Page 76 of Going Deep

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Where the hell were his measuring spoons? “She’d be working for the foundation, not me.”

“It’s not much of a distinction.”

There they were. He measured out powder and soda, whisked again, then poured in the buttermilk. “It’s not like I’m running the place.”

“No, you just got her the interview. You didn’t make up a job just for her, did you?”

Michael said nothing, just cracked an egg into the batter.

“Holy shit, Michael, I was kidding. You made up a job for her?”

“It’s not made up,” Michael protested. “It’s just…new.”

“Jesus Christ. You’re in deep shit, you know that? Seriously deep shit.”

Michael was so annoyed he just poured in the vanilla without measuring. “I seem to remember you making some less than stellar decisions regarding Lola not so long ago.”

“Yeah, because I was in love with her and fighting it,” Simon shot back, then, “Well, I’ll be goddamned.”

“Fuck,” Michael muttered and slammed the two tablespoons of butter he’d put into a small dish into the microwave to melt.

“You’re in love with her, and you made up a job for her so she could stay in Chicago,” Simon said with awe in his voice. “Shit, Michael, that’s the most ridiculous, romantic thing I’ve ever heard of.”

Jabbing buttons with violence, he set the microwave humming. “I didn’t do that. I didn’t say that.”

“You sure as fuck did,” Simon countered. “When did this happen?”

Michael said nothing, just snatched the melted butter out of the microwave and beat it into the batter.

“Does she know?”

“There’s nothing to know,” Michael began, but Simon’s snort cut him off.

“There isn’t,” Michael insisted. “It’s not…what you said.”

“You can’t even say it,” Simon pointed out gleefully.

Michael put the bowl of batter on the back of the stove and covered it with a clean dishcloth, then moved to the sink to wash his hands.

“All right, if it’s not ‘what I said’,” Simon wanted to know, and Michael could hear the damn air quotes, “then what is it?”

“It’s…N.R.E.,” Michael decided.

“Seriously? You’re going with new relationship energy?”

“It’s a thing,” Michael said defensively.

“Sure, it is,” Simon agreed. “N.R.E. totally explains this absurdity. What’s the salary for this job, anyway?”

“None of your business.”

“That much, huh?”

Michael reached for his phone with a scowl. “I’m really hanging up on you now.”

“Fine, this conversation is too ridiculous for me anyway,” Simon said. “I’m going to call Grant and tell him you’ve fallen in love and gone off the rails. Call me back when you’re ready to admit it.”

“Fuck you,” Michael said and hung up on Simon’s laughter.