Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,10
years ago when we were kids.
And the fact that Oliver had actually sent chocolate-covered strawberries was… well, it was kind of hilarious and a little bit outrageous, and definitely made my afternoon.
I’d see what I could do. I didn’t think I’d be successful, but at least I could call Oliver back and let him know I’d tried my best.
Mr. Calloway was in his office—the door ajar, not closed—so I got up and poked my head in.
He looked up and raised his eyebrows.
That meant it was fine to come in, so I did.
I have a strange relationship with my boss. Because I’m such good friends with Everly, I see him socially sometimes. That man is stoic, and although I couldn’t call him friendly, he is pleasant enough to be around. But at work, he’s all business. He doesn’t talk to me very much, just expects me to do my job and do it well. Which I do, so things work out fine.
“Sorry to bother you, but Camden Cox’s office called earlier. Mr. Cox would like to set up a meeting.”
“Regarding?”
Surprised by his answer, I stumbled over my words a little. I’d expected him to say no without any further questions. “Um… it was… oh, a potential investment opportunity.”
With his attention still on his computer screen, he clicked his mouse. “When?”
“He said as soon as your schedule allows.” I swiped through his calendar on my phone. “You don’t really have any openings in the next several weeks.”
“What about in Vegas?”
“Well, there’s about a thirty-minute window after your morning meeting on Saturday. Everly will still be at the spa.”
“That works.”
“Okay, I’ll let them know.”
I went back to my desk, pleased that I could call Oliver with good news. Or partially good news. I didn’t know if a thirty-minute window in Las Vegas on Saturday was quite what Camden Cox was after, but it was better than a hard no.
Now it was time to enjoy my little bribe.
4
Sophie
A kid on a bike rode down the sidewalk as I pulled up outside my dad’s house. The grass in front of his two-story Craftsman was getting long. I’d have to see if his neighbors’ teenage son would mow it for him again. I wished I could just hire a landscaping service, but I wasn’t in a position to afford it.
I should have been in a position to afford it. But that was another story.
I grabbed the groceries I’d picked up after work and went to the front door, then knocked a few times to let him know I was here.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, poking my head inside. “You decent?”
His gravelly voice came from the kitchen. “Depends.”
I went in and shut the door behind me. “Depends on what?”
“Who’s here.”
“It’s just me.”
“Then yeah, I’m decent enough.”
I took the groceries to the kitchen and set them on the counter. Dad sat at the table, his hair damp, dressed in a dark blue robe and plaid slippers. The deep lines around his eyes and across his forehead crinkled as he hunched over a crossword puzzle.
His gaze lifted as I started putting groceries away. “I already ordered groceries this week.”
“I know. I just grabbed a few extra things I thought you might like.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “There better not be any kale.”
I laughed. “No, you’ve made your feelings about kale extremely clear.”
“It’s a fuckin’ scam. Goddamn kids trying to say everyone has to eat kale or they’ll die of a fuckin’ heart attack. It’s not a miracle food. Now bacon, there’s a miracle food.”
I held up a package of bacon. “And look what I have here.”
“That’s my girl.”
He put his pencil down and slowly stood. Watching him try to get around tugged at my heartstrings. Once upon a time, Melvin Abbott had been a tough-as-nails dockworker and fisherman with a barrel chest, tree-trunk thighs, and hands that were as big as my face. But a lifetime of hard physical work had left its mark. He’d needed three major surgeries in the last ten years, and none of them had been able to fully repair the nerve damage that had left his legs half useless.
But because he was Melvin Abbott, the most stubborn man on the planet, he still walked. Out of necessity, he’d finally given in and gotten a cane. I had a feeling he’d need to graduate to a walker soon. That was a fight I wasn’t looking forward to. He’d tried to punch the last doctor who’d told him he was headed for a wheelchair.