Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
E vie
I stare at the conference room door, willing it to open, but it remains shut.
It’s been over two hours since Mr. Hunt, the winery owner, and a handful of lawyers entered the room. I thought this might be the time I’d earn an invite into the inner sanctum during an actual deal negotiation, but that didn’t happen.
The only time I’m required to be present in any of the conference rooms is when Mr. Hunt tells me to go in there and double-check that no one left anything of value behind after a meeting.
I’ve been tempted to ask, like what a multitude of times, but it’s not my job to question the whats or the whys. It’s my job to scour the imported area rugs covering the polished concrete floors to search for a wayward pen or earring.
The only thing I ever did find was a nickel. I pocketed it because I viewed it as a small tip for spending ten minutes wasting my time.
I rest my back against the cushioned bench that I’m currently sitting on. I don’t know who decided on this design accessory, but these benches that dot the office corridors could double as day beds. They are that comfortable.
Plucking my phone from my lap, I scroll through the most recent texts and emails I’ve received. Nothing warrants my immediate attention, so I decide to trim my contact list.
I do it every six months or so to remove the names and numbers of the men I’ve dumped or those who never bothered to call me back after our first date.
Since there’s only one to delete, I sigh.
Mr. Hunt keeps me so busy that my social life has taken a hit.
My weekends are usually mine and mine alone because I need the extra hours to catch up on laundry, grocery shopping, and sleep.
Devoting any of that precious time to a potential new boyfriend doesn’t hold a lot of appeal right now.
Besides, the last guy I semi-dated got tired of me blowing him off every time Mr. Hunt ordered me to stay late for work.
He told me I had to choose between my job and him. I laughed my way through my response as I explained that I’d never want to be with a man who would push me into a corner like that.
Whatever was brewing between us ended on the spot.
My fingers stall when I notice the newest entry to my contact list: Lottie Rushing.
I tap on her name to open a new text message conversation and type out a greeting.
Evie: Hey, Lottie! This is Evie. We met earlier today at the jewelry store.
I press send, hoping she doesn’t think I’m desperate since it’s only been a few hours since we crossed paths.
She puts that concern to rest when she replies in record time.
Lottie: Evie!! It’s great to hear from you. How has the rest of your day been?
Not wanting to bore her with a laundry list of complaints about my boss, I respond with a generic answer.
Evie: It’s been a pretty good day for me. You?
I smile when I read the message she sends back.
Lottie: Same. Do you want to meet up for a coffee tomorrow? Maybe after work?
Since I never know what curve ball my boss will toss at me throughout the day, I agree, but with a warning.
Evie: I’m in, but my boss rarely gives me much of a heads-up when I need to work late, so I might have to bail last minute.
Her reply arrives as I’m reading an email from a client.
Lottie: Noted. I’ll text you tomorrow afternoon to see if the jerk will let you free. Ha ha!
I let out a small laugh before I respond.
Evie: HAHA! Until tomorrow.
Just as I’m pressing send on the message, the door to the conference room swings open, and Mr. Hunt storms out, looking like he had a fight with an alley cat.
The knot on his tie is slightly askew, and his hair is out of place. A few strands are sticking straight up.
What the hell goes on in those meetings?
His gaze burns into me as he shuts the door behind him. “Did I hear laughter just now?”
You have got to be kidding me.
How?
How in the ever loving anything did the man hear my very soft laugh?
“No,” I lie. “I don’t think so, sir.”
He taps the lobe of his ear. “I heard laughter.”
“It must have been streaming through the air vents,” I toss that out there with a straight face. “The atrium is right above this conference room. Maybe some employees are up there having fun.”
The look of horror on his face is picture worthy, but if I hold my phone up now and start snapping away, I’ll need to look for a new job tomorrow.
I’m too damn tired to do that.
“Go up there and tell them to shut the hell up,” he says loud enough that I’m sure everyone in the conference room can hear him.
“I’m on it,” I say, grateful to leave my post outside the door.
“Good.” He gives me a quick once over. “Get back here as soon as you take care of that. This meeting may go all night.”
I don’t have to ask why. The fact that his fingers are raking through his hair gives it away. He’s frustrated, which means the negotiation isn’t going as smoothly as he would like.
“Go, Miss Starling,” he says, encouraging me to move with a brush of his hand in the air.
I nod and set out in a slow sprint toward the elevator that will take me up to the atrium and all of the leftover food and iced tea that is likely still there after the meeting with the Bogners.
I’m unexpectedly grateful that Mr. Hunt didn’t send me to clean up right after the meeting. Cookies and brownies aren’t the best meal I’ll have this week, but they’ll calm the raging hunger that feels like it’s been burning a hole in my stomach for the past hour.
“Hurry back,” he calls after me.
I shoot a weak smile over my shoulder, knowing that I’m going to take my time. Once he’s back in that conference room, I don’t anticipate he’ll exit again until the deal is done.