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Emma shot him the finger.
“Emma’s quite right on the definition,” Mitchell said. “But let’s get to the heart of the story. Jake, did you find the condoms?”
“That is not the heart of the story,” Cassidy said. “My entire point was—”
“I did find condoms,” Jake interrupted. “A box actually. A box that had been opened and whose supply had been greatly depleted.”
Everyone looked at Cassidy awaiting explanation, but Cassidy was not that kind of guy, and he merely took a sip of his whiskey.
Julie poked Emma in the back. “Office sex,” she whispered. “Nice.”
“Yes, I’m hiring a sports editor,” Cassidy asked. “It just got approved this afternoon. Everyone happy now?”
“Not hardly,” Riley said. “I want to go back to how exactly you used all those condoms. How empty was the box, Jake?”
“Are you going to hire Cole?” Emma interrupted quickly, hoping to avoid a prolonged analysis of exactly how each of those condoms had been used. It was no secret that Emma and Cassidy were sleeping together, but that didn’t mean Emma was dying to spill the details. Even if they were really delicious details.
“I’d like to hire Cole,” Cassidy said. “But I’ve been trying to hire that guy for a year. He’s been hell-bent on remaining a contractor.”
“So why not let him stay a contractor?” Sam asked.
Cassidy shrugged. “Not my call. The order came from above. It comes down to budgeting. Capex versus opex, you know?”
“No,” everyone said at the same time. Except for Mitchell who said yes.
Julie sighed and gave her husband a warning look. “You get one sentence to explain.”
“Capital expenses versus operating expenses,” Mitchell. “Freelance wages are often pulled out of capex funding, so if that’s on short supply, they’ll want to hire an employee, whose salary comes out of opex—”
“Got it,” Julie said, holding up her hand. “So there might be no more money to pay for Cole as a contractor, but he could work as a full-time employee . . .”
“If he wants to,” Cassidy said.
“Yeah, that’ll be the trick,” Jake mused. “That guy hates the idea of settling down in any capacity.”
Grace snapped her fingers. “That feels so familiar. Why does that feel so familiar?”
Emma smiled into her wine. Jake had famously had an acute case of wanderlust before finding Grace. Him accusing Cole of not wanting to settle down was a definite case of the pot and kettle being the exact same shade of black.
Riley chose that moment to let out a huge yawn, which set off an entire chain of yawns, which had Grace looking at the clock.
“Holy crap. It’s almost one!”
“On a school night, too!” Sam said, making a scolding noise.
“Shut it,” Riley said around another yawn. “Not all of us are self-employed.”
“Maybe our boss will let us come in late tomorrow,” Julie said, fluttering her eyelashes at Cassidy.
“That’s not going to do it,” Riley said. “Emma, take your shirt off. Then you ask him.”
“I’m all for this plan,” Cassidy said, “But for the record . . . I’m not your boss anymore, remember? Camille’s back.”
“Like I could forget,” Grace muttered. “Is anyone else having a hell of a time understanding her newly developed Australian accent?”
“I asked if she wanted to go grab lunch today, and she actually uttered the phrase shrimp on the barbie,” Julie said, standing and taking her wine glass to the kitchen. “She had to say it, like, eight times before I could understand her.”
“Hey,” Jake said, punching Cassidy’s arm as he put the cap back on the whiskey. “I know you’re not their boss anymore, but you are mine. Can I come in late tomorrow?”
