Jason leans out of his office and stares intently until I can practically feel his thoughts running. “Miles, you got a minute?” It’s not really a question when the owner of the company you work for asks it.
“Yep.” I push back from my desk and stand, stretching out my back.
As I close my laptop, popping it off the docking station, Jason taps the top of my desk with his keys and adds, “Let’s go grab a bite to eat.”
Erin’s office door is closed, and any hope I have of getting a read from her on what this impromptu meeting is about is squashed. The glow of her monitors reflects off her computer glasses, hiding her eyes. She’s hunched forward, concentrating, though I can’t be sure if it’s on whatever she’s working on or if she’s just focused on avoiding making eye contact.
I pull my keys and wallet from my drawer, tuck my phone into my pocket, and follow the big boss out into the clear spring day.
“What are you feeling like? New River Tap House?” Jason asks without looking up from his phone.
Normally, I wouldn’t be fazed by the attention, the request for lunch, any of this, but with the way plans have been changing lately, I just don’t know.
“Sure. Sounds good.” I pause, waiting for a sign that he’s heard me.
Seconds tick past, scrolling into minutes.
Finally, Jason raises his head and lifts his chin toward his vehicle. “How are things?” he asks bluntly.
“Good.” I pull the seat belt across me, clicking it into place.
“Your performance at work is solid, man. I’m not questioning that. I want to know how you’re doing outside of that. Personally. You and Chance still tight? Coaching rugby?”
I nod along at each thing he mentions.
“What about the other stuff?” he asks more solemnly.
I huff out a surprised laugh. “You getting touchy-feely on me here?” I slide my aviators off and toss him an eyebrow waggle.
“Not my type, though I can’t blame you for hoping.” He tosses a wink back at me.
A hint of relief pushes away some of the tension that sprang into my shoulders the minute I was summoned.
“The other stuff. You’ve been busting out early, and that trip to California was canned? What’s happening there? Anything I need to know?”
I shift in my seat, the tension rolling back in, pulling my muscles tight. “I’m not skipping out. I’ve been getting in early, around five most mornings. If I need to adjust back to what I was doing before, I will. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
Jason doesn’t know Chloe, and his kids are too young to have her as a teacher, but he doesn’t need to know why I’m up and out of bed at the ass crack of dawn every morning. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I spent the night at my apartment.
“Flexible hours, man. You work when it suits you. I just want to make sure you’re good. Not struggling with…” He glances at me before spinning the steering wheel and backing into a spot in the far corner of the lot.
“No, no. I’m good.” I give him a brief outline on what the trip was for and why it was postponed.
While Calvin Feuerborn was right there while I was in California, going through my worst nightmare in real time, Jason has only gotten an overview. The highlights.
“Jesus Christ, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says as we walk into the restaurant. Jason bypasses the hostess stand and walks straight to the bar, pulling out two barstools and planting his ass in one. “Pretty sure I’m going to need a beer after hearing that.” He holds two fingers up and points to the tap with a local brew.
“We drinking on company time, boss?” The hoppy brew releases a tropical citrus burst as I take a cautious sip.
Jason, on the other hand, drains a third of his pint, turning to me as he sets the glass back down on the ratty paper coaster. He huffs out an uncomfortable laugh, pushing his blond hair back from his face. “I don’t know whether to kick your ass orapplaud you. How… how the hell are you so fucking good?” he asks incredulously.
I get it. What happened with my ex-wife isn’t something I discuss often. Generally, I avoid talking about it at all costs, but as my boss, Jason needs to know. “I’m not. Not at all. I’m just trying to do the right thing. Make sure a tragedy ends the best way it can for everyone.” I shrug and pull a menu toward me, studying every line of each description, hoping that we can drop the subject.
“You really are a goddamn mild-mannered superhero. How did you not lose your mind and go all Bizarro?”
In need of an escape, I nod to the bartender and place my lunch order. After she sashays down to the register at the other end of the bar, I roll my pint glass between my palms. “You don’t know that I didn’t. Talk to Calvin. He saw the shitshow. Had front row seats to it.” I pick at the frayed edge of my coaster, making a small pile out of the bits of paper.
I can feel Jason wanting to say something more, something important. Some sage nugget of wisdom to soothe the chafing burn of the senselessness of a pointless loss. But there’s not a damn thing he can say—that anyone can—that will make any difference. Much as I hate the saying, it is what it is.
