Daisy
One glass became two.
I wasn’t counting. I was staring at the counter and methodically not thinking about anything. Not the contract. Not the war room. Not the way he’d looked at me like I was a mildly interesting problem he’d already solved. Not the way my chest had hollowed out when I saw his hand close around hers—
I reached into my bag for a napkin. That was when my fingers suddenly hit something stiff. I pulled it out slowly. It was a white card. Crisp. Clean. Embossed black lettering.
Norman White. White Industries. And his stupid phone number.
I set it on the counter and stared at it. I thought I had left this. I had stood at that reception desk and said, "I don’t need this," and walked out. And yet here it was, sitting between my fingers like my own hand had betrayed me
