Epilogue
Camille perches on the edge of the hospital room’s recliner on the side of Evelyn’s bed, passing the contract from her oversized purse at her feet.
“I’m not joking,” Camille says, watching Evelyn try to keep her arm still as she laughs and sets the contract on her lap. “I logged in to the video conference, and all I could see was down his assistant’s neckline. She was working on something behind the computer screen, leaning over it and her cleavage was right in the camera’s lens.”
Evelyn holds her stomach with her good hand, trying not to laugh too hard. “So you’re telling me, you got a screen full of cleavage.”
Camille nods. “Exactly. I was like, ‘um, hello,’ and then the chick jumps back, nearly falling over the chair behind her. She was really nice once she recovered, but her shirt was way too low cut for someone working in a professional setting.”
“I’m sure that’s expected of the assistants over there,” Evelyn rolls her eyes. “So was he sitting there watching her?”
“Who, Lichtenstein? No. He wasn’t even in the room yet. She was making sure everything was set up before she went to get him. I guess I joined the conference call a little early.”
“Of course, you did,” Evelyn mutters with a grin that comes easier than it did this morning.
Camille smiles at her, happy to see her looking better even though she has a long road to recovery. Her fears over the meeting melted away after Wade and his kind heart took the pressure off her shoulders, telling her that he wouldn’t hold it against her to meet with the competition.
“That’s not even the best part. I’m pretty sure it was his office computer where they hosted the conference because once the assistant’s chest wasn’t in the way, all I could see was this huge portrait hanging on the wall behind the chair. It was this tall, dark-haired man maybe in his thirties, wearing this phenomenal, grayish-silver suit that I swear was embossed with silver flecks by the way it’s shined under the overhead lights.”
Evelyn nods knowingly. “So huge narcissist.”
“Yeah, but wait, that’s not the best part. His assistant comes back to introduce us. Hubert Lichtenstein appears, who I’m assuming is going to be the guy in this huge portrait. But, get this, he’s a short, balding, fat guy who stared at himself on the screen throughout most of the conference.”
Evelyn rolls her eyes, giggling lightly.
“I spent the first several minutes trying to compare the man sitting in front of me to the portrait behind him to the point that, of course, he notices. He looks back at it and says, ‘Ah yes, I see you’ve noticed my commissioned painting. It was a gift my brother who made for me when I became a partner. It’s funny,’ he said, ‘I don’t feel a day older than I was when I stood for that painting. The artist was some guy out of east France.’ Anyways,” Camille continues, sitting back in the chair, “it was a struggle to keep a straight face after that.”
Evelyn stares at her. “You weren’t mad when he gave you the offer? Because when you text me, I thought for sure you were fuming.”
“I wasn’t angry,” Camille admits, “it was him offering us the,” she raises her hands, imitating air-quotes, “the best deal we could hope for,” she drops her hands. “That’s when I couldn’t take it any longer, and I actually laughed in his face. One million dollars for all rights, royalties, and licensing. It was even funnier when I saw the look on his face when he realized I was laughing at his offer.” She leans in toward Evelyn’s bed. “I think at first he thought I was happy crying perhaps, but when he realized I was genuinely laughing at what he was saying, he didn’t know what to do. He looked around, maybe his assistant was still in the room, I don’t know, but he had no idea what to do.”
Evelyn leans in. “And what did you tell him?”
“I told him that he was even dumber than he looked in the portrait if he thought that we would sell anything for that amount. I told him that I knew about the company retreat in Austin, where we would never be invited because we aren’t men. I told him that the competitor’s offer was in a completely different ballpark compared to what he was presenting to me.”
Evelyn picks up the pen, scanning over the contract before signing it, struggling to keep the paper still as she signs, not daring to move her left arm. Camille reaches her hand over the bedrail to steady the contract for her.
“And what did he do?” Evelyn asks, not taking her eyes off the page.
“Mr. Lichtenstein expressed how sorry he was that we weren’t invited to Austin, acting as if it were a surprise to him that we hadn’t been invited. That’s how I learned for sure that his assistant was in the room becausehe even went as far as to chastise the poor girl in front of me—which I quickly told him was pointless because we would not be accepting the deal.”
Evelyn finishes the last signature, handing Camille the pen.
“That was it?” she asks as Camille takes the pen and contract off of Evelyn’s lap.
“He wanted to know who the competitor was who outbid him,” she says, looking over the contract to ensure no signatures were missing.
“And what did you say?”
Camille takes a second, remembering the bald man’s face turn red in anger before she ended the conference call.
“I told him that if he kept his eye on the stock market, he’d know exactly who made us a fair deal.” She flips through it one more time. Every page with a ‘sign here’ sticker is filled out.
Evelyn arches her left brow. “That would have to be a pretty big launch if your boy thinks it’s going to raise the dial on their stocks.”
Camille smirks, dropping the pen in her bag before setting the contract on top.
