Page 94 of The Right Sign

There’s a soft, feeble knock at the door.

“Come in!” Mosely calls irritably.

“Uh, Mr. Sull—Dare,” my receptionist pokes her head in and gives me a wide-eyed look, “we have a problem.”

“What now?” I grumble. Pushing myself up, I stalk around the desk.

Mosely shuffles along. “It must be Sazuki.”

“No, it’s not.”

“We’re getting sued.”

“For what?”

“Do you think they need a reason? If he wants a problem, he can make one.”

“This isn’t Sazuki.”

“How are you so sure?”

“He gave me a warning.”

“So?”

“He’s smart. Too smart to make a move this fast. He plans on giving me time to do what he asked me.”

I’m certain there was a part of him that didn’t want to start a war. Or maybe that was me projecting since I really do plan to be his family someday and I’d hate to turn this romance into a Romeo and Juliet thing.

“Sir.” The receptionist points to her tablet. It shows footage from a security camera. A familiar man with a ponytail is picketing on the sidewalk. He’s wearing a placard that says ‘EXPLAIN YOUR CRIMES’. In his hand is a hoisted sign that reads ‘SULLIVAN EXPLOITS WOMEN’.

“If not Sazuki then, who is this?” Mosely cries.

I smirk, my eyes sharpening with interest. “That’s the guy who gave me the opportunity to exploit a woman.”

The receptionist’s expression turns horrified.

Mosely chokes.

Chuckling softly, I pat my assistant on the back. “Get Jenny here and then send him up.”

“Up? As in… you want to talk to him?”

“I won’t repeat myself, Mosely.”

Once I’m alone in my office, I get to work on the expresso machine. The air is filled with the fragrant scent of coffee by the time Jenny arrives. When my security team drags Henry into my office, there are already three cups on the coffee table.

Jenny squirms as Henry enters—well, ‘enters’ is the polite way to describe it. He tries to lunge at me, but my bodyguard is right there to stop him. With two fingers, I gesture for security to back away.

“You can’t do this,” Henry says. His voice is similar to Yaya’s in cadence with a slur around his vowels. “I have rights.”

“Jenny.” I gesture to the interpreter. “This is Henry. Yaya’s friend. Would the both of you like coffee? I just made a brew.”

She signs to Henry.

The moment Henry sees that an interpreter is present, his shoulders drop a smidge. He faces her fully, his eyebrows tightening and then tightening even more.

“Have a seat, Henry. Can I call you Henry?”