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“I don’t like the sound of that. I hope you don’t have bronchitis.”
I smooth his hair off his forehead several times, and he didn’t stop me. Foster’s cheeks are flushed, and his skin is clammy.
“I should’ve listened to you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’re admitting that?”
“Shush, Paige.”
“Did you ask Mark to cancel your meeting?”
“No. I thought I could make it. William Jackson is probably in the conference room already.”
“I’ll handle it.”
Foster tries to sit up but flops back down onto the pillow, groaning as he rubs at his eyes.
“You have no idea what the meeting is about.”
“And you can’t go in there. You can barely sit up, let alone stand. I’ll handle it.”
Standing up, I head for the door, asking Mark to keep an eye on Foster while I deal with William Jackson. Foster was right—I have no idea what the meeting is for, but I plan to apologize and reschedule it for a later date. Inside the boardroom sat a single man with bright white hair. He is wearing a gray suit, which couldn’t be mistaken for anything but designer, and he is sipping coffee from one of the white mugs stamped with the Black Industries logo. As I step further inside, he looks up.
He glances at his gold watch before he focuses his attention on me. “I was expecting Mr. Black. My time is valuable, and I can’t spend it waiting.”
“I’m Mrs. Black. Foster is indisposed at the moment.”
Mr. Jackson purses his lips, and wrinkles crease his forehead. His dark eyes zero in on mine. “This meeting was set up over a month ago.”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but Foster was called away to deal with a situation beyond his control. Is there something I can do for you?”
He relaxes a bit, sipping at his coffee before he answers. “Foster was supposed to sign off on some papers,” he says as he puts his hand on a large white envelope next to him.
“You don’t need to speak to him for his signature.”
Mr. Jackson pushes back from the table and crosses his arms. “Why would he send a little girl to do his business? Don’t proceed to tell me what I should and should not do. This requires some negotiation, for which you lack the chops.”
I am taken back by his smugness, but before I can say anything, the heavy conference room door swung open, smacking the wall. Foster coughs into his fist before pointing at Jackson. I can see the muscle in his jaw tick.
“Jackson, how dare you speak to my wife in such a manner!” Foster roars.
Startled by the scene unfolding in front of my eyes, I watch as Jackson shrinks, his previously folded arms now hanging at his sides in defeat.
“I meant no harm,” he tries, “I expected to speak with you.”
“You will not disrespect my wife again, or you will find another buyer. Now apologize.”
“It’s not necessary,” I protest.
“It is necessary,” Foster insists. Fists clenched, he waited for the older man to apologize.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Black.”
I nod, not sure how to respond. “You don’t need me here. I’ll be in my office.” As I pass by Foster, he runs his hand down my arm, sending shivers up my spine.
I shut the door to my office and sink into my chair. I didn’t expect Foster to come into the conference room, but he saved me from an embarrassing situation. I have no idea who William Jackson was or what deal Foster has with him. I am staring off into space when my husband knocks on my door.
“Come in.”
