Page 31 of Bulletproof

He shook his head. “Jesus, Jory, you’re really something.”

“Something good or something bad?”

“Good,” he said as he smiled at me, reaching out and fiddling with my tie, adjusting it. “So, I’m going to the office and cleaning out my desk. Let’s have dinner this week and talk about things, and then meet a few times before we start, okay?”

“You’re taking this team thing to heart, huh?”

“Aren’t you?”

He had snatched me from professional death, and I owed him big.

“I am.”

But more importantly, I was kind of digging him.

“How about we meet at Trieste, in Lincoln Park, at eight on Saturday? I’ll buy you a steak.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’d like you to meet my partner.”

“Really?” That was really nice and meant a lot, the sharing. “I’d love to.”

“You would?”

I nodded.

“You want to bring Detective Kage?”

I cleared my throat. “Um, Detective Kage is on assignment, so he can’t come. But I would love to come and meet your man.”

His smile was huge. “Okay, then, eight.”

“Eight it is.”

He looked at me, and I lunged. When I was hugging the life out of him, the last of his reserve melted away. He wrapped me up and squeezed the breath out of me back.

As I watched him walk down the street away from me, I finally checked my phone. Forty-two missed calls was a lot.

FIVE

Icalled to tell Dylan the good news, and she was glad to hear it and just a little jealous. She and I had been a creative team for years, and she was not crazy about the idea of someone taking her place. Once I explained that no one ever could, she was happy for me. And then I told her I was really okay about being fired. It took nine more times of me saying, “I swear to God,” and her asking if I was super sure before she almost, maybe, believed me.

When Michelle called, I gave her the same speech about being okay without the endless assurances. I wished her well and hung up. I didn’t answer when she called back. What was the point?

Everyone checked on me after that, Wade and Gina among them, and I realized there were more people at the firm who gave a damn than I’d thought there were. But I didn’t want to have dinner, and I didn’t need to have drinks and talk since I was not, really, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Yes, I had heard that Fallon quit, and, yes, that was interesting. Yes, we could have dinner soon, and I was truly fine.

This was all in a flurry of phone calls after lunch. After two, as I finally put away the scattered laundry, watered the plants, and made a grocery list, there were more calls. I was surprised by the one from my new ex-boss.

“Mr. Rowe?” I asked as I walked through the store, gathering the ingredients for crab stuffed with tuna and spinach. I was craving it.

“Jory,” he breathed out, “at last.”

Had I missed other calls?

“Were you not answering on purpose?”

“No. Did you maybe call Sam?”