“Wanker,” Franki says into her teacup, stretching out the syllables until it sounds like two words.
I lift my eyebrows at Elliot. “Is that what you would do?”
He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut.
“I can see that it is. Tell me, whose fault is it that these menus need to be corrected?”
“Mine,” he mumbles.
“Yes. The printer has no contract with us and made no commitment to do this job. They turned down a lot of money to open their shop, so they clearly have other priorities. What gives any of us the right to force another person who has done no harm to our will?”
He shrugs and looks down at the cat.
“I see. You think because I can do something, I have the right to do it? That would make me a very, very bad man.”
“But you . . . you . . .”
“Yes. You were causing problems, and you insulted my wife. You weren’t innocent, but I wouldn’t have allowed your motherto cling to that railing to convince you to stop being an asshole. Human beings are never acceptable collateral damage. Do you understand? If the person who caused these problems owned the print shop, I would feel no compunction applying pressure. But she didn’t.”
I can see the wheels turning in his mind. “What if it were life or death? Would you force them then?”
“What do you think?”
“Yes?” He watches me then repeats more confidently, “Yes. So that means Phyllis isn’t going to actually kill me.”
Of course she won’t. But she’ll want to.
I glance toward Franki, and she offers me a small smile, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. I should be naked with her in that bed right now, not explaining to Sir Whines-A-Lot why forcing people to serve me is fucking repulsive.
“I have an idea for the menu situation,” Franki says.
I listen, entranced, as she spells out how to fix this problem and leave people happier than if it had never happened at all. She ends with, “What do you think?”
I drop a kiss to her lips. “That you’re a very clever woman.” I straighten. “And that I’ll have to go with him to make sure he doesn’t make a mess of it.”
Franki sets Oliver on the floor, attaches his red leash to his harness, and rises. “We’ll come too.”
I look at Piper and the men. “Please wait for me in the hallway. You too, Oliver.”
He thumps his tail, and I give him a scratch behind the ears.
They file out, Piper taking charge of the leash. On his way past me, Elliot reaches for the fake menus.
“Leave them,” I say.
He yanks his hand away as though he just realized the stack of paper was a wasp nest.
When the door closes behind them, I swoop Franki into my arms. She squeaks, then laughs, but I don’t smile back.
“I can handle this alone. You relax. I’ll take care of you, and we’ll talk when I get back.”
She smooths her thumb between my eyebrows. “I’m too anxious to relax right now.”
I press my forehead against hers. “There’s nothing we can’t figure out together.”
“I know.” But she doesn’t sound sure, and I hate it.
There are so many unknowns. So many variables. I can want something and still have logistical concerns. My brother-in-law adopted his niece after his sister died in childbirth. Children are fragile. My sister rolls her eyes because she says I speak to them like small adults—the list of ways I could fail my wife and child seems unending.
