“Yeah. And I couldn’t take it back.”
“How did she react? What did she say?”
“She said, ‘What are you going to do if I say yes?’ So I said she must be depressed. She never answered me. But I threw out the possibility someone died, and I just got the feeling that was it. I’m still sitting in her car, but she’s inside. I’m supposed to check with Rupert to see if he needs me to do anything for him. I suck at this job.”
“Why did you apply for it?”
“It’s … uh … a long story. I’d better get inside before they wonder where I’m at.”
“I like long stories.”
“Noted. Later. K?”
“Later,” she says.
Chapter Eighteen
Flynn
“How was Pilates?”Rupert asks when I poke my head into his office after changing out of my unitard.
“What exactly do you do?” I step inside and collapse onto his sofa. “I mean, you put on a suit every day. But why?”
“Sorry. I wasn’t aware there was a performance review today,” he says, leaning back in his desk chair while adjusting his loose tie.
“I think I fucked up,” I say.
“Of course, you did.” He smirks. “But you’ll have to be more specific.”
I flop onto my back, and stare at the ceiling with my hands folded on my chest. “Who died?”
Crickets.
I turn my head to look at him.
He steeples his fingers under his chin. “Why do you ask?”
“I hate that question,” I grumble, returning my focus to the ceiling. “It’s such a stupid question. Obviously if someone asks a question, they do it because they want to know the answer.”
“Let me rephrase. What makes you think someone died?”
“I was trying to figure out why your wife would want to kill herself?—”
“I never said she wanted to kill herself.”
“Dude”—I sit up—“you said I needed to inspire her to live. I know I’m not the smartest person in the world, but I’m not the dumbest either.”
He leans forward, resting his arms on his desk. “Some people just exist. They wake, go through the same boring routine, sleep, and do it all over again the next day. And the day after, and the day after. Theyexist.And they do it with no inclination not to exist. But that’s not living.”
“So Mrs. Rawlings is boring, and you want me to inspire her to be more exciting?”
He studies me for several seconds before shaking his head.
“I hate being kept in the dark. That’s how I fuck up. And this morning I asked Mrs. Rawlings if she wanted to kill herself.”
He winces.
“It’s not my fault. You blackmailed me into taking this position, as if a muse is an everyday job. Then you made me think she’s suicidal, but no other explanation. You’re a shitty communicator.”
