Page 87 of Tempt Me
He was right. It was like poking a cake with a toothpick to see if it was cooked in the center. Bribing Rhiannon hadn’t been the best move, but I knew something wasn’t right with Moo-Lah. I wouldn’t try to bribe Pavel Thakor. A billionaire like him wouldn’t be tempted by cash. However, I could talk to him. Surely, there’d be no harm in that.
“Thanks, Charles. I’ll give it a try.”
Sam slid another blue piece across the table, and I clicked it into the piece I’d been trying to match.
They fit together perfectly.
26
Jamila: You’re coming back to work tomorrow morning, right?
Jamila: Or do I have to cuss out another reporter to get my PR consultant back?
I hadn’t answeredher texts on Memorial Day. Instead, I’d succumbed to my guilt from blowing off the congressman’s picnic and Mother’s Sunday brunch by asking Telma to teach me how to make an omelet. When we’d finished, mine weren’t as gorgeous as hers, but they didn’t crack down the middle and the filling stayed (mostly) inside.
I sent Telma home early, promising to have the kitchen spotless by the time she returned to work on Tuesday morning. Then I served a holiday brunch to my parents and Sam.
Sam didn’t attach a lot of emotion or attention to food, but she dutifully ate her omelet and shared some egg and vegetables, but no cheese, with Bilbo. Charles pronounced his omelet delicious and praised my work. Mother pursed her lips but said nothing about culinary school or my future.
After cleaning the kitchen, I scanned social media and found something that pushed my heart up into my throat.
I’d followed Pavel Thakor’s entire leadership team on social media. On Sunday afternoon, one of the fools posted a photo and tagged the location as a golf course in Cabo San Lucas. The caption read,Best #leadershipretreat ever,anda foursome huddled together, longnecks in hand, in front of a towering palm tree. Standing next to Moo-Lah’s CEO, his nose pink from the sun, was Winslow Keating-Ashworth.
My mother had drilled into me that ladies didn’t swear, but I let a few choice words fly when I saw it. Then I made a plan.
Tuesday morningwhile I dressed for work, I responded to Jamila’s text.
I’ll be in a little late, but I’m on my way
Instead of taking an Uber to Jamilow, I asked the driver to drop me off at Moo-Lah’s building, which was just down the road. But as our dot approached the destination on the map, I started to second-guess myself. My last plan, the one where I’d tried to entrap Rhiannon, hadn’t worked out so well.
I looked down at my lavender jacket and purple plaid Prada skirt. It had looked stylish and authoritative this morning, almost like something Jamila would wear to one of her power meetings. Now it looked like what a socialite would wear to a garden party. No one would take me seriously.
“A hundred bucks for your sunglasses,” I said to the driver. They looked more unrelenting than my oversized, pink-tinted ones.
“A hundred bucks?” He snorted. “They’re Maui Jims.”
“Five hundred, and throw in that scarf.” I pointed to the gray paisley fabric draped over the front seat.
After I’d Moo-Lahed him the cash, I got out of the car and shook out the scarf. I took a cautious sniff. It smelled like cardboard pine tree air freshener and leather seats. I set it over my hair and wound it around my neck Grace Kelly–style. Sliding on the dark-tinted aviators, I checked my reflection in the front window of the Moo-Lah building. All right, I could be any age.
I pushed through the revolving door and marched to the front desk. Roughening my voice, I said, “Audrey Jones to see Mr. Thakor.”
The security guard raised her eyebrows doubtfully. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Of course I do. Do you think I’d waste my time coming all the way out here if I didn’t?” I set my hands on my hips in a power pose. “Announce me, please.”
She narrowed her eyes but picked up her handset and spoke to someone. I held my breath. Would my mother’s name inspire enough fear to admit me to the executive floor?
“They say you’re not on his calendar, but if I can verify your ID, I’m supposed to let you upstairs.”
ID? Nuts! I thought about lying and saying I’d left it in the car, but maybe I could bluff my way over this hurdle. I slid my license out of my wallet and passed it over.
“This says Natalie Jones.” She eyed it.
“I go by my middle name, Audrey. It’s right there.” I held my breath, hoping she didn’t know my mother had taken Charles’s name when they’d married and was actually a Hayes, not a Jones.
“All right, Ms. Jones.”
