“By an hour.”
“You called opposing counsel by the wrong name. Twice.”
“They all look the same.”
“Dean.” His voice goes soft. Dangerous. “I went to bat for you. Told the partners you were ready. That you could handle the pressure.”
“I can.”
“Can you?” He stands. Walks to the window. Gazes out. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like something’s got you twisted up.”
Someone, my brain supplies helpfully. Someone has me twisted up. Not something. Big difference.
“I’m fine.”
“No. You’re not.” He turns. “Take the week. Get your shit together. Come back ready to work or don’t come back at all.”
“You’re suspending me?”
“I’m saving you from yourself.” He heads for the door, pauses. “Whatever happened upstate? Fix it or forget it. But decide.”
The door closes with a click that sounds final.
I sit there for ten minutes. Staring at nothing. Damn.
This is really not good.
Muffin’s on my porch when I get home. Again. Because of course she is.
“Why are you here? Thought you stayed with Nadine while I was at work?” I ask.
She waddles over, snorts, then heads straight for the guest house.
“No.” I follow her. “We’ve talked about this.”
Scratch scratch scratch.
“She’s not there.”
Scratch scratch scratch.
“Muffin. Come on.”
She looks at me with those stupid sad eyes. Like I’m the jerk for pointing out reality.
“I know,” I mutter. “I miss her too.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. Muffin tilts her head like finally, some honesty.
“But missing people doesn’t bring them back.” I scoop her up. “Trust me. I’m an expert.”
I carry her back to my house. She goes limp, full passive resistance mode.
“You’re being dramatic.”
She farts.
“That’s just petty.”
