hours to get here.
She points down the hallway.“Conference room is on your right.”
She doesn’t ask my name.She already knows.Whit has probably been sent out here three times just to make sure I’m not sitting in the waiting area for someone to get me.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
I follow the hall to the frosted glass door and stop just outside it.
