CHAPTER 12

HAZEL

"Really? You want to play the sick card? Why?"

I launched myself onto Betty before she could finish the sentence, and we both went down in a graceless heap onto the cold floor.

"Hey! You are heavy, get off me!"

She rolled me to the side. I was laughing too hard to resist, ribs aching with it, the two of us sprawled on the floor like we had absolutely nowhere better to be.

Which, at the moment, we didn't.

When the laughter finally smoothed over into breathless quiet, Betty turned her head toward the ceiling.

"What if he doesn't call?"

I stared up at the ceiling too, hands folded behind my head. Today was either day ten or eleven of Operation Get Elvis; I'd lost precise count, but the momentum was there. I could feel it. This morning, I'd called in sick, which was either brilliant or unhinged, depending on how it played out.

The theory was simple: if I had left even the smallest impression on him, he would call. And if he called, I would know it wasn't nothing.

"You're smiling," Betty said. "You're actually enjoying this."

I opened my mouth to respond, my phone rang.

We both looked at the screen at the same time.

Elvis Laurent, incoming call.

"That's your boss" Betty was already reaching across me, fingers going for the answer button. I caught her wrist.

"I am sick, Betty. A sick person doesn't lunge for their phone on the first ring."

I gave her a look that communicated exactly how much was riding on the next thirty seconds. "Don't worry. He'll call again."

The first ring died.

A beat of silence.

The second ring came in.

I turned to her with the most serene expression I owned.

"Shiii," I whispered.

I picked up, immediately dropping my voice to something soft and fragile and thoroughly convincing.

Elvis: You called in sick. How are you faring?

Me: Good morning, sir. My body aches so badly. The cramps should have been gone by now; today is day four. I don't know what's happening. My temperature is a little high, too.

Across from me, Betty had one hand pressed flat against the top of her head and the other clamped over her mouth. Her eyes were enormous. She was mouthing words I couldn't read, entirely undone by what she was witnessing.

Elvis: Sorry about that. My chef prepares a spicy dish that helps with cramps. It worked well for my ex-wife. Send me your address.

In my head, a full orchestra played.

Me: Of course, sir. Thank you. Is there anything you need me to work on in the meantime?

Elvis: For Pete's sake, Hazel, concentrate on getting better. Be good.

The call ended before I could say another word.

I set the phone down on the floor. Then I stood up, and I danced, an unashamed, full-bodied, wiggling celebration that involved my hips, and my shoulders.

"Hazel!" Betty was on her feet too, half-laughing and half-horrified. "I almost believed you were actually sick. That was an Oscar performance."

"I know." I shimmied. "And now I get to enjoy a hot meal from Elvis Laurent's personal kitchen." Another shimmy. "Delivered to my door."

Betty covered her face with both hands.

####

Day Twelve.

Betty had lobbied hard for a second sick day. She made reasonable arguments. I heard them. I went to work anyway.

The soup had arrived yesterday afternoon, someone at the door with a covered pot and a polite nod, nothing more.

It was spicy and rich, and I ate every last drop of it alongside brown rice, sitting on my kitchen floor in pyjamas.

This morning, an official email arrived: an emergency meeting at 9 a.m.

I walked in five minutes late.

The office floor was quiet, with only the receptionist and the security guards at their posts; the rest of the staff had already gathered in the meeting room. The projector flickered to life as I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Elvis looked up.

Our eyes met, briefly, barely a second, and then he looked away.

I found my seat, but not before my gaze moved over him once more. The tie was loosened. The shirt untucked at ease, my eyes dropped lower and found them: sneakers.

I pressed my lips together and looked down at the table. This man had gone and made himself a snack on a Thursday morning.

Anna was giving me a look from across the room. I ignored it magnificently.

"This is Donald Laurent, my son, as some of you may know." Elvis placed a hand briefly on the younger man's shoulder, and something in his expression opened up, just for a moment of pride.

"He'll be joining us as COO. I trust you'll make his transition a smooth one."

I studied Donald. Handsome enough, good bone structure, easy posture, the kind of face that photographed well but basic.

Elvis was a different category entirely.

My mind drifted briefly to Jarvis. I'd asked him, more than once, what had happened between him and his father. Every time, he'd changed the subject or gone quiet in that way that told me the answer existed but wasn't mine to have yet.

Whatever it was, it lived in the space between them like a wall neither one had gotten around to dismantling.

The meeting moved on. Female colleagues adjusted their postures and laughed a little too readily at Donald's remarks. I kept my eyes mostly forward.

Except I was starting to notice something.

Elvis was looking everywhere in that room except at me.

Which, when I thought about it, was its own kind of answer.

The meeting ended. People filtered out in twos and threes. Anna had cornered Donald near the door. I let the room clear, then moved toward Elvis, who was gathering his things with the focused efficiency of a man who had places to be.

"Good morning, sir."

He nodded and started walking toward his office.

I picked up his iPad from the table and followed.

He stepped inside, reached for the remote, and drew the blinds. Still not looking at me.

I set the iPad on the desk and waited while he moved around the room doing nothing in particular, searching for something only he could see.

"Are you fit to resume?" he finally said.

"I'm okay." I kept my voice warm. "Thank you so much for the soup, it really helped."

Another nod.

"May I speak freely, sir?"

"Go on, Hazel."

I moved a step closer.

"You look so good in that outfit." I let the words land for 3 seconds before adding, simply: "You're very handsome, sir."

I watched it land.

His body went still, which caught him off guard.

He looked at me then.

"Are you flirting with me, Hazel?"