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“I know,” I say.

“You didn’t cheat on him, lie to him or string him along,” Erica says.

“I know,” I repeat.

“You just couldn’t give him what he wanted,” Erica says.

That lands closer than I like.

I shift against the cushion. “Can we not make this philosophical?”

“I wasn’t,” Erica replies.

“You were getting there,” I say.

Erica laughs softly. “Fine.”

I glance toward the stairs when I hear Miles shout something about cheating, followed immediately by Wells insisting that changing the rules halfway through the game is not technically cheating if the rules were unclear to begin with.

“Hold on,” I tell Erica.

I pull the phone slightly away from my ear.

“Nobody is changing any rules. If I have to come upstairs, the television goes off,” I call toward the stairs.

Silence follows.

I bring the phone back to my ear.

“Strong leadership,” Erica says.

“I’ve had practice,” I reply.

“Speaking of things you avoid discussing, how did the mysterious client meeting go?” Erica asks.

I close my eyes briefly. “That transition was subtle.”

“I’m very talented,” Erica says.

“It was complicated,” I reply.

“Complicated how?” Erica asks.

I look toward the dining table, where the copy of Charlotte’s preliminary file is still inside my work bag.

“The client wants to reacquire a painting that belonged to her family before they fled Germany,” I explain.

“The history is legitimate, the objective is reasonable, and professionally it’s exactly the kind of work I should take.”

Erica is quiet for a second before asking, “Why did you say professionally?”

I exhale. “Because the painting is in the Kensington collection.”

There is a pause on the other end.

“Oh,” Erica says.

“Exactly,” I reply.