Page 8 of Bulletproof

He stood there, staring at me.

“So,” I asked him, “are you in, or are you out?”

“I … Mr. Har⁠—”

“Jory,” I corrected him, reaching out to give him a hard pat on the arm. “It’s just Jory.”

“You—”

“In or out?” I asked again, pressing for an answer.

He stared at me for several minutes before he finally said, “In.”

“Great,” I said, gesturing behind him to Michelle, who was beaming at me.

He looked over his shoulder at her, and I went to move, but before I could, he was barring my path again, sliding in front of me.

“Something else?”

“It’s just a bachelor pad. They all look the same.”

“No,” I assured him with a patronizing chuckle, stepping around him.

He was back in front of me fast—so fast, in fact, that I had to freeze mid-step or walk into him.

“What bachelors do you know?”

“Ones with better decorators,” I responded snidely, smirking at him.

“I—”

“Yeah,” I said, glancing around, “this is a travesty.”

“Mr. Har⁠—”

“Jory,” I corrected again, walking away from him, which cut him off.

I was surprised when he followed me again.

“Can you stop walking?”

“I’m working, Mr. Fisher,” I informed him, smiling at Michelle, who appeared pained again. “I don’t get paid to just chitchat all day.”

“What are you⁠—”

“Huh,” I grunted as my eyes flew all over the room.

“Can you quit with that?”

“Sure,” I said distractedly, taking in all the empty walls, the space. “Jesus.”

He glared at me. “What would you do differently?”

“There’s just so much you could do.”

“Like what?”

“Like everything that Wade and his team will suggest,” I assured him. “Just be open to it.”