Page 31 of The Overtime Persuasive

“You already helped enough,” she says, looking at me like I’m wearing a clown wig. “In fact, I think you’ve helped me more in the last two times I’ve seen you than the whole time I’ve known you.”

“Eva, I’m offering to help you. And I don’t need to be paid.”

“You have a job, and a very full life. With accountants.” She leans back. “Yet, you’re going to come here and pack subscription boxes for the next two months, in between practice and games?”

“When I don’t have a game, I have evenings.”

“You also have travel, and the actual life part.”

I think about life right now. I get up, talk to Thomas, go do something on ice or having to do with ice, then go home. “Yeah, that life thing. Debatable.”

“Liam.”

“Look, stop trying to convince me otherwise. I know you’ve always been a little proud, and now since Lucy’s tied up with the Premier League, you need the benefit of help and time. I can give you both over a couple of evenings a week until you have better numbers.”

Eva narrows her eyes but she doesn’t argue. She looks toward the boxes.

“It’s not permanent,” I add. “It’s a bridge.”

“You’re making all of this sound reasonable. Doable.”

“Well, then it could be.” I close the forecast and slide the laptop back toward her. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”

“Yes, I do.” She looks at the unfinished boxes, then at the rows we’ve already packed. “If I don’t decide tonight, I’ll spend the next week running the same numbers until I find a version that tells me what I want to hear.”

“And what do you want to hear?”

“That I can do everything, my way, and I can do it now.”

“Good news is that you can do everything.” I nod toward the laptop. “Just not all in the same week.”

She is quiet for a moment. Then she reaches for another empty box.

“Tuesday,” she says.

“What happens then?”

“The next inventory shipment arrives. Packing will commence at six thirty, unless you’re traveling.”

I pick up a sheet of orange tissue paper and pretend to scan an imaginary calendar in the back of my mind. “I think I can make it work.”

Two evenings ago, Eva barely wanted me involved in a conversation happening at my own table. Now she’s making space for me in her week.

It’s boxes and spreadsheets. That’s all.

It has no business feeling like I’ve been chosen.

CHAPTER 8

EVA

The sweet scent of smoke, brown sugar, and butter dances on the air of Lucy’s favorite BBQ joint on the Potomac. Whenever I close my eyes and breathe in, I swear it is the very reason I leave my apartment. Moments like this.

“Hey!” Lucy waves at me from a table beside the windows, halfway across the restaurant. Behind her, the last of the sunlight glints across the water. Inside, strands of lights are looped beneath the ceiling, every table the eye can see holds rolls of paper towels and at least four bottles of sauce.

I make my way toward her and notice another menu on the table. “Are you expecting someone else?”

“Vivian’s joining us.” Lucy sits back in her chair and smiles at me. “I’m so glad you came.”