Re: Bench near the pool table: Michael C & Reece E
Michael had read the NDA and the contract. Nowhere in it did he remember a caveat about threats to his spouse, whether they were getting divorce or not, whether it had been a terrible decision or not, whether she was a threat to his career or not. He wouldn't have signed a contract that implied as much - he wouldn't have applied to work at a company that had a reputation for violent talent management. As Reece spoke, he stared at him like he'd removed a mask.
Deliver the data. He might have handled all this better if he hadn't just woken out of a month's lost time, or if Clem hadn't flat told him she never cared a whit about him. He didn't know how much of her reaction was anger over that fight they had, or anger that he'd been gone a month. There wasn't anything he could do about that, though.
All in all, he was feeling lost and unobservant. It made him want to go back into the lab first thing in the morning and not come out. But he wouldn't do that. He couldn't bury his head in the sand. He'd have to work hard, and be vigilant, and be alone, and that felt seriously great.
Michael drained his glass and set it on the edge of the table.
"You still don't mind if I spend the night at your place?" he asked.
Compared to the man before the marriage and the disappearance, even compared to the man who'd come into the bar, he seemed muted. He seemed quieter. Some of the outright jitters had settled down, and he was starting to realize how bleak the outlook was for the near - and maybe distant - future.
He'd deliver the data, though. So at least there was that?