Page 20 of Shades of Grey & Gold

I lower my voice to a more acceptable volume, “Where’s Richard’s office, please.”

She stares at me for a second. Then lifts a tentative finger and points to the far corner.

I walk off in that direction. One foot in front of the other. Right, left, right, left, freeze.

Because through the glass wall of a corner office, I can see Richard behind his desk, silver-haired and unhurried, leaning back in his chair, a rolling laugh rumbling from deep in his chest as it echoes through the office.

And sitting across from him, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to show delicious tan, inked forearms, is Callan Reed.

Cal sees me through the glass at the same moment I see him. His face does something—a smile starting, automatic, like he can’t help it—and then it stops. Probably because my face is the exact opposite of a smile.

He starts to stand. Says something towards Richard that looks like ‘I can go.’

I shake my head once. No.

“I’d actually prefer a witness,” I say as I push the door open. “Sit, Callan Reed.”

I point at the chair he was previously in and he holds his palms up to me in mock surrender, rolling his perfect lips together to conceal a smile as he sits, facing Richard, who stands, still unhurried and unnervingly unsurprised.

“Max. What a Monday morning.”

“Richard.” I set my coffee on his desk. “I have terms.”

He sits back down. Folds his hands. “As expected, I think.” He winks at Callan.

My insides boil. Like Ellison and Parker uprooting my entire life a second time is a joke to everyone in this office.

“Salary.” He gestures for me to continue as I talk. “A real one. The kind I should have been making three years ago.”

“I’ll double your current salary, how’s that work for you?”

I blink. Double?

No. I shake off his response because no, that’s not enough.

“Case selection. I pick what I work. I’m not assigned anything I don’t want, and I’m not taken off anything I do want without my agreement.” I pause. “And Patrick doesn’t speak to me. Not about cases, not about office logistics, not about the weather, not about a goddamn fire if there is one. He doesn’t email me, he doesn’t stop by my desk, and if we end up in the same room he can expect to be treated as furniture.”

Richard’s mouth twitches.

“I—” I start.

Callan clears his throat, “She can work with me.”

Callan’s voice, from the chair behind me, is so calm and matter-of-fact that it takes me a full second to register it. I turn. He’s looking at Richard, not at me, one ankle crossed over his knee, completely relaxed.

“She can work with me,” he says again. “Case selection, desk placement, all of it.”

I turn back to Richard who lifts his eyebrows in question, waiting to see if this arrangement is acceptable to me.

I nod once, firmly.

Richard is smiling now. Not hiding it anymore.

“All of that,” he says, “is completely reasonable. And I am very happy to have you back, Max.”

He says it simply. Like it’s been decided. Like it was decided a while ago.

I pick up my empty coffee cup, trying to pretend I’m not flustered by his agreeable response.