The report was twenty-seven pages. Sixteen data tables. Three annotated distribution maps. A photographic appendix with enough documentation of old-growth indicators to make even the most determinedly jaded federal reviewer sit up a little straighter. She had written the riparian corridor section four times because it was the corridor that mattered, the corridor that connected everything. The narrow green thread of hydrology and root systems and inter-species dependency that would take two centuries to rebuild if it was razed and replaced with steel and concrete infrastructure. She had written and rewritten it until it was exactly as compelling as the thing it was describing, and now it was out of her hands.
Nellie Fuller, ecologist, van-dweller, and committed thorn in the side of corporate America, had done her job.
She glanced at her phone out of the corner of her eye and debated for a few minutes, trapped in a maelstrom of pride mixed with guilt mixed with longing mixed with uncertainty. She wanted to tell Sawyer, but she wanted to tell the Sawyer who had stayed the night barely a week ago, the Sawyer who had kissed her skin and whispered sweet—actually, pretty dirty—nothings in her ear.
Nellie wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to tell the CEO of Alburn Systems that she believed she had successfully foiled her expansion plans in Phoenix Ridge.ThatSawyer was unlikely to pat her on the head and praise her job well done.
A cheeky-somewhat-smug voicemail felt like the safest route at this juncture. The last one had yielded such satisfying results, she was hoping they could start something of a habit. It was midmorning, anyway, so Nellie figured Sawyer was probably in meetings or knee-deep in paperwork or whatever it was billionaire CEOs did with their days cooped up in their ivory towers.
Sucking in a nervous breath, Nellie clicked on Sawyer’s contact and mentally rehearsed a few lines she thought might sound appropriately nonchalant.
Much to her surprise, on the third ring, the line clicked open.
“Hey, you.” It seemed a chipper voicemail was not in their fate today.
Nellie opened her mouth to say something witty and instead produced a sound in the general vicinity ofoop.
“Oop? What’s that supposed to mean? Did you dial the wrong person?” Sawyer asked. She sounded both amused and mildly unsurprised, which was perhaps the most accurate way to receive anything Nellie did.
“No, no, I just thought I’d get your voicemail. I had a whole speech prepared,” Nellie admitted, clumsily recovering. “It was very good. Real crowd-pleaser. You’ve ruined it by not being outrageously busy like you’re supposed to be.”
“Tragic. What did I ruin?”
“Only my smug monologue about how I’ve submitted my report, seven days ahead of schedule, with enough ecological documentation to bury a development project the size of a city block, and how deeply, profoundly sorry not sorry I am for being an absolute nightmare to deal with ever since you found me chained to that tree.” Nellie propped her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “It was going to end with a mic drop or something. Really commit to the bit.”
“Ah, you finished your report.” Nellie couldn’t quite tell if Sawyer sounded disappointed or relieved, and the tone danced on the edge of professionalism. “This morning?”
“Just a few minutes ago. I’ve been staring at it since seven am thinking about how I should probably eat something before I become one with the furniture.” She glanced around at the scattered notebooks, the empty survey roll, the cold coffee. “Themess in this cottage is extraordinary. I think the papers have been breeding.”
“You don’t keep a very tidy office, that’s for sure.” Sawyer chuckled. “You should come and see mine.”
“Your office?”
“Yes, come to Alburn Systems. Now. We should make it official. Close of the development project, end of the deal. An official meeting, Nellie. Come and have an official meeting with me.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not...”
“I’m being deadly serious, Nellie. I want you to come here.”
“To your skyscraper?”
“One of them, yes.”
“The—” Nellie chewed her lip, already sitting up straighter, already looking around for her jacket. “The enormous glass one. The one right in the middle of the business district that I’ve spent years looking at and thinking, that’s where the enemy lives.”
“I live in a different skyscraper, not in my office. But yes. That’s the one.”
In a daze, Nellie found her jacket, which was hanging off the back of the couch where she’d flung it last and had a pencil she’d been looking for since Tuesday shoved through the collar. She extracted the pencil, in an effort to look slightly more professional for her business meeting.
“Right. Yeah. Okay. Official meeting. I’ll be there in—” She looked down at herself. Her cream fleece had a grass stain on the left sleeve that she had no memory of acquiring. Her jeans had a small rip in the knee that had been there for years. Her boots were, as always, boots. “Give me an hour.”
“Take your time.” Sawyer chuckled.
“I’m not wearing a blazer,” Nellie told her. In all honesty, there wasn’t anything in her closet that would be much ofan improvement on what she was wearing right now, if only perhaps something with fewer stains.
“I didn’t expect you to.”
“Just so that’s clear.”
