《New York Billionaires Series》 Think Outside the Boss 1 Freddie I¡¯m sorting through junk mail when my fingers gloss over a thick golden envelope. My address is handwritten on the front in sprawling ck letters, but there¡¯s no name. Mentally, I run through all my friends who might be getting married¡­ no, no and no.This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org. Golden envelope in hand, I sink onto my kitchen chair and flip it over. It has a ck wax seal. Stamped into it is a mask, the kind people wear to fancy masquerades in movies. I¡¯ve never received anything like this. If this is junk mail, it¡¯s gotten very ssy. Can it be to the previous tenant? I¡¯ve only lived in this studio for a month. Best to make sure¡­ I tear the envelope open with a kitchen knife and pull out a card-stock invitation with gold, printed lettering. Dear Reba Hartford, It¡¯s a new month, and that means new sins to explore. Join us at the Halcyon Hotel at ten p. m. the following Saturday and wear the apanying mask as proof of invitation. Don¡¯t forget that secrecy is fun, phones are not (no one likes a tattletale), and everyone looks better ince. Or disrobed. But we¡¯re getting ahead of ourselves¡­ Yours in pleasure, The Gilded Room Oh God. I read the invitation twice to sort through all the innuendos. The Gilded Room? Everyone looks better disrobed? Reba Hartford, you minx! This might be the most borate practical joke I¡¯ve ever been on the receiving end of. Peering into the envelope, I find a mask lined in delicate ck silk, two feathers curling above the cut-out eyes like eyebrows. ck jewels crust the bottom half, and three words are written in gold cursive along the edge. United in pleasure. Okay. Maybe not a practical joke. I open myptop and type the Gilded Room in the search bar. A bunch of newspaper articles have been written about the organization, but not a single one of them features pictures. I click open the one entitled A night in the elite¡¯s world of pleasure. What I read makes my eyes widen. The Gilded Room is one of New York¡¯s best kept secrets, primarily because those in it don¡¯t want to be known. They don¡¯t want to be seen, heard, and especially not pictured. The Gilded Room guarantees anonymity to its high-flying members, many of whom pay over twenty thousand dors for their yearly memberships. I scroll down, my eyes scanning paragraph after incredible paragraph. Rules are simple. No one is invited that isn¡¯t rich, beautiful, or both. Anyone caught with a phone is immediately expelled¡­ and women have all the power at these parties. There are whispers of politicians attending Gilded Room parties, football yers, billionaires and media tycoons¡­ but if they have, the journalist couldn¡¯t find anyone willing to talk. It seems this is the only venue among New York¡¯s upper echelons where name-dropping isn¡¯t the norm. I close myptop and stare down at the mask and invitation, now lying on my sofa table. Who had Reba Hartford been, to be invited to a party like this? I know for a fact that the previous tenant had left the country, myndlord telling me she¡¯d been offered a job in Hong Kong. Contacting her about this feels out of the question. What if I go myself? The idea makes me smile. Secret sex parties for the rich? I¡¯m not rich, nor a partier. I am sex-interested, though. It¡¯s been a long time since Ist¡­ What am I thinking? Of course I¡¯m not going. I toss the invitation and the mask in the paper-basket and the lid closes decisively behind them. Besides, I have things to do, like preparing for the internship of a lifetime. I¡¯d worked too hard to get epted into Exciteur Global¡¯s Junior Professionals program, and my first day as a trainee is on Monday. I have things to do before then. Get three new pairs of stockings to go with my professional outfits. Unpack thest of the moving boxes. Schedule a time at the DMV to update my driver¡¯s license to New York instead of Pennsylvania. Attend secret sex party is nowhere on that list. I make it almost an hour and another moving box unpacked before I fish the invitation and mask back out of the paper-basket. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I put on the ck, feather-adorned mask. I look moderately pretty. Thick, dark hair, and more than my fair share of it, thanks to my Italian mother. Quite short, but I like to think I¡¯m just petite. Eyes that are a muddy sort of green. It did say you had to be rich or beautiful to get in¡­ I tug at my ratty old T-shirt to make a V-shaped neckline. Courtesy of an unusuallyrge chest, I never wear anything that revealing. But I had just unpacked the ck dress I got on salest year. The one that showed a lot of cleavage¡­ Could I pass for Reba Hartford? Or at least beautiful enough to gain admission? ¡°An adventure before the real one starts on Monday,¡± I tell my masked reflection. I once heard it said that women have three forms of showers. The first, a quick body wash. The second, a quick hair and body wash. The third? That¡¯s the date-shower, where things get scrubbed and shaven and deep-conditioned. As it turns out, I¡¯ve discovered a fourth shower, the help-I¡¯m-going-to-an-elite-sex-party shower. It has a lot of elements from shower number three, like shaving and scrubbing, but includes a few minutes of panicking on the shower floor. My mind clings to the words I¡¯d read online, that women have all the power. If I don¡¯t like it, I¡¯ll leave. The Halycon Hotel is one of the nicest in the city, so it¡¯s not like I¡¯m walking into an organized crime syndicate. At least I tell myself that. It¡¯s nearly ten-thirty when I arrive at the hotel. My high heels click on the floor as I walk to the reception. My invitation and mask are both safe and secure in my clutch, ready to be whipped out in lieu of an ID. ¡°Good evening, miss,¡± a hotel attendant says. His eyes dip to the deep V of my ck dress before returning to my eyes. And that¡¯s why I usually wear high necklines. A flush rises on his neck. ¡°You¡¯re here for the private party?¡± I tug my coat shut. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°The elevator to your left,¡± he says, ¡°and straight up to the thirty-second floor. Have fun, miss.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± And because I can¡¯t resist, I add, ¡°I n to.¡± I ride alone in the elevator, my eyes tracking the ever-increasing number of floors on the disy. It¡¯s be a surefire way to keep my fear of heights at bay. Focus on the floors I¡¯m passing and soon enough, it¡¯s over. I still breathe a sigh of relief as I step out. Showtime, Freddie. I put the mask on and tie the silken strings together, ignoring the way my heart runs amok in my chest with nerves. The scene that awaits me is exceedingly normal. An empty corridor and an open doorway with a pretty, dark-d woman in front, her face radiating calm professionalism. She tucks an iPad under her arm. ¡°Wee, miss.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°One performance has already concluded, but the next one should be starting just now.¡± I nod, like I understand what she¡¯s referring to. ¡°Terrific, thank you.¡± Think Outside the Boss 2 She holds her hand out with an expectant look in her eyes. ¡°Right,¡± I say, digging through my clutch to hand her my invitation card. Don¡¯t ask for ID, don¡¯t ask for ID¡­ But she just looks it over and gives me another smile, this one more friend-to-friend. ¡°Wee, Miss Hartford. Don¡¯t forget to check your phone in on the right, after you enter.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± She pushes aside the curtain blocking the door. The contrast is sharp from the bright corridor outside to the dimly lit, smoke-filled rooms beyond. A scent hangs in the air¡­ something thick, like magnolia and incense. A man dressed only in a pair of ck cks and a tie, no shirt to cover up the broad chest on disy, wees me. ¡°I¡¯ll check your coat, miss.¡± ¡°Yes, thank you,¡± I say, shrugging out of it. He hangs it up and returns, a hand extended. ¡°Oh! Right.¡± I hand him my phone. His answering smile makes me think I¡¯m not masking my nerves as well as I thought. ¡°I¡¯ll put your phone right here,¡± he says, opening one of a hundred identical security boxes. ¡°The code is automatically generated, and you¡¯ll get a printed receipt with it¡­ here you go. Only you know this. Don¡¯t lose it.¡± ¡°All right,¡± I murmur. ¡°Awesome.¡±This text is ? N?velDrama/.Org. He gives me another encouraging smile, this time tinged with humor. ¡°Enjoy yourself, and remember that we¡¯re here at any time if you need help or you have any questions.¡± Gripping my clutch tight, I walk into the main space. The first impressions strike me in shes. Whitece and high heels. Drapes of ck silk from the ceiling. Men in impably fitted suits and dark masks. People mingle, some standing, some reclining on sofas. A beautiful woman strolls past me in lingerie. It¡¯s the imposing kind, with garters and thigh-highs. ¡°Champagne, miss?¡± a waiter asks, holding out a tray of flutes. Just like the man working the coat check, he¡¯s shirtless. ¡°Yes, thank you,¡± I murmur. Walking through the throngs of people in a dazed sort of wonder, I think I see people I recognize. It¡¯s difficult to tell with the masks, but not impossible, and a few have discarded theirs entirely. One woman is a news anchor and I¡¯ve seen her on TV dozens of times. A tall, broad-shouldered man has the face of a football yer. If I¡¯d been more sports interested, his name would havee to me, but as it is I settle on furtive nces his way. Bottles of champagne with goldenbels line an entire wall. This is wealth like I¡¯ve never seen it before. It¡¯s a rich person¡¯s yground, a study in how the wealthy amuse themselves. Then I see it. The performance. There¡¯s a raised stage in the middle of the room, and what¡¯s taking ce on it makes my high school drama club¡¯s rendition of Macbeth look like child¡¯s y. Two lingerie-d women circle a man on a chair, his hands in cuffs behind him. One runs proprietary nails over the man¡¯s sculpted chest, the other sliding her hand up his bare thigh. My eyes are glued to the scene. And yet all around me, guests of the Gilded Room continue to mingle in varying states of undress as if three people aren¡¯t currently engaged in very public forey in front of us. A masked woman in her mid-forties walks past me, pulling a man along behind her by his tie. She shoots me a triumphant look. ¡°The next performance should have pyrotechnics,¡± she says. I give her a weak smile. ¡°Just what this party needs. Fire.¡± ¡°I like you!¡± she calls over her shoulder. ¡°Feel free to join uster!