Chapter 13

I pushed out of the elevator and gave a cursory nod to where the receptionist was on the phone, and I started down the hall with long strides in the direction of María's office. Ruth caught me there at the corner, pushing off from the wall and walking with me.

"There you are. What happened to you yesterday?"

"Field work. Scouting out other properties I think we might be able to sell Cameron on." I gave her a sidelong smile, just self-effacing enough to be disarming, while keeping my stride up enough to signal I wasn't here to hang and chat.

It was pretty impressive as a show, all in all, given how much I wanted to blush and pull into myself at the thought of what happened yesterday.

Ruth sighed. "You didn't talk to Schafer."

I frowned, turning the corner and stopping in front of María's office, and I shot Ruth a look. "It slipped my mind," I said, which was actually the truth, even if it was also a convenient excuse. "I told you I'm not leaving."

She shook her head, brow furrowed. "Don't say I didn't try to help you. You don't see anything strange about this? You getting a headliner event?"

"That's a bad thing?"

"Why you and not María? At the same time you're on the make-or-break case? And this whole thing with Miguel?" She put her hands up. "It stinks."

I rubbed my forehead, checking my phone. Two minutes until María said to meet. Shame the woman was always exactly on time, or I'd just walk into the office to get away from this conversation. "There's no grand conspiracy. Just Miguel being a rat and María trying to keep the company alive. She has a lot on her plate."

" You have a lot on your plate."

"I'll talk to Schafer, okay?"

She folded her arms. "Not anymore, you won't. I interviewed for it yesterday."

I whirled on her. "Are you serious? Just like that?"

"As if I didn't give you any warning? Yeah, I'd say just like that. And you'd be smart to do the same."

I schooled my reaction with a long, slow breath. Nothing I said now could have changed her mind. If I said anything, it was just going to cement her resolve. Slowly, I turned back to María's door. "So, when are you leaving?" I said coolly. She pursed her lips.

"I'm still waiting to hear back. Hell, I don't even know if she'll want to go forward with it. But if I get an offer? Two weeks from then. I'm not an asshole, I'm at least going to give notice."

I sighed, sinking back against the wall. It was a cold feeling—wondering what it would be like without Ruth in the building, constantly coming into my office to complain about her latest clients, to ask advice. She'd been there for me when my last relationship had ended, too—had let me come over and stay at her place and sit on the couch disassociating and watching Netflix, and she'd given me space to talk about why I felt so empty instead of hurt or sad. She'd even fed Earl for me. When she'd gotten in a car accident, I'd driven her to and from work until her car was back from the shop, and I'd gotten her takeout until her sprained wrists were healed enough to cook again.

But that was just life, the world. People drifted in and out, crossing through each other's spheres. The cool, distant sensation I got at people leaving, that was a strength, not a weakness. An acceptance of the impermanence of all things. At least, it had been with my ex-girlfriend—waking up single was like waking up to find my walls were tan instead of eggshell. Different, but not in a way that mattered. Background noise I was used to after a day or two. Ruth leaving would be the same.

"Good luck," I said finally, my voice soft. "We're still friends. You can still hit me up if you need anything. Even if it's just to complain."

The relieved smile on her face spoke volumes. "Thanks. Same goes to you, too, you know. Do you really not want me to find you something?"

I folded my hands. "I'll be okay. Queen Pearl is going to be fine."

She clapped a hand on my shoulder just as I heard movement from inside María's office. "Well," she said, "you let me know if you ever need someone to feed the little prince."

"Thanks. Might take you up on that. Been out of the house more often lately."

"Mm. Charming that client of yours?"

"Trying to, at least. She's pretty intimidating."

The door opened, and María shot me a look. "Well, look who's come in today," she said. "Enjoyed your day in the sun?"

"I wasn't just sprawled out on the beach, you know," I said, conveniently leaving out what I had been doing yesterday. It wasn't like I could protest that I'd actually been working.

"Well, come in," she said, stepping back from the doorway. Ruth nodded, turning away.

"Catch you later, London. Good luck with the prep."

María gave me a loaded look as I came into the room and sat down, watching me quietly as she closed the door and walked over to her side of the desk, sitting slowly, tenting her hands on the old mahogany desk. Finally, she narrowed her eyes just a fraction. "Everything okay with Mercier?"

I had to fight back the blush. The memory of last night—I'd taken her out for dinner, and we'd walked side-by-side through the shopping center, just taking in the lights, the sounds, the action. And once it was dark, I found myself back in her North Beach apartment, my heart pounding as she took her own clothes off me, stripping me down to the set I'd seen her eyeing on me all day long.

She'd kissed every inch of me and taken pictures of me in every pose, and I was starting to feel like an honest-to-god lingerie model even before she switched me out for another set, and then another, and then another. The way she looked at me after each one like I was the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen…

I'd been aching for it for hours by the time she took me to bed, but something about it—the slow, gentle, adoring way she took me, the caresses and the soft kisses and the touches—it felt different in a way that gave me anxious thrumming.

But for right now—that definitely did not happen.

"Going very well," I said. "Surprisingly not too hard a client to work with. She's been quite straightforward with what she wants."

She gave me a skeptical look. "So… you think you can close her."

"Well—of course. That's why you put me on the job."

She made a noncommittal noise, going back to the papers on her desk. I frowned, an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. I sat forward in my chair.

