Page 17 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

“You ready?” I say, already moving past him for the door.

“Quentin Maxwell and Heidi Krupp, herein referred to as ‘the partners’, agree to conduct themselves at all times with the utmost integrity and to maintain a relationship that is solely professional, not personal, in nature.”

He reads this to me as if I didn’t in fact write it. I watch him for a moment, wondering if he expects me to give him a gold star for telling me something I already know.

“Yes. That is what it says,” I confirm.

“The partners will not plan, threaten, or engage in acts of sabotage. The partners agree to maintain clear professional boundaries and avoid physical contact, with the exception of business-related handshakes, high fives, or fist bumps, when appropriate,” Quentin reads. “Really?”

“Is there some part of this you have an issue with?” I ask.

“Fist bumps?!” he exclaims.

“We can remove that part, if you’re adamantly averse to that particular hand gesture.”

His pointed gaze returns to the page. “The partners will not share meals. The partners will refrain from gratuitous compliments. If the partners encounter each other outside of a professional setting, they will limit interactions to polite smalltalk totaling five minutes or less.”

There’s more, of course, but he doesn’t bother to continue.

“This is pretty standard verbiage,” I say. “I don’t know why you’re freaking out.”

“You make it sound like I have no idea how to conduct myself. It’s insulting. Also, some of this is circumstantial.”

“Such as?”

He points to the part about physical contact. “If you’re choking and need the heimlich.”

“We won’t be eating together, so I’m not sure why I’d be choking.”

He drags a finger further down the page. “‘Five minutes or less’ is also troublingly specific. Are you going to carry a stopwatch?”

“I thought you were on board with this. Ready to work as a ‘team’,” I say, using air quotes. “We can just as easily go back to being adversaries. In which case, you should head back to the office, since this is my meeting.”

“I just don’t understand why any of this needs to be put in writing.”

“Then you clearly haven’t been in this business long enough,” I smile.

He sighs before pulling a pen from his jacket pocket and scrawling some addendums near the bottom of the page. I sip my coffee while I wait, annoyed. It’s not just that he thinks he’s in the position to make demands that irritates me, but also that it’s hot out here. The sun is attempting to scorch us like the barren, weedy lot across the street, and it fills me with impatience. I’ve almost broken a sweat by the time he passes me the amended document.

The partners will be forthcoming about all details related to the Glass v Russo case.

The partners will work all aspects of the case together, as a team, sans quotation marks both literal and figurative.

The partners will not keep secrets.

I scan his revisions with a critical eye. I remind myself that this is for the best. Working this case with Quentin is like speeding down a winding canyon road; the agreement adds some much-needed guardrails. Plus, as much as I don’t need his help to prove my worth to the board, I don’t need him working against me. This is a win-win.

I pass the document back to him with a resigned sigh.

“Fine.”

We add our signatures to the bottom of the page against the warm metal hood of his car. Satisfied, we each take a photo copy to keep in our phones, and I tuck the original into my purse.

“What do you say, Pizza Bagel Girl?” Quentin says, lifting his hand in the air with a half-cocked smile. “Partners?”

God, this was a mistake.

The begrudging, half-hearted high five I give him makes him grin in a way that fills me with regret over most everything we agreed upon. Mostly because I’ve already got that gut feeling I wasn’t thorough enough.

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