“GoodGod.”
“While plying a naive populace with intoxicating substances goes against my conscience, I concede that Sparrow Nook isn’t where I live andthus, shouldn’t be my sole concern when fighting on its behalf is directly impeding my own career.”
“This isn’t groveling, Julian.”
He ignores me and flips to the next card, flexing his forearms unnecessarily, then checks my face to see if I’ve noticed.
“As you see in your—” Julian picks up the folder and thrusts it into my hands, “—hands, I’m prepared to withdraw my complaint in a show of good faith. Now it’syourturn to show good faith by issuing a ceasefire to all your acquaintances, instructing them to immediately halt all planned attacks on my reputation, body, and otherwise, and then design a curriculum and shadowing schedule for me to learn everything about cannabis—”
He flips to the next card. “From you.”
Julian taps the notecards on the counter, reapplies the rubber band, then tucks them neatly into his pocket.
“Wait,what?” I blink, trying to fuse together the last thirty seconds with reality. “Did you just ask me to do… what exactly?”
“Design a curriculum and shadowing schedule so I can learn everything about cannabis from you,” he repeats, as if that explains anything.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because this is a deal. I’ll withdraw the complaint in return for you teaching me about cannabis.”
“Why do you suddenly want to learn about cannabis?”
Julian flexes his forearms again, then looks away. “Because… I want to.”
I roll my eyes. “The truth, Julian.”
His jaw clenches, and he exhales through his nose. “Because Dr. Srinivasan won’t let me work again until I do, and if I don’t complete my—sabbaticalwith his practice, Philly Gen won’t… ah. They won’t like it.” His gaze darts back to mine. “Happy?”
“You must’ve really pissed off Dr. Appa.” Understanding rolls through me, and my eyes widen. “You weren’t mean to Mr. Gutierrez, were you?”
Julian says nothing, but shame colors his cheekbones.
“Let me get this straight. You do something spectacularly awful at Philly Gen, get slapped with some kind of conditional probation that requires you to work for Dr. Appa successfully for—what? Three months? Six?”
“Six,” Julian says to the wall behind my head.
“But then you act like an ass all over town, and now Dr. Appa’s given you his own conditional probation—where if you don’t drop the complaint and learn about cannabis, frommeapparently, he’ll fire you, Philly Gen will never take you back, and your whole superiority complex will crumble to the ground.” I fold my arms. “Do I have that right?”
Julian’s bottom lip is dangerously pouty. For some reason, it makes me check the length of his shorts again.
Yep. Still short.
“At a rudimentary level, yes,” he finally concedes.
“Then there’s no deal to strike here.” I huff. “You need me to rescue your entire career.”
“Fine.I’m desperate, but you’re desperate, too.” His eyes flash, and he stands suddenly. “You’re paying a lot of money to lease this space, and no matter how many rancid cups of coffee you sell, you’re losing hundreds of dollars every day. Like it or not, Wyeth, you need me, too.” He leans over the counter, meeting my gaze head on. “Now, you can teach me about marijuana, and I’ll drop this complaint right now, or don’t and we’ll both go down in flames. What’s it gonna be, Wyeth?”
His eyes are the color of pure, glacial ice, a blue so cold it burns everywhere it touches.Goddammit.Ever since Julian returned to Sparrow Nook, he’s been like a rock in my shoe. Hobbling me, annoying me, hurting me, making it almost impossible for me to think of anything else. Every time I fish him out and fling him into the distance, he reappears a few days later, more annoying and intrusive than ever. And now, if I wantto rescue my flailing dreams and avoid going broke for good, I have to workwithhim?
The last time we teamed up, we—
I suck in a deep breath. Whatever, we were seventeen, and Julian’s so obnoxious now, there’s no chance any of that would happen again. All I’d have to do is remind myself how much his bullshit opposition to my dispensary is costing me, and—wait.
An idea strikes. I lean over my counter, taking back control over my space and this deal.
“Pay me.”
