to have his attorney review it when he has time between meetings.”
She couldn’t find an answer. Elevator doors opened behind me and the morning crowd spread through the lobby, bringing coffee, footsteps, and low conversation. Recognition transformed the ordinary noise into whispers.
“She actually brought his clothes.”
“So the Slack message was real?”
“I thought someone hacked her account.”
“I heard he was with Jasmine again last night.”
For once I didn’t turn to see who was talking. The freedom of no longer managing their opinions was almost physical.
