“Thirty seconds.” Was he bargaining?
“I’m tired,” I said, shaking my head.
But now Robby jumped around to fully block me. “It’s kind of important.”
Was I going to have to fight him? For God’s sake, I just wanted to go home. “Not today,” I said, starting to gird my strength for whatever I needed to do to not have this conversation.
But that’s when Robby looked up right behind me, and then I felt a weight settling on my shoulder.
It was Jack Stapleton. Draping his arm around me, as I’d already given him permission to do.
“She’s pretty tired, Bobby,” Jack said, pulling me sideways against him in a squeeze.
“It’s Robby,” Robby said.
“I’m getting a vibe like she really just wants to go home right now,” Jack went on. “Maybe it’s from the words she’s saying.”
Robby, of course, couldn’t go against the client.
He looked at me, but I looked away.
“You’re not going to make her report you to Glenn, are you?” Jack turned to me. “Or if you’re too busy, I could do it.”
I felt more than saw Robby’s shoulders drop in defeat.
Jack gave it another second, as if to say “Are we done here?” And then, decisively, he steered me down the driveway toward my car, leaving Robby staring after us.
Later, in an effort to get Robby in trouble, I’d report everything but the kissing to Glenn.
And it would backfire.
I’d say, “Robby just showed up here for no reason and inserted himself into the assignment.”
And Glenn would say, “That’s a great idea.”
I’d frown. “What is?”
“Putting Robby on this assignment.”
“No, I—”
“I’m still deciding between the two of you for London, you know,” Glenn would say.
Of course I knew.
“Anyway, he’s the best we’ve got for video surveillance. And you know I never want to miss a chance to torture anyone.”
“Haven’t you tortured me enough?”
A wink from Glenn. “I meant him.”
Was Glenn clueless? A sadist?
Little bit of both, maybe.
Either way, he added Robby to the team—and gave me the credit.
But that night, as Jack fished around in my purse for my keys and then hit the unlock button, I didn’t see any of that coming yet. I didn’t see much, really—other than what was right in front of me: Jack guiding me to the passenger side, opening the door, sitting me down, and leaning across me to buckle me in.
He smelled like cinnamon.
Again: not something I’d normally let a client do.
But so little about this assignment was normal.
When Jack walked around to the driver’s side, got in, and started the car, I didn’t stop him.
As we pulled away from his house, I mustered a weak, “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you home.”
“But how will you get back?”
“I’ll borrow your car,” he said, “and come back to get you in the morning.”
Jack Stapleton was offering to pick me up in the morning? “That seems like a lot of work.”
“What else do I have to do these days?”
“Your profile says you are a late sleeper. Like noon-to-afternoon late.”
“I can set an alarm.” Then a pause. “Was that guy your boyfriend?”
“Was that guy your boyfriend?”
Ugh. I was too haywire to do it right.
Jack frowned and tried again. “You weren’t dating that guy, were you?”
“I’m not going to talk about this with you.”
“Why not?”
I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. “Because I don’t talk about my life with clients.”
Even just telling a client that I didn’t talk about my life with clients was more than I’d ever told a client.
Another tactical error, for sure—but I was too numb to care.
“Just tell me that guy is not your boyfriend.”
“That guy is not my boyfriend,” I repeated mechanically. And then I don’t know if it was just some meaningless sparking in my short-circuiting brain, or a new comprehension that following the rules didn’t seem to get you anywhere, or a hunch that maybe nothing really mattered, after all … but two seconds later, I added, “Anymore.”
Ten
I MADE MY acting debut with Jack’s family the next day at the hospital.