Page 3 of The Last Good Man

“Do you remember all your clients?”

She sips tea, sets it down, and fishes a butterscotch candy from the bowl.

“Only a few special ones.”

“What’s so special about me?”

She slides back into her seat.

“Your mind reads like a novel.”

“A poorly written one, I bet.”

She gives me a smile

“A frustrating one, for sure.”

“The kind that makes you throw your tablet against the wall,” I comment.

A soft laugh peels off her lips.

“Something like that. But I don’t mind.”

“Of course. It’s all about optimizing your revenue.”

She doesn’t take offense at my jab.

Only smiles.

“We both know why you’re here…” she says, her eyes moving swiftly over my face. “You might find a friend, a family member, or even a work colleague to listen to you, but most wouldn’t know what the problem is.”

“Like you now,” I joke.

Her smile vanishes.

“Seriously, now.”

“Seriously,” I say. “You’re right. I can’t find people to talk to, and most of the time, I’m embarrassed that I need to talk about something so silly.”

“In your opinion.”

“Yes, in my opinion,” I say, flicking my hand dismissively. “If only I could just forget about men. I have everything else. Right? Money, a nice place to live, a fantastic job.If I play my cards right, I will replace the company's CEO in a couple of yearswhen he retires.And I’m a woman, okay? A thirty–four year old woman who has everything.”

I stop before glancing away, bitter.

“I even have men. No?”

My eyes go back to her.

“I do,” I continue and she nods in acknowledgment.

Her eyes express sympathy I honestly don’t deserve.

“Something’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you.”

“I pay you to say that,” I mutter.

---