Andrew Cross grinned. He’d been expecting the phone call. “I recognize the number, Denise. What can I do for you?” “I have to ask you a personal question.” “Have to, Denise? If there’s someone holding a gun to your head give me a cue and I’ll send a SWAT team around.” Here was one complaint about Denise. Everything was overly dramatized. He was a man. No drama. His motto. Denise sighed. “I should have known you’d be a dick.” Andrew quirked a brow at his phone, grinned, shrugged, and pressed the end button. He laid the phone on his desk and kept his eyes on the second hand sweeping its way around the face of the clock. He made himself let the phone sound three times. “We were cut off, Andrew. I’ve a question to ask.” “We weren’t cut off, Denise. I hung up. Your first words need to be an apology or I hang up again and I don’t answer when you call back.” He imagined Denise having a near aneurism of fury. “I’m sorry about your parents, Denise. They were lovely people. You received the flowers?”
