“You should be thanking me. I had to take that bullet today.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll always be grateful for your sacrifice. Did you snag a new assignment?”
He smiles impishly. “I’m booked for the week. A crew of brokers in from Copenhagen. It’s a pretty penny since they’re paying for my specialty.”
“Nice one,” I say, since Christian’s a former finance whiz. “See you in the . . .”
I stop myself, since if all goes as planned, I might not be here next week to see him at all.
He laughs and raises his chin. “See you on the flip side,” he says, since that’s his favorite American expression. He claps me on the back. “It’s been good. Let’s get a beer before you go?”
“Count on it.”
Turning down the hall, I square my shoulders and knock on the open door to Jean-Paul’s office. Even his randy stories won’t derail my mood today. I can barely contain my grin. Today is bonus day, and the bonus I’ve been promised for my last job is big enough for me to tackle a most important item from a most important list.
“Come in.”
I push on the door. “Good morning, Jean-Paul. How are you this fine Monday?”
“Fantastic.” He rises, taking off his glasses and gesturing to his chair. “I had the most amazing weekend.”
And he’s already off and running.
“Amazing weekends are the best kind,” I say, since I suppose I can endure a randy story given the bonus that’s coming my way.
I take the chair as Jean-Paul drags a hand through his thick mess of gray hair. His eyes twinkle with the naughtiness of a teenager.
I brace myself as he launches into the details of a weekend that revolve around a rope, a corset, and his fourth wife, which means I’m getting a whole new tale from the one he told Christian. “But enough about me,” Jean-Paul says, once he concludes by informing me that the rope burns on his wife’s wrists were completely visible when she served their neighbors Sunday night dinner. “How did you feel the job with the Wentsworth Group went?”
Thank hell for the segue. “Great. The client seemed happy. The marketing executives were quite satisfied. All went well, I’d say.” My recent gig was the most plum of plum assignments—one company for a few months, working with a key executive, handling all marketing material translations from French to English. Now, let’s show me the money, in the form of that absolutely delicious bonus for a job well done.
“All did go well. Funny, that’s how I felt about my first marriage, too,” Jean-Paul says, a faraway look filling his eyes. “She was the prettiest.” He sighs dreamily.
“Okay.”
“Absolutely the best of the bunch.”
“Right. Someone always comes out on top, eh?”
“Which brings me to the bonus,” he says, his voice turning heavy, leaden.
It doesn’t take a translator to know what that sound signifies. Hell, Google Translate could get that right.
“Yes, the bonus,” I say, rubbing my palms together, my pitch rising like I can rearrange fate with a chipper demeanor. But then, this wouldn’t be the first time I tried to wish away circumstances with a bloody fucking grin.
Didn’t have much luck then, either.
“The good news is we have so many more jobs.”
I can practically feel the bonus slipping through my fingers right this second.
“And the bad news is they’ll be a week late with the bonus?” I offer, always playing the optimist. Been there, done that, have the T-shirt.
Jean-Paul rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “Griffin, it’s like I say about my first wife and me. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out between a couple, but they still love each other.”
“I don’t think that’s a saying about first wives.”
“What I’m saying is the client loved you, but it turns out, no fault of yours, that the marketing campaign was total crap. And the company doesn’t have the money to pay the bonus since the campaign was canceled.”
My shoulders sag. “They can’t pay the bonus?”
Screw optimism. Just screw it, like a bike frame without a seat screws the sitter.
“It seems it is not on the map.”
I fall into English. “I really wish you were taking the piss right now.”
He blinks. “I’m not urinating.”
“Sorry. I meant I wish you were pulling my leg,” I say, using the phrase he’d be more familiar with since he learned English in American schools.
“Ah, I only wish I were pulling your leg. Yanking your chains. Taking your pisses.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s just taking the piss. Not mine. I assure you.”
He flashes a smile, and it’s probably the grin he used on his first, second, and third wives, because it almost tricks me into thinking everything’s going to be fine. “Language is a funny thing, isn’t it?” he says, chuckling as if this is the most delightful conversation in all the land. “In any case, Wentsworth said you were stellar. Most marvelous translator they’ve had. But you know how it goes. C’est la vie.”
“Win some, lose some,” I add.
He snaps his fingers. “Your idioms are spot on, Griffin. That’s why you’ll always be in demand. As I’ve said, you and Annalise are some of the best when it comes to nuance.”
“Yes,” I agree, since my pregnant colleague is quite sharp, too. But a lot of good that grasp on idioms is now that the money is sailing away in the spring breeze.
Along with the dream it was earmarked for. I planned to use that bonus to line the pockets of an airline, pay a registration fee, and run twenty-six miles, then spend some time exploring Indonesia, the first place I ever marked on a map with a thumbtack.
It was meant to serve a certain someone’s wishes.
“But don’t fret,” says the man who was supposed to become my former boss today but is now still my current boss. “We have new assignments coming in all the time. You’re one of
