Page 132 of Go Back to December

“Nah.” He waves a hand. “He asked me for my opinion on what had to be disclosed, given the situation. I told him the circumstances did not meet the disclosure requirements, as set forth in the policy.”

“Oh,” is all I can manage.

Relief and disappointment park on my chest with the weight of two cannonballs. We won’t lose our jobs for violating company policy. Baz convinced them there was no relationship between us.

“Ambassador Leary, I’m afraid I won’t be able to accept your offer to join your team,” I say. “I have to work out what to do next with the café.”

“I understand.” He nods. “I’d like to offer you something else.”

He rises from his desk, picks up a folder, and hands it to me. When I open it, a typed letter, on heavy Blackhart & Steele letterhead, smiles back.

“That is a glowing nomination letter for the Lightman Fellowship.”

I stare at it, then at him, open-jawed.

“Sorry for the delay. I realize you had a request into my office weeks ago,” Badger says smoothly. “And I appreciate all the detail you provided. The copy of the café documentary was very helpful.”

There’s only one person who would have given him this dossier of my accomplishments: Baz. “Sir, if I may ask. Did you write this before or after you voted to sell the building?”

“After,” he says with a half-smile. “But it wouldn’t have changed my vote. The sale was a contingency of the merger. And for this firm to survive, we needed it.”

There was nothing Baz could have argued or negotiated to change that.

“This is kind of you, but I’m not sure I can accept the letter,” I say. “I may have to withdraw my application to focus on the café.”

“Take it anyway. In case you require another reference. And one more thing.”

Badger walks back to the desk and reaches for a business card. “My daughter can be impulsive. Takes after me. But she’s a phenomenal fundraiser.”

He hands me the card. “Whatever you decide to do next, Alicia would love to help.”

The gesture is an excellent cover for her obnoxious behavior. I file that move in my hustler directory as I take the card and thank him.

In the corridor outside Badger’s office, Lacy’s pacing is wearing down a hole in the carpet. She sees me, sinks her fire-engine red nails into my forearm and drags me down the hall, past the Mosh Pitt. We crash into walls like one of those babies in a wheeled saucer.

“What fresh hell is this?” I pant.

Lacy stops short in front of an empty office.

Baz’s empty office.

“He’s gone.”

I whirl around to face her. “They fired him? For the gossip site piece?”

“No, he cut a deal.”

She hands me a piece of paper outlining the agenda for the Finance Committee meeting, which reads: Human Rights Practice, Retirement and Redirection of Funds.

“Baz sacrificed his practice to fund six months of the café’s operating expenses.”

It’s the stay of execution I’d prepared myself to grovel for. Enough time to keep my staff employed, certify as a B-Corp, and attract seed money.

But I never calculated it would cost this.

I slide down the glass wall and crumple onto the floor. “He had no right to do that.”

“Yeah, he did.” She sinks down beside me.