45
“You’ve got through the end of the week,” he says firmly. “Get your head on straight and come back fresh next Monday. Deal?” “Deal,” I say, relieved. “And kiddo?” “Yes?” His voice drops. “You’re a smart girl. You already know what to do with your accountant. Trust your gut.” I can hear the air quotes around the word “accountant.” “I would, but my gut is currently waging a bloody war between my head and my loins. Things are ugly. The casualties are piling up.” He chuckles. “Ah, to be young with an overabundance of hormones. I’m so glad I’m old. Things are far less confusing.” “You’re not old!” “I’ve been alive twice as long as you have. That’s half a century.” “Half a century isn’t old. My grandmother was ninety-two and still going strong the last time I saw her.” “And I’ll bet
- Writer
