“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just hate to see talented people like you go.”

“Well, they’re just calling references,” I tell her, hoping that might comfort her enough to get her to stop the sobbing. “I probably won’t get it. Annabeth’s up for the same job and she’s the likely choice.”

“Annabeth?” Mrs. Weinstock howls.

Oh, great. Annabeth’s going to kill me for that one.

“I can come back,” I tell her.

“You’re all going to leave me!” Mrs. Weinstock cries and with that, she’s overplayed her part.

“Oh, will you stop it? You’re a grown woman. People get hired, people leave. That’s just the way it goes. You can’t guilt everyone into doing whatever you want them to do.”

Her expression changes in an instant. “You don’t talk to me that way,” she barks. “I am your superior, and you will address me with proper decorum.”

“You know what? I am so sick of all the crap you people pile on me every time I come into work. I’m just trying to do my job and do it well, but every single time one of you asks me to see you in your office, I want to throw up, and you, Mrs. Weinstock, you’re the worst one of all with your whole grandmother act. You know what you are?”

“What am I?” she asks, and I think we’ve gotten a little off topic.

I let my temper simmer for a beat.

“You are someone who asked me into her office to tell me something, and I’ve got a feeling you haven’t told me half of it yet. If you bombed my chances with Claypool and Lee, fine, I’ll find something else, but I’d just like to know so I can stop putting your name on my resumé.”

“For your information, I gave you a glowing review, and I called you in here to tell me that I was their last call. The job is yours if you want it, although I sure don’t envy them putting up with your behavior.”

“Maybe if you—wait, what? I’m hired?”

“The man told me to have you give him a call when you had a free moment and they’re going to work out a time to get you in for training.”

“I’m hired?”

She goes to respond, but the suddenness and volume of the “Woo!” that comes out of me overpowers anything she might be trying to say.

Chapter Fourteen

Lightly Baked with Just a Dash of Salt

Dane

It only took an hour for Wilks to show his talent as the new executive chef of l’Iris. By the time dinner service started to slow down, there was really nothing left for me to do that couldn’t be done just as well by someone else, and I offered to give Wilks the kitchen.

Apparently, his first name is Jared.

I never really bothered to learn that kind of thing, but it’s his kitchen now.

After the discussion with Wrigley and obligatory coital session that followed, I started to feel a little bit better. Still, it’s going to be a little weird going home tonight.

Maybe Leila’s out with her new boyfriend. Before I’m even to the door of the apartment, though, I can hear her inside singing along to some pop song.

I can’t just hide from her forever, so I unlock and open the door. Once it’s closed, I decide that maybe I can just hide from her forever, and I make it to my room without alerting her to my presence.

My phone’s in my hand a few seconds later.

“Hello?”

“Wrigley, I don’t know what I’m doing here. This whole thing is so uncomfortable. I don’t think I can go through with it.”

“You’ve got to talk to her, Dane,” my new girlfriend says. “I’m not opening up the candy store until you’ve figured out what this is between the two of you.”

That was the agreement before I left for work this morning, but it’s making less and less sense with every passing moment.

“She’s with someone,” I say.

“Right now? The guy’s there?”

“No,” I answer. “I don’t know. I didn’t see him when I came in.”

“Wait, you’re not hiding in your room like a little bitch, are you?”

“She’s out there doing jazzercise and singing along with shit off the radio.”

It’s a while before Wrigley’s done laughing.

“She’s in a good mood,” she says finally. “Now is as good a time as any.”

“Why am I doing this again?”

“Because,” she answers, “I don’t want to start an exclusive relationship with someone whose heart isn’t into it. This is strange enough for me, I’m not about to jump in further if there’s nothing but undertow.”

“But—”

“I know it’s probably nothing,” she says, “but on the off chance that it’s something, you need to talk to her and see where you stand.”

“Can we be in a relationship, but you go back to being callous and sex-crazed?” I ask.

It’s too much to hope. She just laughs and hangs up.

Wrigley was right about one thing, though. Sneaking into my bedroom, closing the door and calling wasn’t really the strongest move I could have made.

There’s nothing left for me to do but go out there and see what I feel when I do.

I open the door and about startle the shit out of Leila.

She turns off the radio, shouting, “Jesus, Dane, when did you get home?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” I start. “There’s something I need to talk to you about—”

“You’re not going to believe this,” she starts, a look of excitement on her face.

“What?” I ask.

“I got the job!” she exclaims, turning the radio back on.

“That’s great!” I say with a smile. “What job?”

“That’s right, I didn’t tell you,” she says. “I’ve been putting out my resumé for a while now, but I hadn’t heard anything back. Today, I got the call, well one of my bosses got the call, but that doesn’t matter. I got hired on full time at Claypool and Lee! I start in a couple of weeks!”

“Claypool and Lee?” I ask.

She flips the radio off again.

“Oh, right,” she says. “I probably should have run this by you.”

“What?”

“The job’s in Jersey,” she says. “I’ve got to start looking for places.”

“New Jersey,” I say. “Wow. So, what happens—”

“I’m not just going to kick you out,” she says. “I’ll talk to Traven and see if we can get you put on the lease as the primary. I know the place is kind of pricey, but I’m sure you could find a roommate.”

That’s not what’s making me feel like I’ve been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat.

Wrigley was right. There’s no doubt about it.

I’ve got a thing for my roommate and it’s a big one. I’m not even making a penis joke there, that’s how serious this is.

“Check this out,” she says. “I’m going to be working with some of the best financial minds in the country and after five years, they’re going to give me my own team. They’re putting me on track to be a partner someday, you know, if I don’t screw it up in the meantime.”

“Oh, you won’t screw it up,” I tell her. “You’re going to do great.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I don’t mean to just bail on you, but this is really the opportunity of a lifetime for me.”

“I’m happy for you,” I tell her. “Really, I am.”

“Then why do you look like you just got hit in the stomach with a tire iron?”

I almost correct her, as the visual in my head was very clearly a baseball bat with a bunch of nails driven through the end, but the amount of explanation involved there is just too much.

“Well, I guess that just about does it,” I tell her.

“No, seriously,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” I say, but even I’m not convinced.

“Oh,” she says. “I know what it is. This is about last night.”

“Well…”

“May I ask why it bothered you that I was kissing Mike?”

“Mike?” I ask. “Isn’t he your friend from town?”

“Yeah,” Leila answers. “He was just having one of his moments and badgered me into letting him know if he was a good kisser or not. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Oh, nothing,” she says. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“What was your question?”