A new swath of freckles covered my nose and cheeks, but thankfully, no sunburn. “Just a bit,” I said. “How was New Jersey?”
Sam tugged at his collar and straightened his tie, grimacing before he spoke. “Not great. Tiel had warned me that it wouldn’t be great, but…I figured I could handle a difficult family. Those people, though, they werenotnice to her. I said something about it, and you’d think I was sticking up for Hitler and Mussolini.” He blew out a breath and reached for his coffee. “We drove back Friday morning.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Is Tiel okay?”
Sam released a low, rumbling laugh and leaned forward. “Tiel’s great, and it will be fine,” he said with a nod. “It’s unfortunate when you have a family but you can’t go home because they’re assholes. She has a real, living family—aunts and uncles, cousins, parents, grandparents—but they’re complete shit. But we’ll be fine without them.”
He joined the unending football conversation, and I opened my computer to a blessedly thin stack of unread emails. My calendar wasn’t enjoying the same levity.
Shannon:Would it be possible to start this meeting?
Patrick:It must be really annoying when people have no regard for your schedule
Shannon:Yeah can we save the “Shannon’s always late” comedy for another day?
Shannon:I’m prepping for the audit and closing on two investments today. You can speed this along, or I will.
“We should start with the beachfront,” Patrick said, gesturing to me. “Swampscott. Riley and I walked through it last Wednesday to get a sense of the fundamentals. What’s your angle on that?”
“It was a steal,” I said. “I haven’t thought through the restoration or marketing position yet, but they practically gave it away. And it tests new muscles for us. We’ll run out of farmhouses and brownstones eventually.”
“Probably not,” Matt said. “Statistically speaking, we wouldn’t. Not for hundreds of years.”
“And there’s your daily dose ofMatt Knows Math,” Riley said.
Patrick leveled an impatient glare in Riley’s direction before turning back to me. “Get out there this week, or next, and decide which direction we’re taking this.” I made a note on my overstuffed calendar as Patrick shifted his attention. “Let’s get into status reports,” he said. “Matt, start us off.”
While Matt detailed his plans for the Mount Vernon project and his excitement about us visiting the site on Friday, I pulled my laptop close and read everything I could find about shrapnel wounds and nerve damage. I had no intention of project managing Will’s injury—as if he’d let me—but I wanted to get my facts straight.
The information was terrifying, and not because of what happened to Will, but whatcouldhave happened. The thought of him hurt, thousands of miles away, would always be too difficult for me to swallow, and reading about devastating injuries, lost limbs, widespread paralysis…it sucked the air from the room and had a knot of tension high in my throat.
I should have been engaged in the meeting, but pulled out my phone and sent a text under the table instead.
Shannon:I love you.
Will:Because of the vibrator, right?
Will:I knew you’d like that.
Will:We should figure out how to use them more often if that’s how you’re going to react.
Will:Let’s get some other toys
Shannon:Shut up
Will:Ok, good talk. Love you too.
“Does that work for you, Shannon?”
My head jerked up, and I found Patrick, Andy, Sam, Matt, and Riley staring at me.
“Um…” I glanced down at my screen, which was currently displaying an article about nerve transfer surgery, and noticed several messages from Patrick.
Patrick:You want to weigh in on this?
Patrick:I fucking hate the PR people attached to Turlan. It’s a decent property but I’m going to be thrilled when we don’t have to deal anymore
Patrick:Still with us?
