“I just wanted to pop my head in because I know Director Rasmussen wants to talk to you. He’ll undoubtedly be reinstating you, effective immediately, and I’m quite confident you’ll get a promotion.”
This doesn’t surprise me. I’d assumed I’d get my job back.
“Before he comes in, though,” Kynan continues, “I want to offer you a job at Jameson. I’d like you to consider coming to work for me.”
A surge of joy sweeps through me at the unexpected offer, but it’s tempered with a healthy dose of skepticism. “Are you offering me this job because of my exceptional skills and you really need another agent?”
Kynan doesn’t say a word.
“Or because Ladd is in Pittsburgh, and you think it’s best for him if I go there?”
Still, he remains silent.
I incline my head. “I’ll consider the offer, but if we don’t see each other again… thank you for rescuing us. You were right… we should’ve had you go with us from the start.”
A smile breaks wide on Kynan’s face. “See? You are a smart girl after all. Offer stands. Let me know.”
And with that, he turns and walks out. I have no more than about five seconds to consider the job offer when Rasmussen is walking back in.
“Ms. Hathaway,” he says, motioning for me to take a seat. “Let’s discuss your future here at the CIA.”
CHAPTER 23
Ladd
Turning off the gas flame under the pan of scrambled eggs, I yell up the stairs for Ethan. “Breakfast is being served.”
I move the pan to a trivet, pleased there’s minimal soreness in my right shoulder. The stitches were taken out yesterday and it’s amusing—at least to me—that the bullet graze to my ass twelve years ago hurt more than the through and through on my shoulder.
“Coming!” he yells back, and then the thunder of feet down the stairs that sounds like an elephant rather than an eighty-five-pound boy.
“I made you a roast beef sandwich for lunch,” I say as he skids into the kitchen. I dump some eggs on a plate, and he nabs it from me along with a piece of buttered toast.
He jams the toast in his mouth and mumbles, “Thanks.”
Ethan sits down at the table, and I refill my coffee. I glance out the window, the gray skies darkening my mood even further.
It’s been ten days since we’ve been back from El Salvador. I’m here in Pittsburgh, and Greer is… well… not.
I’d built up in my mind that we’d be together, but in my mind, I had not necessarily determined it would be in Pittsburgh. I wanted to see what she wanted. I wanted to make this a mutual decision.
My hope was she’d come to Pittsburgh, as I know Kynan offered her a job, but I’m not going to demand it. I learned the hard way how fast you can lose someone when you can’t compromise.
She’s not lost to me by any means, though. We talk every day, but it’s not the type of talk I want to have. I want a serious discussion about our future together, but when I bring it up, she puts me off.
It’s sly the way she does it, blaming it on a host of other things she has to handle first, but I see through it all. She’s scared, and I get it. I’m willing to be patient, or rather, I have no choice but to be.
Greer did not immediately accept Director Rasmussen’s offer to come back to the CIA. Instead, she asked him for two weeks off to think about it.
I had hoped she’d come here, so I could have some input on her decision, although I wouldn’t sway it. If she wants to stay with the CIA, I’ll figure out a way to make us work.
But she didn’t come here.
She’s in California—at her parents’ house—to think things through. It’s been ten days since we’ve been back from El Salvador, and yet, she’s still thinking about things.
It’s not the greatest confidence builder, and I’m wondering if I’ve misjudged the way we reconnected.
“Dad,” Ethan says. I blink, turning to face him.
“What’s up?” I sip my coffee, looking at him expectantly.
“I’ve been talking to you for like a minute about my school project, and you’re not even paying attention.”
I frown. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Sorry, bud.” I move over to the kitchen table and take the chair adjacent to him. He’s almost finished with his eggs. “Got lost in my head, I guess.”
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” He stares at me pointedly, but there’s no recrimination in his gaze.
“I have?” I ask.
Ethan nods, setting his fork down and pushing his plate away. He folds his hands on the table. “I think it’s time we had a talk.”
I happen to be taking another sip of coffee when he says that, and I almost spit it out with laughter because his tone and demeanor suggest he’s taken on the role of parent and I’m the child.