Maya leaned over the divider. “Did he cry? Tell me he cried.”
“He asked me to bully a nonprofit. That’s his version.”
“Ugh,” she said, hand to chest. “Competence is hot.”
“Stop narrating my morals.”
“Never,” she said, then softened. “You good?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Now go home. Or go out. Or go stand in the shower and rehearse telling a billionaire to slow his roll.”
“Not on a stage,” I said.
“Fine. In the mirror,” she said, scooping her bag. “Text me if you need a phone call that sounds like a siren so you can exit any room.”
On my walk out, Ken intercepted me with a sheepish look. “I am rescinding the statement I drafted.”
“Thank you,” I said, solemn as a priest.
“I have replaced it with a laminated sign for the clinic room.”
“What does it say?”
He handed it over. NO HEROICS
