Page 23 of Feeling the Heat: Part Two
“I’ve got some arnica gel at home. Remind me to give it to you later,” Astrid says with a nod.
I make introductions, and the two chat for a moment about the perils of accident-prone kids—and friends. I can’t help wondering why this powerful woman would want to talk to me of all people. Shifting awkwardly, I sip my drink to try to cool off. My skin is still burning from the embarrassment of falling on my ass in the middle of the party. If I don’t end up with a photo of that on the internet roasting me tomorrow, it’ll be a miracle.
“I’m sure you have lots of other people you need to say hello to, but if you’re interested in setting up a meeting, my number is on the card,” Sandra says, drawing my attention back into the conversation.
“A meeting?”
“To discuss your case,” she says, expression turning more serious.
“My case?” I feel like an idiot, and my stomach tenses like it did when I got called on in school and didn’t know the answer.
Sandra nods. “I’ve looked into your situation, and I think you have grounds to sue for unlawful termination.”
In all the drama and stress of the past few months, suing Pulse PR was never on my mind. Sure, I threatened them with my lawyer and didn’t sign the severance contract, but they had every right to fire me. Or maybe they didn’t?
“Ah, right. Thank you. I’m still, uh, considering my options.” I try not to let my surprise be too apparent, but I doubt it’s working.
“Well, give me a call if you’d like to talk it through. It was lovely to meet you, Camille.”
“Yes, thank you, it was nice meeting you.”
She walks away and I watch her, a little dumbfounded.
“Damn, that lady is cool,” Astrid whispers. “Good work running into her.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, falling on my ass in front of a powerful alpha and a room full of people was a great move.”
She laughs and gives my shoulder a consoling pat.
I sigh, feeling eyes on me and waiting for the next disastrous social interaction. “Can we go home yet?”
Astrid shakes her head. “Nope. Gotta stick it out for at least an hour.”
“I hate you,” I reply, glaring at her.
“No, you don’t. Think about it this way—how much worse can it get?”
Judging from how things have gone so far and my shitty luck, probably a lot. But I swallow down that thought and brace myself for more mandatory socialization, praying it will be over soon.
10
I glanceat the entrance to the building, then back down at my phone, checking for the dozenth time to see if I somehow missed a message or call. But there are no messages, and there’s no sign of Ambrose or Jackson waiting out front for me. I’ve been in the cafe across the street for the past half hour, watching out the front window so I didn’t miss them arriving. I’ve triple-checked I’m in the right place, even going so far as to confirm with Lauren, who seemed less than pleased for me to be bothering her during her launch party instead of figuring things out on my own.
They’re not here, and I’m freaking out. How long do I wait? Did they change the plans and decide not to include me? Did I misunderstand and they’re waiting for me back at the house?
I sip the latte that I’ve been nursing, the aroma a sad facsimile of the omega I’m here to win back. Then pointedly ignore the frustrated huff of a customer that’s been lurking nearby waiting for my seat to free up. I’m not getting up until I know what’s happening. The last thing I want is for Camille to come outside and see me loitering there like a stalker.
Another minute passes, and my nerves continue to ratchet up so high that when my phone vibrates with an incoming call, I startle so hard I almost drop it.
“Hey! I’m across the street from the venue, and I haven’t seen you guys. Is everything okay? Did I make a mistake?” I blurt out the stream of my anxious thoughts before Ambrose can get a word in, even though he’s the one that called me.
“Breathe, love,” he murmurs, his voice and the corresponding soothing energy through the bond an instant balm to my nerves. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m so glad you made it there.”
“Of course I’m here. I promised I’d come.” Given my terrible track record, I’m not hurt that he’d think I might not come. I’m guilty about behaving in a way that would give him any doubt. But I meant it when I said I’m all in. I’m terrified I’m going to screw things up anyway, but I’m going to try.
“Jackson owes me five bucks,” Ambrose says, teasing evident in his tone.
“Only five? I would’ve thought it’d warrant at least a twenty,” I joke back, savoring the warm rumble of my mate’s laugh.
