Page 29 of Her Bad Boy

"Well, you have to admit it."

"Yep."

"So, when are you coming back? Please say tomorrow? Matt Bloom is no you."

"I was no me when I first got here, Perry, remember? Give the guy a chance!" He looked so dubious that she didn't want to say the words she had to, but she did, anyway. "I'm not coming back. I'd like to get a cash payout of my leave, please, and—I don't even know if I can ask for this, since I quit—but I know they were offering severance packages recently instead of riffing people outright, so I wondered if there might be one of those available to me? I know it's a lot to ask, since I'm not coming back, but would you be willing to look into that for me, please?"

The older man sighed, leaning on his desk on his forearms. "Of course, I will. We'll miss you tremendously—you have real talent, Allie, and you're an incredibly hard worker. I'll send you a letter of reference any time you want, or, if you decide later that you'd like to come back, I'm sure we could work something out."

Allie stood, tears misting her eyes unexpectedly. Perry had been a great boss and mentor, but she knew it was time for her to find something else to do. She hugged him, because she felt she should, and that made the both of them uncomfortable, so she left as quickly as she could, taking the less traveled route out in order to avoid unwanted, emotional encounters with other coworkers, because saying goodbye to him had her crying much harder than it should have.

She drove home the long way, wanting to take some time to think in her car, which was one of the best places she'd ever found to do so. She kind of wandered through town, taking the scenic route to a little roadside stand ice cream place she liked.

But she happened to notice, as she did so, there was a car—several cars back—that had made exactly the same weird turns as she did. And just to prove it, she made an impromptu lane change and took an inconvenient side street, slowing down to pretend to ask someone for directions as she side eyed her rearview mirror and watched it turn down this street, too.

So, she drove to the parking lot of the nearest police station—not that she thought they were going to be much help—and brought up all of those recent missed calls, this time looking specifically for the one that seemed as if it might have been from Lucas—actually hoping it was Joey's instead.

And she was right.

"Go for Zullo."

"Joey. It's Allie."

"Oh, my God, are you all right? The boss has been going ape shit worrying about you." He cleared his throat and rephrased. "He's been very concerned about you, Miss Barstow, since you were sick in court. I hope you're feeling better?"

"Much, thanks. But I need to ask you something. Is there someone from your organization that's been tasked to follow me? I ask because I noticed it a few minutes ago, and I'm now sitting in the parking lot of the police station downtown because I'm afraid to go home."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss—"

"Joey, call me Allie, please."

"I can't—you know I can't. He wouldn't like it."

"Fuck him, Joey. Say it with me."

He gasped, as if she'd accused him of being a Satanist. "I can't. I won't."

"He's a coward, Joey, and you and I both know it. He sent you to do to me what he couldn't or wouldn't—"

"No, it's not like that, Miss—please!"

Allie ignored what he was saying. He was obviously lying. "Go right now and tell him what I said, then come back on the phone and tell me that I can feel safe driving home. I know he has to be home so he can be there, in court, for the trial. Go do it, Joey. I'll wait."

He was gone a much shorter amount of time than she thought he'd be. "Uh…Allie?"

"Yes, Joey?"

"You can go home now. Please drive carefully, though, and believe that they were only there for your safety."

"Yeah, right. Thank you, Joey. Tell your boss for me that I said he should go fuck himself." Then she hung up, letting him off the hook about that.

She made her way home, with a double scoop of amaretto cream and without—she checked compulsively—the Goodfellows escort.

It got a little lean there for a bit before the leave money came through. She gave up cable, pared down her cell bill, and stopped shopping at the gourmet grocery store, none of which she cared much about.

She also began to volunteer at Legal Aid and let Laura talk her into trying both a yoga and a spin class.

Spin class was fine—absolutely torturous, but fine—but yoga, apparently, didn't set well with her, and she ended up in the bathroom—barely having made it there before the barbeque bacon cheeseburger she'd eaten at Red Robin made a repeat appearance.

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