Chapter 12: The Trophy

The dealership was closed on Sundays, but the side door was unlocked.

Bruce stayed in the truck at the far end of the lot.

He had asked to come in with me, and I had said no.

"If you're in the room, he'll perform for you," I said. "I want the real one."

"I'll be here."

"I know."

"Leah." He caught my hand through the open window and held it. "Press record before you reach the door."

I did.

Travis's glass office was bright, with the blinds up.

He sat behind his desk in a quarter-zip, with a paper cup of coffee, looking pleased with himself.

"You came alone."

"You asked for alone."

"I asked for nothing. You asked." He gestured at the chair. "Sit. You look tired, babe."

"I'll stand."

"Suit yourself."

I stayed by the door, with my phone in my pocket and my hand over it.

"You told Bruce something yesterday," I said. "Say it to me."

"Which part?"

"All of it."

He smiled and folded his hands behind his head.

"He wrote you a polite little email, and I answered it."

He shrugged.

"'Not interested.' You were in the shower. I thought it was funny."

"You thought it was funny."

"I thought it was efficient. Bruce Garrison has been trying to take things from me since we were nineteen."

He sipped his coffee.

"His father lost his franchise to mine. You'd think he'd learn."

"So you went after me to win something."

"I went after you because he wanted you." He said it simply.

"It's the only thing he's ever wanted that I could get my hands on first."

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