"Do you not think I can do it?"

"I think… that if anyone can, then it's you," she said, avoiding looking at me. I swallowed.

"But you don't think anyone can."

She sighed, pushing away from her desk, turning to the window. "My insider contacts have told me she's really not looking to buy. Just to browse."

Well… that was something I'd been through with Cameron already. And I felt like I knew Cameron a bit better than María, at this point. But it sat in my stomach like I'd eaten something bad—this distant pang wondering how much I really did know her. All of this, everything with her… it had all been so fast, I felt like I was coming down from a high.

"So," I said, "why did you put me on her case, then?"

"Because. It was worth a shot."

"What… what aren't you telling me?" I shifted my chair closer, and I pushed it when she didn't answer. "María."

She picked up her coffee cup from where it was nestled in her papers, and she took a long sip, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Mark," she said. I paused.

"Going by a new name? I support it for you."

"Ha." She set down her coffee. "The insurance guy. He's not happy. Queen Pearl's credit has been drowning ever since fucking Philip screwed us over."

"So… what's going on?"

"They're cutting the contract end of next week. I've got until then to find a new provider. Premiums are going to be unbelievable, right when we're already starved for cash flow."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "I get that. But what are you trying to say? That Queen Pearl is going to fail?"

"I'm saying we should be ready for whatever happens next." She snatched up her cup again with a heavy sigh. She'd apparently quit smoking when she came to the US, and coffee had been her replacement. It was easy to see it sometimes—the way she held the cup with stress tightening her fingers around it, close to her mouth, just for something to hold there. "Chinga tu madre."

"I know what that means."

"Not tu madre. The arbitrary general madre."

"If you're that defeatist about it, why are you sending me to handle a headline presentation?"

She finished off the dregs of her coffee before she slammed it down, turning to me with a sad, tired look in her eyes. "Fine then, London. You want the truth? The truth is, it's because you have more hope than me. And I know if I went onto that stage and talked to a crowd of fucking vultures, they'll take one look at me and know I've rolled over. But you?" She raised an eyebrow at me. "You don't fucking quit for anything, do you, hija?"

I let out a long, slow breath, letting myself relax, just a bit. She almost never called me hija —said it was tacky and she didn't want to be an old lady like that, but it came out every now and then, in these moments where it felt like it was me and her against the world.

And admittedly, I reveled in the fact that Miguel was never hijo.

"I just believe in us," I said, quietly, finally. "We're smart. And skillful. We've gotten through worse."

"Have we really?"

"Sure. It's not the first time it's felt like the end of the world."

"Too right." She sighed, shaking her coffee cup. I stood up.

"I'll get you another before we start the presentation practice?"

She smiled gratefully at me before she tossed the cup in the trash. "Don't know what I'd do without you, London."

The coffee run was eventful, just not for me—someone's laptop blue-screened as I walked past in the lobby, and when I got to the café and ordered María's regular, the drip machine broke with a loud crack and dribbled coffee down the barista's apron, and most entertaining of all, someone's dog just up and sat down on the sidewalk outside the café while they were trying to go in and refused to cooperate. That was a new one. I pretended I didn't see them tugging on the leash begging the dog to move or the way the dog turned its head away like it was giving them the cold shoulder, and I headed back up to where the receptionist muttered a curse at the computer that, in my defense, seemed like it was giving him trouble even before I entered the room. Finding María in the meeting room, I handed over the coffee, and she took a long sip before she even said a word, and we were off for a good two hours until she clapped her hands down on the table.

"Honestly?" she said. "You're good."

"Just… like that?" I arched an eyebrow at her. "You don't want me to… I don't know… practice more than a couple of times for a headliner at a major conference?"

"Practice in your own time as works for you. I don't see any point in me being part. You're a better speaker than I am."

I put my hands up. "That's not true at all. I'm just trying to imitate what you do."

"Please. Save the sweet-talking for another lady. One your age."

"I'm not hitting on you, María. My blood pressure wouldn't be able to take it."

She smiled wryly, tipping back her empty coffee cup searching for more dregs before she tossed it in the trash on her way out. "Speaking of—anyone you've met lately?"

Cameron swirled in my head, and I pushed the thought away. We weren't dating. "I've been a bit busy."

"Might be worth giving it a try. You make work your whole personality, and your whole personality falls apart when work does."

I frowned. She headed for the door.

"Take care of yourself, London," she said, shutting it behind her, leaving me alone in the meeting room, staring down at my notes. At the script that I'd be standing in front of hundreds of high-paid executives and agents next week to deliver.

With a distant feeling, I pushed myself up and walked down the hall, my footfalls ringing in my ears like the dolorous tolling of faraway bells, and no amount of tapping my pen on my tablet once I was in my office got my thoughts out of my head and onto the screen. I found myself staring out the window, under the smear the pigeon had left, when a knock came from my door.

"Come in," I said, turning back, shuffling the things on my desk to look like I'd been working. The receptionist leaned in, smiling.

"Hi, London. Mr. Farmer is here to see you."

I paused. "Tell him… I'm not in need of any crops."

"You're very funny. Can I send him your way?"

"I don't know who the hell that is."

He stopped, eyes wide. "Er… Kevin Farmer? Cameron Mercier's husband? He wanted to talk to you about the home search. Can I send him in?"