Chapter Twenty-One

This thought brings on a hint of confidence I’ve lacked in this area—the financial aspect of my life.

It does not, however, coax me into putting all my eggs in one basket.

I.e., Jameson Richards’ basket.

When the elevator smoothly halts and the doors open with a wisp of a woosh, I precede him out, a couple of steps ahead so that his hand on my back falls away. We’re deposited into one of the corridors of the executive wing, located behind glass doors and up a floor from the remainder of the corporate divisions of his main headquarters, as well as other companies operating under the Richards Corp. flag.

We’re here before the hustle and bustle begins. There’s no one to witness me having been invited into his private elevator. Yet we instinctively, instantly go our separate ways. His corner office is closest and mine is across the hallway and farther down.

As I continue my own path, I lament that we didn’t resolve our convo. Nor did he outright acknowledge and accept my gratitude for pre