Page 229 of The Girlfriend Clause
“I’m not freaking out,” I said. I’d already done that. Forhours.
“Right. No.” He paused. “Shit, Andy. I thought we’d shredded it.”
“I thought you had.”
“So did I. I didn’t, did I? I didn’t fucking do it. Oh my God. Oh my God! Andy!”
“I thought you said not to freak out?”
“I’m not.” He made his mouth into an O and blew out slowly. “Okay, let’s think about this. Bonnie’s involved, which is good. Or maybe not. No. It might be terrible, actually. But the letter was… fair, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t think it was, honestly.”
“No. But it doesn’t mean anyone’s done anything wrong, technically. Either of us. You were perfectly entitled to have concerns. And to log them. It was just—”
“Insurance,” I said.
“Right. Yes. Insurance.” James picked up his beer and tipped half of it down his throat. “And it doesn’t mean von Roth—Liam—knows. Or that he will. Or that it’ll go anywhere.” He looked at me. “We can still manage this.”
I took a sip of my soda. It was refreshing, the bubbles crisp, like they washed away something I wasn’t going to worry about anymore. The cold liquid slid down easily, something finally settling into place. Clarity.
“Liam will find out,” I said. “It’s inevitable. But I’ve already dealt with it.”
“What do you mean, dealt with it?”
“I clarified the record.”
His mouth dropped open. “You—what?”
“I went to Bonnie this morning,” I said. “I corrected it. In writing.”
He stared at me. “Andy, you shouldn’t have done that without—”
“Well, I’ve done it,” I said. “The problem was mine to fix. I didn’t want it sitting there anymore.”
“Jesus, Andy. How did Bonnie take it?”
“Okay.” I looked out the window. Commuters were streaming past in lanyards and half-undone jackets, heading for the station. “And I resigned.”
“You didwhat?”
“I handed in my notice.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He dragged a hand down his face. “You didn’t have to torch yourself to clean this up.”
“I didn’t,” I said. “I decided it was time to stop faking.”
“What do you mean, faking? How can you—” He ran his fingers through his hair, turning it into a mop.He wouldn’t be happy when he saw that. “No. It’s okay. You’re having a breakdown. Perfectly understandable. I’ll talk to Bonnie and tell her you were under enormous stress—personal stuff, mental health, possibly undiagnosed mania—”
“I’m not manic.”
“We can undo this. It’s not too late.”
“I don’t want toundo it, James,” I said. “I’m done with it. Novexia. Pharma sales. It’s not for me. I’ve got enough saved up, along with the proceeds from the portrait and the NDA payout. And when my sister moves out—”
“Eliza’swhat?”
“I’ll fill you in later. She’s going to India.”