¡± Join them, wow. I smile into my champagne and look across the room, hoping to spot more famous people. There is no way my friends will believe me, but I still want to make sure this night turns into the best anecdote possible. My gaze lingers on a man on the other side of the room. Like most men here, he¡¯s in a suit, but he¡¯s one of the few not wearing a mask. Not speaking to anyone, either. He just leans against the wall and watches the performance with arms crossed over his chest. Looks like he¡¯s sitting this one out. I turn in my empty ss of champagne for a full one and lean against the wall opposite him. There¡¯s nothing familiar about him, and yet I can¡¯t seem to look away. His gaze snaps to mine, and theser-focus makes it clear he¡¯s well aware of my staring. He raises an eyebrow. My lips curve into the universal sign of hi, there. It¡¯s the smile you give a man in a bar to let him know you want him toe over. It¡¯s brazen. A group of guests stop in the middle of the room and it sunders our eye contact. I look down into my champagne with a heart that¡¯s suddenly pounding. I¡¯de here to observe, without any ns of participating¡­ But a girl can flirt, can¡¯t she? When I see him again, he¡¯s no longer alone. A woman runs her hand down his arm in a manner that would be easy to read even if we weren¡¯t at an elite sex party. I push off the wall and take ap of the room. There¡¯s a steady, pounding beat emanating from the speakers, heady in its power. More than a few of the mingling guests have moved on from simple conversation, and I pass by a man taking off his partner¡¯s bra while discussing New York real estate. I find a dark corner of the space to retreat to, far away from the couples in varying states of undress. I¡¯ve never watched other people¡­ well. Perhaps it¡¯s time for me to dere this little adventure finished. That¡¯s when he appears by my side, a crystal tumbler in hand. Brown hair rises over a strong forehead and the square of his jaw covered in two days¡¯ worth of stubble. Up close, it¡¯s even harder to look away from him. He raises that eyebrow at me again, but says nothing. He just leans against the wall beside me and we gaze at the crowd in silence. I take another sip of my champagne to keep my nerves at bay. Who is he? A media mogul? A celebrity I don¡¯t recognize? The scion of a political family? For the night, he¡¯s a stranger, just like me. ¡°So?¡± I ask, watching him through the slitted eyes of my mask. ¡°Are you nning on introducing yourself?¡± His lips quirk like I¡¯ve made a joke. ¡°Eventually,¡± he admits. ¡°Though talking is often one of the less enjoyable pastimes at these events,paratively speaking.¡± I wet my lips. ¡°Not if it¡¯s done well.¡± ¡°Which pastime?¡± he asks, amusement an undercurrent in the rich baritone of his voice. ¡°Doing things well is one of my favorite hobbies.¡± ¡°Being modest is not, I¡¯m guessing?¡± He turns, and I have to look up to meet his dark gaze. ¡°Modesty is forbidden at the Gilded Room.¡± ¡°Is that in the rulebook?¡± I ask. ¡°I think I missed that point.¡± His lips curve into a crooked smile. ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve read the rulebook at all, considering it¡¯s your first time here.¡± ¡°What makes you think that?¡± ¡°You asked me if I was nning on introducing myself.¡± ¡°And that gave me away?¡± His smile widens. ¡°There are only two iron-d rules at these parties. The first isplete anonymity. The second? Women initiate. Men can¡¯t speak unless spoken to.¡± Oh. Women wield all the power. Right. Think Outside the Boss 3 Groaning, I lean back against the wall. ¡°I gave myself away that easily, did I?¡± ¡°Not yet, you haven¡¯t,¡± he says, amusement glittering in his eyes. ¡°What are your thoughts so far?¡± ¡°Of the Gilded Room?¡± He inclines his head in a yes. I look out over the mingling guests. People are shifting into separate corridors and rooms, and on the stage, one of the women is now-oh. Wow. She¡¯s going down on the man tied to the chair. His head is thrown back in pleasure as hers moves in a practiced rhythm. ¡°I had no idea what to expect when I came here tonight. Didn¡¯t know how¡­ controlled the hedonism would be.¡± I tear my eyes away from the choreographed performance. ¡°I¡¯ve alsoe to the sad realization that I probably think I¡¯m more open-minded than I actually am.¡± He raises an eyebrow, faint crow¡¯s-feet fanning out around his eyes. Thirty, perhaps, or thirty-five. No more than a decade older than me. ¡°Not used to seeing other people have sex?¡± ¡°Not in person,¡± I admit. He smiles at my words. ¡°There are no musts here. You could spend your first time just admiring the scenery. Enjoying a few drinks. Making conversation.¡± My expression of dismay must have been clear, because he raises an eyebrow. ¡°That doesn¡¯t interest you?¡± ¡°Well, I don¡¯t think I like the idea of being a voyeur. It seems intrusive, somehow.¡± He turns his face, but I catch the smile. ¡°Most people here enjoy being watched. A closed door means off-limits, but open ones mean anyone is free to watch or join.¡± ¡°Another one of the rules I don¡¯t know,¡± I say, taking a sip of my champagne. Now that I¡¯m here, now that I¡¯m talking to this man¡­ I¡¯m not nervous anymore. It¡¯s like an out-of-body experience, and the Frederica Bilson who should be nervous doesn¡¯t even know she¡¯s here. I left her out in the corridor. ¡°There aren¡¯t many rules.¡± ¡°Enlighten me?¡± I ask. ¡°I¡¯d hate to embarrass myself further.¡± He smiles, a slow and wide thing that makes my stomach tighten. The dim lighting casts shadows over his face. ¡°It would be my pleasure,¡± he says. ¡°You already know the first one, and the most important one.¡± ¡°Women initiate conversation?¡± ¡°Yes, as well as sex,¡± he says. ¡°Men can suggest it, if they¡¯ve been spoken to, but it¡¯s considered more proper for the woman to speak the words.¡± I swallow against the dryness in my throat. ¡°The Gilded Room is big on consent, then.¡± ¡°It is, not to mention security. You won¡¯t see them, but there are guards stationed throughout the party.¡± ¡°There are?¡± Slowly, giving me time to react, he reaches over and puts his hands on my shoulders. They¡¯re warm and steady as he turns me toward the opposite corner. ¡°The man in the back. Masked, wearing a leather loincloth?¡± ¡°That¡¯s security?¡± ¡°Yes. See the earpiece?¡± I narrow my eyes. His hands are still on me, hot through the thin fabric of my dress. ¡°No. He¡¯s too far away.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s there. And you should get your eyesight checked.¡± ¡°Hey, that¡¯s not nice.¡± His chuckle is hoarse as he turns me toward the bar. ¡°One of the men sitting down, nursing a scotch. He¡¯s wearing a suit.¡± ¡°They drink on the job?¡±This text is ? N?velDrama/.Org. His hands slip from my shoulders. ¡°It¡¯s likely apple juice. No one here wants to feel guarded, so they blend in. All part of the illusion.¡± ¡°The illusion?¡± ¡°That we all just happened to be here tonight, that this is a real party, that we¡¯re not vetted and screened.¡± There¡¯s truth to that, I suppose. Security guards in uniform would ruin the mood. ¡°So they step in if anyone gets too rowdy?¡± ¡°Yes, but that rarely happens. Few pay to get in here only to tempt a lifetime ban.¡± He lifts his crystal tumbler and drinks, the long column of his throat moving. ¡°You¡¯re not wearing a mask. Wasn¡¯t that one of the rules?¡± He shoots me a look. ¡°Some rules can be broken.¡± ¡°By the right people?¡± He lifts a shoulder in an elegant shrug. Not denying it, not confirming it. A suspicion grows in my mind, and I narrow my eyes at him. ¡°You¡¯re not the owner of the Gilded Room, are you? The operator?¡± ¡°Christ, no.¡± ¡°You know a lot about how it works.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not my first party,¡± he counters. A secondter and I feel the warmth of his hand on my arm. ¡°Care to sit down?¡± He nods to an empty couch nearby, further concealed in shadow. A pounding of nerves explodes beneath my breastbone. His hand falls away. ¡°Women have all the power,¡± he reminds me. ¡°You say the word and I¡¯ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the word?¡± ¡°¡®Go away¡¯ usually works, but that¡¯s two words.¡± Iugh. ¡°I¡¯ll stick with that, then. Though it¡¯s not very polite.¡± ¡°You can add please to it, if you like.¡± ¡°How kind of you.¡± We sink down on the couch, the leather cold under my legs. I cross them and sp the champagne to my chest like a weapon. ¡°So you¡¯re a regr?¡± ¡°I suppose you could call me that.¡± He drapes his arm along the back of the couch, hand resting somewhere behind my head. We both look out over the crowd of people. What had seemed so orderly when I first arrived is now broken up, people divided into pairs or smaller groups. And dear God, a woman ispletely naked on a couch across the room. Completely, one hundred percent nude. She¡¯s draped over a man¡¯sp, his hands on her breasts. Another is working between her syed legs. I swallow at the sight. ¡°Performers, too?¡± Think Outside the Boss 4 ¡°I doubt it,¡± he murmurs. ¡°They just got inspired.¡± Perhaps my silence says it all, because heughs quietly, stretching out long legs in front of him. ¡°I have to say, gorgeous, that you have me curious.¡± ¡°Curious?¡± ¡°Yes. How did a woman like you end up with an invite to the Gilded Room.¡± I frown. ¡°A woman like me?¡± ¡°So clearly straitced,¡± he says, meeting my gaze with one of his own. ¡°Someone who loves being in control. Who fears letting go.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t fear letting go.¡± He raises an eyebrow, and I blow out a breath. ¡°All right, I do, but I¡¯m sure everyone does to some degree. Do you think it¡¯s holding me back here tonight?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Do you think it is?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± I say. ¡°So far I¡¯m watching a performance of live sex¡­ well, almost-sex, while having a conversation with a perfect stranger. I¡¯d say I¡¯m letting go already.¡± His smile shes. ¡°It¡¯s not almost-sex anymore.¡± I look at the stage and then quickly away, my gaze settling back on his face. His smile widens at my expression. ¡°I¡¯m not shocked,¡± I protest. ¡°Sure you¡¯re not.¡± ¡°Not straitced at all.¡± ¡°Then look,¡± he challenges. So I do. I turn full toward the stage, to where one of the women is riding the man handcuffed to the chair. The look of pleasure on his face makes it clear he bears the weight of restraint dly. The pounding of my blood rises as I watch them, the silky movement of her hips and the ze in his eyes. The way they revel in us observing them. ¡°Okay,¡± I murmur. ¡°I get it.¡± ¡°The appeal?¡±This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Yes.¡± His deepughter rolls over my skin like soft thunder. ¡°Not so opposed to being a voyeur after all.¡± ¡°I suppose it has its appeals.¡± I wet my lips and drag my gaze from the stage to him. ¡°You know, I think anonymity does too.¡± ¡°It certainly does,¡± he agrees. ¡°Even if you know someone inside of here, you¡¯re not allowed to acknowledge it.¡± My eyebrows rise. ¡°Let¡¯s say I knew your name. I wouldn¡¯t be allowed to call you by it?¡± ¡°No. Some people do break that, though.¡± ¡°The couples whoe here must.¡± ¡°They¡¯re the worst offenders.¡± He tips his head back and drains thest amber liquid in his ss, a thick watch on his wrist. It looks expensive. ¡°But you¡¯re not here with someone?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± he confirms, reaching past me to set down his ss. The movement brings with it the scent of whiskey and sandalwood. ¡°Nor are you.¡± ¡°How are you so sure?¡± ¡°I doubt a partner of yours would leave you alone this long.¡± ¡°Well, I doubt I¡¯d have a partner who put so little faith in me that he had to watch me constantly.¡± His eyes spark. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s not what I meant. No, he wouldn¡¯t be able to stay away from the trouble you might be getting into.¡± I nce down into my champagne ss and away from the force of his gaze. ¡°You¡¯re good at this.¡± ¡°Atplimenting a woman?¡± He snorts, but I think it¡¯s more at himself than at me. ¡°I try my best.¡± I tilt my head and observe him. Here in the dark alcove, with the incense of the party mixing with heady intimacy, it feels like I could ask him anything. ¡°What do you usually do at these parties?¡± ¡°Searching for inspiration?¡± ¡°Perhaps I want to know who I¡¯m dealing with,¡± I murmur. He leans back on the sofa, pulling his shoulders back. ¡°What happens at these parties doesn¡¯t leave them.¡± ¡°Well, we¡¯re at a Gilded Room party,¡± I say. ¡°So talking about past exploits wouldn¡¯t break that rule.¡± His lip curves, an acknowledgment of the loophole. ¡°You know, I keep trying to figure out if you got into the Gilded Room because of your brains or your beauty, and it¡¯s damn difficult to decide.