“The MacTaggart Foundation. Be in my office at nine on Monday. Not nine-twenty with Starbucks.”
“Yeah. Yeah, cool.” Wally blinked a few times as if stunned.
Ted stood. “I’m going home. See you Monday?”
Wally nodded.
And Ted left. 12
After passing out in his own bed for damn near twelve hours, Ted awoke to mid-afternoon sunshine through his window. He picked up his phone first, as usual, and groaned to see some fifty alerts on the lock screen. He dropped his phone, rolled out of bed, and headed directly to the shower.
When he emerged, scrubbed clean and feeling far more human, he found Ryan in the open living room painting in the warm light. It was the view from their villa in Aix-en-Provence, the bare olive trees, the well, and Sainte-Victoire in the distance. “A regular Cezanne,” Ted commented.
Ryan laughed. “Not quite.”
“How did it go last night?”