Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Ellie shrugs and looks at her phone. “I don’t know. But I have to get to the pizza place by nine.”
“Nine?” I grit my teeth as I check the clock. Our meeting with Courtney is at nine-thirty and right now it’s twenty after eight.
“That’s what they said,” she says. “I wouldn’t have said yes if you’d have told me about this meeting.”
Fair enough, but I wasn’t expecting her to have a job interview on a Saturday morning either.
“I’ll reach out to Kelly,” I say with a sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You need to get going.”
I scoop my phone out of the pocket of my pajama pants and call Kelly. Thankfully, she’s available for the morning. I make plans to drop Jace off there by nine and pick him up before noon. That should be enough time.
With those plans in place, I jog upstairs to get ready for the day. As I’m passing the guest bedroom, I find Jace, lying on his stomach on the carpet, playing with his toy cars.
“Hey, kid. Your mom’s got a job interview and I—”
“—I know, I know,” he says sullenly, not looking up at me. “I’m going to Kelly’s.”
“Yeah, it’ll be fun. You love Kelly.”
“Not as much as I love you guys.”
Break my heart, why don’t you…
I take a seat on the edge of the futon, which doubles as his bed. Since my condo’s a three-bedroom, Ellie’s taken up the guest bedroom, and I let this little monster have what used to be my office. It’s not ideal for a Pokémon-and-Lego obsessed kid—it’s sterile white, and it still has my desk, my chair, my bookcase from college in it. His toys and things are stuffed in the closet, not that he has much left from the fire.
“Listen to me. I’m not going to be long. I’ll pick you up at noon, and we can go have smoothies. Or ice cream. Whatever you want.”
He nods, but I guess I haven’t sweetened the deal enough because he’s not nearly as happy as he was this morning, before I mentioned I had to go in to work.
“Come on, Bud. Get ready for me, okay? Teeth, clothes, and shoes. Let’s go.” I motion for him to get off the floor, which he does begrudgingly.
Once he’s moving, I rush for the shower. Even though I cut my usual morning routine in half, we wind up getting out the door by nine. I drop Jace at Kelly’s at nine-fifteen, and then it’s on to Foster & Foster in Portland, which is a twenty-minute drive. By the time I park in the garage and walk up Market Street to the office… I’m late.
Not even just a few minutes. Big-time late.
And this might not be a partner, but it’s important. Being late for a client is a big, glaring no-no, the first rule in my playbook.
The second I rush into the darkened office, I see the light coming from the large conference room. I can imagine Tenley in there, wondering where the hell I am. It’s probably the reason my phone has been blowing up—I bet she’s been calling and texting me, but I haven’t had time to look.
I run for the door, practically throwing myself through it as if it could possibly make up for my tardiness.
Two sets of eyes, on the other side of the conference room, swing toward me. Tenley’s expression is just as I expected—it radiates pure hatred. Does she practice looking that hateful in a mirror? Because she’s a pro. But our client simply looks confused.
I only know Courtney Perry from her social media accounts. She’s pretty and young-looking, despite being a full decade older than me. She’s in all black athleisure, her long dark hair pulled into a low ponytail. The puffiness around her eyes leads me to believe she’s been crying recently.
Sensing the tension in the room, I snap out of it and flash a smile.
“Hi!” I say, ignoring Tenley’s eye-daggers as I sidle over to Courtney’s side of the table and shake her hand. “Courtney Perry? It’s so great to finally meet you. I’m Brooks Gentry, the other half of your dream-team. Sorry I’m late, I’ll spare you my excuses so we can get to work.”
Her confusion gives way to a smile. “Oh, gosh, no worries at all…”
Just like that, I’m forgiven. But as I sit down and look over at the other side of the table, I realize that applies to only half of the room.
“So, Courtney—” I start, looking between them. “May I call you Courtney?”
“Yes, of course.” She smooths a hand along her hair.
“I don’t mean to interrupt what you two have been discussing, but how are you doing?” I ask, giving her concern. I try to remember that every woman who comes into my office is going through a traumatic experience, so I try to treat every female client the way I’d want my mother to be treated.