Where could it be? The last place I remember having it was at the bar, shoving it into my pocket after closing my tab. Uncoordinated from the beer, I’d fumbled putting it in my pocket.
Shit. Did I drop it outside the bar? Or maybe when I tripped in the pothole?
I pull up the locator app on my laptop, but it says my phone’s battery is at zero, the last time it pinged was at the bar.
Panic floods my head. Everything’s backed up in the cloud, but still—my whole life is on that phone. And if some drunk scooped it up…
I take a deep breath. This is not a crisis. If I can’t find it, I’ll just get a new one. But the closest phone store is in Hartwell, probably an hour away with the Christmas traffic. Not to mention, I’ll have to shell out over a grand for a new one.
Worse, two hours I won’t have at the Christmas market with Finley. It would be a convenient excuse to get out of it, but I don’t want to get out of it. I want to go.
I don’t spend much time dwelling on why. The answer’s obvious—it’s guilt. Besides, I need to deal with Roland. I fire off a quick reply.
Lost my phone and I’m on my laptop. What’s up?
Seconds later, a video call request fills my screen. I set the laptop on the dresser, sit on the edge of the bed, and brace myself before accepting.
Roland’s face appears, then he recoils. “What the hell happened to you?”
“It’s called a hangover,” I grumble. “Thanks for the sympathy.”
“Jesus, it’s nearly eleven. Must’ve been one hell of a bender.”
“Whatever. What’s the emergency?”
“Brewster’s on me for the report on the response times after the latest upgrade. I don’t have it yet.”
My irritation spikes. We had this conversation before I left. Twice. “As I told him—and you—the report will be ready on January second. That hasn’t changed.”
Roland’s face darkens. “That’s not good enough.”
“Well, it has to be. The firm we hired is shut down for the holidays. They’ll deliver on the second, just like they promised. You can’t rush this.”
His jaw sets with frustration. “I said we should’ve gone with the cheaper guys. They guaranteed December twenty-third.” His lip curls. “And they cost less.”
“We went with the other firm for a reason,” I snap. “The cheaper one has a reputation of missing deadlines and cutting corners. Best case with them, we’d get it mid-January. Worst case, we’d get garbage data. You want to hand Brewster garbage?”
“We need results, Alex. Investors don’t care about excuses.”
“It’s December twenty-third,” I bite out. “There is no one else. Everyone’s gone.”
For a second, I’m sure he’s about to throw it in my face that I’m gone too, hiding in Vermont with Finley. Instead, he sneers, “The world doesn’t stop because of presents and candy canes.”
“Roland,” I say with forced patience, “If you want to hire another company, be my guest. But I still stand by the one I chose, and we’ve got a contract. So, if you can justify to the investors spending a few thousand dollars extra to cover both, go ahead. Otherwise, suck it up and tell Brewster we’ll have the report after the first of the year.”
Roland leans back with a put-upon sigh. “Well, all right. I guess there’s nothing we can do.”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing myself to unclench my jaw. “Glad you finally see reason.”
But I know better. He’ll probably circle back tomorrow, same argument, different angle.
Roland’s scowl slips into a smirk, that Jekyll-and-Hyde switch I’ve come to dread. He leans closer to the screen. “So,” he says, “did you get Finley to sleep with you yet?”
My chest tightens. For half a second, I want to reach through the screen and throttle him. “You know this is platonic.”
He scoffs. “Please. I haven’t met a woman yet who could resist the Alex King charm.”
“Hate to break it to you, asshole,” I grind out. “But Finley’s immune.”
