It was the holy grail of communication devices. A number so sacred that only two people in the entire world were aware of its existence. It had only ever rung twice.
“Cameron...” My shoulders wilted as a sinking feeling descended in my stomach. But he seemed to know it was coming. The napkin was already off his lap and on the table. He was already glancing around for the check. “I’m so sorry, but I think I’m going to have to—”
At that moment, everyone else’s phones started buzzing. As in, everyone else in the entire restaurant. The world of social media came alive with a million little dings and beeps, as people bent over their screens—faces lit up with that artificial glow.
“Oh my gosh!” the cry was echoed from all four corners of the building.
“I can’t believe it!”
“Look at the picture!”
“That can’t possibly be real.”
“Did you see what—”
And...that was my cue to go.
My heels clicked on the tile as I snatched up my purse and bid my ‘almost suitor’ a hasty farewell. Ending my ‘almost date’ before it could really even get off the ground.
“I’ll—I’ll call you!” I promised as I stumbled towards the door. “I’ll see you at the gym!”
He nodded sadly, pouring himself another glass of wine.
“Sure.”
Melanie shot me a sympathetic look as I barreled through the front doors. A cab was already waiting by the curb.
“Where to?” the man asked politely.
I shot him a withering look.
“Oh...like you don’t already know.”
TEN MINUTES LATER, I had left one over-priced restaurant, only to find myself rushing into another. This one was even more over-the-top than the first.
The walls themselves were coated in gold—a light dusting that reportedly cost tens of thousands of dollars just to procure. The tables sparkled with crystal stemware. The linens were Japanese silk. A replication of the Sistine Chapel had been painted across the ceiling. (Rumor had it the manager kidnapped an art student from Julliard and held him prisoner for five weeks until it was finished.) A pair of Austrian violinists floated from table to table. A Swarovski-encrusted fountain bubbled happily in the back—adorned with Botticelli’s angels.
The first time I’d stepped inside, the place had shocked me. Now...? Well like I said, I’d been here several thousand times.
“Abigail! Thank goodness you’re here!” This time, it was Kate who swept towards me. Even skinnier than Melanie. Even longer legs. “Listen—I followed your instructions to the letter, and you know I’d never call the police. But apparently someone else did, and I don’t know what—”
“Where is he?” I interrupted.
My eyes scanned the room with a practiced sort of efficiency. Like one of those games you found in airport magazines—where you had to find the one thing in the room that didn’t fit in with the rest. This time, it was almost too easy.
“...you’ve got to be kidding.”
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Of course. In a room full of international dignitaries, European royalty, Wall Street’s finest, and Manhattan’s elite...my client was the one standing in the fountain.
No wonder he called the fifth phone.
I approached cautiously, weaving my way through an ever-growing crowd. Sure enough, the police were there. As was the press. As were about fifty or sixty other people—all of whom had enough influence to buy and sell New York several times over.
All of whom were hovering just outside the splash zone.
Keep my work life and personal life separate? Who the hell was I kidding?