¡± ¡°It has to be one or the other?¡± He sweeps an arm at the party. ¡°Most people here pay for membership, men more often than women, after they¡¯ve been approved by the selectionmittee. But there are always a few women who don¡¯t, and who are granted membership solely from their looks.¡± ¡°Well, that seems sexist.¡± Heughs, the hand behind me brushing the bare skin of my shoulder. ¡°So you¡¯re not one of those women. You could be, though.¡± I frown at him, which only makes him grin wider. ¡°So I¡¯m one of the women who could have benefitted from a loophole that is in and of itself pretty sexist?¡± ¡°I never imed mypliments were politically correct.¡± ¡°No, you didn¡¯t.¡± Ignoring the nerves resurfacing, I slip out of my heels and pull my legs up on the sofa. His fingers don¡¯t leave my shoulder. ¡°I saw you speaking to a woman earlier. You¡¯d been approached by someone?¡± ¡°Several someones,¡± he acknowledges. ¡°But you¡¯d already smiled at me from across the room. I told them I was called for.¡± The nerves ranch up a notch. ¡°Oh. Was I that intriguing?¡± ¡°I¡¯d never seen you here before.¡± Think Outside the Boss 5 I make my voice teasing. ¡°And you saw someone who looked like she needed guidance? How kind of you to reach out.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a saint.¡± ¡°I told you I liked this anonymity thing,¡± I say, ¡°and I do. The idea that we have no idea what the other person does during the days. Perhaps you spent the whole day working as a surgeon at a children¡¯s hospital.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°I wasn¡¯t honest when I said I was a saint.¡± ¡°Then perhaps you spent the whole day evading the New York Police Department, because you¡¯re the head of an organized crime ring.¡± I turn toward him on the couch, and he responds in kind, his free handnding on my thigh. The touch is casual, but the racing of my heart it sets off isn¡¯t. ¡°You think I¡¯m about to make you an offer you can¡¯t refuse?¡± ¡°You¡¯re wee to try. But it¡¯s exciting not knowing, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°It is. Do I have a European princess beside me? A young Hollywood actress? A surgeon who works at a children¡¯s hospital?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll never know.¡± ¡°Aplete mystery,¡± he agrees. ¡°I like it. Although it does feel odd not to have a name to call you, or even refer to you in my head.¡± His eyes sh with heated amusement. ¡°There are a ton of things you can call me.¡± I shift closer, leaning against the back of the sofa. ¡°You know, you came over to talk to me. Even though you weren¡¯t allowed to.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°I did. But I waited for you to speak first.¡± His voice grows deeper, something I should hear from a Jumbotron, narrating a movie, reading me my favorite audiobook. It slides over my skin like a dark caress. ¡°Despite all the women who approached you. Despite the¡­ fascinating performance currently on disy.¡± His hand slides an inch higher on my thigh, the only ce we¡¯re touching. A thumb brushes across the hem of my ck dress. ¡°Is there a question here somewhere?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m ready to ask it.¡±This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°I¡¯m perfectlyfortable where I am,¡± he murmurs. ¡°So no need to ask me anything.¡± ¡°I could rephrase it, actually. So it¡¯s more like a hypothetical.¡± His lips quirk again. ¡°A hypothetical? Sure.¡± ¡°Considering you approached me, and considering what you usually do at these parties, I-¡± ¡°What you think I usually do at these parties,¡± he interjects. ¡°I have the feeling a lot of it is conjecture.¡± ¡°You¡¯re telling me you don¡¯t participate?¡± His smile turns wolfish, an eyebrow raised. ¡°I participate.¡± Nerves mixed with heady, dizzying want sweep through my stomach. What would his hand feel like higher up my leg? His lips on mine? Am I brave enough to do this? ¡°Of course you do,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re probably in high demand.¡± He reaches up with a free hand to run it through short, dark hair, thick through his fingers. ¡°I¡¯m rarelyplimented by women.¡± ¡°Do you enjoy it?¡± Shaking his head in disbelief, he takes my champagne ss out of my hand and lifts it to his lips. There¡¯s amusement in his eyes as he takes arge sip. ¡°Stealing my drink?¡± ¡°I think I need it more than you do.¡± ¡°I¡¯m that challenging?¡± ¡°No,¡± he says, his thumb moving in a circle on my knee. ¡°And yes. This conversation isn¡¯t anything like the ones I¡¯ve had at the Gilded Room before.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I narrow my eyes at him. Are they all discussions about sex, then? Although I suppose that¡¯s what we¡¯re talking about as well, but not very directly. ¡°I can see you thinking again,¡± he says. ¡°Straitced.¡± I frown. ¡°That can¡¯t be the nickname you¡¯re giving me.¡± ¡°Oh? What would you like me to call you?¡± Seeing my expression, he chuckles again. It¡¯s just as dark as the other times. ¡°I¡¯ll surprise you, then.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°I still haven¡¯t asked you my hypothetical question.¡± ¡°You were wondering if I wanted to sleep with you,¡± he says. ¡°And the answer is yes.¡± My throat goes dry, but I don¡¯t look away from his steady gaze on mine. ¡°Oh. Right. Okay.¡± ¡°I saw you across the room, the way you smiled at me, and I knew I wanted you beneath me.¡± I wet my lips. ¡°Is this more simr to how your conversations with women usually go here?¡± He shakes his head. ¡°No, they¡¯re far more clinical.¡± ¡°Well, I suppose you rarely have to seduce anyone here,¡± I murmur, still reeling from his earlier words. His hand slides higher, settling around the curve of my outer thigh. ¡°I¡¯m finding it enjoyable.¡± ¡°So that¡¯s what we¡¯re doing, then.¡± I trace my finger along the edge of the champagne ss, and his eyes track the movement. ¡°Seducing one another.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t all conversation a form of seduction?¡± ¡°Definitely a mafia boss,¡± I breathe. His surprised chuckle feels hot against my skin. ¡°You¡¯re wee to think whatever you like about me.¡± Think Outside the Boss 6 I put a hand on his broad chest and watch it there, my fingers t against the strength beneath his shirt. He¡¯s more tangibly male than the men I usually interact with, as if he¡¯s been baked and hardened into steel. If this is what men in their thirties are like, I¡¯ve been missing out. Or maybe it¡¯s just the kind of men who frequent ces like the Gilded Room? ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m daring enough for this,¡± I admit. His smile is reassuring. ¡°We¡¯ll just have to try and see. Another rule of the Gilded Room is that there are no expectations.¡± I slide my hand up to his neck, tentatively running my fingers across the rough, five-o¡¯clock shadow that coats his square jaw. ¡°There are some things we can try from thefort of this couch.¡± ¡°I agree. But let¡¯s get rid of this first¡­¡± He reaches up slowly, giving me time to object. I don¡¯t, holding still as he unties the mask and slips it off my face. ¡°There,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Much better.¡± We hover, nearly touching, as the sweet sensation of closeness washes over me. My eyes flutter closed as he braves the distance between us and presses his lips to mine. The kiss ispetent and warm, and my body reacts to it like a flower to the sun. Heat spreads through my limbs and my mouth opens to him on a soft exhale. His tongue sweeps across my lower lip, his hand curving around my thigh in a tight grip. My nerves melt away in the face of this, no match at all against his skill, his heat, the way my body warms. This is the easiest thing in the world. He lifts his head, just enough to speak. ¡°I don¡¯t think kissing will be an issue,¡± he murmurs. I reply by kissing him again, capturing his answering chuckle against my lips. My hand slides up into his hair, the thick strands silky through my fingers. He growls into my mouth as I tug. This is a risk worth taking. There¡¯s no telling when I¡¯ll have a man like this touch me again, a handsome man who exudes power andpetence and dark, sly wit. ¡°I¡¯m not this girl,¡± I tell him. His hands grip my hips, pulling me tight against him. ¡°I know,¡± he says, voice hoarse. ¡°It only makes me want you more.¡± The words send delicious shivers over my skin. High on him, on my own bravery, I sling one leg over hisp and straddle him. We might be concealed in this dark alcove, but we¡¯re still at a party, and there are people milling about. His hands run up the sides of my dress, ghosting past my breasts. ¡°Kiss me again, Straitced.¡± ¡°Not my nickname,¡± I tell him, and he grins. I cover it with my lips and we¡¯re lost once more to the chemistry between us, to whatever magic happens when his lips and mine meet. My desire pounds in tune to the beat of the music, hypnotic and sensual. Beneath me, the hard length of him is evidence of his own. The surprise makes me break away. He doesn¡¯t skip a beat, shifting to my neck instead. Arge hand cups my breast and smooths a thumb through the fabric, finding the tight point of my nipple without effort. ¡°I want you,¡± he says, lips against my skin. ¡°Do you want to find an unupied room?¡± I swallow against the dryness in my throat. ¡°There¡¯s still a third performance. I heard there will be pyrotechnics.¡± ¡°I think,¡± he murmurs, ¡°that we have all the fire we need right here.¡± His arm is strong around my waist as we walk through the party. We pass the naked woman on the couch kept busy by the two men pleasuring her. She catches me watching and gives me a wide, smug smile. Look what I caught. I lean into the stranger at my side. ¡°Not for you?¡± he murmurs. I shake my head. ¡°I think that requires more hedonism than I have in me.¡± ¡°You know what they say,¡± he says. ¡°Under the right circumstances, anyone will do anything.¡± ¡°See, it¡¯s you saying things like that that chalks you up in the mafia column.¡± Turning the corner to a dark corridor, we pass the open door to a hotel room¡­ only it¡¯s not unupied. I avert my eyes immediately from the naked bodies writhing on the bed. ¡°Oh my God.¡± I can make out his smile in the dim lighting. ¡°Not everyone enjoys it like that. A lot of the doors here are closed, after all.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± ¡°But this one isn¡¯t,¡± he says, stopping at a door that¡¯s slightly ajar. The bedroom inside is nd and tastefully decorated. But most importantly? It¡¯s empty. I walk past him into the room. The bed looks massive behind me, decked in innocuous-looking hotel linens. ¡°I wonder what the Gilded Room tell the hotels they rent. Do they know what¡¯s going on?¡± He has a hand on the half-open door, a wry smile to his lips. ¡°Oh, they know. What do you think, Straitced? Door open or closed?¡± I sink down onto the bed. ¡°Just us, I think.¡± He shuts it with a decisive click, but the smile on his face lets me know he hadn¡¯t expected another answer. ¡°Absolutely fine by me, gorgeous.¡±This text is ? N?velDrama/.Org. We stare at each other for a few long breaths. No words, just eyes, and with each passing moment the nerves and desire in my stomach grows sharper. ¡°Do you need to get used to me again?¡± he asks. I lean back on my hands and give a simple nod. Lips quirked in wry humor, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and tosses it back. Large hands reach up to undo the buttons of his shirt. I watch as inch after inch of broad, olive-skinned chestes on disy, muscr and smattered with hair. He stops when the shirt hangs off him. ¡°Keep looking at me like that.