As a solo operator, I’d have little in the way of overhead.

I was on a first-name basis with CEOs and other executives throughout Charlotte.

I was excellent at my job.

I’d be a boutique firm, catering to only a few clients.

I could charge the client less and earn more.

Meanwhile, at the office, I began running numbers and making projections. I called clients, asking if they were satisfied with the service and pricing they were getting from the Peters Group, and their answers bolstered my certainty that I couldn’t fail. Meanwhile, Henley was verbally slipping me into concrete loafers and tossing me overboard every time he walked into Peters’s office, and Peters actually began to scowl at me.

That was when I knew Peters would fire me, which meant I had no choice but to strike out on my own.

All I had left to do was officially tell Vivian.

What could be better than celebrating my future success on date night?

Granted, I could have chosen another night, but I wanted to share my excitement with her. I wanted her support. I wanted to share my plans and have her reach across the table to take my hands while saying I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for you to do something like this. There’s no doubt in my mind you’ll be a success. I’ve always believed in you.

About a year later, when I confessed to Marge my hopes for that night, she’d actually laughed aloud. “So let me get this straight,” she’d said to me. “You basically ripped away her sense of security and told her you were about to turn your lives upside down… and you honestly believed she’d think it was a good idea? You had a child, for God’s sake. And a mortgage. And other bills. Are you out of your mind?”

“But…”

“There are no buts,” she said. “You know that Vivian and I don’t always agree, but on that night, she was right.”

Maybe Marge had a point, but hindsight is twenty-twenty. On the night in question after we’d put London to bed, I grilled steaks – about the only thing I could actually cook well – while Vivian prepared a salad, steamed some broccoli, and sautéed green beans with shaved almonds. Vivian, I should add, never ate what might be considered unhealthy carbs – bread, ice cream, pasta, sugar, or anything that included white flour – all of which I considered to be rather tasty and indulged in during my lunches, which probably explained my love handles.

Dinner, however, was tense from the beginning. My intention to keep things light and easy seemed only to put her more on edge, as if she were preparing herself for whatever might be coming next. Vivian had always been able to read me like Moses read the Commandments, and her growing unease made me try even harder to keep things breezy, which only made her sit even straighter in her chair.

I waited until we were nearly finished with the meal. She’d eaten two or three ounces of her steak and I’d refilled her glass of wine when I started to tell her about Henley and Peters and my suspicion about being fired. She merely nodded, so I gathered my courage and launched into my plans, walking through my projections while underscoring every reason for the decision. As I spoke, she may as well have been carved from marble. She sat as still as I’d ever seen her, not even glancing at her glass of wine. Nor did she ask any questions until after I’d finished. Silence filled the room, echoing against the walls.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she finally offered.

It wasn’t the ringing endorsement that I’d wanted, but she didn’t storm off either, which I took as a good sign. Silly me.

“Actually,” I admitted, “it scares the hell out of me, but if I don’t do it now, I don’t know if I ever will.”

“Aren’t you kind of young to start your own agency?”

“I’m thirty-five. Peters was only thirty when he started his agency.”

She pressed her lips together and I could almost see the words forming in her mind – but you aren’t Peters. Thankfully, she didn’t say that. Instead, she drew her brows together, though not a single wrinkle showed. The woman really was a marvel when it came to aging. “Do you even know how to start your own agency?”

“It’s like starting any other business, and people start businesses all the time. Essentially, it comes down to filing the appropriate paperwork with the government, hiring a good lawyer and accountant and setting up the office.”

“How long would that take?”

“A month, maybe? And once I’m in an office, I’ll start signing clients.”

“If they decide to hire you.”

“I can get the clients,” I said. “I’m not worried about that. Peters is expensive, and I’ve worked with some of these clients for years. I’m sure they’ll jump ship if given the chance.”

“But you still won’t be earning anything for a while.”

“We’ll just have to cut back a bit on a few things. Like the cleaning lady, for instance.”

“You want me to clean the house?”

“I can help,” I assured her.

“Obviously,” she said. “Where are you getting the money for all this?”

“I was planning to use some of the money from our investments.”

“Our investments?” she repeated.

“We’ve got more than enough to live on for a year.”

“A year?” she asked, echoing me a second time.

“And that’s with no income at all,” I said. “Which isn’t going to happen.”