Abby
I turn the plain white business card over in my fingers for at least the dozenth time, still conflicted. In the week since that bizarre encounter with the man named Damon, I’ve agonized endlessly over whether to accept his cryptic catering offer.
On one hand, the opportunity could be a huge boon professionally. My name attached to some exclusive elite event, paid handsomely? It’s terribly tempting given my situation, and I’d jump at every opportunity to get my team and I some extra work.
But everything happened so oddly. Damon’s intensity, his influence and background remaining vague—does blind ambition make me desperate enough to ignore the nerves that such ambiguity stirs in me?
With a frustrated sigh, I tuck the card back into my pocket just as the front door opens.
