“So how’s work?” I asked. “Anything more about that Leo Shea guy? Did you have to tell somebody what happened?”
Ryker nodded. “I can’t say much about it,” he said. He had a drawn look to his face that worried me. “He’s from an old case I worked on when I was with vice. Undercover. In a city the size of Chicago, never thought I’d run into him again. Probably wouldn’t have either since he runs in pretty powerful circles. But the other night—”
“The other night I made you go to dinner at a fancy, expensive restaurant,” I interrupted. “And he was there.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, well, what parts of your job can you talk about?” I asked. I certainly didn’t want to talk about my job.
“You don’t want to hear about my job.”
“Of course I do!”
“It’s fucking depressing, Sage,” he said. “You don’t want to hear about the murders I see or the other shitty things that go along with being a homicide cop.”
“If you don’t tell me, then who do you tell?” I asked. “You can’t just carry it around, all bottled up inside.”
He eyed me, took another long pull of his beer, then said, “Fine. Today was rough because we got a call for a homicide scene where the dad shot his three kids, then his wife. He was on his way to his parents’ house, probably to shoot them, too, when we got him. The kids were five, three, and six months.”
I stared at him and swallowed hard. That was a nightmare that I had trouble wrapping my head around. And it was something Ryker dealt with on a daily basis. Words were inadequate for such horror, so I reached over and slipped my hand inside his, giving it a squeeze.
“I’m glad you got him,” I said, “before he hurt someone else.”
His lips lifted in a grim half-smile. “Me too.” He squeezed my hand back.
“What about you?” he asked. “You feel okay today? Still sore? Did Parker the Prick take it easy on you today?”
I bit my tongue about the insult to Parker, knowing Ryker was wanting to take out some of his frustration.
“It was fine,” I said mildly. “You know, he took me to the hospital yesterday and stayed until you got there, which I appreciated.”
“And painted your toes,” Ryker added, finishing his beer and signaling the bartender for another.
“It didn’t mean anything,” I said, which was true. By Parker’s own admission, which still bothered me but I tried not to think about it. A recurring theme over the past few days, but whatever.
“I was wondering if you’d thought about getting another job?” he asked.
I nearly choked on the sip I was taking of the mediocre Cosmo. “Wh-what?” I stammered. “Why?”
“You don’t want to be just a secretary your whole life, do you?” he asked. “You have a degree. You should use it, right? Isn’t that what your parents want?”
“What do my parents have to do with my career choice? And since when is my being ‘just a secretary’ such a bad thing?” He’d hit on a sore spot and now I was struggling to keep a rein on my temper … and my hurt.
“I didn’t think a Muccino would want his only daughter being at someone’s beck and call when I’m sure he could pull some strings and get you a cushy job at a museum somewhere, that’s all.”
I knew my jaw was hanging open and I shut it with a snap. “First of all,” I said through gritted teeth, “I’m an Executive Administrative Assistant, not some flunky who’s at someone’s ‘beck and call.’ Secondly, maybe I don’t want my father pulling strings for me. If I want a different job, then I’ll go get it myself. It’s my life.”
“Okay, okay, settle down,” he said. “Don’t get all pissed.”
“Settle down?” I echoed, giving up on holding my temper. “Did you just tell me to settle down?”
Ryker sighed, taking a drink of the new beer the bartender had set in front of him. I didn’t speak either and the silence was tense between us. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“This is about Parker, isn’t it,” I said. “It’s not the job. It’s him. You wouldn’t care one little bit if I worked for someone else, but because it’s Parker, you want me to find another job.”
He turned to look at me. “Do you blame me?” he asked, his voice bitter. “You’re with him more than you’re with me.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this same argument,” I replied, shaking my head. “I thought you were over this months ago. I chose you. Not him.”
“I’m never going to be over Parker,” he retorted. “And I certainly am tired of seeing him around you. Why is it such a big deal to get another job? If you want to stay a sec—administrative assistant,” he corrected himself, “then you could, I’m sure.”
“So just because you want me to get another job, I’m supposed to upend my life and do it?” I shot back, ignoring his question. “We’ve been dating for four and a half months, Ryker. I don’t think you have the right yet to demand I switch careers, or jobs.”