Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“I don’t have admitting privileges anymore, anywhere, either.” He put his hand up. “It’s a hard no, C.P. So stop arguing. You’ve been too rich, for too long, and that makes you think you can have your way just because you want something. You can’t with me. Not on this.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. As a feeling of buzzy paranoia vibrated through her chest, she said, “I’m still going to see you here at my lab, though. Even if I sell, it’ll take half a year to close a deal. Minimum.”
“Well, that’s the other thing I need to talk to you about.”
There was a long pause, and then he began to run his hands back and forth on the tops of his thighs.
“You’re not leaving the lab,” she said in a rush. “Gus, what the hell? You’re not going.”
“I, ah…” His eyes swung in her direction, but avoided a direct lock with her own stare. “I accepted a new job about an hour ago.”
A cold rush hit her head and shot throughout her body. “What? What about Vita? What about—”
“I’m moving on. I’ve done what I can here and I’m—”
“You have a non-compete clause,” she cut in. “In case you don’t remember your contract.”
“Oh, I remember. I reread everything this afternoon. Every last fucking word—so thanks for the refresher, but I don’t need it.” He got to his feet and jacked up his jeans. “And as for that non-compete? Try and enforce it in court. You’d have to out what you’re doing here, and that isn’t going to be a good look.”
For a moment, she just stared over at him. His t-shirt was Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon. How perfect.
As for the contract, she had to laugh. “Okay. When’s your last day.”
“Today.”
“No notice? You… bastard. I can’t believe you’re just leaving me—the lab, I mean. After everything you’ve done here. Are you even going to say goodbye to your staff?”
He reached into his pocket and took out his pass card to the garage. “I’m assuming you’ll have the IT guys wipe my prints off the security checks. I’m leaving my laptop, obviously.”
“Where are you going?”
When she didn’t take his card, he put it on the rolling table, next to the pregnancy test. The image of the two side by side was instantly etched into her memory, and she thought of that moment, so recent and yet another lifetime ago, when he had nearly kissed her.
“That is none of your business. Goodbye, C.P. It’s been a helluva ride.” He glanced down her body for a split second. “And I wish you luck, I really do. If something happens, Leonardo can administer Vita. He knows the protocol backwards and forwards because he developed it with me.”
Tell him not to go, she thought. Just tell him—
Gus shrugged and went over to the door. “Life sends us curveballs sometimes. All we can do is make the best of them, you know? You’re a strong woman. If anyone can get through all this, and come out with a healthy baby? It’s you.”
And justlikethat, he was out of the room, the panel closing slowly behind him.
C.P. stayed where she was, and as the minutes ticked by on the clock that was over on the wall—the one with the digital readout on a twenty-four-hour cycle, the one that went to tenths of a second—she realized she was waiting for him to come back.
When he didn’t, she hustled out into the hall and went to his office. The door that had been closed was now open, held wide with a kick foot.
He’d taken all his things: The framed and signed Kobe jersey. The Michael Jordan basketball in its Lucite cube. The corkboard with the ticket stubs on it. The stuffed Kermit the Frog that she had resisted asking him about—
Footfalls. Out in the hall, closing in.
Oh, thank God.
Pivoting around, she said, “Let’s talk this through—”
Daniel Joseph stopped short. As he noticed what was going on inside the office, his mouth opened, like he was about to say something, but then he clamped his jaws shut.
Looking around at the blank walls, he said, “What happened to Gus?”
The urge to prevaricate was so strong that C.P. tried out a lie or two to herself: He’s redecorating. Or how about: He’s adopting a minimalist lifestyle. No, wait: He’s moving his office up to the house.
“He’s left,” she blurted.
Daniel leaned forward and cupped his ear. “I’m sorry, what?”
“He’s gone. Moved on to another position—and before you ask, no, he refused to tell me who he was going to work for.”
But she had an idea who it was. Fucking Gunnar. It had to be Gunnar.
“Oh. Okay.” Daniel swept his cap off and rubbed his skull. “All right.”
“Is there something you need?” she asked, by way of getting him to change the subject.