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I bite my lip and smile. “Okay.”
“See you tomorrow.”
He hangs up, and I pass the phone back to Lance. “Thank you.”
He places the phone on his desk and shakes his head. “If that’s everything?” he repeats.
My stomach drops, and I right myself at the same time his phone chimes on the desk.
How can he be so moody and thoughtful in one whole moment?
He lifts the phone and reads the message. I stand, for no logical reason, and watch him, catching the moment his face transforms into disbelief.
“What the fuck!” He looks up from his phone. “What did he say to you?”
“He invited me to a gala tomorrow night,” I say, not helping my smile.
“And said I would take you to get all this… crap?”
I frown and step forward an inch, trying to get a glimpse at his phone as he waves it in front of my face.
“No.” Mason askedhim? “He said he would sort it. He never said—”
“Does your brother think I have time to go shopping, that this falls under my job title?”
Watching him lose his cool over this is oddly satisfying, and I give him a listening ear as I stand and soak it up.
“Can you not shop for yourself? I wouldn’t even know how to dress a hippy. If he’s that worried about how you’ll look, why doesn’t he take you himself?”
“You’re right, Lance. I doubt you could dress a circus clown.” I drop my eyes down his torso. Although I doubt it bruises his ego. “I’ll be just fine sorting it myself.”
“Good.” He stands and walks to a cupboard in the corner of the room. It’s located beside the minibar, and I quickly hear the telling sound of a safe dial being tuned. When he returns to the desk and holds out the black bank card, I narrow my eyes on him.
“Knock yourself out, eight-two-six-five.” And I get the sense he means it in more ways than shopping myself silly.
“Thank you, Lance, but keep the card. You can use it to buy some class—”
“Class—”
“You’re without a doubt the most perfected definition of cockalorum I’ve ever come across. I get it now.”
“Cock-a-what?”
“Goodbye, asshole.”
“Yeah,” he yells, clutching at straws. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
I turn and look over my shoulder, shaking my head at his terrible insult.
As I make my way toward the stairwell, I notice a guy sitting at the reception desk. A thought comes to me, and I make my way over.
“Hello. Scarlet Lowell.” I present my hand to him, and he takes it with wide eyes.
“Of course! Hi. Can I help you?” He looks past me and down the hall.
“Yes, an appointment with Mr Sullivan tomorrow, please. He asked that I have you pencil me into his day.”
“Uh…” He frowns and looks down at his screen, clicking a couple of times. “What time did he suggest? He has a full schedule.”