“He doesn’t think it’s going to help their stocks, he knows. My boy had his team reach out to their biggest accounts. Just their orders alone will be enough that when the news goes live about Integrity Heights signing a deal with Bloom and Bloom, he’s expecting enough of a jump that any orders beyond that will simply be the icing on the cake.”
“Are you ladies talking about me?” Wade asks, walking into the room.
“There’s my knight in shining armor,” Evelyn beams.
So much so that Camille can’t help but giggle, “you better calm down, ma’am. He’s taken.”
“There she is,” a male voice booms behind Wade from the hospital door. Evelyn’s father walks in, totting yet another weekend bag for Evelyn, trailed closely by her mother. Wade walks around the bed to Camille, who’s sitting in the only chair in the room.
“I think she knows I’m taken,” he mumbles, leaning down to give Camille a kiss.
“I don’t mind sharing,” Evelyn says, glancing from Camille to her parents walking in.
“Speak for yourself,” Camille says, rising from the chair.
“I got everything we forgot last time,” Mrs. Sykes assures her, stepping around her husband to look at Evelyn. “Here Stephan,” she motions with her hand for him to give her the bag, “Evelyn could use some rouge on her lips.”
Camille grabs her bag, following Wade to the room’s only window, both of them leaning against the window’s ledge. Wade wraps his arm around the small of her back, his hand sliding down. She nudges him with her elbow when his hand moves too low for them being a room now full of people.
“I don’t need lipstick,” Evelyn groans, “I’m in the hospital.”
Mr. Sykes hands the bag over as his wife perches herself at the foot of Evelyn’s bed, placing the bag on her lap.
“You never know when you’ll meet your husband, dear,” she says, rummaging through the bag.
Evelyn rolls her eyes. “Meeting over the phone doesn’t count. He had no clue if you were wearing lipstick or not.” She looks over at Camille, who gives her a sympathetic grin.
“Evenin’, Camille,” Mr. Sykes nods. “We are quite impressed with that boyfriend of yours.” He drops down into the recliner she freed up for him. Camille stares up at Wade, smiling.
“I am too.”
“Did Evelyn tell you about the trip we’re planning for her to visit China this Christmas?”
“She has not,” Camille admits, “but she’s talked about wanting to go for years now.”
“It’s the least we can do,” Mr. Sykes continues, “since she nearly lost her arm working for us.”
“I didn’t come close to losing my arm,” Evelyn tells him. “And with this plastic surgeon’s help, the burn will barely be noticeable.”
“Will you be visiting Jasmin’s family?” Camille asks her.
“Jasmin’s already working on the itinerary, I’m sure,” Evelyn grins. “I texted her as soon as Dad told me.”
Camille shakes her head, leaning into Wade. Jasmin was their wildest friend from college and hadn’t changed much in the few years since.
“I bet she’s already planning how best to give you alcohol poisoning.”
“You girls shouldn’t talk like that,” Mrs. Sykes chastises, taking out two tubes of lipstick. She holds them up for Evelyn. “Pink or red?”
“Neither,” Evelyn says, her mood souring as she glares at the lipstick in her mother’s hands.
Mrs. Sykes lets out a huff, turning to her husband as he sits back in the recliner. “Remind your daughter how we met.”
Wade leans in, whispering into Camille’s ear, “You ready to go home?”
Camille turns her head to look at him, loving the way he says home. The word has multiple meanings depending on their location. In Illinois, it means Wade’s house that sits on Lake Travis next to Leah’s sprawling primary residence. It keeps them less than ten minutes away from Bloom and Bloom’s headquarters. She prefers his smaller house in Sacramento. Here in Dallas, him wanting to go home means her tiny apartment that he swears still smells like all those flowers he sent her. When she asked him how he felt about slumming it with her in Dallas, he simply said, “I don’t care where I sleep as long as it’s next to you.”
“Almost,” she whispers.
Mr. Sykes shakes his head at his wife. “She knows, dear,” he sighs, reclining back, “you’ve reminded her on several occasions.”
Evelyn’s mother frowns. “And I haven’t exaggerated once.” She glances over at Camille and Wade. “You see, when I younger, I was always the first person up in my family. My brothers slept in just like my parents. So, when the phone rang early one morning, I answered it as I always did.” Mrs. Sykes dips her chin, giving her best male impression. “‘Good morning, Mr. Anderson,’ this silky male voice said to me, ‘is Drew available?’” Mrs. Sykes’s eyes bulge in mock horror. “This young man on the phone thought that I was my father. I didn’t know what to say. I about dropped the phone.”
All of them, including Mr. Sykes, chuckle. Her eyes settle on her husband.
“I don’t even remember if I responded to you.”
Mr. Sykes smiles. “Darling, I have no clue. I don’t even remember that conversation.”
Mrs. Sykes shakes her head. “Well, I do. I left the phone hanging in the hallway and pounded on my brother’s door. It may have been the first time I heard my true love’s voice, but it was the last time I was going to answer the phone early in the morning.”
She turns back to Evelyn, taking the cap off of the tube of red lipstick.
“Now, pucker up.”