Page 3 of Oliver
But she did. And she requested me by name
Which means…
Something cold and hard formed in my chest.
The booking had something to do with our shared past. A past I was more than willing to leave far, far behind.
"Listen," Foxy continued, her voice gentler now. "I don't know what happened between you two, and frankly, I don't care. What I do care about is my business and my clients. RAD has a reputation to maintain."
"I understand that, but?—"
"No buts. I need you to be professional about this. Meet with her. One meeting. If after that you want nothing to do with her, I'll figure something out."
"And if I don't go?"
"Then I'll assume you're not serious about working for me anymore."
The threat hung in the air between us. Seven years of built-up goodwill, and she was ready to throw it away over one client. But I knew Foxy well enough to know she wasn't bluffing.
And I needed this job. Especially now.
I thought of Emmet, my younger brother, and the consultation appointment we'd scheduled with a specialist next month. An appointment that would cost more than I currently had in Emmet’s transition account.
"Fine," I said through clenched teeth. "One meeting. Where and when?"
"6:00 PM. Café Lucid on Seventh."
My jaw dropped, and it took me a second to find my voice.
“6:00 PM today?” I croaked. “Four hours from now?”
“Three-and-a-half, if we’re being punctual, which I know you will be.”
I closed my eyes, accepting the inevitable. So much for mental preparation.
"I'll be there."
"Good." I could hear the smile in Foxy's voice. "And Oliver? Wear something navy. It makes your eyes pop."
Then the line went dead.
I tossed the phone onto the desk and stalked to the kitchenette, yanking open the refrigerator door with more force than necessary. The contents offered no distraction from the storm brewing inside me, so I opted for a stale sugar cookie from one of the glass jars on the counter instead.
This is for Emmet, I repeated to myself, then groaned when I remembered we had planned a pizza night. I slugged back to my office, sitting with a heavy thud.
Need to raincheck tonight, Quark.
What? Why? Did something happen?
I’d never canceled pizza night unless it was an emergency, which only happened once when Tobias needed rescue from a drunk client who got way too handsy and tried to lock him in a storage room.
Foxy stuff.
Since when is Foxy stuff last minute?
Since it’s Zahra Nazarian, and she insisted it has to be me, and it has to be today.
There was a pause, then thirty-five seconds of three dots blinking on the screen, and finally,
