I swallow the bile that threatens to rise every time I think about Matt.But first things first, I need to meet with Barry over a very public breakfast, as instructed.
I spot him across the floor.All eyes are on me as I walk through the enormous breakfast hall with its cascading hanging ferns and huge observatory-style windows.My stomach churns.
“Ms.Coleman,” he says, standing up and giving my hand a shake with a light kiss on the cheek.He’s all formal and smiles, which throws me.
“I’m furious,” he says, grinning as we sit down, and he calls the waitress over to take my order.“I should fire you on the spot.”
He belly-laughs, the fleshy rounds of his cheeks straining from the sheer force of his cackle, and for a moment I think he’s joking.But then I realize he’s putting on a show.Right now.And people are watching.
Shit.I can’t sit here looking chastised.And so, I bellylaugh too.
“Hello,” chimes in the waitress.“Can I offer you anything?”
I glance up at the waitress and gulp.“Sure.Eggs are fine.”Like I can eat anything at a time like this.
“Scrambled?Fried?Poached?”
“Oh, she’s all those things,” says Barry, pouring lots of milk into his steaming percolated coffee.
“Fried,” I say quickly.“Thank you.”
I turn back to Barry, who pushes the small, ornate sterling silver coffeepot in my direction.
He leans forward, grinning widely.“Youarefried.And you’retoast, Coleman.”
I blink.There sure are a lot of insults in a breakfast menu.
“I’m so sorry.Barry, it was a moment off the record, withsomeone I thought was a friend.I was letting off steam after you—”
“Letting off steam?”He shoots me a look.
“It was indiscreet, and I was naive.It will never happen again.”
The eggs have arrived with lightning speed.
“No, it won’t,” he says, looking down at his own fried eggs, spearing a bulbous orange yolk with a corner of thickly buttered toast.
I shudder, forcing myself to laugh, and playfully hit his hand so everyone in the room thinks he told me a particularly wicked joke.Before we have a chance to thrash things out, Barry takes a long call, and I sit sipping on coffee I don’t want, poking at eggs that make my stomach turn.Eventually, I shut off the internal self-loathing monologue and start to hear the content of Barry’s call.
“...yes, Noah will be released.I’ll announce in October ...”
It’s Barry, doing my job yet again.Talking to someone—an agent?—about releasing Noah from his contract.Suddenly, I feel a tightening in the pit of my belly.I push my eggs forward, fold my arms, and wait for him to hang up.
When he finally does, I’m pissed.“You know what, Barry?”I say, fake grinning at him, keeping my voice low.“You claim to have uncaged me, to have given me a shot no one else would have, but you continue to clip my wings.I can’t do my job unless you step back and let me fucking do it.”
“If youcoulddo it, maybe I would,” he murmurs, chewing on his toast.
“I fucked up on this one thing.I did fuck up.But in everyother way, I’ve measured up and surpassed all expectations.”
Barry sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his belly to mirror me as he considers my words.
“You hired me, and then hired a driver without asking.And yeah, I was angry about it.I have known Matt my whole life, and for personal reasons it was a gut punch when you announced it.”
“I see,” Barry says, reluctantly absorbing the information.
“And now you’re...what?Letting Noah go?It’s a mistake.He’s good.”
Barry sighs.“We can’t afford him, despite what you said to that reporter.And Matt’s comments have fucked him in the eyes of sponsors.Who wants their brand on a driver withno killer instinct?I would have talked to you about it today if I knew I could trust you.”
