Strike Me Down - Mindy Mejia Page 0,3
crossing the final bridge to Parrish’s building, Nora reached into her blazer pocket to grab a few folded bills.
“You’re not still giving her money.”
Nora didn’t bother replying; they’d had this fight too many times. She checked for security guards as they crossed over the intersection, then grinned at the woman lumbering slowly next to the glass.
“Hi, Rose.”
“Briefcase lady!” Rose, an elderly homeless woman, straightened up when she saw who’d stopped in front of her.
Nora shook the older woman’s hand, pressing the bills into her palm.
“You busted that heart out of your briefcase yet?” Rose asked the same urgent question of every passerby on the skyway, until she got locked out of Parrish’s building and headed to the shelter at night. The same went for purses, laptops, and backpacks; Rose was on a mission to liberate all the hearts in downtown Minneapolis. The building’s security left her to it as long as she didn’t panhandle, which was why Nora made sure to be discreet.
“Any day now, Rose.” Nora touched her arm, winked, and kept walking, while Corbett scrolled through his email at her side.
“She’s a lush.”
“Said the Irishman.”
“Doesn’t take Irish eyes to see that one keeps her heart in a bottle.” Then Corbett stopped in his tracks, almost causing a collision with the person behind him, and cursed at his phone.
“What is it?” Nora checked her watch again. She had less than fifteen minutes now. “I have to go.”
“We both do.” He stalked to the elevator banks and shook his head. “Change of plans.”
Nora followed him into the elevator and checked her email to find a meeting request for a new client. There was no company name, but it was flagged as a white-glove prospect, which meant all available partners were required to attend. “In ten minutes? Are they joking?”
“Apparently it’s an emergency.”
“Whose emergency?”
Before they could discuss it further the elevator doors opened to reveal a near frantic Rajesh, their newest partner in the firm.
“Ah, thank God you’re both back. Jim is already in the executive conference room and the client will be here any moment. Please.” Rajesh waved them out of the elevator and bustled behind them down the hallway. “We’ll have an hour. I’ll do the introduction and then we’ll hear what they need. Can you imagine if we took it? What an opportunity. They’re famously private, closed door, not a single equity offering as far as my sources can tell.”
“Who is it?” Nora asked, but Rajesh had already doubled back toward reception to welcome the mystery company who’d just hijacked Corbett’s lunch and prevented Nora from going to Strike today. She gritted her teeth as they stepped into the conference room where an admin was laying out settings of spotless china.
“How did the seminars go?” Jim asked, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table.
“Fine. The usual crop of new accountants.”
“Our bright future.” Jim smiled. “I’m sure you both showed them the way.”
“We always do.” Corbett sat down and pulled the tray of biscotti closer to him.
The admin set a cup of steaming green tea in front of Nora along with a meeting agenda that made her spine straighten with a shock of excitement.
Strike, Inc.
She stared at the client name at the top of the paper and ran a quick hand over her hair, smoothing any loose strands back into the chignon. Despite all these months of attending classes, she’d never worked up the nerve to actually speak to Logan. Now an entire host of nerves flip-flopped under her skin. When Rajesh ushered their guest into the room, Nora closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, but the voice behind her wasn’t the one she’d expected. The deep, crisp notes filling the air didn’t belong to Logan Russo.
Nora turned and saw a trim, handsome man in a full-vested suit. He shook Jim’s hand with a measured intensity, and the silver sprinkled through his dark hair matched his watchband and tie, all combining to form one gleaming, deliberate package. It was a man she hadn’t laid eyes on in months, who—in fact—she’d counted on never seeing again.
When he pivoted to Nora, his smile didn’t alter the slightest fraction, but the light in his eyes changed. He remembered her, too. As she struggled to understand what was happening, he offered her a perfectly groomed hand.
“Gregg Abbott, Strike.”
GREGG
SHE DIDN’T say Nice to meet you or even You look familiar. None of those lying Midwestern pleasantries from Nora Trier. She met my eyes steadily, shook my hand with