Page 3 of The Stipulation
“I am at peace,” I insist. “I am thriving. I am celibate and powerful. I want to focus on my work right now.”
Jenny snorts. “Liar. You’re horny, but stubborn.”
“I’m telling you, I’m focusing on work right now,” I maintain primly. “Right now, I’m restoring a Titian masterpiece that was over-cleaned in the eighties. The original glaze has been stripped off in some places, and I’m trying to coax warmth back into the flesh tones using pigments and brushwork that Titian wouldhave approved of. So, I do not have time for mediocre sex with emotionally unavailable men.”
Serena lifts her glass. “Honestly?”
I nod calmly.
And Jenny sighs dramatically. “It’s such a shame. You could have anyone.”
I roll my eyes, but before I can open my mouth and retort, my cell phone vibrates on the table. Glancing down, I see that it is an unknown number with an international code.
“Ugh,” Jenny says. “Just ignore it. If it’s important, they’ll text you.”
I hesitate. She’s probably right, but the phone keeps buzzing insistently, and something tells me I should take the call.
“I’ll just quickly check,” I say, sliding out of the booth. “It could be a potential client.”
“Or a scam,” Jenny shouts.
“Tell them we’re not interested in timeshares,” Serena calls after me. “Or Nigerian Princes. Or getting rid of the fake virus from your computer.”
I cross the bar, shaking my head and laughing to myself. I open the heavy door and slip outside. The noise drops off sharply as I step into the cold night air, and I can feel it sobering me up instantly. I suddenly wish my top had sleeves. The bar’s door thumps shut behind me, muffling the music to a faint thud.
I try to ignore the cold as I hit the accept button on my phone.
Chapter
Two
JO
“Hello?”
“Miss Jo-Anne Louise Button?” It’s a man’s voice, calm, professional, and with a strong American accent.
“Yes?” I confirm, slightly intrigued. I can now rule out the Nigerian Prince.
“My name is Gavin Hampstead, and I’m a solicitor based in New York.”
But definitely a scam, and it’s too cold to be hanging out here chatting with scammers. “I think you have the wrong number. Goodbye.”
“No, I don’t.” he comes back quickly. “I’m calling regarding your father.”
That lands like a punch, and for a couple of seconds, I freeze with shock. Then fury takes over. Scammers really don’t care who they hurt. All my life, I’ve desperately wanted a father, butnever had one, and this guy is using that painful fact to try to con me. My voice is frosty. “My father? I don’t have a father, Mr. Hampstead. What is this really about?”
There’s a pause, but it’s not awkward or slimy, even though it should be. It’s measured and calm. And as much as I tell myself to end the call, that it’s just a scam, somehow, it doesn’t feel like it’s a scam.
“You have a father, and I’m afraid he is gravely ill,” the mysterious caller says. “He’s asked to see you. Immediately.”
I laugh, but it comes out brittle. “This isn’t funny.”
“I assure you, Miss Button, I’m not joking.”
“My father is dead,” I say. “Or imaginary, depending on who you ask.”
There’s another pause. This one feels kind of charged, like I am starting to believe this guy, and he feels it too.
