Okay, tell me… did you call it quits, or did you wind up in the throes of wild reconciliation? I’m hoping for the latter. I want details.
Eleanor felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth.
Eleanor:
Later.
Another buzz.
April:
That means yes.
Eleanor slipped the phone into her pocket just as the office door opened.
Frannie looked up.
“Well now,” she said calmly.
David Mercer stood in the doorway.
Tall. Controlled. Carrying the kind of tension that said he’d spent the entire day listening to strangers decide who he was.
“You must be Mr. Mercer.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lucy’s finger stabbed the mute button so hard the laptop shifted on the chair. The silence that followed was vacuum-sealed, pressing against the walls until the only sound left was the slow, mechanical tick of the clock behind Frannie’s desk.
Frannie gestured toward the hallway.
“Ms. Harper is expecting you.”
Deck leaned toward Lucy.
“Here we go.”
Lucy whispered back, “This is incredible.”
Frannie didn’t even look at them.
“If either of you says the word podcast in front of that man, I will personally throw you both out the window.”
Deck lifted his hands.
“I’m the picture of discretion.”
Lucy nodded.
“Same.”
Frannie stared at them. “I have seen your search history, Lucy. You wouldn't know discretion if it subpoenaed you.”
“I do not believe either of you.”
Eleanor stepped forward.
“Mr. Mercer.”
