Page 48 of The Pleasure of Panic

“Got it. You’ve got no ambition of your own.”

“Fuck. You.” But I follow that up immediately with, “I’m sorry. Forget I said that. It’s not fair.”

“Jesus. Fuckin’ men. You’re all the same.”

“I’m gonna do you a favor now, and forget you said that. Because it’s not fair either. You don’t know me. I don’t know you, and hopefully, once we tell our stories, we’ll see eye to eye. Maybe you’ll change your mind about me.”

“I’m not telling my story, you’re telling yours because we made a deal. So one more time, Agent Murphy. Why did you get demoted?” This time it comes out with a little more venom. But she’s also eyeing the boot I’m holding with apprehension.

I place my hand on the back of her upper thigh and say, “Relax. It’s not torture. It’s fun.”

She forces a smile, but shakes her head.

I start unlacing the back of the boot. I swear, there’s like forty-seven eyelets to deal with. But I’m not complaining. That’s forty-seven chances to drive her wild as I lace them back up.

“OK, back to the fuckin’ question. The demotion in DC. What was that about? You disappoint your dad or something?”

“You’re a goddamned mind-reader, Ms. Grey.”

“So you did.”

I nod.

“What did you do?”

“I did… a whole lot of nothing for a very long time. And then one day… I had enough, you know?” I look up at her as I lace her boot.

“He was a good witch? Or a bad witch?”

I think about this and want to say good, because there’s good in everybody. And it’s easy to see the good over the bad when it comes to family. But I can’t lie. I promised her the truth. So I don’t bother trying and answer with, “Bad witch.”

“Oh.”

“He’s dead now, so… whatever.”

She pouts her lips a little. “Well, sorry about that. That he’s dead. It’s hard to lose people.”

“Thanks,” I say. “And appreciated.”

“Were you close at least? Even if you disappointed him?”

“Yeah. I guess you could say we’re close.” Then I wince. Because I said that like he’s still alive. It’s so hard for me to believe he’s dead and… “I mean… I went into the FBI because he wanted me to, and I thought it’d make him proud of me.”

“Is he?” Then she winces, and not because I’ve got the laces all undone and I’m reaching for her foot to slip it inside the boot, either. It’s because she’s talking about him in the present tense too. “Was he? Before he died?”

“It depends when you asked him, I guess.”

“OK,” she says, thinking about that for a moment. “Go on. We seem to be taking a while to get to the point here so…”

“Yeah,” I say. “Right. DC. So I went into the FBI Academy in Virginia. Graduated pretty high up in my class. Not top, but near the top. And I guess that’s expected because of who I was and all.”

“Come on. You’re taking way too long to answer one stupid question.”

That’s because I don’t really want to tell her the next part. I deflect and wrap both hands around her calf, sliding them up to her thighs. I’m watching her face as I do this. She closes her eyes and sighs.

Which makes me smile.

“So on graduation day I’m standing there, all dressed up, feeling pretty fucking good about myself. And my dad comes over with a little box. A gift, ya know?”