Page 92 of ClickBack

“You don’t have to prove where you are every minute.”

“I want to see you, Giselle.”

She is quiet, then says, “After three.”

“I’ll be there. Tell Di congratulations for me.”

“I will.”

I pick up my bag and join Cam. He waits until we reach the car to ask whether she is all right.

“She believes me.”

“Good.”

I get in and close the door. It should feel better than it does. She spent part of a night she was looking forward to sitting with that picture, and all I can do now is be glad she answered when I called.

Before I leave for Cedar Mill the next afternoon, I call Cam. The correction is out. So is a second post using the same photograph with a question mark added to the caption.

“That’s their correction?” I ask.

“That’s them trying to keep the traffic. Tori’s on it.”

“I’m going to see Giselle. What I told her last night wasn’t enough.”

“What are you planning to tell her?”

“Where I was. Why I was there. What I’m considering.”

He pauses. “You’ve known her a few weeks.”

“I know how long I’ve known her.”

“Then you understand why I’m asking.”

“You’re asking because you don’t want somebody talking before you finish negotiating. I’m telling you she isn’t somebody.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re thinking about a possible leak. I’m thinking about my woman having to ask her friends whether to believe me.”

Cam says my name, and I cut him off.

“I’m not handing her a term sheet. But you don’t decide how much of my life she gets. Keep working the deal. Let me have this conversation.”

He takes that without arguing. We have worked together too long for him to mistake the change in my voice.

“No team name until they’re ready to be identified,” he says. “That also keeps people from trying to get it out of her.”

“Fine.”

“And, Jarrett? I asked if she was all right because I wanted to know.”

I look down at my key fob. He sat beside me on the plane while I slept, handling a problem I hadn’t even seen. I’m angry, but not everything he says deserves it.

“I know. I’ll call you later.”

Giselle opens the door in soft pants and a T-shirt. Her bag from New York sits at the bottom of the stairs. She takes the food I brought while I hold the door, then leads me into the kitchen.