The Female CEO crouched slightly.
“I hear you want a dog.”
The Single Dad stared.
“Do not.”
His daughter’s eyes widened.
“How do you know?”
“Your father talks.”
“Too much.”
The CEO smiled.
The Single Dad pointed.
“No dog negotiations.”
His daughter whispered to the CEO:
“We’ll talk later.”
The Single Dad closed his eyes.
Dangerous alliance.
The official contract ended Monday.
The Female CEO sent the final payment.
Consulting fee.
Bonus.
Expenses.
Everything exact.
No favors.
No ambiguity.
The Single Dad appreciated that more than she knew.
Tuesday evening, he received a message.
Contract ended yesterday.
He smiled.
Another message.
Therefore, I am no longer your client.
He replied:
Accurate.
Three dots.
Dinner. Friday. 8.
The Single Dad stared.
Then:
That looked less like a question.
Her answer:
Would you prefer a question mark?
Dinner Friday at 8?
He laughed.
Yes.
His daughter looked up from homework.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Expensive lady?”
The Single Dad nearly dropped his phone.
“Do not call her that.”
“So yes.”
Children were impossible.
Friday arrived.
The Single Dad wore a dark jacket.
New.
Not expensive.
His daughter approved.
Barely.
The Female CEO chose a small restaurant in Brooklyn.
No photographers.
No assistants.
She arrived wearing a dark green dress beneath a black coat.
The Single Dad forgot several prepared sentences.
She noticed.
“That look again.”
“What?”
“The one where you forget language.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Poorly.”
They sat.
For the first twenty minutes, both behaved strangely.
Too polite.
Too careful.
The Female CEO finally put down her fork.
“This is awful.”
The Single Dad laughed.
“Thank God.”
“I thought it was me.”
“It’s both of us.”
She leaned back.
“We were better when arguing about the car.”
“Want me to insult your appraisal?”
“Please.”
“Seventy thousand dollars.”
She glared.
He smiled.
Better.
They talked naturally after that.
Not about CGTR001.
Not much.
About childhood.
Her first job.
His daughter.
His father.