"Yes."
"You can invite him here."
There's not enough space. And I don't want to lose the line separating work and life. It's thin enough as it is. Even without Celine in my apartment. "He can wait a few days."
"Spend the night there?"
"Maybe. My head of security wants me to stick with my normal routine as much as possible."
"Do you normally meet your friend?"
"No. But he thinks it would be better to err on the side of leaving the apartment. So it doesn't seem I'm going out of my way to return."
She nods.
"Friday out. Saturday gala. Sunday brunch."
"Is that your normal week?"
"Most of my job is asking for money."
"I was on the board of a nonprofit," she says.
"Right. You know. Sorry."
"Don't be."
"My mom ran an art's charity too. My mom would love you, actually."
And my dad has the best security money can buy. It's necessary, after years of going after corporations with deep pockets.
But what would I say?
Hey, Mom, hey, Daddy, can I drop a survivor off at your door? Did I mention she has a baby in tow?
Fuck, maybe I can. If I don't come up with a better plan.
"If she raised you, I'm sure she's a wonderful woman," she says.
"I'll pass on the compliment." I stand. Find my phone. "I should get dressed."
She nods of course.
"Will you be okay alone?"
"I won't be alone."
"You and Seb?"
"Yes. We'll appreciate the quiet."
"I'll text before I head home." I motion to the burner on the table. "The code. So you know to expect someone."
"Or if you're staying at your friend’s place?"
"No." I bite my lip. "Only when I'm on my way home."
She smiles. "Maybe at eight a.m. Or sometime Sunday? Or Monday evening?"
"Maybe."
"Do me a favor, Vanessa?"
"Yes?"
"Don't use me as an excuse. If you want to go home with your friend, do it."
I leave my place late, head straight to lunch with a donor, smile as she talks about her tech company changing the world.
My thoughts drift to Simon, sure, but I pull them back. All afternoon, I work.
Until my assistant, Tammy, knocks. She holds up a dry cleaning bag and a pair of designer heels. "Half an hour to deadline."
"Thanks."
"There's a limo downstairs. Talk about all out." She mentions the CEO of a company sponsoring a gala tonight. "He's romancing you."
"He's not."
"Are you kidding? He practically stuffs checks between your tits."
"He's not the only guy who ogles."
"Do you think the universe appreciates the irony?" She sets the clothes on a hanger. Does away with a bag. "You're going to knock 'em dead, at—" She checks the calendar on her phone. "Oh."
I play dumb.
"Dinner with Pierce. Really?" she raises a brow. "Which Pierce?"
"It's for Lee. Her father-in-law is hosting."
"Interesting how it says 'Pierce.' And not 'Preston Charles.'"
"The reservations are—"
"You're fucking him."
I say nothing.
"Holy shit. Simon Pierce? Really. He's the devil." She doesn't wait for a response. She barrels forward. "A handsome devil though. And that ego… does he back it up?"
I clear my throat.
"You really think I'm asking about his dick?"
That's a good point. "He's precise, controlled, and goal-oriented in everything else he does. What do you think?"
"Goal-oriented. That's hot."
"It is hot."
She laughs. "Good for you, Vee. You deserve it."
"Thanks." I think.
"You can invite him back home again Tuesday." She winks. "If your guest is ready to transfer to another secure location."
"If she wants to go all in?"
"A few more days," she says. "But we can always rush it."
"Does she?"
"She has a sister."
"Can you imagine?" she asks.
I can't. Saying goodbye to Lee forever, even if it was the only way to stay safe, keep her safe, keep her hypothetical child safe.
That would kill me.
"I want to find out what we're dealing with," I say. "If her husband has that kind of reach." Abusers are dangerous, no matter how much money they have. Especially when someone is leaving. But if her husband was the type to keep her around with apologies and charm—
He might chase her across the country. In his mind, he'll do it with good intentions. He'll go to apologize and beg for forgiveness.
That's still dangerous. He still might hurt her if she says no.
But that's a crime of passion. Anger in the moment.
If he had her lover killed?
That's a totally different ballgame.
Especially with a kid in the picture. A kid who isn't his.
"No way, Nancy Drew. That will end poorly," she says.
"We know people to ask," I say.
"I know people. I will ask. But it's not your decision, Vee."
Her husband isn't my father.
This isn't about me. Or my baggage. Or my choices.
It's about her and what she wants.
This is why I don't work with survivors.
I'm not objective.
"You're right," I say. "But see what you can find. For my own peace of mind."
"If you promise to talk to Regina."
"I will."
She shakes her head, not buying it, but she doesn't call me on it. "Now go. Get laid. Forget about saving the world for the weekend. Bring back details Monday."