“You’ll do it, not just consider it,” she interjects, a negotiation of sorts. “And we have to put in that you love her. That goes directly to how you’re failing to assess the risk correctly.”
“Okay. I’ll let you put some mutually agreeable language in there that I have deep feelings for the person I’m trying to protect.”
“Fine,” she grumbles, but then an idea seems to strike, her eyes lighting up. “And if BOB spits out an alternative to your harebrained idea, you have to tell Jess the truth of your feelings before you go to bed tonight.”
I pause in consideration, because those are some serious stakes. I’m not sure I’m ready. In fact, I feel more ready to be taken hostage by Ivan Borovsky than the terrifying prospect of learning there isn’t anything romantic between me and Jess. Because maybe that’s why she wants to talk. To let me down.
Bebe stares at me resolutely.
“Fine,” I mutter and then nod toward the monitor. “But if my plan comes out as the recommendation, you aren’t going to fight me on it anymore.”
Bebe doesn’t immediately agree to this, a muscle ticking at the corner of her clenched jaw. Finally, though, she says, “Fine.”
I beam at her. “Good. Let’s input.”
She and I toss out ideas—phrases and pieces of information for BOB to consider. We have to hash out exact wording because unless there’s absolute clarity, BOB can go down a rabbit hole.
I agree to let Bebe enter, “Jameson agent in love with client,” because, well… it’s true. In fact, it’s been true for many of the cases the other Jameson agents have been involved in. This is not a new concept to the firm or to BOB, for that matter.
When we’re done, we settle back and wait for the results, which don’t come out in an instant. BOB has to ponder, filter, sort, compare, weed out, and study everything.
It’s all about algorithms.
While we wait, I ask Bebe about her and Griff’s upcoming wedding. She’s not having a maid of honor but has asked me to stand by her side in the maid of honor’s place. I’m actually looking forward to it, although I’m not too hip on discussing flowers and wedding cake.
However, I’d much rather discuss wedding plans than have to face up to Bebe when she asks, “How come you never told me about Jess and Thea?”
I roll my eyes. “We’ve had this discussion already.”
“No, not really. Not face-to-face. You told me on the phone about surface stuff. But honestly, my feelings are hurt I didn’t know about this little family unit you had down in Miami. It has to be more than ‘we were just friends and there was nothing to tell.’ This is a woman you care about so much you’re willing to die for her, and I never even knew.”
I stare at her blankly, not because I don’t understand the question but because I don’t want to answer it.
I blow out a hard breath, rub at the back of my neck, which is already tight with tension. I assess if there’s any wiggle room that Bebe will let me off the hook with some vague excuse for my oversight.
I can see by the fierceness of her expression, she’s not going to let this go—she knows there’s more to the story than what I’ve already told her.
“I was ashamed,” I say, trying to boil down a complicated situation into as few words as possible.
Bebe blinks. “Of what?”
“That I had this beautiful, intelligent, kind, loving woman with an amazing child who is like my own daughter, and I’ve not made one single attempt to find out if it could be more. I never had the guts to try, always telling myself it would ruin the friendship. I knew if I told you, you’d push me to do something, and I was too afraid to go there. I know that makes me sound like a complete punk, but in my mind, Jess has just been off-limits. She was Chase’s and not mine, and I’d accepted it. I put her in this sort of bubble that I kept to myself, and I didn’t let her out because to do so meant I could get hurt if she didn’t feel the same. I was ashamed that I couldn’t find the guts to do what was best for me, and I didn’t want you looking at me like a failure.”
I brace for Bebe to call me an idiot like she did when they dropped me at the airport the day before yesterday, but instead, she looks pensive.
“That makes some sense,” she finally admits. “But I’m also going to call bullshit. I might have encouraged you to make a move, but I wouldn’t have stayed on you about it. You should’ve trusted me enough to tell me your dilemma. I could’ve been a good sounding board for you.”