¡± ¡°Not difficult to,¡± I breathe. His shirt joins the jacket behind him, and my eyes follow the grooves of his abs down to the leather belt. His wide chest rises with every breath. I feel like I¡¯ve identally wandered into one of my deepest, darkest fantasies. Because everything about him, from the dark,manding eyes to the square jaw and broad shoulders, conveys power. He might not be mafia, but he is something, this man, and here he is with me, looking like he can¡¯t wait to have me. But waiting he is, because for as much power as he usuallymands, in here women are the ones calling the shots. I¡¯ve never felt so empowered in my life. The thrill of it runs like a second pulse beneath my skin. ¡°You¡¯re too far away,¡± I tell him. ¡°I want to touch you.¡± ¡°Then touch me.¡± His words are soft and silky, but the challenge underneath them is unmistakable. I close the distance between us and reach out, my fingers trailing across his chest. He sucks in a breath as I trace the faint V of his hipbones. Strong grooves of muscle move beneath the skin. ¡°You still haven¡¯t asked the question,¡± he murmurs. My handse to rest on the leather belt, my eyes finding his. ¡°Will you sleep with me?¡± ¡°Not hypothetically?¡± I shake my head in mute response. His answer isn¡¯t in words, either. Not as he takes my hair in his hands, the heavy, dark weight of it, and pushes it to the side. I turn for him and he finds the zipper of my dress, pulling it down in one smooth motion. The ck sheath releases me from its grasp. His eyes darken as they travel over my body, my underwear, the matchingce bra and panties. Perhaps I¡¯d told myself I would just watch, not y, but¡­ a small part of me had made sure I¡¯d be ready. Just in case. ¡°So gorgeous,¡± he murmurs, hands closing around my waist. Thepetitive streak in me roars to life. I want to rise to this challenge, to him, to please him like I know he¡¯ll please me. I want to be the best sex this man has ever had. I kiss him with the strength of that conviction, and he responds in kind, pulling me tight against him. One kiss flows into the next, each of them tightening the ache inside. We break apart when his hands find the buckle of my bra. I hold my arms out as he slides it off, eyes watching as the cups release my breasts. He sucks in a dark breath and reaches out, hands recing the fabric. They might be a pain when I¡¯m shopping for sports bras, but they know how to dazzle. Think Outside the Boss 7 ¡°So fucking gorgeous,¡± he repeats and bends to suck a nipple into his mouth. I inhale at the sensation, but it quickly turns into a moan as he adds his teeth. ¡°I¡¯ve wanted to see these uncovered all night.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why you wanted to talk to me, huh?¡± My hand tangles in his hair and my eyes close at the sensations. Men never pay enough attention to my nipples, but he does. I take the moment to undo the buckle of his belt, but he pushes my hands away when I reach for the zipper. ¡°Lie back on the bed,¡± he tells me. So I do, stretching out on the luxurious linen, and tuck my elbows beneath me to watch as he undoes the zipper. My throat goes dry at the sight. He¡¯s hard and thick in his grip, and bigger than I¡¯d anticipated. I watch as he strokes himself slowly once, twice, three times. ¡°I¡¯m so hard because of you, Straitced,¡± he says. ¡°Have been since you kissed me out there like you wanted me more than your next breath.¡± Our eyes lock. I turn, crawling toward the edge of the bed. Pleasure and power and this man all make my head swim, giving rise to confidence I didn¡¯t know I had in the bedroom. He steps closer to the bed, groaning as I take him into my mouth. ¡°Christ,¡± he mutters. ¡°Just like that¡­¡± I give it my all, like this is a sport and I¡¯m aiming for the gold medal. My hand is fisted at the base of him, my tongue swirling over the swollen head. There¡¯s so much of him, my insides aching at the thought of taking all of him inside. And he tastes good, like man and desire and need. His hand threads through the length of my hair, a curse escaping him as I hollow my cheeks and suck the length of him into my mouth. ¡°You,¡± he growls. ¡°I need to taste you.¡± His hands are on my shoulders, and then I¡¯m flipped over, my legs dragged to the edge of the bed. The dark in his eyes is burning, his gaze on mine one no woman would ever mistake. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ve ever been looked at like that before. He grips my panties and gives a singlemand. ¡°Up.¡± I raise my hips and watch as he pulls the underwear down my legs and throws them away, discarded, leaving me fully naked with a man whose name I don¡¯t even know. And it¡¯s the most empowering thing I¡¯ve ever done. There¡¯s no hesitation in his sure movements, the way his lips trace my body from my breast to my hipbone. He pushes my legs apart, settling between them like a ravenous man to a meal. A muffled word against me, one I can barely make out. Gorgeous. But then his lips are otherwise upied, his tongue and mouth trailing zing fire across my sensitive skin. I gasp as he adds his fingers, circling and spreading. He closes his lips over the sensitive bud at the apex and I buck against his head, the touch too much, but he doesn¡¯t relent. No, he uses his tongue instead and slides a finger inside of me. The sweet intrusion is everything. I can¡¯t think around his touch, can¡¯t form words. Everything centers on him, starts and ends with this man between my legs, dedicating himself to the task like I¡¯m the one doing him a favor. The pleasure starts deep inside me, stoked by his tongue. By the time it reaches my limbs it¡¯s toote. My orgasm washes over me like a tidal wave. It makes my legs mp down against his back, my hips rising. He keeps going through it all, his tongue turningnguorous and slow. I¡¯m still blinking up at the ceiling when he slides my legs off his shoulders, his handzily stroking between my legs. ¡°Wow,¡± I breathe. ¡°And here I was, nning to rock your world.¡± His low, masculineughter rolls across my skin like silk. ¡°Feeling youe against my lips just did, Straitced.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m straitced anymore.¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯re not wearing anythingcy anymore.¡± He stands at the foot of the bed and pulls me along with him, until I¡¯m lying right by the edge. I watch as he grabs a condom from his back pocket. ¡°Another rule,¡± he says, biting through the packet. ¡°Condoms on, always.¡± I swallow at the sight of his length, looking painfully hard. He rolls the condom on in a sure movement. A sh of nerves pass through me. He¡¯s big and it¡¯s been a while. Large hands stroke my inner thighs apart. ¡°I think¡­¡± ¡°What, gorgeous?¡± His thumb brushes over my clit and I shiver. ¡°We¡¯ll have to go slow, I think.¡± He cups my head in his hands and kisses me deeply, his tongue soft, stroking perfection against mine. My legs rx on their own, the heavy weight of his erection against my thigh. ¡°Slow it is,¡± he tells me. ¡°Trust me, sweetheart.¡± Sweetheart?All content is property ? N?velDrama.Org. The endearment is so much better than straitced, soaking through my defenses. ¡°I do.¡± ¡°Good.¡± He grips himself, stroking up and down along the seam between my legs. We both watch as he pushes in, a breath escaping through his clenched teeth. The sweet burn of his intrusion is real. I hiss out a gasp, turning my head to the side. ¡°Look at me,¡± he tells me, gripping my legs so they¡¯re t against his chest. I do, biting my lip against the feeling of inch after inch filling me up. He goes slow, until the burn of his length morphs into a different kind of fire. ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± he murmurs, buried to the hilt. He closes his eyes. ¡°Fuck, you feel good.¡± I open my mouth to respond, but my words turn into a gasp as he starts to move. One thrust. Two thrusts. I fist theforter and try to hold on as he rolls his hips in deep movements. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever been fucked this deeply before. ¡°Do you know how good you feel inside me?¡± I ask him, reaching up to cup one of my breasts in a hand. His hooded eyes trace the movement, a growl falling from his lips as I flick my own nipple. Give him the best sex of his life, Freddie, I remind myself. Everything about this man demands that others around him rise to his level, and I¡¯m no different. His hips m into mine, and I know the training wheels are off now. ¡°Yes,¡± I moan, arching my back. ¡°Please¡­ give it to me.¡± His breath hisses out and then I¡¯m half-lifted off the bed, his hands supporting my hips. I gasp at the intensity of the new angle. He¡¯s so deep, so deep, and I tell him that. His answering chuckle is dark with pleasure and pride. ¡°So you¡¯ll feel me,¡± he groans. ¡°So you¡¯ll remember me.¡± The idea that I wouldn¡¯t is ridiculous, that this won¡¯t be a glorified memory in my mind. He looks down at me with eyes hooded with pleasure, my ankles on either side of his face. He¡¯s glorious. ¡°I can feel every inch of you inside me,¡± I murmur. ¡°Fuck me just like this, don¡¯t stop. Please don¡¯t stop.¡± He speeds up, the muscles in his neck straining. He likes dirty talk, then. He does something with his hips, changes the angle¡­ and oh God. It hits a spot inside of me I didn¡¯t know I had, pleasure rising like a storm through me once again. This is a man who knows his way around a woman¡¯s body. I¡¯m going toe again. Closing my eyes, I devolve into a gasping, moaning mess. ¡°Please,¡± I beg him. ¡°I need you, I need this¡­ I¡¯m so close.¡± Think Outside the Boss 8 His hips speed up until he¡¯s hammering into me, the speed too much, the pressure too much. His thumb grazes over my clit and I explode around him. I¡¯m vaguely aware of moaning, but his voice cuts through all of it. ¡°Fuck yes, sweetheart, just like that. Just like that.¡± A growl of pleasure from him and I open my eyes, having to see this. His handsome, masculine features are rxed in pleasure, hips mming into me with desperate thrusts. It might be the most erotic thing I¡¯ve ever seen. I feel the pulse of his length inside me as he reaches his peak, buried deep inside. My eyes never leave his face as he enjoys the sensations. I know I¡¯ll never forget that expression. When he opens his eyes, they¡¯re swimming with satisfaction and pleasure. He turns his head and presses a soft kiss to my ankle. ¡°Your pussy damn near cut off my blood cirction when you came around me.¡± Myughter is wheezy, tired. He lowers my legs to the bed and pulls out of me, disappearing to throw away the condom. Secondster he stretches out beside me on the bed and I turn to him on instinct, my head on his shoulder. A momentter his armes around me. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m straitced anymore,¡± I murmur. ¡°You¡¯ll have to think of a new nickname for me now.¡± Heughs, the sound rumbling through the chest beneath my hand. ¡°I think it¡¯ll take more than one night of this to properly undo yources.¡± I run my fingernails through the smattering of hair on his chest, wondering how long this¡¯llst. Do we have the room all night? By the hour? What¡¯s the protocol at parties like this? I¡¯m not sure if cuddling on the bed is part of it, but he makes no effort to move, his arm keeping my body tight against his. And it does feel wonderful, skin against skin, his body warm and firm to the touch. ¡°It feels very odd not to know your name,¡± Iment, rising up on an elbow. He raises an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re not trying to bend a rule here, are you?¡± ¡°Me? I¡¯m a rule-follower through and through,¡± I say, resting my head in my hand. ¡°It¡¯s just, now I¡¯ve slept with another man, and I have nothing to refer to him by in my head.