Hudson
“Mr. Rothschild, you have a phone call.”
I huffed and pressed the intercom. “Who is it?”
“It’s Evelyn Whitley.”
Tossing my pen onto my desk, I picked up the phone and leaned back in my chair. “Evelyn, thank you for calling me back.”
“Of course. How are you, Hudson?”
Frustrated enough to call my little sister’s annoying friend who I hadn’t wanted to give a job to, but did anyway, only to have said annoying friend stop showing up to work two months ago and quit without any notice.
“I’m well. And you?”
“Pretty good. Although Louisiana is really humid compared to New York.”
Is that where she’d run off to? I didn’t care, and small talk with Evelyn wasn’t on my packed agenda for today.
“So the reason I had my assistant track you down—a woman came to Olivia’s wedding pretending t
