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“I’m not.”
“I don’t believe you. I’m going to talk to Max again.”
“What for?”
“He needs to put more resources on this. I’m out of favors and I don’t have many friends as it is.”
“You and me?” I motion between the two of us. “We don’t have any say in a police investigation. Or have you forgotten? We’re in private practice with paying civilian clients. Leave Max out of it. He’s done enough.”
“I should know. I’m the one sleeping with him.”
“Please don’t tell me anymore.”
“He’ll do what I say.”
“Great,” I tell her, leaving it at that. I don’t want to discuss my friend or the mistake he is making. Max is a married man who should not be sleeping with my assistant. Not only is she half his age, I sometimes doubt her sanity. But then, who am I to talk? To say anything would be the pot calling the kettle black. At least I’m not married. There’s one thing going for me.
“Ali,” I say to Nadia. “Has she been on dates in Boston? Through the app? I mean—has she been seeing anyone?”
“I don’t know for sure.” Nadia takes a long sip from her cup. “I don’t think so. From what my friend tells me, she’s mostly been at the hospital with herhusband.Probably not much time for dating.”
Her emphasis on the word husband annoys me. Nadia’s driving her point home. But I’ve known a lot of women like Ali Brown, and if there’s one thing they have in common, it’s that they never stay committed for long. Single, either, for that matter.
“He’s a quadriplegic,” I say.
“What?”
“A quad—”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “He’s a paraplegic.” She points to a photo. “See here, he has use of his arms.”
“Paraplegic—whatever. My point is, you can understand how she might want to—you know—date other people. And there’s a saying. You can’t turn a sports car into a minivan.”
“You’re a terrible person.”
“Am I?”
Nadia rolls her eyes. “Jesus, boss. You really need to get a grip.”
“Stop calling me that. And I have a grip.”
“You act like you’re in love with her.”
“Love is a bit of a stretch.”
“Well, you’re acting like a teenager.”
I smile. “I feel like one.”
* * *
When I return from lunch,Nadia’s mood has lifted, and she’s all smiles.
“What now?” I ask, flipping through the stack of mail on her desk.
She nods. “Guess who’s back?”
I take two envelopes and leave the rest. “Ali?”
