Page 88 of Heartfelt Pain
“Why?” Isolde kills people for a paycheck so admittedly the idea is rather innocent to her.
“I’m a neutral party. A go between for different groups wanting to set up deals. I don’t want people thinking I’m favoring the Russians.”
She chokes on her pizza. “Taking Roma back don’t mean you’re gonna get along with his dad. Pretty sure if anything, you’ll give them worse of a time.”
“But the majority of people will talk.” The rumor mill is strong in this city.
“They always talk. But your business speaks for itself and people will realize that. You’ll charge the same, cut the same deals and all that. People know you’re fair.”
“So you don’t think I’m crazy? For sleeping with him again.”
“I think you’re insane most days.”
I push her with my foot. It does nothing since she’s leaning against the wall.
“You know if I was a lesbian you’d probably be the love of my life,” I tell her.
“If I were a lesbian I’d look at you and fucking run.”
My mouth drops open and I flick a piece of crust at her. She dodges, laughing.
“Abe filled you in on everything?” I pull my knees to my chest. The window is still open, pushing in a gentle breeze that’s the perfect temperature thanks to my cozy clothes. “You haven’t been by in a while. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She throws down part of her half-eaten crust. “He called me this morning. After Len.”
“What do you think?”Do you agree with them?
She wipes her hands off using her hoodie. “They shouldn’t have done it at a place like that. At the Zimin’s. But I suppose, since they didn’t know you were sleeping with one of ’em, it seemed strange you’d even gone.”
“Yelena invited me,” I remind.
“Which is also weird. I mean you do work too much, but—”she shrugs—“I’m a childless woman who works a lot too. Don’t mean my life is any less than those with kids and a family.”
“Exactly.” There’s a stupid amount of relief hearing someone else say it, though, I’ve repeated the exact same thing to myself over and over.
“But you know people never complain when men cut their day short to go golfing,” Isolde says.
“I’m not burnt out.”
“But you’re tired aren’t you?”
I frown. “I thought you were on my side?”
“I can’t afford to be tired,” she says.
It’s funny because that’s exactly what shelooks like suddenly. If I had more time I’d suggest we lay on the couch and take a nap. We could wake up and order more pizza for dinner. Trevino would just have to deal with it.
Isolde goes on. “If I’m tired and shoot the wrong person it only leads to consequences.”
“I’d say your job has consequences no matter what,” I say softly.
She digs her head into the wall behind her. “Yeah.”
I get what she’s doing. Subtly, pointing out that I can’t afford to make mistakes. Part of me wants to rile at the accusation, but I’m mellowed by the weed and pizza.
That’s why my planner and notes are important. I stay on top of things. But she’s saying if I’m not careful, I could easily mess up an order or send someone the wrong contract. The delicate matters I deal with are a hairpin trigger away from causing a bomb.
Caution Isolde is silently telling me.
