Chapter 9 : The Call
1175 Words
Dalia’s POV
I let out a heavy breath after hanging up the phone.
“What did he say?” Jessie asked, already half-leaning across the table like we were in the middle of a crime investigation.
“His secretary said Sir Lucas is busy,” I replied, massaging my temples. “But she’ll inform him once he’s available.”
Jessie gasped. “Oh my god, Dalia. What kind of mess have we gotten into?!”
She started pacing. “But hey—Attorney Rivera did fix my cousin’s papers before! I think he’s legit.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Fix, you mean by marrying her off to an American guy, right? That’s why she got a green card.”
She gave me an awkward grin. “…Well, yeah. That.”
I groaned. “And knowing how he does it, that’s probably what he’ll ask me to do too.” I muttered, “Something I’ll definitely never agree to.”
Jessie blinked at me. “But what if Atty. Rivera can still help us? He’s still a lawyer even if he’s been terminated, right?”
“Terminated for a reason,” I said, crossing my arms. “If Sir Lucas’s company files a case against him, he might even lose his license. So yeah, not counting on that.”
Jessie went quiet, tapping her chin. “You know what’s crazy? I still can’t believe that Sir Lucas is the same guy—my client’s ex! Like… what are the odds?”
“Tell me about it.” I groaned again. “If you only knew what happened at the coffee shop…”
Just thinking about it made me cringe.
After that incident, guilt had been eating me alive.
I shouldn’t have reacted that way.
He didn’t owe me anything. He was just trying to help—to warn me.
And what did I do? Basically bite his head off.
Now I’m worried he won’t help me at all.
And if that happens, we’re done for.
No lawyer. No money. No chance.
“Ugh,” I muttered, slumping on the chair. “Why am I like this? So impulsive. So stupid. So—”
My phone rang. Loudly.
Jessie and I screamed at the same time.
She clutched my arm. “Answer it!”
“I’m trying!” I fumbled with the screen, hands shaking. “Hello?”
A deep, calm male voice answered.
“Hello. May I speak to Dalia Reyes?”
I froze.
I knew that voice.
“Yes, sir… um, is this Sir Lucas Daniel?”
A low chuckle came from the other end.
“Well, how about that—you already recognize my voice. Impressive memory.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my brain.
Of course I recognize your voice—you’ve been haunting my thoughts all day.
“Uh, it’s just… very distinctive, sir,” I stammered. “Different from most men I’ve talked to.”
“Oh really?” His tone suddenly turned teasing. “How distinctive? Because among all those men, am I the most annoying—or the most charming?”
I blinked. Is this man seriously flirting right now?!
Jessie mouthed, What is he saying?
I waved at her to hush.
“Um… both, sir,” I said quickly.
He laughed again. That smooth, expensive kind of laugh that made my heart both skip and roll its eyes.
“Okay, back to business,” he said finally. “My secretary mentioned you wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, sitting up straight even though he couldn’t see me. “It’s about my case. I know it’s not under your firm anymore, but we don’t know who else to turn to and—”
“Let’s meet,” he interrupted. “But another day.”
My heart thudded. “Y-yes, sir. Whenever you’re free.”
He paused for a moment, then his tone softened.
“Good. Actually, we’ll need a little time for this meeting. I have a proposal—one that I think might help you.”
Proposal?
My brain short-circuited.
“Ah—sure, sir. That sounds… good.”
“Alright then,” he said, his voice warm now. “See you soon, Dalia. Hope for the best—for us, Dalia.”
Us?!
“Dalia, are you still there?”
“Y-yes, sir. For us,” I said blankly.
And then he hung up.
-
“Are you sure I look okay? I don’t look like an i***t, right?” I asked Jessie, grimacing as I stared at my reflection in the glass door of what was clearly a business tower for rich, important people here in New York.
This was where Lucas told us to meet him.
And judging by the giant signage that practically screamed DANIELS & CO. GROUP OF COMPANY, I was pretty sure his family owned the whole building… or at least half of New York.
“Yes! You look great,” Jessie insisted, flicking her hand like she was my personal stylist. “That’s exactly how sophisticated Manhattan office girls dress. The kind who have coffee in one hand and emotional trauma in the other.”
I shot her a look. “And what about these?” I pointed at my three-inch stilettos. “Are these also part of the ‘sophisticated trauma’ package?”
“Of course!” Jessie said. “High heels are the universal symbol of ‘I’m broke, but at least I look expensive.’”
I groaned. Good thing I still remembered how to walk in heels—they were part of my college Tourism uniform… back when my biggest problem was passing midterms, not being deported.
Jessie posed dramatically beside me, fixing her own office jacket and pencil skirt. “Look at us—same outfit. Same life problems. Twinsies!”
“We’re not even wearing the same color,” I muttered.
“Color doesn’t matter. What matters is we look like women with jobs we can’t afford to quit.”
“I don’t even know why we need to dress like this. Lucas never mentioned a dress code.” I hissed.
Jessie gasped dramatically. “Girl. Girl. GIRL. This is a business hub. Rich people central! You cannot enter these buildings wearing leggings. They might report you as a security threat.”
I frowned. “That sounds exaggerated.”
“No, it’s true!” she argued. “One time a client brought me here. She literally bought me a suit and skirt set just so I wouldn’t ‘ruin the aesthetic.’ She even said, ‘Jessie, I love you, but please don’t embarrass me.’”
I pouted.
“Fine. Let’s go inside. My feet are about to file a complaint.”
“Don’t worry,” Jessie grinned, linking her arm with mine. “If you trip, we have insurance—me.”
“Jessie! That’s not how insurance works.”
“Shhh. Let me be supportive.”
I sighed and dragged her toward the entrance.
- Writer
