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without the sex. She asked for nothing. Perfect helpmate. Perfect in every
way.
“She’s unhappy,” I said.
“She told you that?”
“No. I can see it. Has she said anything to you?”
“About what?”
“Hating me. Being miserable. Anything?”
“No,” Mandy said.
“So she loves her life and she just looks like she wants to die?”
“What’s the difference? She sold you a year. She knows that. Now you
just have to pay up.”
The Papillion buyout could have started any time. I’d told myself I was
waiting for the stock to go down, but it kept dipping and I kept telling
myself that if I waited a little longer, I could get it cheaper. Ella conceded
that cheaper was better, but she didn’t know the timeline the way I did. She
thought it would take a week. I knew better and still stalled.
“It’s better for me if she’s happy.”
“Why?” Mandy leaned over the table with an expression like a laser
bright enough to cut sheet metal.
“Just is.”
“Do you have feelings for her?”
“I do.” I leaned back to let the waiter put my drink in front of me.
“She’s my friend. Same as you.”
Same except without the need to connect our bodies with a touch, or the
kisses I had to peel myself away from.
“So.” Mandy sat back and crossed her legs, lips twisted in a knowing
smirk. “What would you do if you thought I was miserable?”
“You’d tell me you were unhappy and what you wanted me to do about
it. That’s the difference.” I yanked my napkin off my lap and tossed it on
the table. “She’s like a locked box with a big smile painted on the front. She
blames it on the art she’s doing. She says it’s shit and it’s distracting her.
And I believed that for a while, but now? No. I don’t believe it. She looks
like a trapped animal and I’m the fucking zookeeper.”
“Look, Logan. Here’s the honest truth.”
“Thank God. Please. Tell me the honest truth.”
“Her art isn’t going well, that’s true. But she also misses working. She’s
bored. She cares about you as a human being and a friend. She doesn’t