Chapter 18: Hands Above Her Head

Before I opened the email, I made Gina read it first.

I don't know why.

I think I wanted a witness.

She read it twice on the phone screen, then handed it back with her mouth pressed flat.

The complaint came from a sales director at a software company that was one of the firm's biggest clients.

It said that a senior associate named Rae Whitfield had a documented history of volatile conduct.

Had publicly threatened him at an event, and had pressured him into a ten-thousand-dollar payment.

It asked that she not handle any client contact until an inquiry was finished.

It did not say Dustin Stoddard's name until the third line.

"He's moving fast," Gina said.

"He's scared."

"He's lying."

"He's lying well. That's his talent."

I put the phone face down on the ring apron.

"I'm not answering until Monday," I said. "If I answer tonight I'll say something I can't unsay."

"What do you want to do tonight?"

I looked at her.

She had a patience in her face that I was learning to read.

The look of someone offering to carry anything I wanted to put down.

"Come to my apartment," I said. "Please. I don't want to be alone with this, and I don't want to think."

"Then we won't think."

We took the stairs at my building two at a time.

I'd spent so many nights there pretending to be fine.

It felt strange to walk in with a woman who knew I wasn't.

It was Sunday afternoon by the time I stopped counting hours.

The sun came in over the Capitol dome and fell in orange stripes across my bed.

I had cleaned the bedroom twice that morning, and I'd put a roll of red cotton on the nightstand next to the lamp.

Gina saw it and raised her eyebrows.

Keep reading free with an account. Start Her Coach Wouldn't Take My Money, So I Paid Her Another Way from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.