Chapter 11: Friday
Patrick Solis read the retraction letter twice.
He set it on the conference table next to the original pitch documents Emma and Ruth had rebuilt overnight.
"Cole Marston sent this voluntarily?" he said.
"Yes," Emma said.
Patrick looked at her in a way that suggested he didn't entirely believe that, but was willing to accept it as the version of events they were all going to use.
"All right," he said.
He turned to the pitch documents.
"Walk me through the lease structure."
They went for two hours.
At the end, Patrick closed the folder and looked at his two colleagues on either side of him.
One of them nodded.
The other said, "The numbers work."
Patrick looked at Emma.
"We'll need to formally exit the current arrangement.
That will take approximately two weeks.
After that, we'd like to re-engage Bennett Coastal Group on the original terms, with a revised timeline."
Ruth's pen stopped moving on her notepad.
"We accept," Emma said.
Patrick stood and extended his hand.
Emma shook it.
In the elevator going down, Ruth leaned against the wall and pressed both hands over her face.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay."
Emma looked at the elevator doors.
Eighteen months of work.
A bridal shower she'd sat through while her career was already gone.
A wedding she'd planned while her fiancé was writing letters he planned to deliver after the vows.
"Okay," she agreed.
Her phone buzzed.
Adrian: *I heard.
Congratulations.*
She typed back: *How did you hear?*
*Patrick Solis and my father have been in the same sailing club for fifteen years.
Word travels.*
Emma almost smiled.
*Thank you*, she wrote.
*For the email.
For the coat.
For all of it.*
A pause.
*Can I take you to dinner?* he wrote.
*Not tonight.
Whenever you're ready.
No agenda.*
Emma looked at the message for a long moment.
She thought about the harbor promenade.
The stone planter.
The city continuing around her while her world had stopped.
A black sedan pulling up.
A voice saying her name.
She thought about a man who had given her his coat in a November wind and never once asked for it back.
*Not tonight*, she wrote.
*But yes.*
The elevator doors opened onto the lobby.
May you like
Ruth was already walking toward the revolving doors, her coat half on, talking about lunch.
Emma followed her out into the cold bright afternoon.
