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I lunged for it, almost knocking it off the nightstand.
“Hello,” my broken voice barely made the one word.
“Ms. Valentino, your driver is waiting out front.”
If my heart had been galloping before it was thunderous now. I broke out in a cold sweat. “Wh... what’s the time?”
“Quarter past ten, ma’am.”
Fuck!
Practically throwing the receiver onto the nightstand without so much as a thank you, I sprang from the bed and ran into the bathroom before seeing my horrific reflection in the mirror.
“What the hell happened to me?” To say I’d been hit by a freight train was probably an understatement. My hair was sticking out at all angles and was matted to other areas, and I’d obviously gone to bed without removing my makeup because I was now wearing mascara on my chin.
Throwing myself into the shower, I scrubbed and washed until I felt like I had at least somewhat of a blank canvas to work with. Tying my damp hair into a bun, I applied some fresh lip gloss and changed into a pencil skirt and blouse. Returning to mirror, I was pleased with the outcome. Not bad for five minutes. But I was still late. Late to a meeting I wasn’t prepared for.
Twenty minutes later, I arrived at the Renshaw San Antonio headquarters. Greeted at the door by the receptionist, I was quickly ushered to the elevator and down the hall to the conference room where six men, all in suits, sat frustrated and impatient. I had kept them waiting for forty-five minutes.
“I’m terribly sorry for being—”
“Ms. Valentino?” Peter Renshaw looked at me, confusion riddled over his face. “What are you doing here?”
I scanned the room, and four other inhospitable faces all waited for my answer.
“Well... if I’m correct, we have a meeting.”
Renshaw shook his head and stood from his high-backed leather chair. “You would not be correct unless of course, Hawk Carnage is planning on walking through that door any minute now.”
“Um...” Shit was getting real awkward fast. “No, he won’t be. It’s just me. Hawk is still in New York.”
Renshaw was pissed, and as he looked around and spoke with the other men, it was clear they were too. I stood in the threshold feeling like a fool, not knowing what to do.
Why had Hawk thrown me in the deep end like this?
“Ms. Valentino,” Renshaw addressed me, rebuttoning his suit. “I’m sorry for the trouble of you flying down here, but you’re not needed.”
“I’m sure we can discuss whatever it is that needs discussing, and I’ll report back to Hawk as soon as—”
“This matter concerns Hawk Carnage and Hawk Carnage alone. He made a strict promise he’d be here, so unless he’s given you permission to discuss the finer details for the sale of Carnage Lingerie, then I’m afraid we have no business with you.”
“I’m sorry... the what?” I asked, dumbfounded, even though I was sure I’d heard correctly.
“And judging by your reaction, I’m certain you will not be able to assist us. Goodbye, Ms. Valentino.”
“This way, please,” the receptionist appeared at my side once more and gestured for me to follow. I glanced at the five men once more, rocked to my soul, and... angry. But their faces did nothing to quell the sense of unease churning my stomach. And it had nothing to do with the eight apple martinis.
“Pick up your damn phone!” I demanded angrily while I paced up and down the length of four spare chairs at the airport waiting lounge. After an unsuccessful night of initiating contact with Hawk, and not receiving any answers or explanations, I was more than pissed.
It was the next day, and he still hadn’t been bothered answering my calls or even sending a simple message. I decided to call Sara, who at least was in the same state.
“Have you heard from or seen Hawk?”
“No, I haven’t. He hasn’t been into work.” There was a strange tone to her voice but didn’t inquire.
“If he happens to grace you with his presence, can you please get him to call as a matter of urgency?”
“Yes... um... sure.”
“Sara?”
“Yes?”
“Should you be telling me something?”
“Um... I’ve got another call coming through. It could be Hawk. I’ll talk to you—” She ended the call, cutting herself off.
“What the hell is going on back there?”
Frustrated, I continued the pacing, wracking my brain for answers but drew a blank.
Why was Hawk in talks with the Renshaw’s to sell the lingerie line? He’d never even hinted at such an idea. It was his baby.
It was his baby... excellent choice of words there, Britta.
Inheriting one baby and selling another. Perhaps Celeste’s sudden reappearance with a bun in the oven had sparked all this. But the timeline simply didn’t add up.
The boarding call was announced over the speaker, and I made my way over to the gate. Settling into my first-class seat, courtesy of Hawk, the hostess placed a glass of champagne and the New York Times newspaper on my table. The plane was safely in the air when I finally picked it up, willing something to take my mind off Hawk.
