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“I’m leaving.”
Nick stiffens. He turns around. The man usually in control of all of his emotions stares at me with his heart spray-painted across his face. Our eyes lock, an entire conversation passing between them.
And then Nick sits back, pulls control across his features. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snaps. “You can’t leave. I hired you for a job.”
“You hired my company,” I say. “And they can pull me back to Boston whenever they want.”
“Not unless I threaten to fire them,” Nick shoots back.
I’m about to throw a barbed word back at him but then I stop, take him in. He’s trying to hold himself together but for the first time in all the time I’ve known him, Nick looks like shit. His hair is tousled and sticking up in places. His suit looks like he spent the night in it. Dark shadows beneath his eyes make them look thick as mud.
He’s taking this breakup much harder than I thought he would.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He scowls, turns halfway but then stops, as though he was going to hide his face and then thought better of it.
“I’m fine,” he mutters.
I chew my bottom lip and then shake my head. How Nick processes our breakup isn’t my problem. That’s for him and the therapist he hopefully gets.
“Look, you can’t hold me hostage here out of spite,” I say. “I’m perfectly in my right to leave.”
“No, you’re not,” Nick says. “And it wouldn’t be spite. This campaign is yours. Your design, your conception. How am I supposed to trust some random person to pull it off? It’s too much information in not enough time.”
This, of course, had already been discussed at my weekly meeting with Dan. “I’ve gone over the details with my boss,” I say. “He’s certain another associate can pick up the reins. Plus Mickey will be here to help them get acclimated.” I won’t bother warning my poor replacement that there’s going to be no getting used to his new prickly, demanding boss.
Nick stands suddenly, like he couldn’t stay seated if he tried. He paces behind his desk, hands clasped behind him, occasionally shooting glares my way. Then he stops, shakes his head. “No,” he says finally. “It has to be you.”
I sigh heavily. “Look—” I almost say his name, pivot to ‘Mr. Madison’, and finally abandon addressing him altogether. “Look,” I start again. “Things didn’t work out. I’m upset about it too. But that’s life. I just think it’ll be a good thing for us to have some space.”
Nick scoffs. “That’s why you’re quitting?” he demands.
“I hardly think ‘quit’ is?—”
“You’re leaving a job half finished. That’s quitting. It’s irresponsible and I thought better of you.”
We glare at each other. The nerve of this guy… I should bite my tongue, but he started it.
“At least I’ve been coming to work,” I shoot back. “You know this place shuts down if you’re not here to make any decisions, right? So you’re the last person to lecture me about responsibility.”
Nick’s face twists suddenly in anger and then the very last thing I expect happens: Nick slumps. He collapses into his chair. He looks utterly spent, miserable.
“You’re right,” he says softly.
I am?
“I am?”
“I don’t know shit about responsibility,” he says.
I’m at a loss for words, not a clue what to say or what caused this abrupt shift.
But then Nick clears it all up. “Jack is missing,” he says. He doesn’t meet my eyes.
I inhale sharply. “For how long?” I ask stupidly.
Now he looks up at me. “You know how long,” he says.
