Chapter 3

I stared at the price listed for the 1982 Château Lafite Rothschild on the restaurant's wine menu.

Seriously? This dump dared to charge eighty-eight grand for a bottle?

That was a full twenty thousand more than what I paid for the same thing in my own cellar.

"Why's the intern checking out the wine list?" Carmen Knight from planning snatched the menu right out of my hands.

"We've only got two hundred a person for the budget. Just grab some juice, okay?" she said, not missing a beat.

Wanda sat across from me, poking at the peanuts in the starter with a fork.

Today, she was sporting a navy blue shirt.

The cuffs were worn and fraying, and there was a faded red string bracelet on her right wrist.

"Wanda," I whispered, "are you allergic to peanuts?"

Her fork froze. "How do you know I'm allergic to peanuts?"

"I saw you picking them out last time..." I said.

Before I could finish, the waiter showed up and handed me a menu with gold embossing. "Here's the wine list, sir."

The whole table went dead silent.

Wanda slowly looked up at me, like I was about to blow the place up.

"Just browsing," I replied with an awkward chuckle.

I flipped open the menu, letting my finger "accidentally" slide over the priciest page. "Whoa, check out this vintage from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti..."

"Grayson," Wanda called out, giving me a sharp kick under the table.

"Just order beer," she muttered through gritted teeth.

But the waiter had to chime in, "We only have two bottles of this Romanée-Conti left. Should we open one now?"

Twenty pairs of eyes turned to me.

I swear I was just checking the price.

But my stupid muscle memory made me nod.

When the cork popped, our finance guy just collapsed into his chair like his soul had left his body.

*****

When Wanda dragged me into the bathroom hallway, she almost tore the buttons clean off my shirt.

"Nine thousand dollars!" Wanda snarled, shoving me up against the wall. "Do you have any idea that is my rent for three months?"

My back was pressed against the cold marble wall, and I caught a whiff of jasmine drifting from her hair.

She was up on her tiptoes, all bristled up like an angry cat, that little mark by her right eye practically glowing under the lights.

"I... I thought the company would cover it," I stammered.

"Cover my ass!" She punched the wall right next to my head. "Team outings are always split—everyone pays their own way!"

Her ears were burning red with anger, and it suddenly hit me—I was reminded of the stray cat I used to have when I was fifteen.

That cat was just as wild, shredded three of my designer suits, but would always end up curled up by my pillow, sleeping like a baby.

"I'll cover it," I blurted out.

Wanda shot me a look. "With what?" she sneered, then let out a cold laugh. "What, you gonna sell that coffee-drinking pig from your fancy farm?"

In the end, it was Wanda who had to put it on her card.

Watching her hand tremble as she signed, I felt something raw twist in my gut—like swallowing a rusty coin.

*****

The next morning, I made sure to get to the office early and quietly slipped an envelope into Wanda's desk drawer.

But as soon as I turned around, I ran right into the cleaner's suspicious stare. "Hey, kid, what are you sneaking around for?"

"Just leaving a love letter," I replied, deadpan.

Her whole face lit up. "Chasing after Wanda, huh? She's always the last one to leave, working late every night. You should be extra nice to her."

As she was talking, the elevator dinged open.

I darted back to my desk, pretending to study the notes from yesterday's meeting.

Wanda walked in, her dark circles even worse than yesterday.

She tossed her bag onto her desk with a murderous vibe, making Vernon Lowe, who sat next to her, jump and spill his milk all over his keyboard.

"Morning, Wanda..." Vernon mumbled.

"Not morning," she snapped, dropping into her chair. "My credit card bill says I was still up at three in the morning."

She yanked open her drawer.

The air went still for a solid five seconds.

"Who did this?" Wanda demanded, her voice suddenly rising.

She held up the bulging envelope for everyone to see.

The whole office perked up, everyone all ears.

I ducked my head, pretending to tie my shoelaces.

Not that Oxfords even had laces. I cringed at my lame cover.

Wanda suddenly appeared behind me like a ghost, her voice cold as ice. "Grayson, care to explain?"

I looked up, flashing all eight teeth in my signature grin. "Just the money for last night's team dinner."

"Where'd you get all this cash?" Wanda asked, giving me a suspicious look.

"Had to sell my watch for it," I said, wiggling my now-bare wrist. "Not like it was the real deal anyway."

She stared me down for a full ten seconds, then slammed the envelope onto my desk. "Tonight, you're coming with me to meet a client."

*****

I never expected the so-called "client" to be waiting at a street-side joint in the shabbiest part of town.

Wanda strolled in like she'd been here a hundred times, weaving through the greasy plastic tables and chairs before stopping at a table tucked away in the corner.

A middle-aged man in a checkered shirt jumped up right away. "Wanda, who's this?"

"Just an intern from my company," she replied.

She handed over the folder. "Digby, I finished the ad proposal you wanted."

I was just zoning out at the menu, staring at the "Stir-Fried Pork Rib—5 dollars," until Wanda kicked me under the table. "Say hello," she hissed.

"Hi, Digby," I blurted out, instinctively reaching for my business card holder—only to find it empty.

Digby grinned as he poured us some beer. "You look like a sharp kid. So, what does your family do?"

"We raise cows," I said, taking the old, yellowed glass. "But lately, all our pigs have dropped dead."

Wanda nearly choked on her beer and pinched my thigh hard.

Three beers in, Digby leaned over and dropped his voice. "Wanda, about your dad's situation—"

"Digby!" Wanda cut him off, almost snapping, her eyes flicking to me. "I'll go get us something else."

After she left, Digby let out a heavy sigh. "That kid's got a stubborn streak. Won't breathe a word about her dad needing money for surgery."

I tightened my grip on my glass.

*****

The next morning, Wanda's beat-up old laptop mysteriously disappeared.

In its place sat a brand-new, top-spec MacBook Pro.

There was a sticky note on the keyboard: [Thanks for the beer last night.]

The whole office practically exploded.

"It's totally a secret admirer!" the receptionist squealed, nearly jumping out of her seat. "This setup costs over twenty grand!"

Wanda gave the office a death glare before her eyes finally landed on me.

I was busy playing Minesweeper on my work laptop, a sad cup of convenience store coffee sitting next to me.

"Grayson," Wanda called out.

"Yeah?" I said, letting the whole screen blow up with mines on purpose. "Wanda, your new laptop looks amazing."

She narrowed her eyes. "Did you... see anyone suspicious last night?"

"Just the cleaning lady wiping down the desks," I replied, blinking innocently.

"Oh, and she said there've been a bunch of thieves around lately—ones who only go after busted old laptops," I added, still playing dumb.

Suddenly, Wanda's laptop chimed.

The screen lit up, and the lock screen was an old, faded photo.

A girl in a graduation gown was hugging a man in hospital clothes, with "Hang in there, Dad!" scrawled in the background.

I quickly looked away, only to meet Andrew's meaningful gaze through the glass door.

He was holding up his phone, showing an incoming call from my dad.