Page 99 of Forget Me

“Mimi, wait.”

I paused and turned back.

Natalie’s eyes creased with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Of course. I’m fine.” My voice only cracked a little.

“You know you can talk to me, right? We’re friends.”

When I curled my lips up into a smile, my face felt rusty like the Tin Man’s inThe Wizard of Oz.How long had it been since I’d smiled?

I’d guess about a week.

But I had business to attend to. Foundation work, like my real job, was safely unemotional. “Hey, actually, I do have a question for you. I emailed our original venue to see if we could get the deposit back—I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask—and they said they never received our deposit. I checked the receipt book, and I found a copy of the cash receipt I wrote out to Larissa for it. Did she say anything to you about it?”

Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “No. That sounds suspicious.”

“Wait, no, I wasn’t saying I suspected Larissa of any wrongdoing. She’s notorious for losing receipts. But I’ve never known her to misplace cash. Maybe she gave it to the caterer instead? Or the florist?”

“Not that I know of. Didn’t you give them checks?”

“I did. But I was hoping…” I was hoping I wouldn’t have to ask Larissa about it. She’d take it as an accusation for sure, and then I’d never get that job. I bit my lip and glanced away from Natalie. A familiar tall, blond figure sauntering through the lobby caught my gaze.

“Flavio?”

He turned and cocked his head like he was searching through his mental files for my name.

“Miriam Levy-Walters,” I said. “I work with Larissa at the foundation. We met a few weeks ago on the driving range.”

“Ah, good to see you again.” His lazy gaze trailed off me and sharpened when it snagged on Natalie’s pearl necklace and earrings and trailed all the way down to her designer shoes. “Do you also work at the foundation?”

“Natalie Jones.” She stuck out her hand. “And no, I’m just helping with the gala.”

“Natalie Jones of the Jasper Jones family?”

I remembered that her father died years ago. She had to have been young when she lost him.

Her smile tightened. “That’s the one.”

He didn’t release her hand. “I’d love to talk with you later. I think our families can help each other out. Come to the bistro when you’re done? My treat.”

Natalie peeled her hand out of his grasp. “Sorry, I have an engagement. Another time, perhaps.”

He slipped a card out of his pocket. It looked like a personal one, just his name and phone number. He handed it to her. “Call me. Or come find me here. Anytime.”

She took the card and gave him a strained smile. “Nice meeting you, Flavio. We’ve got to get to work.”

“Sure, sure.” He glanced at Gail, the decorator, who hurried toward us with her giant tote bags. “If you need anything at all, let me know.” He nodded at the card.

When he’d swaggered off toward the hall that led to the driving range, I said, “That’s weird, right? That he’d want us to call him if we need anything?”

Natalie tossed the card into the umbrella stand. Her face was stiffer than I’d ever seen it. “It’s the Jones name. It happens all the time.”

It still seemed odd to me. After all, what could a golfer like Flavio do if we ran into issues? Maybe he was richer and more powerful than I thought, and the staff would jump to do his bidding. Did he come from a family like Natalie’s?

I had no more time to wonder because Gail herded us into the ballroom to talk about roses and potted palms and twinkle lights.

As she pointed out where she planned to place the decorations—the ones Mateo had suggested to go with our theme—as Natalie and Gail looked at me like I could speak for Mateo and give them his opinion, the crack I’d put in my own heart when I’d pushed him away that morning at his place widened into a ravine.

Over the past week, I’d kept myself busy with work and the gala so I wouldn’t have to think about him. So I’d have no time for regret.

Regret was a distraction, just like Mateo. I couldn’t afford that nonsense. Not only did I have work to do for Synergy, for Monique, who’d noticed me slipping, but I had a gala to put on. And a full-time, paid job to earn. I needed to focus on what mattered.

Helping neurodivergent kids mattered. My career mattered.

My feelings were irrelevant.

I just needed to convince my cracked-open heart.

---