Page 115 of Billion Dollar Dispute

I set my bag down and pull out my phone to double-check, but a familiar ache rises in my throat, catching me off guard.

Harvey:Please call me.

Inhaling deeply, I focus on my emails. Suddenly, Mr. Baird’s voice booms through the room. “Sorry, I’m late. I just got in from a flight.” I jump at the sudden noise, my heart racing, and quickly slip my phone into my purse.

“That’s okay. How was your flight?”

“Long,” he says, already moving toward the door to his office. He opens it and steps aside, gesturing for me to follow. “Come in here. I have about forty-five minutes to go through this.”

Straight to the point. I thought I knew what blunt was, but that was before I met Mr. Baird.

I take a seat, and he begins explaining what he wants. I share my concerns about suppliers, and he’s willing to use mine, covering the shipping and time costs. The availability of the high-end material means I need to secure it now before it becomes unavailable.

“How did you come across me?” I ask.

“I attended Oliver Lincoln's Gallery Party.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, we must have missed one another amidst the chaos of the night.”

But then again, I was also preoccupied with Harvey.

My heart aches at the memory of that night. It was magical… Nothing like I expected from him. Then again, nothing about Harvey is predictable. I get lost in a daydream of how handsome he looked that night until Mr. Baird speaks again.

“I wasn’t there long,” he says, his elbows resting on the table, hands loosely folded in front of him. His steady, intent gaze on me.

I hold my pen above my notebook, ready to take notes. “Could you share your ideas for the event?”

After outlining his vision and requesting a few last-minute changes, I nod. “I’ll prepare a draft of the design and email it to you for approval, along with the updated quote.”

He gathers his things. “If that’s all, I need to get going. Thanks for meeting with me.”

Before leaving, I pause. “Thank you for arranging the room upgrade,” I say, offering a polite smile.

He nods, a hint of warmth in his response. “Anything that a Lincoln asks, I will always try to make work.”

My lip’s part, and I’m about to correct him?that I’m not a Lincoln?but he quickly stands and says goodbye, already moving to answer his phone. I’m stunned by how much he wants to work with me, but also clear he holds the Lincolns in high regard. I did too, until recently.

Well, one in particular…

After scribbling a few more notes, I head back to my room and change into black leggings and a cream sweater, ready to explore the streets of D.C. The grand, tree-lined sidewalks are so beautiful that I end up walking longer than I planned. I stumble upon the Lincoln Memorial and wonder if this is a sign or just another way to torture me. It feels like I can’t escape him.

I grab a smoothie from a cute cafe and continue walking, passing by restaurants that look good.

There's so much art and so many murals here. It's nice to explore a new city, just me. Eventually, I start to feel tired and head back to the hotel. I video call Molly to check in. “How’s everything going?”

“Chad just finished his homework. Now they’re playing while I make spaghetti. How’s it there?”

I smile, thinking about the meeting. “It’s perfect. The meeting went well. He wants to move forward with all our suppliers.”

“He’s covering all the costs?” she splutters.

“Yes.” Giggling, I remember my own disbelief when he said the same thing. “I’m drafting a design and quote to send to him tonight. Once he approves, I’ll email our suppliers.”

“Don’t work all night,” Molly warns in her sweet, motherly voice.

“I just came back from a long walk. I haven't worked the whole time.”

“You promise?”

---