And Now She's Gone(19)

“We do care.”

“You sent me roses after my surgery. In your official capacity as founder and CEO.”

“I did?”

“Cuz you care. It’s no secret.”

“You should have some pizza. One slice won’t hurt. You’re recovering. You should eat.”

“Pizza isn’t penicillin.” Not that she’d finished that course of penicillin after surgery.

“I can have them order salad. Rice cakes or—”

“Nick.”

He held up a hand. “All right. Chill. Just wanna make sure that … you know, we’re being all inclusive or whatever. Meeting dietary … things.”

In March, Gray had been mentally ready for her promotion to baby P.I., but her body? Not so much. And two months later, she’d needed that appendectomy. Before then, she had worked from home but had tired of reporting the findings of investigations—she wanted to lead them. Especially cases that helped women get away from dangerous men. But she couldn’t be an investigator, Nick had told her, if she wasn’t in the building.

She now had an office with a window overlooking tree-lined walkways, and access to a game room with a Ping-Pong table. Throw in the best coffee in the building, free pizza, and alcohol—she had gained another ten pounds from all that, and from skipping her daily three-mile runs. Dr. Messamer had said that she could restart her routine in June, but it was now July, and since then, she’d only run to the bathroom.

Nick started on his second slice of pizza. “You look good now.”

Gray laughed. “Not like a busted can of biscuits, which is how I usually look?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I worry, okay? You’ve been sick, and this job … No set schedule. No regular mealtimes … You going to your follow-up appointments?”

“When needed.”

“Gray—”

“I don’t want to give away more information than necessary. You taught me that. I’m taking my meds and the doctor said that I’d have pain, that it’s normal, that I’m healing.” She gave a thumbs-up. “So, what’s up? You checking to see if Ian O’Donnell is still alive?”

“Can’t two old friends just talk for a minute?” Nick and Gray had known each other for twenty-four years, since she was fifteen years old. Back then, they were like brother and sister. They grew up, though, and now Gray loved Nick like that. But he had told her that she wasn’t ready for him. Pissed at his assessment of her, she’d put their friendship on pause, talking to him only as her employer. Yes, sir. No, sir. Thank you, sir. And he had avoided her—no chance meetings in the hallways, no bumping into each other in the kitchen or down in the parking lot.

Back in May, though, they had picked up their friendship like a yellowed newspaper on a battered porch. Just in time for her appendix to burst.

And now, her old friend grinned at her. “I was surprised you wanted to be a P.I., working with people paid to be nosy.”

“Yes, and nosy people tell me that you’re seeing a biochemist. I’m surprised. I mean, all those brains and random equations in her head. With you?”

His smile widened. “And I’m surprised that you care. With you actively ignoring me ninety-eight percent of the time, I mean. So, your case?”

“A doozy.”

“Yeah?” Nick crossed his long legs and pinched the crease of his Italian wool trousers.

“He’s…”

“A jerk? But he’s not like the regular jerks who’re searching for runaway girlfriends.”

“No? Cuz he certainly smells like that kind.”

“Well, he’s a friend,” Nick said. “He patched me up a long time ago. I was thinking of taking his case for old times’ sake, but I’m going out of town with … with…”

“With the biochemist,” she said with a slow grin.

He wiped his fingers on a tired napkin. “She’s always complaining that I don’t take her anywhere. I guess I just don’t get it. All beaches look the same. The ocean is blue and wet or green and wet. Every mai tai has that Malibu shit in ’em, and mosquitos are evil fuckers here and everywhere else. Save your money. Stay at home.”

Gray placed her chin in her hand. “You’re such a romantic.”

“Whatever. I’m going out of town, so I can’t work the case, and I thought it would be easy enough for you to handle without a lot of supervision.”

“He mentioned that he never met Isabel’s parents. Do you know why?”

“You ask him?” When she didn’t nod, he said, “You should’ve—that’s your job.”

Over in the kitchen, glass bottles clanked against other glass bottles.

Nick looked back over his shoulder—more staff had joined the others around the island. “Is that the beer?”

“Sounds like it.”

“Want a bottle?”

“Nope. I don’t drink beer, remember?”

He glanced again at his camped-out employees. “I remember. I just don’t believe it.”

“May I … say something, now that I have some context? I know this is our job,” she said, “but since the beginning of the world, every day begins and ends with a woman dumping a man. This happens on seven continents in over one hundred ninety countries around the world. Also on Pluto.”