¡± His smile widens into something wickedly thoughtful. He reaches out and drags his fingers through my long hair, the ends tickling my bare breasts. ¡°Best you¡¯ve ever had,¡± he suggests. ¡°Lover of the year. A sex god.¡± ¡°A sex god?¡± He gives a faint grimace. ¡°Yeah, not that one.¡± ¡°You¡¯re pretty full of yourself, you know.¡± He snorts, fingers closing around one of my nipples. He ys with it idly, dark eyes meeting mine. They¡¯re bottomless now, the same man I¡¯d sparred with on the couch an hour ago. Who is this man? ¡°There¡¯s a difference,¡± he says, ¡°between being full of yourself and knowing your worth.¡± Right. ¡°And your worth is measured in gold?¡± A quirk of his lips. ¡°Diamonds, sweetheart.¡± Groaning, I stretch out next to him. Heughs as he rises up on an elbow, hand smoothing across my stomach. ¡°I¡¯m drifting away from mafia boss.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± His hand drifts lower, teasing between my legs with sure fingers. ¡°How so?¡± ¡°You fuck like a man who does his own dirty business.¡± The fingers pause, and an eyebrow quirks. Our eyes meet and lock for a moment that stretches into eternity, into something that¡¯s real and scary and tender. I want to get to know this man. I know it down to my very toes, despite the artificial nature of this meeting, the no-names use, the doubtless fact that our lives couldn¡¯t be more different. His lips twitch, the spell broken. ¡°And you¡¯re too observant for your own good.¡± ¡°Is there such a thing?¡± And then, pain of all pains, he nces down at the thick watch on his arm. I recognize the small logo on the watch face. Yes, definitely different worlds. ¡°Somewhere you have to be?¡± ¡°Unfortunately, yes.¡± His fingers give me a final,zy stroke, and to my eternal surprise, he bends his head to kiss me once between my legs in farewell. He reaches for his clothing as I watch, turning onto my stomach. ¡°I was just about to ask you when parties like these end, but you beat me to it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m more of an instructor than a teacher.¡± He looks at me from a height that is no less than six feet, perhaps six-two, buckling the belt in his pants. ¡°You look fucking fantastic lying like that, by the way.¡±This text is ? N?velDrama/.Org. ¡°Thank you.¡± I rise up on an elbow, knowing my breasts look great like this. The whole purpose of these parties is great, amazing, uplicated sex. Sex that doesn¡¯t have strings. Sex that doesn¡¯te with expectations. ¡°Will you instruct me on one final point?¡± He nods, doing up the buttons to his shirt. ¡°I¡¯m feeling generous.¡± ¡°Are you allowed to have sex with the same guest at another party?¡± ¡°Ah.¡± His grin shes crookedly. ¡°And this is a hypothetical?¡± ¡°It¡¯s allowed,¡± he says, and the heat in his eyes makes it clear that I¡¯m not the only one thinking it. It seems like I¡¯m not done being Reba Hartford after all. Scooping my mask up from the floor, he approaches me on the bed. He¡¯s fully dressed now. ¡°My unmasked beauty,¡± he murmurs, tying the mask back on silken strings around my head. ¡°Fucking you has been the highlight of my month.¡± Think Outside the Boss 9 ¡°How quaint,¡± I say. ¡°It was only the highlight of my week.¡± He barks out a surprisedugh, his fingers beneath my chin. He lifts my face to his and gives me a final, lingering kiss, one that speaks not of goodbyes but of unspoken promises. ¡°See you around, Straitced.¡± I stop him when he has one hand on the door, my words rushing out of me. ¡°Tell me one true thing about you.¡± He pauses, his gaze traveling across my nude body with unmistakable admiration. ¡°If you hadn¡¯t spoken to me tonight, I would have broken the rules and done so first,¡± he says. He gives me a crooked grin and shuts the door behind him. My first day at Exciteur Consulting starts with a presentation that is at least fifteen minutes too long. I nce left and right to my fellow Junior Professionals, thepany¡¯s fancy euphemism for paid trainee, and see them diligently taking notes. So I resume taking my own. Exciteur Consulting recruits three trainees for this one-year program every year, one of the most prestigious in the industry. Exciteur Consulting might not be a household name, but they¡¯re everywhere. Advising arge medicalpany on advertising? Exciteur Consulting. Hired to oversee the strategic overhaul of a failing conglomerate? Exciteur Consulting. Come an alien invasion or the apocalypse, I have no doubt they¡¯d be hired on the spot for their crisis management expertise. The presentation wraps up with a flourish, and we¡¯re sent off to our different departments. The woman who calls my name is blonde, short-haired, and in her mid-forties. ¡°Frederica Bilson?¡± ¡°You¡¯re with me.¡± I grab my handbag and notepad, following her neat steps through a ss-covered hallway. ¡°Eleanor Rose,¡± she informs me over her shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll be your supervisor while you¡¯re working with us in the Strategy Department.¡± ¡°A pleasure to meet you.¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure.¡± She punches in the code to a door, and we step into a lobby with elevators. ¡°Strategy is on floor eighteen. We¡¯re a closed loop system, Miss Bilson. We advise management and all the different consulting teams, but we never talk to outsiders.¡± ¡°Got it.¡± ¡°And because I know how people talk, I want to ensure you hear it from me first. You were not my first choice for this position, but I¡¯ve read your resume, and believe you¡¯ll do well here.¡± Ouch. But I have no doubt that I will either, regardless of her preferences. I¡¯d gone through three rounds of interviews to be hired here and I¡¯d nailed everyst one. So I meet her brisk, businesslike tone with one of my own. ¡°I understand, and I appreciate your honesty.¡± There¡¯s approval in her gaze. ¡°I figured you would. I¡¯ll introduce you to the team and your workspace, and set you up with your first task.¡±This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± I say and mean it, practically chomping at the bit. From my straightened hair to the heels I¡¯d worn inside my apartment for a week to break in, I¡¯ve never been this prepared in my life. Eleanor leads me through a second set of doors, using her key card to get in. ¡°You¡¯ll get yours by the end of the day.¡± ¡°Excellent.¡± She pauses with a hand on a divider, looking over a spacious officendscape with a handful of desks. Individual ss offices line the back wall. ¡°This is your home for theing twelve months. The Corporate Strategy division.¡± ¡°Home sweet home,¡± I say. Snorting, she leads me to an empty desk, throwing out names as we pass. ¡°That¡¯s Toby, you¡¯ll work closely with him. Here¡¯s Quentin, he¡¯s in charge of strategic implementation.¡± Quentin gives me a sour nod and turns back to hisputer. ¡°Another fresh-faced MBA,¡± hements. It¡¯s clear it¡¯s not apliment. ¡°Exciteur only hires the best,¡± I quip back. Both Eleanor and Toby chuckle at that. ¡°Here¡¯s your password,¡± she tells me. ¡°Get settled in, get acquainted with yourputer, and I¡¯ll be back to give you your first assignment in an hour.¡± And that¡¯s it. I sink into my new office chair and watch as she retreats to an office in the corner, the ss door shutting behind her. ¡°The ice queen,¡± Toby says beside me. I jump at his sudden nearness and he rolls back, a sheepish smile on his lips. ¡°Sorry,¡± he says, reaching up to adjust bright-orange sses. ¡°Unlike Eleanor, scaring you wasn¡¯t my intention.¡± ¡°She meant to scare me?¡± ¡°Intimidation is the name of the game on first days around here.¡± He shrugs, unfazed. ¡°Quentin and I aren¡¯t like that, though.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t bring me into this,¡± Quentin retorts. With his ill-fitting suit and mop of ink-ck hair, he reminds me of a certain perpetually sad donkey in a children¡¯s cartoon. Toby rolls his eyes. ¡°He¡¯ll warm up.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Quentin says. ¡°You always do,¡± Toby responds. ¡°Don¡¯t fight the inevitable. Anyway, wee! What¡¯s your name?¡± I extend my hand. ¡°Freddie.¡± ¡°Freddie?¡± ¡°Short for Frederica, but I never go by that.¡± ¡°Freddie it is,¡± he confirms, leaning back in his chair. A slim build, a shirt that¡¯s designer, and an eager smile. ¡°You can¡¯t imagine how happy I am to get a new deskmate.¡± ¡°Was thest one bad?¡± ¡°He wasn¡¯t bad, exactly, he just¡­¡± ¡°Kept stealing your pens,¡± Quentin says. ¡°I told you to tell him off about it, Toby.¡± My new deskmate shrugs. ¡°Anyway, he¡¯s gone now, and you¡¯re here. Exciteur¡¯s shiny new acquisition.¡± I chuckle, crossing my legs. ¡°Acquisition?¡± ¡°Thepany is aiming high. Every new hire is highly educated, young and hungry.¡± Toby winks at me. ¡°Just like you and me.¡± ¡°All thanks to our new fearless leader,¡± Quentin mutters. I type my password into the sleek newputer I get to call mine. ¡°New fearless leader?¡± ¡°Oh, this is too good. Quentin, we have to give her all the details.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not paid to gossip,¡± is his response. Think Outside the Boss 10 Toby rolls his eyes and turns to me. ¡°About a year ago Exciteur was purchased by a group of venture capitalists, Acture Capital.¡± I nod. ¡°I¡¯ve read about this.¡± ¡°Right. Well, they put one of their own in charge of thepany. I¡¯m not saying the next bit to gossip, by the way. But we¡¯re in Strategy, and that means we interact a lot with upper management.¡± ¡°Right.¡± It was one of the reasons I¡¯d wanted this department. ¡°Well, the new CEO has¡­ high standards.¡± ¡°He¡¯s a demanding asshole,¡± Quentin adds, finally turning around in his office chair. Toby looks over his shoulder, but the officendscape is unchanged. Quentin snorts. ¡°He¡¯s not here. He¡¯s never here.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not true. I saw him speaking to Eleanor in her office once.¡± ¡°No, you didn¡¯t.¡± Toby shakes his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you don¡¯t believe me about that. He has been here, at least once.¡± ¡°I believe you think you saw him speaking to Eleanor in her office once.¡± ¡°Why would that be so unthinkable?¡± I ask. I know the new leadership by name from my research, but I had no idea they were such characters. Clearly I have more to learn. ¡°He wouldn¡¯te down here in person,¡± Quentin tells me. ¡°He¡¯d send one of his minions, and they¡¯d summon us to the thirty-fourth floor.¡± ¡°Just so I¡¯m clear, we¡¯re talking about Tristan Conway here?¡± Toby nces over his shoulder again and Quentin shakes his head at the paranoia. ¡°The very one, in all his venture capitalist glory. Since they bought Exciteur, he¡¯s been shing unprofitable departments and promoting others. There¡¯s been a lot of personnel turnover.¡± I nod, leaning back in my chair. ¡°And we meet him in meetings a lot?¡± ¡°No,¡± Quentin says. ¡°We don¡¯t meet Tristan Conway,¡± Toby continues, his arms moving as he gestictes. ¡°We get orders by Tristan Conway and the COO or the department head.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t talk to him, we don¡¯t look at him, we don¡¯t exist to him,¡± Quentin continues. I can¡¯t help smiling. ¡°Is this a hazing thing? Are you exacerbating this for shock value? Because you can consider me shocked.¡± Toby chuckles. ¡°I like your attitude, Freddie, but we¡¯re not.¡± ¡°Dead serious,¡± Quentin adds. ¡°All right, noted. I¡¯ll stay well clear of him.¡± Silently, I vow never to not look at him, though. That sounds like more respect than a CEO should be awarded. He¡¯s not royalty. Toby turns to Quentin. ¡°Did you see the Thanksgiving email they sent out?¡± The other man snorts. ¡°Yes. Pathetic.¡± ¡°What email?¡± ¡°Management is nning a Thanksgiving lunch for thepany next month.