Page 12 of The Merger

“Goodbye.”

I end the call, then rock back in my chair and stretch.

My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I quickly check the time, then pull the rest of the mail to me. The faster I can get through this, the quicker I can get out of here.

The first three items need a signature. I scribble my name across the bottom of each page, then set them aside. The fourth will require a call tomorrow. It gets moved to the top basket in the corner of my desk. The last item is a curious-looking envelope.

“What’s this?” I ask, picking it up.

It’s letter-sized with neat cursive writing on the front. The return address is local, but there is no name. Weird.

I slide an opener across the top and pull out a card. The foiled letterhead glistens under the lights.

Waltham Prep Centennial Gala Celebration

Celebrating one hundred years of excellence in education.

“That looks like a great time,” I say, rolling my eyes.

A date, time, and location are listed, along with a slew of my high school’s historical statistics—none of which interest me. I turn the card over and find a personalized note.

Dear Mr. Brewer,

On behalf of the Centennial Committee, we are delighted to invite you to be a featured alumni speaker at our upcoming gala. We believe your insight and wisdom would contribute meaningfully to the evening.

Please let us know if you will accept this invitation by the date listed below. Should you require more details or would like to discuss further, please contact me at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

Thomas Crenshaw

“That’s a no,” I say, tossing the invitation and envelope on a pile of papers for Kylie to shred.

Before I can push away from my desk, my phone vibrates.

Tate: No. I mean it.

“No? No what?” I ask aloud.

Me: Did you mean to send this to me?

Tate: Yes.

I furrow my brow.

Me: Are we talking in code?

Tate: You know what I mean.

Me: I don’t have time for this, Tate.

Tate: CARYS.

“Oh,” I say, grinning. “Carys.”

Her name rolls off my tongue with ease. It’s perfect for her, both sweet and spicy. It brings me back to her juicy red lips pressed together this afternoon in a perfect little pout when I wouldn’t give in to her.

God, how I wanted to.