“Then forget it,” Pearson snapped. “If you can’t handle a simple phone call—”
“Your latte is on the kitchen counter and getting cold,” Chrissy said, cutting him off. She used the calm tone she’d cultivated on her first day on the job. It was exhausting getting angry at him, and ultimately not worth it. “In fact, if you keep on like this, the foam will evaporate and then where will you be?”
Pearson huffed and then smiled.
“Damn. I love when I don’t rattle you,” he said.
“Good. Just remember I’m leaving in two days to visit my family.”
“Remind me again why this is necessary.”
Chrissy frowned. “My father is getting heart surgery.”
“Right. I guess that’s important.”
“I’m sorry; he pushed up the surgery a month. Don’t worry—Jessica will be here to pick up the slack. She’s coming in today, and I have an entire twenty-four hours to get her up to speed.”
Pearson’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t met Jessica yet, and oftentimes he scared off those who could do an otherwise good job. Jessica had done well supporting Chrissy from the New York office, but she hadn’t directly faced James’ wrath.
It was important to Chrissy to be there with her family, not only for her father, but given that her relations with them had smoothed. It had taken them some time to realize they needed to back up and soften on their stances of things, or else she wouldn’t visit at all.
The salary certainly gave her the freedom to travel, but it often came with a strict schedule and no days off. Ever.
“So, this means you aren’t coming to the Paris lunch meeting with me?”
“No, I won’t be there.” Chrissy sighed internally, but she wouldn’t let him see that frustration. “We discussed this yesterday.”
“You should have reminded me.”
“I’m doing that now.”
“She won’t be you.”
“You’re right, she’s not me. But she is very, very good. In fact, I worry I won’t have a job when I get back.”
“You have nothing to worry about there. Unless, of course, you can’t raise Kosikov.”
“I’ll call him now. What threat level should I announce: yellow, orange, or red?”
“Just make the damned call.”
“Drink your coffee,” she said as she dialed Kosikov’s number. As she waited for the call to answer she remembered something.
“Turner Trower cancelled the Milan meeting.” Chrissy held a breath as she waited for Pearson’s answer. Trower had been Mr. Pearson’s tailor for a number of years, but lately Pearson has expressed his dissatisfaction with Trower’s work.
“That's fine,” Pearson grunted. “I've been unhappy with his last couple suits. Here.” He hunted for a card in his wallet and handed it to her.
“Call this man and make an appointment.”
Chrissy took the card while she waited for Kosikov to pick up. “Voicemail,” she announced. “Should I leave a message?”
“No. Damn it. I’ll take care of this at the embassy dinner tonight. I do have the proper shirt for the event, do I not?”
“Yes, Mr. Pearson. It arrived from Trower’s office yesterday.”
“It had damn well be better than his last tuxedo suit, or I’m sending it back.” His eyes narrowed on Chrissy, weighing if her own suit for the day was appropriate for her to wear in public. He looked away without comment, which meant it passed inspection. Not once had he offered a compliment of her tastes. The best she could hope for was his silence.
“Then are you ready?” Pearson was already on his way toward the door. “Don’t we have a plane to catch?”