Back in the private room, I realized–there were zero signs of any kid ever being here.
That girl’s supposed to be five.
There should at least be a backpack or a toy.
But no. Just Mr. Harrison’s briefcase sitting there like a damn prop.
“Come on, Lauren. One more drink,” he said, holding out a glass.
I batted it away.
“Yeah, I’m good. No more drinks.”
His face stiffened immediately.
Daniel slid over and threw his arm around me.
“Babe, just go with it. He’s this close to booking the ten–day luxury wellness retreat.”
“If I close this, I get top sales bonus for the month.”
So that was it.
Daniel dragged me here just to sweet–talk this creep into spending money.
And the worst part?
I knew, back when I was helping Daniel part–time as his assistant, that Mr. Harrison had a thing for me.
The kind of guy who stares too long, smiles too wide.
But Daniel?
Daniel got me drunk and practically handed me over.
Unreal.
“Alright then,” I said coolly.
I opened my contacts, tapped a name, and suddenly a woman’s face filled the screen.
“Jesus Christ!”
Mr. Harrison nearly fell out of his chair.
I smiled, sweet as syrup.
“Hey, Mrs. Harrison! Heard you couldn’t make it tonight, just wanted to say hi real quick.”
Her face dropped the moment she realized I was here too.
21:54
Two Chances, One Bullet: How His “Next Life” Promise Failed
51.2%
Chapter 12
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From the few times I met her. I already knew Mrs. Harrison was the jealous, paranoid type.
The kind of wife who’d go through her husband’s phone while he’s in the shower.
“Ma’am, please don’t get the wrong idea,” I said innocently.
“I just got out of the hospital and got dragged here. I honestly don’t feel well.”
“Just thought maybe you could talk to him for me?”
Just like that, she started screaming.
“Harrison, what the hell is going on?!”
I had zero interest in watching the rest of their domestic drama play out.
Daniel was calling my name behind me, but I didn’t stop. I grabbed my bag and walked out.
“You take care of it?”
I turned and there he was–Red Hair. Still waiting by the door.
I nodded.
“Yeah. Thanks again. Next meal’s on me.”
This place was basically reservation–only, the kind of spot where money and status talk.
Mr. Harrison had to be a premium member here.
Probably thought that gave him license.
Luckily, Red Hair helped me get his wife’s number.
“You’ve got more game than I thought,” he said, lighting a cigarette with a smirk.
“And you’ve got worse taste than I expected.”
“Carter’s daughter,” he added, shaking his head.
“Why does it take you so damn long to ditch a loser?”
21:54
