HARRISON
The sun is warm. Her hair is catching the light. And for the first time in what feels like a month, things don’t feel like they’re falling apart.
She looks up halfway through the meal and says, “You know this doesn’t fix everything.”
“I know.”
“I’m still your assistant.”
“I’m still your CFO.”
She tilts her head. “You think we can keep pretending?”
“No.”
She sighs, like she knew I’d say that. Then she says, “Sometimes I think professionalism is a scam.”
I glance up. “Picked that up too?”
She stirs her lemonade with her straw. “I mean, what does it even mean? Never cry at work? Never need anything? Never f**k up?”
“Never want anything,” I say.
She lifts her eyes.
I lean forward, resting my arms on the table. “You want my definition?”
“Hit me.”
“Professionalism is the
