Tucking my phone into the pocket of my suit jacket, I step up to the counter. “That’s me.”
He leans forward, forearms on the counter, chin tipped slightly down so he has to look up at me through his lashes. It’s practiced. Almost impressive.
“I know. You get the same thing every day,” he teases. “Anything else I candofor you, Mr. Stark?” he finishes, suggestively.
I roll my eyes on a polite laugh and grab the bag, then the coffee. “No, I’m quite good. Thanks, Aspen.”
His smile turns pouty.
You couldn’t handle me, kid. I would break you.
I turn before he can try again, sliding my Gucci sunglasses from my head and settling them on my face as I push out into the Phoenix morning. The sun hits hard, bouncing off glass and pavement. The walk back to the office is a short three blocks, but it’s enough time to clear my head before diving back into billable hours.
I pull out my phone again. There are documents I’m waiting on—final redlines before signature—and I want them in my inbox before I step into the office.
Before I can check, the phone buzzes with an incoming text.
Unknown number.
I stop at the corner, jaw tightening.
Damn it, Sophie.
She’s supposed to save all client numbers with notes. Industry. Case. Red flags. I don’t like guessing games.
Granted, she’s newer to my desk. Sophie’s the sixth assistant I’ve had in as many months. They never stay.
Swiping open the message, the sender is about as helpful as Sophie.
Unknown:Hey Spence.
Two words. That’s it. I sigh slowly as my thumbs move over keys. I hate inefficiency.
Me:This is Spencer Stark. How can I help you?
Typing bubbles bounce along the bottom of the screen.
Unknown:Wow. So formal. I’m swooning.
I come to an abrupt stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Someone bumps my shoulder and mutters something under their breath. Waving them off with my own grumble, I step aside, pressing back against the reflective window of an office building.
Scrunching my forehead, I type back.
Me:Who is this?
Unknown:Guess.
Me:Are you a client?
Unkown:No. Do you want me to be?
I exhale sharply through my nose.
Me:I don’t have time for this. Spit it out or move along.
For half a second, I wonder if one of my recent hookups managed to swipe my number when I wasn’t looking. It wouldn’t be the first time someone decided they couldn’t stick to myone and donerule. Then again, it could just be one of those stupid scams. How do people fall for that shit?
The phone vibrates again. This time, it’s just three laughing emojis.
