A soft, sad laugh bubbled up. “I came back here. I’m not done.”
She raised a brow. “So this isn’t a goodbye dinner?”
“Not unless you’re firing me.” We both fell silent as she cut into her steak, her lips pressing together.
She didn’t approve.
“You think I should quit?”
“I think you should do what makes you happy.”
“That’s . . . not something I thought I’d ever hear you say.”
Robin sighed and leaned back in the booth, studying me like I was a bug under a microscope. “I got someone too, you know. I met her a few months ago, but she lives in Nashville. Works as an assistant at some record label. She’s funny and smart and perfect.”
“Really? You’ve never said anything.” I frowned. “Do you do long distance?”
“We’re trying. But long distance can be hard. You can make it work, of course.”
“I think the ship has sailed for that . . .” I hadn’t even texted Avery or Mateo since the day of the fight with Austin. I owed both of them an apology. I owed both of them a lot more than that.
“From what you’ve told me, I’m not so sure they’ll just move on.”
“Well. Would you move to Nashville for her? For your person?”
“I would if I lost my star client.”
“Surely you don’t mean me.”
Robin shrugged. “I don’t feel like blowing smoke up your ass.”
I shook my head. “Well, I can safely say you’ve never done that.”
Her laugh was harsh but comforting. “Whatever you decide, Rayburn, you need to make up your mind. A season off will be good for your recovery with your shoulder, but you still need tobe maintaining your body. And I need to get you on some social media campaigns and maybe even modeling.”
Ugh. “I don’t know about modeling.”
“People would pay a lot of money to see you in your underwear.”
“If I wanted to do that, I’d just start an OnlyFans.”
She paused for a moment as if she were considering it.
“Robin,no.”
“Sex positivity. You’d make a lot of money.”
“Absolutely not. I respect the hell out of sex workers, but I don’t have the temperament for it.”
“You don’t have the temperament for anything,” she sighed. “Except for pining. And torturing yourself. Are you sure you’re not a Jane Austen character?”
“I’m sure I’m a dumbass, and that’s about it.”
Another dry chuckle. “I should be glad you’re staying.”
“But . . . ?”
“You look miserable. It’s pathetic.”
