PART SIX: NO MORE SLEET TO GIVE

"I will sue." She eyed him. He wasn't like Ken or Shiv who could mask their thoughts - Rome's emotions constantly bled to the edges.

His eyes roved around the restaurant. He fiddled with a napkin, put it in his lap, shook it out. Dumped it back on the table. She'd agreed to meet with him and was disappointed he wasn't better prepared.

"What if you sat down with Ken. What if we, you know, took you back?"

"You can't fuck me over then expect I happily skip back through the door, Roman. If you don't fire me today, you'll hang me for someone else's disaster later."

"No, no, that's not–"

"I don't trust you."

He stopped squirming and caught her eye. She raised a brow, shook her head.

"Why should I?"

Something deflated in Roman's face and she saw it - he was ashamed. He'd let her down. She bit her lip to keep from speaking. Let him sort it out.

"You know what, Gerri? I'm – I'm pretty fucked up right now, I think you can tell. And I'm sorry, okay? Yeah. I'm sorry. You are good at your job. You're the fucking best. And I'm terrified. So maybe you could go easy on me and let's just forget anything ever happened between us–"

"Anything?"

"-and we'll just start, you know, over. Like get it out of your system, I'll get it out of mine–"

"Uh-huh."

"-and we'll just clean slate it." He shook himself out.

Wet dog coming in from the storm, Gerri thought.

"Okay? Gerri? Please. I need you."

"For what?"

"I just– I don't know. You're like my–" Roman paused. He kept looking at her which Gerri thought was progress, and she could see the slow startle in him as he realized he could not name exactly what she was to him.

She repositioned her cutlery, smoothed her skirt in his silence.

"For starters," she said, her voice lower and quieter, "I am not your mother. I am not your girlfriend."

"Jesus, fuck, okay, I get it."

"I am not a dispensable employee, either, unless your grand plan is to carpet bomb Waystar in power mad insanity."

"Noted. Fine."

"You cannot just push people away when you get afraid or upset. You need people, Roman. You need smart alliances. Matsson and Menken are toxic and they will burn you."

"And you're the smart choice? You, who basically hate my guts right now."

"I'm not ranting about you in a diary, Roman. I'm not sixteen years old."

"Also noted. Closer to eighty." He waved a hand. "Sorry, sorry."

She looked him over. In the shadow and gold from the restaurant, he looked nervous, flighty, a nocturnal animal suddenly awash in light. She pitied him. He frustrated her. There was part of her that wanted to shake him, steer him, encourage him, touch him. He was her–

She pursed her lips, leaned forward.

"Rome, do you remember a time when we weren't like this?"

His eyes flickered over her face. "Like what?"

"No tension. When you didn't want or need anything from me. Of any nature."

"When we weren't transactional, you mean."

She felt a little pained and it surprised her. "Yes. Because I don't, really."

"Is that a problem? Isn't everything transactional?"

"If you want to take the bitter view then yes, maybe."

"But you're saying you don't want this to be transactional. So you want it to be, what? Personal? Mutual?"

"I don't know what I want."

"Oh what a relief, ice queen has no more sleet to give."

She observed him. Summed him up for the damaged, emotional wild card he was. But insightful. Creative. Capable of connection. She thought of her own position, her career. Could she salvage this? Could they? If she could just get him to slough out the impulsiveness, the fear, the constant need for approval that would spiral into defensiveness and chaos —

"I think we should sleep together. For real," said Roman. He held up a level hand. "I know you've said no before, and I respect that, and maybe I don't know if I'd be good at it or if I'd even like it, but fuck it, I like you and I know I want to do things to you, to make you feel good, if you also would like to do them to me."

She held his eyes. Dark already. She could make him quiver if she wanted right now with a simple change of tone.

"I want this," he said.

"What part of any of this is a good idea?"

"The sex part? Or the you and me business part - without the, you know, sweaty and stripping off clothes part."

Fuck it, Gerri thought.

It was a relief to think it. Soon she'd be free of all this mess. She'd be fired. Or she'd walk away. Get out of everything toxic - she had enough money by now to make it happen. Move to Lisbon, Copenhagen, London. Travel. If she got bored, she could get a work visa and provide counsel. Baird was gone, her daughters wanted nothing to do with her, she'd served Logan Roy and now was free. She had done well and had nothing left to prove, not even to herself.

She held Roman's gaze. What will be left of you, she thought.

She handed him an extra room key card from her bag. She enjoyed the flux on his face, mix of panic and delight.

"An hour from now. Let yourself in."

She stood up from the table, folded her napkin and placed it on her plate. Roman said something to her but she made herself believe she didn't hear it.

She exited the restaurant and went to her hotel room. She gathered only what she truly needed – favorite blouses, the Armani suit, pearls, her new phone free from any compromising texts – and checked out early. By the time Roman let himself in, she was already on a plane to her next life.

/ end