¡± ¡°The entirepany?¡± ¡°New York office,¡± he rifies. ¡°Headquarters. Anyway, apparently management itself will be the ones to serve the food, as a gesture of thanks for all of our hard work.¡± Quentin snorts. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see Clive Wheeler or Tristan Conway serving mashed potatoes to two hundred and fifty people.¡± ¡°That sounds like a terrible idea,¡± I agree, opening the email software on myputer. There¡¯s a pre-registered email address waiting for me. f. bilson@exciteur..This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org. The words make me smile. My name, next to Exciteur, thepany that¡¯s cutting-edge right now. I¡¯d fought with over ten of my old ssmates from Wharton to get this spot, not to mention all the other applicants. I y around with it for a bit, changing the pre-written sign-off phrase that gets added to the bottom of every email. Frederica Bilson, Junior Professional Trainee, Strategy Department. Smiling, I change Frederica to Freddie. No one in this world calls me Frederica, with the exception of my grandparents, but to the best of my knowledge neither one of them works at Exciteur. Over theing hours, Toby shows me the ropes, and even Quentin helps out. They introduce me to the projects we¡¯re working on and it doesn¡¯t take me long to learn that the two of them work great together, despite their banter. Or perhaps because of it? I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll find out. Eleanor shows me around and briefs me on the first of several projects I¡¯m to assist on. When I fall back into my office chair that afternoon, my inbox is filled to the brim with emails. Most of them are automated andpany-wide. Others are from Quentin, Toby or Eleanor, all with ¡°Good to know¡± or ¡°Information for you to read through¡± in the subject line. That¡¯s my evening reading sorted for tonight. My gaze snags on a corporate send-out, an email titled ¡°A Thank You to the Troops.¡± It¡¯s sent from t. conway@exciteur., the devil CEO himself, apparently. My smile widens as I read through the letter. It¡¯s ssic corporate fluff, probably not even something he wrote himself, thanking all employees for their hard work. Under my leadership, thepany has doubled its profits. A humble brag there, Mr. Conway. Grinning, I scan through to thest paragraph. Don¡¯t forget to pencil in the Thanksgiving lunch next month, thepany¡¯s treat for all the hard work and long hours you¡¯ve put in. I know you won¡¯t want to miss it. I see my chance to get in with Toby and Quentin¡¯s banter. There¡¯s nothing like a well-timed jab at upper management to be one with co-workers, the lot of you in the trenches together. So I hit forward and write a snarkyment. Do you think management genuinely believes everyone has marked a giant, excited X on their calendar for the Thanksgiving lunch? Perhaps he should serve a side of humility with the mash¡­ A few minutester, I peer around my desk to Toby¡¯s, but he¡¯s focused on his work and not responding. I can wait. An hourter, Quentin rises from his desk and announces he¡¯s going home. Eleanor soon does the same, telling me to leave. Toby gives me a yawn. ¡°Come on, Freddie. Everything will still be here tomorrow.¡± There¡¯s no acknowledgment of my snarky email. Ice-cold dread punches me in the stomach. ¡°Just give me a minute, and we can walk out together.¡± Think Outside the Boss 11 I open the sent folder in my email and scroll down. Perhaps it had just not delivered? No, it had¡­ The letter hasn¡¯t been delivered to Toby, because I hadn¡¯t forwarded it. No, I¡¯d identally hit reply. On the recipient line is an email address that hurts to look at. t. conway@exciteur. TristanContent (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. The bastard that invented email should be hung and quartered, I decide, staring at the shiny icons on my screen. I have a secretary who sorts through my mailbox, marking the important emails as unread for me to take a look at. She¡¯s good at what she does. But there¡¯s still one hundred and sixty three waiting for me? At this rate, I¡¯ll need another espresso before it¡¯s nine o¡¯clock. I¡¯d only had half of my first, at any rate. Joshua had knocked it out of my hand as he reached across me for another croissant. Yes, my kid eats croissants now. I don¡¯t know when he became so fancy, but he woke up one day and asked if we could switch from New York bagels to croissants, pronounced damn near perfectly. It took me two days to learn about a new girl in his ss, recently moved here with her family from Paris. Her name is Danielle and my son had overheard her asking if the school cafeteria had croissants one day. So now I¡¯m stuck eating the ky things every morning with my kid before I¡¯m attacked en masse by tiny, electronic messages. For a consulting firm, most people at Exciteur Global aren¡¯t particrly good at consulting their own judgement before emailing. So I work my way through the list, replying as I go. No. Yes. Schedule the meeting. I¡¯ll call you tomorrow. I¡¯m frowning as I open one from f. bilson@exciteur.. It¡¯s not an address I recognize. RE: A Thank You to the Troops Sincerely, Freddie Bilson, Junior Professionals Trainee, Strategy Department My eyes re-read the letter once. Twice. Serve a side of humility? Despite the insolence of the words, the turn of phrase makes me snort. This fucker thinks he knows better than me, does he? My hand hovers over the forward button, ready to let HR know what type of person we¡¯ve hired as part of the yearly trainee program. Mr. Bilson would be let go on the spot. But if I do, I¡¯d be fulfilling the very reputation I¡¯m trying to work against. The first months at thispany, I¡¯d had to sh things that weren¡¯t working and return to the core of what Exciteur does best. The previous leadership had lost its footing, and I¡¯d had to course correct. But I¡¯m well aware that a lot of people at thepany don¡¯t see it that way. I can¡¯t fire this young man for being insolent. Not even for being so ipetent as to not know the difference between the forward and reply button. Doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t teach him a lesson, though. Hitting reply, I type a sarcastic response that should send him shaking in his newly bought Oxford shoes. Freddie, What a pleasure to hear directly from one of the most inexperienced members of ourpany. A person with as spirited opinions as yours is naturally inclined to share them, so please tell me what, besides humility, you¡¯d like served with your mash? Tristan Conway CEO of Exciteur Global Then I hit send and lean back in my chair, imagining the terror that just crept up my newest employee¡¯s spine as he saw my name in his inbox, realizing his mistake. He hadn¡¯t sent thementary to a friend in thepany. I doubt I¡¯ll get a response. No, somewhere further down in the building, a brain is firing on all cylinders. Will I be fired? Will I be reprimanded? And he¡¯ll never make the same mistake again. Shaking my head, I dive back into the pile of emails. They need to be finished before my daily meetings start. But he responds-an hourter, the email is there, winking at me from the top of my email inbox. Mr. Conway, Thank you for your quick reply. While I may be a person of spirited opinions, I recognize that I don¡¯t have the experience you do, just as you pointed out. As such, I think I¡¯ve given all the unsolicited advice I should, at least for the time being. I stare at the email for a few seconds. He actually replied, and it wasn¡¯t in apology or abject fear. Despite myself, I have a begrudging respect for the arrogant trainee. I¡¯d expected him to go silent and not toe-to-toe with me like this. Very few at thispany consider telling me what they genuinely think, at least not to my face. I don¡¯t have time to indulge in this, and Freddie is probably like all the other young guys Exciteur hires. They¡¯re a dime a dozen, the newly minted MBAs who think they¡¯ve made it big for scoring a trainee position here, when in reality they know absolutely nothing and are on the bottom rung of thedder. My instinct is to dig down deeper into this one, though. Much as it pains me to admit, perhaps he¡¯d been on to something with his first email. A wise course of action, if I wasn¡¯t specifically asking you for your advice now. You seem to be under the impression that my employees are anything but excited about the Thanksgiving lunch. Tell me why you believe that¡¯s the case. I hit send and wonder if I¡¯m being a heartless bastard, forcing it out of him. A nicer person would make it clear that he won¡¯t face any repercussions for speaking his mind. But I don¡¯t have the time to coddle employees, and he¡¯s the one who emailed me, mistake or not. I forget all about Freddie Bilson for theing hours. There are too many fires to put out and not enough time. Never enough time. My mind drifts back to the past weekend, finding the contours of that Saturday night effortlessly. A Gilded Room party had never been this difficult to move on from before. The image of her dark hair unbound around narrow shoulders, the tight ck dress and beckoning curves beneath, feels seared into my brain. I close my eyes and see her naked in front of me, stretched out on the hotel bed. All the curves I¡¯d touched, the crook of her neck, the ample breasts. The way she¡¯d moaned without artifice or pretense. Not to mention the way she¡¯d looked while we¡¯d talked. The confidence in her eyes, so at odds with the sudden bursts of nerves or shyness. Guests to the Gilded Room change often, and rare are the times I¡¯ve slept with the same guest twice. But she better be at the next party. And she better be looking for me, too. Leaving her after only a few hours together had been a hard call. But I never stayed long at those parties, not when Joshua was at home with the sitter. I know he adores her and doesn¡¯t miss me at all¡­ but I can¡¯t justify being away from home longer than necessary. But it had been a close call with her. Running a hand over my face in frustration, I re-open my email server. In the hours since I¡¯vest dealt with it, don¡¯t you know, it¡¯s grown again? I swear, they breed in my inbox. And wouldn¡¯t you know, there¡¯s one from Freddie Bilson waiting there for me. I am a new hire at yourpany, but I¡¯ll give my best assessment of the situation, just as you asked. Your employees appear to be either intimidated or outright afraid of you. Whether this is due to your managerial style or your track record, I can¡¯t say. Management¡¯s n for a Thanksgiving lunch in the break room as a thank-you doesn¡¯t seem to resonate with the staff, although I¡¯ll admit I¡¯ve only interacted with a limited sample. Perhaps they¡¯d prefer a day off or a bonus, if the aim is truly to reward them for a year of hard work and anxiety? That¡¯s my solicited advice, Mr. Conway, based on less than twenty-four hours¡¯ work experience at yourpany. I look forward to deepening my understanding of Exciteur and being of further use to thepany. You won¡¯t hear unsolicited advice from me again. Think Outside the Boss 12 Best, I lean back in the chair, crossing my arms over my chest. Well, he has balls, I¡¯ll give him that. He¡¯d responded to what I¡¯d asked of him, short and concise, without unnecessary niceties and titudes. Except thest two sentences, that is. I recognized a tant appeal to be allowed to stay when I heard one. But I¡¯m not nning on firing Freddie. What he said about thepany¡¯s employees rings true, even if I hadn¡¯t wanted to admit it to myself. Thest year has been brutal to many of the people who still work in this building. They¡¯d seen co-workersid off and positions re-shuffled. A lot had been sacrificed on the altar of ever-increasing profit margins. I know they¡¯re intimidated and afraid. I grin as I realize exactly what to do, reaching for my phone and dialing the familiar extension to Clive, the COO. Freddie is a trainee in Strategy, after all. If he wants to contribute to Exciteur¡­ perhaps we¡¯ll put him in charge of Thanksgiving. It¡¯s been four days since the fiasco with a capital F. I think that¡¯s what I¡¯ll always remember it as. ¡°The Fiasco,¡± when I, Frederica Bilson, underestimated how easy it is to mix up the act of forwarding and replying to an email. Every email I¡¯ve sent since is triple- and quadruple-checked to ensure it reaches the right recipient. Toby had seen me do it once andughed, calling me neurotic. I hadn¡¯t told my co-workers about The Fiasco, but at any moment, I expected Eleanor toe out of the ss box that doubled as her office and inform me my internship was over. That it came from the very highest authority. But she hadn¡¯t, and I haven¡¯t heard back from Tristan Conway either, not since I responded to thest email. This gives me two possible oues. One, I¡¯d pulled off the right amount of insolence and contriteness to earn his respect. Or two, he¡¯s preparing to fire me and just hasn¡¯t gotten around to it yet. Each passing hour I leaned more toward option one, but it didn¡¯t stop me from anxiously refreshing my emails. This week had been altogether too exciting for me already. New job. identally email my boss¡¯s boss¡¯s boss with an insult. Sleep with the most maic man I¡¯d ever met. All of it in the span of less than seven days. Really, that should earn me some sort of medal. ¡°Uh-oh,¡± Toby murmurs at his desk. ¡°Someone¡¯s on the war-path.