Page 64 of Hard Limits

“She isn’t answering her phone, and he’s asking to speak with her boss.”

Brax crossed his office in long strides and pulled open the adjoining door. Sure enough, Meera wasn’t at her desk. She must have gone for lunch. At least she hadn’t heard his verbal altercation with Carissa, but what the hell was he meant to say to her father? And why was he calling? She’d always given the impression that they didn’t get along.

But he couldn’t just ignore the man. He needed to make a good impression. Thank fuck he hadn’t swallowed that extra finger of Scotch.

“Put him through.” A pause. A beep. “Braxton Vale speaking.”

“This is Bill Adams. I understand you know my daughter?”

Not as well as Brax would like. “Indeed. She works here as my assistant.”

“See, we haven’t been able to get ahold of Meera for a few days. She’s normally real good about calling.”

“It’s possible that she might have had other things on her mind. We’ve had a busy few weeks, work-wise.”

“So she’s okay? Can I speak with her?”

“She’s perfectly okay. She brought me coffee half an hour ago, but she’s not at her desk right now. I think she stepped out to get lunch.”

“Could you ask her to call us? Her momma worries.”

“I’ll certainly do that.”

Instead of hanging up, Bill Adams carried on talking. “She’s doing okay there? In her job?”

“She’s the best assistant I’ve ever had. Goal-driven and organised.”

“Good, good. Between you and me, we were worried about her while she was at college. She found it hard to settle, and then she wanted to go travelling around Europe. Europe! With all this great country has to offer, who needs to go to Europe?”

“Learning about a different culture can be a valuable experience.”

“She already backpacked around South America after high school. Spent a whole year picking macadamia nuts and teaching kids to speak English.” Bill Adams chuckled. “I’m just glad things are working out.”

“I’ll remind her to call you.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

Not quite what Brax had expected from Meera’s father, but Bill Adams seemed a nice enough fellow. He wrote a note to himself. Meera call father. Maybe he’d have that extra drink after all? Meeting the parents was something to celebrate, even if it was only a brief chat over the phone. Had he come across okay? Not too garbled? He’d gotten off on the wrong foot with Madeleine Dunn from the start, not that there was a right foot with that woman. Carissa’s mother was a bitch, genetics at work. For the first five years of his marriage, he’d received a Christmas card addressed to Braydon. Then the cards had stopped. Had she ever known his name, or was she on some permanent passive-aggressive power trip? Grey had a minor in psychology—maybe Brax should ask him?

He checked the internet and found that Carissa hadn’t been lying about the delays at Newark. Whatever was going on with the system, there were issues at JFK as well. He fired off a message to his lawyer, informing him of the delay and telling him not to bother coming in early. An email arrived from the real estate agent who was assisting with the property search—had Brax arrived at a decision yet? A yawn came as he considered his options. Was a week without sleep finally catching up with him? The warehouse was a definite no due to zoning issues, and Justin didn’t like the smaller property either, the one Brax had been most hopeful about. The old mansion… That was a possibility, but also a money pit. He wasn’t certain he’d have the funds after the divorce to do it justice. Plus it was a little way out of the city, more secluded but less convenient. Although it did have the benefit of space. Forested land, overgrown gardens, an old horse barn. It was the type of place he’d snap up as an addition to his portfolio, but not the centrepiece.

Keep looking, he wrote back.

CHAPTER 27

BRAX

The ringing phone woke him.

Why didn’t Meera answer it?

Right, because it was his personal phone.

And the room was also dark.

What the fuck? How long had he been asleep? What time was it? He’d made it to the couch in his office, and someone had put a blanket over him—probably Meera before she went home. He squinted at the phone, his vision blurred because he’d forgotten to remove his contacts. Six a.m., and Alexa was calling. Damn, it was too early for another lecture. He let the brat go to voicemail, switched to his glasses, and then saw that Carissa had sent a text ten minutes ago. She was on a plane, finally. This time tomorrow, he’d be a free man. A poor man, but a free one.

Another text to his lawyer, and he closed his eyes again. Should he sell the apartment in San Francisco? If he did, he’d be able to buy a place in LA. But if Phoenix progressed as he hoped, he’d open at a second location in San Francisco in a year or two, and then he’d need a place to stay. Maybe he could rent the apartment out for a while? Or stay there with Meera for a month to decompress first? No, he wanted to take Meera to Paris. There’d be no stay at the Ritz, but two weeks in a nice hotel was doable. Somewhere near the Montmartre. The Montmartre was Brax’s favourite part of the city, an eclectic mix of old and new, of gaudy and traditional. The Sacré-Cœur and the Moulin Rouge. The vineyard in Rue Saint-Vincent and the art of the Belle Époque. The cobbled streets. The view from the top of the hill. The funiculaire taking visitors down to the red-light district of Pigalle.

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