“Okay, okay,” he said, grinning, holding his hands up, standing and blocking my path so that I had to stop pacing. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“You were?” I asked, breathing hard.
“Yeah. Well, maybe not the ‘fuck no’ part—as a general professional rule, you don’t want to say that to your editor’s suggestions.” I rolled my eyes at him, and he laughed and sat down on my bed. “But the general thrust of it all, yes. So let me take this to our counsel’s office and see what they advise. Nevertheless might not want to sue you for disparagement. Getting embroiled in a lawsuit will make them look even worse. Besides, if you write something where you let the facts speak for themselves without being overtly snarky or judgmental, you can claim that you’re not disparaging them at all, just recording the truth.”
“Writing something without snark or judgment?” I asked. “I’m sorry, I’m unfamiliar with the concept.” He grinned. “Okay, can do. And this girl didn’t mention anything about a nondisclosure, so I think maybe they just keep the secrets because it’s fun for them. But if they do turn out to have one of those, same rules apply?”
“A nondisclosure is trickier,” he said. “Although people get out of those all the time. Just don’t sign one before we can take a look at the language and make sure it’s worth the risk.”
I sat down beside him. “That sounds great. I can do that. And I’m . . . I’m really glad to be doing this. I mean, it’s wild, and maybe very stupid. But I’m excited.”
“Me too,” Miles said, and then he laughed again, scratching his beard in disbelief. “God, you actually did it, huh? You pulled it off. I thought you were bullshitting me at that pitch meeting.”
“I kind of was!” I said, laughing too. “Margot didn’t even remember my name after that first party—I had to get my friend Raf, who’s this fancy up-and-coming chef, to pretend to be my boyfriend and talk me up to her so that she’d even take a second look at me.”
“A pretend boyfriend? Uh-oh, straight out of a romantic comedy.”
“Right,” I said. “I’m a real Meg Ryan.”
Miles shook his head in amusement, but his voice caught a little bit as he said, “Don’t go falling in love with him now, Beckley.”
“I’m not planning on it,” I said quietly.
“Good.” He looked down into his lap. “You impress me, very much.”
My face grew hot. “Thanks,” I said. We were sitting closer together now on my unmade bed, both not looking at each other until all of a sudden we were, his eyes locked on mine, nervous smiles rising on both of our faces. In the months since we had kissed, I had told myself it would never happen again. Thanks to my father, I’d seen how affairs could destroy a family. I was not a homewrecker. I’d even met Miles’s wife, Emmy, at a work Christmas party, and she’d struck me as a pleasant person who deserved a happy, stable relationship, dammit. But sitting so close to him, our knees grazing, I knew that if he reached out for me, I’d let him touch me however he wanted. If he told me to take off my clothes, I’d shed them immediately. I’d do anything he asked, cross a divide that had always seemed unbreachable, and I wouldn’t worry about hating myself until after he had gone.
In our momentary quiet, Sara’s scream floated up from the staircase.
“It’s a huge spider!” she was saying. “There!”
“Shit,” Rob said, then sounds of scuffling and a stomp. “Man, that’s nasty.”
“Well, obviously,” Sara said, “we’re going to have to hire someone to do a thorough cleaning.”
That broke the spell. Miles cleared his throat and stood up.
“Emmy will be wondering where I am,” he said, then looked at me frankly. “We’ve been going through a rough patch, but she’s very important to me, and we’re trying to work through it.”
“That’s good.” I winced. “Her being important to you, I mean, not the ‘rough patch’ part.”
“Yeah,” he said, and cleared his throat again. “Let’s figure out a conference room or something else for our next meeting—this is a little far for me to come after work. But great job. I’ll get you a camera before Friday so you can grab us some pictures. In the meantime, write up what you told me tonight, and I’m going to mail you a check.”
“Got it,” I said.
“Good luck, Beckley,” he said before ducking out my door.
FOURTEEN
On Friday night, I stood in front of the Nevertheless meeting point, an unobtrusive camera (disguised as a cigarette lighter!) that Miles had sent to me tucked in my bag. I’d cashed the check from him earlier that afternoon.
The guide who came to get me was a familiar and eager face: Libby. “Hi hi hi, girlfriend!” she said, and hugged me.
“Since when are you one of the intimidating trial guides?” I asked.
“Since I volunteered,” she said, fluffing her hair and giving her shoulders a little shimmy. “It just seemed like so much fun, and I wanted to get more involved, and—” She caught herself. “Oh, we’ve got to go! Follow me.”
“What about the blindfold?”
She let out an excited squeak. “No more blindfold!”
“Hey, moving on up in this world!” I said as she began to walk. “So what’s up? How’s the fizzy water business going?”
She turned her head, an exaggerated grimace on her face. “I’m not really supposed to talk to you right now, I’m sorry!” She marched determinedly forward, and I could taste the success ahead of me, sweet as an ice cream cone. She hadn’t even taken my phone! It was still safe in my bag. As she wordlessly led me west, my breath caught every time we passed a building