¡± Both Quentin and I look up to see Eleanor advance on us, her heels clicking with professional ease on the floor. ¡°Freddie,¡± she says. Quentin and Toby turn back to their work, and my stomach drops out beneath me. This is it. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I just got a call from management. They¡¯re pulling together all of the Junior Professionals for some cross-department project.¡± She blows out a breath. ¡°And it¡¯s still your first week. I tried exining that you needed to settle into your department first, but they were adamant.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°And this came from management?¡± ¡°Yes. They didn¡¯t tell me anything else.¡± The look in her eyes makes it clear she considers this an oversight on their part. ¡°Where do you want me?¡± ¡°You¡¯re to go to conference room six on the thirty-fourth floor.¡± Thirty-fourth floor is the top floor. The management floor. The one where Quentin and Toby warned me we go for project descriptions, where we don¡¯t speak, talk or look at management. ¡°Right away?¡± ¡°Right away,¡± she confirms. ¡°I¡¯d join you, but it seems like it¡¯s trainees only.¡± I grab my notepad, my handbag, and push my chair back. ¡°I¡¯ll head up now, then. Thanks for letting me know.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Eleanor says. ¡°Let me know what it¡¯s all about when you return.¡± ¡°Will do.¡± Toby shoots me a thumbs-up and a good luck as I walk toward the elevators. I give him a confident grin, ignoring the doomsday look in Quentin¡¯s eyes. I¡¯m also ignoring the pit of nerves in my stomach, put there by words like management. Will Ie face to face with Tristan Conway? I smooth my hands over my pencil skirt and fight the familiar nerves thates with riding elevators, courtesy of my fear of heights. The mirror confirms what I already know. Hair in a neat, low ponytail. Simple makeup. Navy pencil skirt andvender-colored blouse. Dress to impress, my mother always likes to say. I stop outside of conference room six with my shoulders straight, ready for battle, and knock. ¡°Come on in.¡± A man¡¯s voice. I step inside the brightly lit space. On one end of a table is a man in his mid-forties, hair lightly graying at his temples, sses on his nose. ¡°Hello, Ms.¡­¡± he looks down at his list. ¡°Frederica Bilson?¡± ¡°That¡¯s me.¡± ¡°My name is Clive Wheeler and I¡¯m the Chief Operating Officer at Exciteur. We¡¯re expecting your two colleagues here as well, and then I¡¯ll brief you all. It shouldn¡¯t take long.¡± He nces down at his paper and mutters, ¡°At least I hope not.¡± I take a seat on the other side of the table and make my voice professional. ¡°Sounds great. This is for a cross-departmental project? My supervisor wasn¡¯t fully briefed.¡± ¡°Yes, of a sorts. It was the CEO¡¯s idea, really.¡± He¡¯s not saying it, but it¡¯s there in the pitch of his voice. He hadn¡¯t approved. The pit of nerves in my stomach grows. ¡°Sounds interesting.¡± ¡°Interesting is the right way to describe it,¡± he agrees, looking down at his phone. ¡°¡®Create some holiday spirit.¡¯ Those were his exact words.¡± Shit. Holiday spirit? The odds of this being about Thanksgiving and my emails spikes dramatically. The door by Clive opens and I turn my gaze to the notebook. If it¡¯s Tristan Conway, I¡¯m not ready yet. Not if he¡¯d really called a meeting about Thanksgiving and invited the trainees. ¡°I¡¯ll handle this meeting, Clive.¡± The voice is smooth and dark, a baritone as suited to dark alcoves in parties as it is to boardrooms. It¡¯s familiar. ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°Yes. It was my idea, after all.¡± I keep my eyes on the notebook. It can¡¯t be.C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. ¡°Can¡¯t say I¡¯m disappointed,¡± Clive admits. ncing up, I catch sight of the COO disappearing out the adjoining door, leaving me alone with the man leaning against the opposite wall. He¡¯s tall and suit-d, arms crossed over a broad chest. But it¡¯s his eyes my gaze locks on. Eyes I¡¯d seenugh and challenge me just a few days ago. Eyes I¡¯d seen closed in pleasure. My anonymous stranger. The dark mafia boss. Think Outside the Boss 13 The slight widening of his eyes is the only sign of surprise. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± My hand tightens into a fist on the table. If my stomach was a ball of nerves before, it¡¯s detonated into butterflies now. ¡°I¡¯m one of the junior professionals here. I was called up for a meeting.¡± ¡°Impossible.¡± I shake my head. ¡°I started this past Monday.¡± He braces his hands on the conference table, the room shrinking with his presence. He¡¯s just as striking under the bright light of day, when there¡¯s no denying the squareness of his jaw or the high cheekbones. ¡°The three trainees are all male,¡± he tells me. Hold up, handsome. ¡°No, they¡¯re not.¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m Freddie.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°Freddie is a man.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m not.¡± ¡°Clearly,¡± he mutters. ¡°Freddie is short for Frederica,¡± I say. ¡°Frederica Bilson.¡± He blows out a frustrated breath, leaning back from the table. ¡°Why are you here? How are you here?¡± I frown at him and find a sliver of courage amidst the confusion. ¡°What do you mean? I applied for this job six months ago. I sat through interviews and tests. I was chosen and hired, and I started this week.¡± There¡¯s suspicion in his gaze, barely concealed. It rankles something in me. ¡°Why? Do you think I targeted you this past weekend?¡± The brief pause makes it clear that he¡¯d been suspecting just that. I sp my hands together on the table to keep them from trembling. ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t. I had no idea who you were.¡± He raises an eyebrow, but I stare right back at him, still unable to believe it¡¯s actually him. Sitting here in front of me. ¡°Fine,¡± he grinds out. ¡°I suppose we could find a different department for you. Perhaps another of Exciteur Global¡¯s offices.¡± Meeting his gaze is the difficult part. I shake my head and look somewhere over his, ignoring the eyes that had so captivated mest weekend. ¡°I¡¯ve done nothing wrong, and I chose the Strategy Department. It¡¯s not fair for me to be relocated because of something that happened outside of work, not to mention before my employment began.¡± I clear my throat and force myself to add, ¡°With all due respect, sir. Because you are Tristan Conway?¡± ¡°Last time I checked, yes.¡± He crosses his arms over his chest. ¡°Fine. You¡¯ll stay, Freddie.¡± ¡°Excellent, and I won¡¯t say a word of what happenedst weekend,¡± I say. ¡°I remember your instructions. Anonymity was rule number one, and I¡¯ll keep it.¡± Oh, saying that was a mistake. Staring into his dark eyes, watching the memory rise and burn in them¡­ it sparks the same in me. I shouldn¡¯t have brought words like past weekend and instructions into this conference room. The memory grows between us until it scalds my cheeks and forces me to look away. ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it if you don¡¯t,¡± he says finally. ¡°Great,¡± I say. ¡°And for the record¡­ I didn¡¯t mean to send you that email.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°I figured.¡± ¡°It won¡¯t happen again.¡± ¡°Learned the difference between replying and forwarding?¡± My blush burns. ¡°I have, Mr. Conway.¡± A tense few seconds of silence pass, neither of us looking away. I¡¯m the one who breaks first. ¡°The other trainees should be here soon.¡± He nods. ¡°In a few minutes. I gave instructions that Freddie should be the first one here.¡± The way he says my name makes it clear he hasn¡¯t forgiven me for the sin of not being a man. I want to roll my eyes at him, but the difference in power between us stops me. We¡¯re not strangers in the darkness anymore. We never will be again. Any faint hope I¡¯d had that I¡¯d receive another wrongly delivered invitation, that I¡¯d sneak away to a party and meet him¡­ it dies and withers in my chest. ¡°You asked for me to be here so you could tell me off?¡± ¡°Something along those lines.¡± He pulls out one of the chairs and sits, stretching long legs out in front of him. The thick watch glitters at his wrist, the same one I¡¯d felt against my skin as he ran his hands over me. I swallow. ¡°Go ahead, then. I¡¯m ready.¡± His lips quirk in unexpected humor, fingers tapping against the table. ¡°Well, since you disagreed with just about everything thepany had nned for next month, I¡¯m putting the trainees in charge of Exciteur¡¯s Thanksgiving celebration.¡± I stare at him. He stares right back at me. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± ¡°The three of you,¡± he says, voice smooth, ¡°will get a chance to practice your project management skills. You¡¯re to pitch your ideas to me and the event organizers. Consider us, consider me, a client. As the Strategy trainee, you¡¯ll naturally be the team leader.¡± ¡°Naturally,¡± I murmur. ¡°You¡¯ll report back to management in a week with your suggestions for how we should show some Thanksgiving appreciation to the employees. I want timelines, projected oues, budgets.¡± His grin is wicked, the same one that had sent shivers over my skin just a few days ago. ¡°You clearly think you know better than me, Freddie, and I know you like a challenge.¡± The bastard. He stares at me like he¡¯s daring me to object, like he knows he¡¯s being tough, but letting me know he won¡¯t back down just because ofst weekend. Nor should he. Then was then, and now is now, and I don¡¯t want Tristan Conway¡¯s special treatment. I pitch my voice to professional curtness. ¡°Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Conway. I won¡¯t disappoint.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m sure you won¡¯t, Miss Bilson.