Page 23 of Like It's 1999

“I guess this contract is null and void if she’s married, though.” She slaps the program on my chest of drawers. “Dammit, Steve. You should have swooped in and snagged her quicker.”

“Sorry, squirt, but she was pretty adamant about not wanting any kind of a relationship with me.”

She looks like she wants to argue further, but instead asks, “What’s my next task, sir?”

We head into the kitchen, where she opens the cabinets. “Do you want to leave out a few things so you can eat on them?”

“Nah, I’ll just do takeout. Movers are coming in a couple days.”

“Hey.” She holds up a Rhodes Wahler coffee mug. “How did you get one of these? Did they give it to you?”

“Like as a parting gift?”

She nods, hugging the mug to her chest.

“Nope. I stole it.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” She makes a pouty face. “I always loved these mugs. They’re so… solid. And such a pretty brown color.” She traces the gold lettering. “And they keep the coffee hot for so long.”

I laugh. “You can have it. My parting gift to you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You won’t miss it?”

I open the dishwasher and pull out the top rack. “I have three more.”

She grabs one. “Oh, I’m taking two, then.”

“Remember when you hated me?” I ask.

“I never hated you.” She laughs. “I just discriminated against you, lumped you together with all the assholes skating by on their good looks and family connections.”

I wince. “That is me, though.”

“But there’s more to Steve Lowell than that.”

“I hope so.” I sigh. “I think I’m ready to find out, anyway.”

Setting the mugs on the counter next to her purse, she asks, “Have you wanted to leave that place for a long time?”

“Yeah, I’ve felt a bit… stifled there.” I toss my empty beer bottle. “But I guess I hadn’t really clocked it until John called to tell me the venture capital firm he works for was hiring.”

“And then you were like, ‘go west, young man’?”

“Pretty much. That’s where the action is happening now. Even more so than in New York.”

An hour later, she’s yawning, so I call her a cab to send her home. When she protests I say, “It’s the least I can do. I never would’ve gotten so much done by myself.”

I walk her down to the lobby to wait for the cab. “No crying, missy. If you start, you’ll get me going.”

She sniffs. “Too late.”

I sigh. “I will miss you, Katie.”

“I’ll miss you too, Hot Steve.”

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