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“Right,” he says dryly. “The museum.” There’s disdain in his voice that tells me the museum is beneath him and that means me. I think that’s a compliment. Maybe. I don’t know with him. “When exactly will you be back?” he asks, obviously feeling the need to confirm what he already knows.
“January,” I reply. “Is that still okay? Do you need me back sooner?”
He ignores my question and asks, “How is your mother?”
“Better, thank you,” I say. “She’s pulling through this. She’s in remission.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Ms. Wright,” he states, and while there is a crispness to his tone, there’s also an emptiness to the words that I know has nothing to do with me or my mother. It’s about his own. His mother, Queen Compton, the founder of Riptide, the boss of us all, is also fighting cancer. “How is she?” I ask, knowing we both know who I’m talking about.
“Not good,” he replies succinctly. “But as you know, she’s a fighter.”
“Yes, she is,” I say. “She has superpowers. I believe that,” I add, and I mean it. His mother was the reason I’d ended up at Riptide just shy of two years ago now. I’d been in a bad place, only a month after a break-up with my father and my ex. My career had stalled. Then one day I’d stepped into a coffee shop at the same time as her, and the two of us had started chatting. That cup of coffee had changed my life. She’d seen something in me, I don’t even know what. She’d called me a diamond in the rough and recruited me from my job as an editor at a publishing house and stunned me with a hefty raise. More so though, she’d made me believe I could do anything, be anything, rethink my life, and make it bigger and better at a time when I’d needed to believe those things. She’d believed in me when I’d been at my lowest. I need to be there for her now. “I can come back,” I offer quickly. “If you need me, if she needs me—”
“Stay with your mother,” he says. “That’s what she would want. Enjoy the holidays with her. But,” he adds, “if at any point you staying with us comes down to you needing to relocate her here, and/or take advantage of the doctors at our disposal, we’ll make it happen and we’ll pay for it. That is also what she would want.”
I blink in surprise at the offer, emotions burrowing in my chest and taking root with his generosity. I’d only been with Riptide a year when my mother was diagnosed with cancer, and while I knew I’d performed well and that I’d pleased Queen Compton, Mark is a hard read. I was never really sure he noticed anything I did right or wrong.
“I—that’s very generous,” I say, my voice cracking.
“It’s self-serving,” he replies. “We need you back in the New Year.”
“Absolutely,” I say, and in this moment, my loyalty to Riptide has never been stronger, which stirs an idea. “Can you fax me the invitation?” I ask. “Maybe I could actually go as a Riptide representative? There was a reason they thought inviting me was a good idea. Maybe they’re interested in working with us?”
“I like the way you think, Ms. Wright. Go. Do. Make things happen. I’ll give you a thirty-percent commission on anything you bring in that cashes out. I expect an update.” He disconnects. Just like that. No goodbye. Nothing else. He just hangs up.
And so do I, and I do so with a dry mouth.
Thirty percent of anything that’s Riptide-worthy is a lot of money, money I need considering my mother’s medical bills are piling up and so is my rent in New York, hence the temp job. And until now, I’ve never earned more than five percent and a Christmas bonus, but then, I wasn’t dealing with customers until the last few months before I took my leave, either.
My computer pings and I quickly pull up the email from Mark, downloading the attachment. And sure enough, there’s an invitation addressed to me. I’m cordially invited to the annual Hawk Legal cocktail party at the Grand Hyatt rooftop bar. And I’m going to attend. There’s a hint of excitement inside me that I cannot deny. I’ve spent months fearing my mother’s outcome. She’s alive and well, and now, I’m starting to breathe again. My mind goes to the man on the elevator, and I can’t help but wonder if he’ll be there, but as soon as I have the thought, I dismiss it. I remember the blonde holding his arm and demanding his attention.
He is clearly not for me, but the party is another story.
I’m going to attend. I’m also going to give myself permission to enjoy myself. And maybe just maybe, I’ll meet the elusive Allison. The other Allison. The one who was really supposed to receive the necklace.
