Evan. One word.
Dock.
She stood up. Wiped her eyes. The stairwell was cold and the fluorescent light was buzzing and somewhere above her the resort was running without her for the first time since she’d arrived.
She took the stairs two at a time.
He’d pulled her off this step once already.
She pushed through the door into the sunlight and ran.
He was on the dock when she got there, coiling a line he didn’t need to coil. He didn’t ask what happened. He’d heard, or guessed, or read it on her face.
“They moved me upstairs,” she said. “Second-floor conference room. Jolene has the floor.”
“Advisory.”
Not a question.
He looped the line over the cleat and straightened. “You eat anything?”
“Evan.”
“That’s a no.”
She laughed once. It sounded terrible.
He stepped closer. “Go upstairs. Do whatever it is you do when the world catches fire.”
“Make lists.”
“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth moved. “That.”
For a moment neither of them said anything.
“I’ll find you,” he said.
She believed him.
She went.
The room they’d given Margot to work from was a second-floor conference room with a window that faced the parking lot instead of the ocean. A deliberate choice, she suspected. Elaine’s way of telling her the view was earned.
She set her laptop on the table and pulled up a blank document.
CONTINGENCY PLAN: EXPO REMAINDER
The cursor blinked.
She’d made a plan like this once before. David’s company, eighteen months ago, three weeks before the full collapse. She’d watched the warning signs stack up and she’d made lists, backup vendors, alternative contacts, possible pivots.
She’d made the lists and told herself they were preparation.
They’d also been fear.
They’d been both.
She started typing.
