Page 19 of Putting Out
He hadn’t told Reilly. He’d picked up the phone a few times. Had even written an email that he deleted. Twice.
He hadn’t known how to tell her. He hadn’t known what to say. So he said nothing.
Shaking off whatever the hell he was feeling, he asked, “Which suit was it? My gray suit or my blue? Because I think I work better in gray.”
She chuckled, which was his intent. Serious moment over. That was good. That was better. He and Reilly didn’t do serious very well. In fact they took great steps to avoid it at all costs.
But his coming here, this was serious. Her decision was important. Not to say he didn’t ultimately know what she would do. He knew it like he knew how the putt on the 12 hole on Sunday at The American broke.
He was betting she did, too. She just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
“Then it must have been the blue suit.”
He reached out and pinched her nose.
“Stah..hup.”
