Chapter 8: Reconciliation Program

On Monday morning I walked into my new office with a visitor badge and a coffee, and Brett was already in the lobby.

He had flown in on the red-eye.

Colin stood beside him with the notebook open.

Neither of them had a bag.

A wooden box sat on the reception counter between them.

I recognized the box.

The receptionist, a young man with a neat beard, looked up at me and then at the box.

"They said they're your fiancé and his assistant," he said. "They want to surprise you."

"I'm surprised," I said.

Brett stepped forward.

He had shaved, and he looked tired in a way he had never let me see.

"Bridget," he said. "I'm not here to fight. I want to talk where you can't just leave."

"You can talk to my voicemail."

"I brought something."

Colin lifted the lid of the box.

Inside lay a single slip of paper, freshly stamped with the red ink I knew.

GRANTED, it said.

Under it Colin had written in neat letters: Reconciliation. One conversation. Bridget chooses.

"This one's yours," Brett said. "No catch. You cash it in with me, any time this week, and I'll answer any question you ask."

A few people had stopped by the elevators to watch.

The director who had hired me stood at the end of the hall with her arms folded.

I picked up the slip.

Brett's face eased.

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