Page 117 of ClickBack

“We have the account,” Tori tells me. “What do you want us to do with it?”

“Tell her to take it down.”

“Does Giselle know her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then let’s find that out before someone from your office contacts her.”

I look again at the comment. It has hearts under it. The woman has a smiling profile picture. I have no idea whether she knows what people are doing beneath her post, and for the moment I don’t care.

Tori says a reporter has asked for a response. “We can decline comment.”

“Tell them to leave her alone.”

“Are you asking me to confirm a relationship?”

“No. I’m asking you to tell them her family is private.”

“That will still be a statement people connect to her. Has she agreed to that?”

Giselle wanted us to have our own day. She said it across her kitchen counter, holding my hand. I had been impatient with waiting even while I agreed to it. Now there is a picture of her laughing with me and a stranger has turned it into something she has to survive.

“Say she and her family deserve privacy,” I tell Tori. “Leave her name out.”

Cam says, “Jay.”

“They’ve got a twelve-year-old in the comments. Put it out.”

Tori gives me the wording. I approve it. Then I tell her I’m calling the security contact who helped us in Cleveland, and she asks me to connect him with her so nobody duplicates the work. That is something I can do. I do it immediately.

When I get off the phone, Graves has my bag over his shoulder.

“We leaving?” he asks.

“In a minute.”

“No. Now.”

I turn toward him. “What?”

“You’re done here.”

“I know when I’m done.”

“Then be done.” He holds out my shirt. “You’re not working out anymore.”

For a second I want to argue about who decides that. It would be easier than arguing about what is actually wrong. I take the shirt and put it on.

In the parking lot, I ask him to check whether our building security has seen the posts. He makes the call while I sit in the back of the SUV. When he gets in, he tells me the desk knows to contact him about anyone asking for me or Giselle.

“Good.”

“What about her house?” he asks.

“I’ll have somebody go out.”

“Who?”