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My legs are shaking as I stalk back to my office, and I have to force myself not to break into a run. I am almost certain that I can hear people whispering about me. They avert their eyes as I pass the cubicles, but I’m sure they have to know. This feeling inside me is growing so strong, it seems like it must make a sound or something, something everyone can hear like a semi-truck horn blaring. Does everybody know?
Carefully I close the door to my office, trying not to let the handle click. Landry is breathing softly as she lies on the sofa, her mouth hanging open, her hair fringed over her face. With her hair in the way, I can’t see the bruises. And that is good, because it makes me sick to my stomach.
Standing here helplessly, I just look around, hoping for something to do. I know I have a mountain of work to do, but I can’t stop thinking about Maxwell. What was that? Another kiss? Another kiss that doesn’t mean anything? This whole thing seems like another stupid chess match, just two pieces circling each other endlessly on a board of black and white squares.
He has got some nerve. Butting into my life. Telling Landry what to do. And then just kissing me out of the blue like that? Taking my breath away, cutting me off in the middle of a sentence like that?
Who does that? What kind of psychopath—
My office door swings open, startling me. I whirl around to see Lou standing there, his face a snarl of rage. He twists the door handle in his gnarled hand, but thankfully he is standing in front of the sofa with his back to Landry, and doesn’t see her lying there. She startles and begins to sit up, but I make a cautioning wave with one hand so she won’t make a sound.
“You know Cyrus Finnigan?” Lou starts in.
“Um, sure I do,” I stammer. “Jaguar Plaza. We were just talking about—”
“We just lost him!” Lou barks.
At first I think Cyrus must have died or something. He’s about ninety years old, after all. A huge developer on the West Side. But by the look on Lou’s face, I don’t think Cyrus is dead.
“You want me to call Maxwell? Let’s go in the conference room…”
Like a sheepdog, I head for the doorway and herd Lou safely away from Landry and toward the conference room down the hall. With a hand signal, I catch Maxwell’s attention as he stands near Fred’s cubicle. He seems to immediately understand and breaks away so he can join us.
“What’s up?” Maxwell asks as he closes the conference room door behind us. Lou walks to the head of the conference table, his natural place, and pounds his fist on the heavy wooden surface.
“Greg swiped Cyrus Finnigan away from us. Third one this month!”
Maxwell looks alarmed, and my stomach clenches with guilt. Three in a month? I feel like I should have known. After Isaac mentioned his name… I should have followed the thread. I should have realized.
“I’m sorry, Lou, this is my fault,” Maxwell offers, cutting off my train of thought. “I’ll take care of this.”
Lou points a bony finger in Maxwell’s direction. “Yeah, you better take care of this! Greg has a non-compete arrangement with us. I will rain legal hell on him that his grandkids will never recover from!”
Maxwell straightens, lifting his hands in the air in a gesture that I have seen before. He’s trying to lower the temperature in the room. Trying to calm Lou down.
“Okay, do we know which projects these were?” he asks in a measured, calm voice.
“Yes, the Jaguar Plaza,” I explain. “That is one of Cyrus Finnigan’s projects.”
His eyes flicker toward mine, instantly understanding.
“Lou, we have this handled,” he declares reassuringly. “We have a plan. Things are already in the works…”
“Don’t you try to manage me!” Lou snarls, surprising me with his anger. I’ve never seen him like this.
Maxwell physically pivots, trying a new tack. I can’t help but be impressed with the way he is trying to manage Lou, even as Lou tells him not to. Now that I think of it, it is something that I both love and hate about him too.
“What are the other two projects?”
“Already closed!” Lou growls, rubbing the bald top of his head with his palm. “Fast-track closing. Greg knows he is in the shit. He knows!”
“All right, I’ll see what I can do,” Maxwell nods, his voice low and steady, sounding confident and reliable.
“Don’t give me that passive bullshit!” Lou barks. “This needs to be handled, Maxwell! You understand me?”
“Perfectly, Lou,” Maxwell answers, crossing his arms over his chest.
I get the sense that Maxwell has reached the end of the amount of crap he feels he needs to take from Lou. Sure, Lou demands respect, but that only goes so far. Maxwell is declaring that he has already said he will handle it, and it will be handled. No more discussion necessary.
