Chapter 8: Gold Digger

I didn't text Jason back.

I drove to High Street with the blue binder on the passenger seat.

My office was above a bakery. The whole stairwell smelled like cinnamon.

I had a client at eleven.

A bride and her mother, there to taste cake samples and pick a color for the napkins.

My assistant had already set out six little plates and the swatch book.

The bride was twenty-six and nervous. Her mother was a retired schoolteacher with a big laugh.

I had planned this wedding for nine months.

I sat down across from them, smiled, and opened the swatch book.

"So. Blush or champagne?"

We got as far as the second swatch.

Then the door at the top of the stairs banged open.

Pamela walked in first.

Pearl studs, cream cardigan, her good handbag on her arm.

Jason's sister was right behind her, holding up her phone.

She probably was.

My assistant stood up.

"Ma'am, we have clients."

Pamela didn't look at her.

She looked at me.

"Two hundred thousand dollars," she said.

The bride's fork stopped halfway to her mouth.

"Pamela," I said. "This isn't the place."

"Isn't it? It's your business. Your little business."

She walked to my desk and set her handbag down on the swatch book.

"My son came to me in tears last night. Do you know what you texted him?"

"I know exactly what I texted him."

"You're demanding two hundred thousand dollars from our family company."

"From your son."

"You're trying to take money that Andrea's father put into my husband's company. Money that saved forty-one jobs."

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