My Family's Bonus Was a $5 Million IOU? Cute I Took the Million-Follower Brand Enjoy the Crash novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Lobby

Mitch meets Willa in the lobby while Trent tries to drag him back inside, and Marge's truck takes her out; Mitch says he sat in this building for three hours on October 24 and was told the writer had quit.

The lobby of the hotel was all gold lamps and wet marble.

A man stood by the front desk with snow on the shoulders of his dark coat.

He was tall, with close-cut dark hair, and his sleeves were pushed up, though it was December.

A pale burn scar ran along the inside of his right forearm.

He looked up from his phone and saw me coming through the ballroom doors in my coat.

I knew his name from a signature line.

I had never once seen his face.

"Willa Whiting?" he said.

"Yes."

"Mitch Callow." He did not offer his hand. He looked at my face for a long moment. "I flew in this afternoon to surprise your company at the party."

"You signed my contract at ten past nine," I said. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Neither did your brother. I told him in the car."

The ballroom doors banged open behind me.

Trent came out fast, with the sports car keys still in his fist and his face red.

"Mitch!" he said, and he laughed his big laugh. "There you are. We have a table for you. Come in, come in."

He put a hand on Mitch's arm.

Mitch looked at the hand, and Trent took it back.

"My sister's not well tonight," Trent said, lower. "Willa's been under a lot of strain. She said some things in there. Mom has a doctor she sees."

"I'm standing right here," I said.

"Willa, give me your phone."

"No."

"It has the company logins on it. It belongs to Whiting Home."

"It's my phone, Trent. I bought it in March."

He reached for my hand, and Mitch stepped in between us.

He did it quietly. He just stood where Trent's reach ended.

"Mr. Whiting," Mitch said. "Is this the woman who writes Porch Light?"

Trent's smile went tight at the corners.

"She's one of our freelancers. Look, there's a lot going on tonight. Let's get you a drink and I'll explain all of this."

"A freelancer," Mitch said.

"She does captions."

"I signed a license this morning with Willa Whiting as owner of the mark." Mitch said it slowly, to the lobby in general. "Your lawyers told mine that she holds it."

"It's a technicality. A family thing."

"It's twenty dollars and a form," I said.

Somebody laughed behind the front desk and turned it into a cough.

Trent looked at the desk clerk, then at the people drifting out of the ballroom to see what the shouting was, and he lowered his voice again.

"Willa. Mom wants to talk to you. Come back in and we can fix this tonight."

"With a repayment plan."

"With whatever you want."

I looked at my brother in his good suit.

He had been given a sports car about half an hour ago, and he still thought that was the thing I would be angry about.

"There's a truck out back," I said. "I'm going to get in it."

Marge's headlights swept across the glass doors outside.

"Willa," Mitch said.

I stopped.

He had not moved from where he stood between me and Trent.

"I won't ask you to stay," he said. "But your license says that the owner of the mark can end it on any day she chooses. Please don't end it before you hear what I came here to say."

"Which is what?"

"That I've been trying to meet you for two years."

Trent made a noise behind him.

"I flew to this city on my own once before," Mitch said. "I would like you to hear that from me and not from anyone in your family."

My thumb was pressing on the old wax scar.

"Mitch," Trent said. "This isn't the place."

"Which time?" I said.

Mitch turned his head.

"You said once before," I said. "When?"

"October twenty-fourth."

My stomach dropped.

"That was my day off," I said.

"I know now what that means to you." He kept his eyes on mine. "That afternoon I sat in a chair in the lobby of your building for three hours. I had flowers for the writer, which was ridiculous. I asked at the front desk for her by name."

"Mitch," Trent said. "Come on."

"Your brother came down at the end of the third hour," Mitch said. "He told me the writer had quit."

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