Chapter 9: The Lobby

On Monday morning Trevor was waiting for me in the lobby of my own building.

He stood by the reception desk in a navy quarter-zip, holding two coffees and a smile.

Courtney stood three steps behind him, with her phone at chest height.

The elevator opened, and thirty people from Maddox spilled out around me, and I stopped.

Trevor lifted a coffee.

"Pipe. I brought you a flat white. Oat. I remembered."

"I drink black now."

"Since when?"

"Since you dumped me by text."

The woman at the reception desk stopped typing.

Two designers by the bike rack slowed down and pretended to read their phones.

"Let's talk upstairs," Trevor said, lower. "Somewhere less public."

"Here is fine."

He changed tactics so smoothly I almost admired it.

"I'm worried about you," he said, with his hand pressed to his chest. "I really am."

"A week at a new place, and there's already a whole situation. Courtney's heard things. People talk."

"Which people?"

"People who care about your reputation."

"Mine, or his?"

He set one coffee on the desk and stepped closer.

He smelled like the cedar soap I used to buy him.

"Here's what I'd do," he said, almost gently.

"I'd go to the founder today and say I'm unwell. A migraine, a family thing. You step off the Larkin team, quietly, with grace."

"And I'd make sure a report like that never goes anywhere."

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