Mysterious texted to take my mind off my mother. I was in the middle of a meeting with PR, discussing initial guest lists for the myriad pre-launch festivities. The VIPs astounded me, and we hadn’t even yet touched on those invited to the grand opening. Amano will pick you up at seven tonight. I had no idea what compelled me to be sassy—it wasn’t exactly advisable with this man—but I typed: I’m not dating Amano. Pick me up yourself. Maybe I was just that desperate to see him. I have business. I frowned. Wished he could see it. I replied: Is this a professional request? You want answers, don’t you? My heart picked up a few extra beats. Had I really gotten through to him? Someone will have to drive me home since I have to be in the office in the morning. So do I. Bring a change of clothes. I sucked in a breath. All eyes at the conference table snapped in my direction. A blush crept up my neck. Covering my faux pas, I said, “Sorry. A vendor just confirmed the garland I want is available.”
