Re: Bench near the pool table: Michael C & Reece E
'For now' wasn't really what Michael wanted to hear. That right there? That was crazy, the kind he'd been trying to avoid for nearly ten years, the kind that had just snuck up on him and jumped him. What the hell did that even mean? Was this a company, or the mafia? What kind of a man was Dane Blake?
Of course he knew what kind of money and esteem was involved in this project, what it could mean for the people involved if it really took off. Maybe he just didn't share his employer's vision of a world where the entire thing would live or die with Michael Clary. But he never saw that world.
Whatever Clem was, whatever had happened between them, that was private, interpersonal. It had crashed headlong into his professional life, especially considering the presence of the computer (who the hell smashed it?) but it was bleak enough to think about without his boss threatening her on top of it.
"That's insane," he finally said, blinking a few times before setting his glass down, staring across at Reece. It was really sinking in, now, that Clem might be in mortal danger because they had a spat, and he hit his head, and somebody had buried a corpse to cover the whole thing up jesus fucking christ, and he covered his face with a hand as it washed over the top of his head in a wave and crashed over him, winding up his insides in a squeezing anxious knot. He stared into the table. "This is insane," he added, helpfully.
He missed the question about the data. Or it wasn't his primary concern. Now he was thinking about what he would do with Clem if she wouldn't leave town and Dane Blake was really threatening her with fatal consequences if she decided to bring charges.
And where the fuck had they even gotten a body from? Where?