Griffin

Getting called into the boss’s office is never a good thing.

It’s not like I have a history of being some sort of hooligan at work. I just find the less the boss needs to see me, the better I’m likely doing.

Especially since Jean-Paul pushed off the meeting. Shortly after he called me away, he messaged to say he couldn’t meet till five. Now it’s five, and all I’ve been able to think about for the last few hours is that he’s reassigning me. Or Joy’s company is sacking me. Or Marisol found out I’m crazy for Joy, and she thinks our relationship is inappropriate.

Which doesn’t sound likely at all, but my brain is a Tilt-A-Whirl, whipping through scenarios. All of them start with this tension in my chest and this pit in my stomach and this stupid fear that I’ve put Joy and myself at risk.

Even though nothing has happened.

Even though there are no explicit rules forbidding a relationship between us.

Still, the mind slapdashes where it fears to go the most.

I take a seat in Jean-Paul’s office.

“Glad you could make it even in the rain. It’s brass monkeys outside today, isn’t it?” He winks, clearly proud of himself for dropping that Britishism into his conversation with me.

“It’s absolutely brass monkeys.”

“And I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

No, nothing. Just the best kiss in my entire life. Just my entire afternoon where I sat in a café and stared at my phone constantly as I worked on written translations and contemplated what the hell to say to the woman I’m mad about, all while I worried about my FUCKING job. “Not at all. Always happy to chat. What can I do for you?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” he says with a wink, as if he’s going to tell me Today’s Tawdry Tale. Leaning back in his chair, he clasps his hands behind his head and parks his feet on the desk. “Tell me about your work at L’Artisan.”

I raise an eyebrow, wondering why he’d need to know those details, since I send him regular reports. Unless Marisol has complained. I sit up straighter and give an overview of my work, from the team meetings, to Joy’s one-on-one conversations with her scientists, to the translations in the lab.

“And would you say your work has helped?”

I furrow my brow, almost wishing he’d toss out one of his inappropriate comments about a wife of his so I’d know this conversation was normal. But it doesn’t feel normal. It feels like a precursor to bad news. “Absolutely. The company has embarked on a number of new projects. It’s introduced new processes through the woman I work with. Her staff is doing well at implementing the protocols, she tells me.” Maybe I’m selling it too hard. Maybe I’m like a credit card peddler in a shopping center now. But hell, I’ve witnessed the changes Joy has brought to her company in eight short weeks. She’s fantastic. “Plus, Joy is doing well and conversing, and she’s actually learning French now, too,” I add, though I don’t say that she’s getting special lessons.

“Interesting.” Jean-Paul hums, looking mildly impressed. “Most of them just want someone to be their mouthpiece. She must be a sharp lady.”

“She is.” I try to tamp down the personal pride I feel.

“My second wife was like that. A pretty little American. She was dying to learn French. Good thing I was willing to introduce her to all the joys of our language.”

I nearly groan inside.

Be careful what you wish for. Now he’s going on and on about how he taught his second wife more than the language. How he taught her the spice of life. When he’s done, he slaps a palm on the table. “But you know how it goes with women. She wanted more and more, and it all just went to bollocks, right?”

Second idiom in five minutes. I’ll have to tell Christian our boss is in rare idiomatic form today. “Totally bollocks.”

He wags a finger at me. “Right you are. Too right,” he says, affecting an English accent on the last one. I decide to award him a third point. “Anyway, I don’t mean to be cheeky”—and a fourth now—“but I wanted to share some good news. I checked in with the client, and my contact there indicated they were so thrilled with your work that they’re going to hire Capstone for more work as they bring on new American employees, so thank you for being a great ambassador.”

I swallow down my surprise. “Is that so?”

He rises and offers me a hand to shake. “They think you’re as fantastic as all get-out. Wait. That’s an American saying. I’m going to have to hire you for my own idioms now.”

“Well, that’d be the cat’s whiskers, Jean-Paul,” I say with a smile.

He laughs. “Well done. Blimey, well done.”

“Not sure blimey fits, but hey. You must be knackered at the end of the day,” I say, keeping up the volley.

His smile spreads across his wrinkled face. “You are a top translator. The best. Go take yourself out to dinner on me.”

He hands me a gift card. I stare at it in disbelief for a moment, then I thank him. When I leave, I breathe a sigh of relief.

As I head down the stairs and into the Paris twilight, I can’t help but feel I got away with something. Instead of a reprimand, I have fifty euros on a gift card to spend at a restaurant.

And as I walk down the street toward the river, I grin.

And I laugh.

Maybe I did get away with something. Maybe I’ll keep getting away with it. I’ll certainly try my hardest.

* * *

“One egg crepe with cheese.”

Christian places the order at the crepe stand near Deux Magots, then turns to me as he waits for his favorite crepe-maker in the city to make a savory dish. “Here’s the thing. You know the risks. I’m not telling you something you don’t know. The question becomes what happens when you leave for the other side of the world?”

“When I leave, I leave,” I say coolly, because what else is there to say? There’s a real expiration date to me, and I can’t pretend it won’t come. I’ve no clue when I’m returning, especially since I should be able to pick up written translation work remotely, feeding my bank account as I travel.

“Ah, so she’s cool with it?”

I scratch my jaw, and glance down the street, trying to remember how Joy has reacted to the prospect of me leaving. “Pretty sure.”

Christian arches a skeptical brow. “Pretty sure?”

“She knows I’m going to Indonesia.”

“Right. But does she know you’re staying there?”

I sigh. “I don’t even know if I’m staying. I’ll probably wind up someplace else.”

He draws air quotes as he repeats, “Someplace else.” He shakes his head. “For a man who makes a living translating words precisely, you’re being awfully imprecise on this matter.”

“You didn’t even think I should get involved with her,” I fire back.

“And you didn’t follow that advice, did you?” he says, laughing.

“Not really.”

“My point is this: now that you’re involved, don’t you think you ought to at least let her know this can only be a short-term thing? Be direct with her.”

I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I have to imagine she knows.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t imagine. Just be clear, like you should have been from the start.”

“It’s never been pertinent before.”

“I’d say it’s pertinent now.” He claps me on the back. “I think you have your work cut out for you, mate. Good luck with that one. I wouldn’t want to be you telling a woman you’re hot for that you need to clock out in a month.”

As I flash back to the day I ran into Joy when she was still Judy to me, I’m reminded that she wasn’t looking for anything. That hasn’t changed. She’s still not looking for anything, and neither am I. We’re Archie and Judy, and they were fine with a whole lot of “not looking for anything” together as they explored.

“It’s all going to be fine. Neither one of us wants anything more.”

Christian laughs as he takes the crepe and bites into it. “Right.”

* * *

As I walk along the river, I run my thumb over the list of ten. I’ve completed three, I’m working on a fourth by teaching Joy French, I do the postscript on an ongoing basis by keeping in close touch with my parents, and I’m about to check off one more item.

Item number nine.

Take a chance on something that terrifies you.

The funny thing is, going for it with Joy doesn’t scare me at all. It excites me. It enlivens me. Maybe this means it doesn’t quite fit the bill, but I don’t care.

I’m going to cross it off anyway.

9. Take a chance on something that terrifies you.

Griffin: The night is young. Do you want to pick up where we left off? Because it’s literally all I want to do. And I know you like it when literally means literally.