Lincoln jolted. He’d been expecting it, but it knocked him back all the same. “Some time for what?”

“To grieve,” Cassidy said quietly.

“I did, I took—”

“Three days, I know. But Lincoln, you were going to marry Katie. And even after that became an impossibility, you cared for her for two years as though she were your wife.”

“Someone did their homework,” Lincoln said caustically.

“Damn straight. I had to, since you won’t tell any of us a damn thing.”

Lincoln drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Man, I knew that was coming. I knew that you’d only be able to bite your tongue for so long before giving me shit for not coming clean. You just can’t stand not being in control, not knowing every detail—”

“Shut the hell up,” Cassidy said, leaning forward and glaring hard at Lincoln. “You think that’s what this is? Me being a control freak? Bullshit. This is me caring about a friend who’s a mere shell of the man he was a few months ago.”

Lincoln’s head snapped back. “What do you mean? I haven’t changed. Nothing’s changed.”

Cassidy shook his head. “Is that what you think? That you’re the same? You’re on autopilot, Lincoln. Anyone who doesn’t know you probably wouldn’t think twice, but I know you. We all know you, and we’re all worried.”

Lincoln wanted to deny it. Wanted to fight back. Hell, had it been only stubbornness he saw on Cassidy’s face, he might have.

But his friend looked worried. Pained. For him.

“You need time to mourn,” Cassidy said quietly. “We were all at the funeral. Emma was crying more than you and she didn’t even know Katie, and Emma doesn’t cry.”

Lincoln opened his mouth, but Cassidy held up a hand. “Not done. I’m not going to insult you by saying you need a good cry. We all deal with grief differently. But Lincoln, you’re not dealing with it at all.”

Lincoln blew out a breath. “So what? You’re forcing me to take a sabbatical?”

“I think it’s a good idea. Don’t you?”

He swallowed and, for the first time since he learned of Katie’s death, decided to let himself be all the way honest. Not raw. But honest. “I need to work, man,” he said, a little desperately. “I can’t be alone at home, just thinking about things. Thinking about her. Work’s all I have right now, and the quality of my work hasn’t suffered. You know it hasn’t.”

“No,” Cassidy said. “It hasn’t. Which is why I’m not going to force your time away to be time off.”

Lincoln stilled. “You’re not?”

Cassidy steepled his fingers. “You need a change of scenery. A change of routine.”

“How the hell do you know what I need? I’ve got this, I’m just—”

“Because I’m your boss, and your friend,” Cassidy snapped back. “I know you think you’ve got this, but you’re like an empty, wisecracking robot, so no, you don’t got anything.”

“What about everything that needs to be done here?”

“I’ve found a guy. Nick Ballantine. He’s good, but he’s only looking for part-time, temporary. Your job will be here when you get back.”

“What if the other guy starts angling for a full-time gig?”

“He won’t. Guys like him thrive on the short-term challenge, don’t want the 401(k) and the corner office.”

“Tell that to Jake and Cole,” Lincoln said.

Both Jake Malone and Cole Sharpe had been contractors before accepting full-time positions, and Lincoln didn’t exactly relish the idea that this Nick Ballantine might be angling for his job.

“Fair point,” Cassidy said. “But we’ll deal with that if it comes up, find something for him if he’s a fit. Either way, he’s not taking your job. Trust me on this.”

“Fine.” Lincoln held up his hands in pissed-off surrender. “Where am I being exiled to?”

Cassidy looked away, and Lincoln’s eyes narrowed; he knew he wasn’t going to like what came next.

“Here’s my thinking,” Cassidy said, his gaze coming back to Lincoln. “You do damn good stuff with your section, but if we don’t watch it, Oxford’s going to pigeonhole itself into a city-man’s magazine. We want to be urbane, yes, but we also want to be universal.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that while we’re damn good about telling men how to seduce a woman in SoHo, the fact is that dating and wooing in Manhattan is its own animal.”

“Wooing?” Lincoln repeated under his breath.

“I was thinking maybe a compare/contrast. You know, what different women in different cities are looking for. Is it the same? Completely opposite? You could do a fish-out-of-water piece, interview them, figure out all the ways we city guys would crash and burn trying to woo a Southern girl.”

“First of all, if I were in a dating place right now, I wouldn’t crash and burn. Second of all, you know by now that I was never a playboy, only playing the part. And third…dude, Cassidy…are you sending me to a farm?”

“Yes, Lincoln. I’m sending you to a farm. Thought you and Kiki—”

“Kiwi.”

“—Kiwi could sleep in a barn with the pigs. Jesus. I was thinking something more intermediate.”