‘Canning won’t be happy—’ he started, but Cohen stood, thrusting his hands into his pockets.
‘Canning is already in Panama, living the high life with his ill-gotten gains. He’s about to have the best Christmas of his life, a girl on each arm and a champagne in each hand.’ Cohen shook his head. ‘Well, fair play to him. Let him rot his liver with alcohol … it’ll match his rotten heart.’ Cohen stood taller. ‘Look, Fowler, Canning won’t care. He’s done, just as I am. Besides, there must be someone else waiting in the wings. Someone even more bloodthirsty than me.’
‘There’s always someone else,’ Fowler remarked coldly.
Cohen shrugged. ‘Fine. Get them. I’m out. My contract says you’ll need three months notice. But I’m telling you now, I’m not willing to stay that long.’
Fowler straightened, adjusting his tie. ‘There will be financial repercussions if you leave before your contract expires, you do realise this.’
Cohen gave a disinterested nod. ‘Whatever. It’s only money.’
Fowler stared at him. ‘Why?’ he asked, after a palpable silence. ‘Why are you walking?’
‘I have other things I want to do,’ Cohen replied. ‘Do you always want to work here for Canning-Roberts LLC in Human Resources? Was that your dream, Fowler? Because all this—’ Cohen gestured to his impersonal, functional office ‘—this wasn’t my dream. And life is too short to waste on anything less.’
Fowler opened his mouth as though to reply, before clearly thinking better of it and closing it just as quickly.
‘Just speak to the board, start the ball rolling,’ Cohen instructed him. ‘Tell them I’ll stay a month, but no more. I’ll happily pay any financial penalties for breaking contract early. Just get me out.’
Fowler nodded, giving Cohen one final look, long and hard. He wore an expression on his face like he wanted to say something. Beneath his icy exterior, Cohen sensed truth and confession fleeting under the surface. But then Fowler stiffened and any hidden depths were quickly buried further. He went to leave before Cohen held up a hand, stopping him.
‘Wait. There’s one more thing. I’m working on a ... a merger of sorts,’ he spoke easily, trying his best to keep his voice light, casual and business-like. ‘I’d like to wrap it up before I leave.’
Fowler turned back, his expression bored.
‘So?’
Cohen flushed slightly. ‘The person on the other team ... they’re deaf. I need to learn a few phrases in BSL. You know.’ He swallowed. ‘To get them onside. Show them that I’m serious about this merger.’
There it was again, that break in Fowler’s normal exterior. But it was only a break, and he shrugged once more.
‘British Sign Language?’
‘Yes,’ Cohen said firmly. ‘You’re Human Resources ... do you know of anyone, offhand, who knows it round here?’
Fowler rolled his eyes. ‘Well yes, of course here in the New York office of Roberts-Canning LLC we’re simply overrun with the deaf British expat community.’
Cohen wasn’t an idiot. He knew sarcasm when he heard it.
‘Fine,’ he snarled at Fowler. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ He quickly made the sign foridiotin BSL, one of the last words River taught him, before turning back to his desk.
Behind him Fowler gave a surprised inhalation and he turned back to his colleague curiously.
Fowler was looking at him as though he’d suddenly sprouted wings.
‘What?’ Cohen snapped.
Fowler shook his head, almost with a scoff. ‘Nothing, it’s nothing.’ He shuffled on his feet. ‘But if you really need a BSL interpreter you could always check the company mainframe. We list all staff who specialise in foreign languages there.’
‘That’s actually a good idea.’ Cohen swallowed down his pride. ‘Thank you.’
Fowler stared at him again, his gaze piercing. ‘Tell me, Cohen,’ he said. ‘Tell me honestly, why are you walking? You’ve been here years. You were always the best at getting results. You were always after just one more deal, just one more dollar. You didn’t care who you hurt on the way. What happened to you?’
It was a remarkably cold assessment that made Cohen shudder. But Fowler was looking at him, waiting. Waiting for an answer. Waiting for a reason. Waiting for a logical explanation for a decision which, from every angle, seemed illogical.
There was only one thing Cohen could say.
‘I grew up.’
