Page 40 of The Atonement
“Hey,” Gina said, checking the time. “I didn’t think you were in this week.”
“I’m not. Not officially.” I walked into the office and shut the door, taking a seat in front of her. “I need the corporate card. Do you still have it from the dinner last month?”
“Um, I think so.” She pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk and removed a black leather purse from inside of it. I checked behind me as I heard laughter from the hallway. “Jason’s birthday,” she said, answering a question I hadn’t asked. I averted my attention back to her. “They’re all celebrating.”
I rested my arm on the back of the chair next to me. “Shouldn’t you be out there, then?”
She shook her head, finally retrieving her wallet from inside the purse and locating the bright-blue card. “Here you go.” She held it out for me. “I’m staying far away from cake until the wedding.”
“Wedding?” I eyed her finger, which was bare. “You’re getting married?”
“Lincoln proposed.” She fought back a smile, but it was pointless.
“Lincoln? What—the fondue guy?”
“Well, if you mean he owns a restaurant that sells fondue, then yes, that’s correct.”
“I didn’t know you two were engaged.”
“It just happened.” She wagged the card, a reminder she was still waiting for me to take it, and I reached forward, sliding it from between her fingers slowly.
“Congratulations.”
She nodded. “Is that all you needed? I’m getting ready for a conference call.”
“Uh, yeah.” I reached in my back pocket and pulled out my wallet, sliding the card inside. “So, what? No cake because you’re trying to fit in a wedding dress or something?”
She blinked slowly, processing what I’d said. “What a stupid, misogynistic question.”
“S-sorry?”
“Why would I buy a wedding dress that would require me to change something about myself? The dress should fit me, not the other way around.”
“I wasn’t trying to suggest—”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m cutting out cake because dairy causes me to break out. I’d like to have clear skin on my wedding day. Forme.Not him.”
“Right. Cool. Makes sense.”
She tapped her fingers on the top of her desk, glancing toward the screen. “Okay, well, if that’s all…”
I stood from the chair. “Right. Sorry.” Reaching the door, I pulled it open and disappeared into the hall without another word.
A voice stopped me. “Peter?”
“Beckman, hey.” I waved as he used a bony finger to smooth one of his wild gray brows.
“What are you doing here?” He kept his distance, looking as if he might want to dart away, the germaphobe that he was. “I thought you were out sick this week.”
“I just had to pick up a few things,” I said. “And don’t worry. I’m not contagious or anything. It’s family stuff.”
He took a cautious step toward me, but not too close, and nodded. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” I assured him, then changed my tone slightly. If I was going to keep missing work and relying on the team to cover my workload, I needed to lose the cheery facade. “It’s just…Ainsley and I are getting a divorce.”
The wrinkles around Beckman’s eyes deepened with obvious concern. “Do you have a good lawyer?”
“Not yet. I’m in the process of getting everything worked out.”