¡±All content is property ? N?velDrama.Org. What are the odds? Think Outside the Boss 14 Very fucking low, that¡¯s what. Not once had I met anyone at the Gilded Room at work, and only a few times had I done so in a private setting. But Frederica Bilson is mypany¡¯s trainee, so off-limits she¡¯s practically wearing a neon traffic cone on her head. The perfect memory of Saturday night is tarnished forever now, knowing she¡¯s met me, the real me. And I¡¯m not a mafia boss. I lean back in my chair and press the heels of my hands against my eyes. The insolent young trainee writing those emails had been Straitced. I can¡¯t get the two images of her to merge into one in my head. The dark-haired vixen, coy and seductive on Saturday. The proper, pencil-skirted young woman meeting my gaze across the conference table. The whole point of going to the Gilded Room is to provide anonymity-to ensure I stay in control. I¡¯d erected a ten-foot concrete fucking wall between my private and my professional life, and somehow she¡¯d managed to w her away across like a beautiful but deadly weed. And of course she¡¯s in Strategy of all departments, the one ce I¡¯m convinced is bleeding information to ourpetitors. Our business moves had been anticipated by other consulting firms too often for it to simply be a coincidence. I¡¯d been keeping a close eye on the department for the past month¡­ and now my view will involve a woman I know the taste of but who I can¡¯t go back to for seconds. The phone on my desk buzzes, and I press down on the speaker button. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Your son¡¯s school is on the line, Mr. Conway.¡± St. John¡¯s Prep is always calling me, and it¡¯s only about my son every third time. The others? Do you want to donate to the school bazaar? Chaperone a trip to the Bronx Zoo? Join in on the bake sale? It¡¯s as time-wasting as it is guilt-inducing. ¡°Put them through.¡± Static crackles, and then a professional voice on the other line. ¡°Mr. Conway?¡± ¡°I¡¯m here. Is Joshua all right?¡± ¡°He is, but he says he has a stomachache and wants to go home.¡± Her tone of voice is apologetic. ¡°He didn¡¯t want us to call you, sir.¡± I¡¯m already reaching for my cell. ¡°I¡¯ll be there in ten minutes.¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s perfect. We¡¯ll be waiting for you.¡± I hang up and close down my workptop, slipping it into my briefcase. Joshua rarely has stomachaches, and he never wants to go home from school early. A thousand different scenarios spin through my head. Had I forgotten something? A doctor¡¯s appointment, the anniversary of his mother¡¯s death¡­ no and no. I stop by my secretary¡¯s desk. She looks up from her screen, her face snapping into the professional mask she always wears. ¡°We need to clear my afternoon,¡± I say, ¡°and move any meetings from three p. m. to telephone meetings instead. I¡¯ll be working from home.¡± She¡¯s already tapping away at the keyboard. ¡°Of course, sir. Everything all right with Joshua?¡± Cecilia knows everything about everything, and has since I took over Exciteur. She¡¯s invaluable. ¡°Yes,¡± I reply, already heading to the elevators. ¡°See you tomorrow.¡± I find myself tapping my foot against the steel floor the entire way down, and I know I won¡¯t be able let go of my worry until I arrive at St. John¡¯s. Ryan stops the car in the drop-off zone and I shoot out of the car, striding up the stairs to the old brick building. Joshua, Joshua, where are you¡­ He¡¯s waiting with Mrs. Kim inside the school¡¯s main doors, sitting on a bench and kicking his legs out in front of him. He shoots me a sheepish look under a head of dark curls. ¡°Thank you foring,¡± Mrs. Kim tells me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about calling you during your working hours, but I¡¯m afraid Joshua was really in pain.¡± He hunches over at her words, an arm curling around his stomach. ¡°You made the right call,¡± I say. ¡°Thanks for letting me know.¡± Her exhale is one of relief. Had she been worried I¡¯d be angry? Perhaps I hadn¡¯t hidden my annoyance at the bake sale calls as well as I thought I had.Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. Joshua and I head out of school, and I reach out to run a hand through his hair. ¡°Hey, Dad.¡± ¡°Hey, kid. A stomachache, huh?¡± Hmm. ¡°Is it too bad for ice cream in the park on the way home?¡± He looks up at me, eyes serious behind his sses. ¡°I think ice cream might make it better.¡± I press my lips together to keep from smiling. ¡°Then ice cream it is, kiddo.¡± Joshua leaves his backpack in the car and Ryan takes off, back to the apartment. We walk home instead, side by side and hands in our pockets. The tall oak trees of Central Park beckon at the end of the street. An oasis in this world of stone. ¡°Did you have Math and English this morning?¡± He nods. Thepels of his uniform shirt are askew and I reach over and correct them for him, ignoring his huff of irritation. ¡°And? How did it go?¡± ¡°Math was fine. English was fine, too. We had to recite a poem and then tell the ss what we thought it meant.¡± My eyebrows rise. ¡°One you wrote yourself?¡± ¡°No, from a book.¡± His voice darkens. ¡°We got one each and then we had to stand by our desks and read them out loud.¡± ¡°How did it go?¡± ¡°All right, I guess. I got an easy one.¡± So that¡¯s not what he got a stomachache from, then. We enter the park and both watch as a dog runs in front of us, its leash trailing behind it on the darkened grass. A teenage boyes running after it. ¡°See?¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s why we don¡¯t have a dog.¡± ¡°I would hold on to the leash,¡± Joshua protests. ¡°And we don¡¯t have to get a big dog.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not a small-dog family.¡± ¡°We¡¯re a no-dog family,¡± he mutters. ¡°I¡¯m getting strawberry.¡± ¡°Good choice. I think I¡¯ll get mango.¡± He groans. ¡°You always get mango.¡± ¡°It¡¯s my favorite, kid.¡± I run my hand through his thick head of curls again. He¡¯ll never get me to stop doing that, not even when he¡¯s as tall as me. His mother had those exact curls. ¡°If it¡¯s not broken, don¡¯t fix it,¡± he quotes with a sigh. It¡¯s one of my favorite sayings. Think Outside the Boss 15 ¡°Exactly. Besides, you like mango, too.¡± ¡°Yeah, but not all the time.¡± ¡°I¡¯m old and set in my ways.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not that old,¡± he frowns. ¡°Mike¡¯s dad is in his fifties!¡± I snort. At thirty-four, I suppose it¡¯s nice that my kid doesn¡¯t consider me that old. But at nine, I guess all adults are old. ¡°Well, people have children at different ages.¡± ¡°Or they get children at different ages, like you got me.¡± ¡°Exactly like that, yes.¡± He doesn¡¯t sound upset about it. For Joshua, his parents¡¯ deaths aren¡¯t something he remembers. He only knows of my sister and her husband¡¯s airne crash in the Rocky Mountains from what he¡¯s been told, even if he¡¯d been alive in those terrible days when rescue teams searched after the chartered airne. He¡¯d been two years old. I¡¯d signed Joshua¡¯s adoption papers six days after his parents had been officially dered dead. We stop by the ice cream stand on the east side of Central Park. It¡¯s only a stone¡¯s throw from our apartment, and it¡¯s a ce we frequent. Some might call us regrs. Like Larry, for example. ¡°My regrs!¡± he calls, seeing us approach. ¡°And look at you, handsome man. In a uniform like your dad.¡± Joshua looks up at Larry in the ice cream booth. ¡°Dad¡¯s not in a uniform.¡± ¡°A suit¡¯s almost like a uniform,¡± I say. ¡°Yeah, well, it¡¯s not like a policeman or a firefighter. They save lives. And,¡± he adds, ¡°they have dogs!¡± Larry shoots me a knowing look. He¡¯s heard Joshua¡¯s desire for a puppy for months, if not years. ¡°Their dogs are working dogs, little man. They¡¯re part of the force. Chocte again?¡± ¡°No, thank you. Strawberry for me.¡± ¡°Strawberry it is.¡± Larry doesn¡¯t ask me for mine, as it never changes. A minuteter and I pay for both of our ice creams, one mango and one strawberry. ¡°See you next week, guys.¡± ¡°Thanks, Larry,¡± I say. Joshua turns around with a single-minded focus on his ice cream. We take the long way home, walk past the pond. Joshua looks up at me in surprise when I head to one of the park benches, but doesn¡¯t protest. I stretch out my legs in front of me. It¡¯s a beautiful fall day, I¡¯m in the park with my kid, and I¡¯ve got ice cream in my hand. Time to do a little investigative work. ¡°When did the stomachache start?¡± Silence as he stops licking his ice cream. ¡°Dad¡­¡±C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. ¡°Yeah?¡± He sighs. ¡°I didn¡¯t really have a stomachache.¡± I bite my lip to keep from smiling. If there is one thing my son is terrible at, it¡¯s dishonesty. I hope he never grows up and learns. ¡°Oh? What happened, then?¡± He looks at the ground beneath us, stretching out a leg to kick an errant pebble. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean for them to call you. I know you¡¯re busy.¡± ¡°Never too busy for you.¡± ¡°I thought they¡¯d call the house, and Marianne coulde get me.¡± ¡°Marianne¡¯s not authorized to pick you up during school hours. Only family is.¡± I¡¯d had to sign waivers to the school to allow Marianne and Ryan pick-up rights for Joshua after school was over. St. John¡¯s Prep takes safety as seriously as they take education, one of the many reasons I¡¯d chosen it. Joshua¡¯s quiet, but it¡¯s a heavy sort of silence. He¡¯s working up to something, and whatever it is, it¡¯s big. I take a shot in the dark. ¡°Did it have something to do with the new girl? The French one?¡± He groans, throwing his head back against the bench. ¡°Dad, it¡¯s going terribly!¡± Bingo. I sling my arm behind him on the bench, tugging him closer. ¡°Tell me.¡± ¡°She doesn¡¯t know I like her.¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve thought of telling her,¡± he says seriously, ¡°but what if she doesn¡¯t like me too?¡± ¡°Could happen,¡± I admit. ¡°That¡¯s always a risk.¡± ¡°So I decided I should be her friend first, and get to know her, and then tell her when I know she at least likes me as a friend.¡± ¡°Very smart,¡± Iment. ¡°But I heard Dexter telling her today that he likes her. And she said she liked him too.¡± His shoulders curve forward, and I watch as strawberry ice cream drips onto his hand, forgotten. ¡°Oh, kiddo. That sucks.¡± ¡°It does,¡± he says. ¡°It really really really sucks.¡± I reach out and wipe his hand off. ¡°But you know, you two are in the same ss now. You¡¯ll know her for the entire school year, perhaps even next year. And she could change her mind.¡± ¡°Dexter is awful.¡± I know for a fact that Dexter had once been considered a friend in our household. As a matter of fact, I think he¡¯s been to our apartment to y, but I keep thatment to myself. ¡°Danielle can change her mind. Girls do that sometimes. Boys too, you know.¡± He sighs the sigh of unrequited love. ¡°But when?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, kid. It might never happen, but you can¡¯t lose hope. Try to be her friend regardless. You still want to get to know her, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I guess,¡± he mutters. ¡°Because she¡¯s nice and funny?¡± Think Outside the Boss 16 ¡°The nicest.¡± ¡°Then you¡¯ll be her friend, because that¡¯s still a great thing to be, and hope her feelings change.¡± Silence as he digests this. When he¡¯s done, he jumps off the bench. ¡°Let¡¯s go home.¡± ¡°Stomachache cured?¡± He rolls his eyes. ¡°I never had one, Dad.¡± ¡°Right.¡± Grinning, I toss our things in a nearby trash can and put a hand on his back, between the wings of his shoulder des. ¡°She¡¯lle around.¡± But his mind has already moved on, it seems. ¡°What are we doing for Thanksgiving?¡± ¡°For Thanksgiving?¡± ¡°Maria is going with her family to Canada. Turner is celebrating at his grandfather¡¯s house in Martha¡¯s¡­ somewhere.¡± ¡°Vineyard,¡± I correct. ¡°Vineyard,¡± he repeats. ¡°What are we doing, Dad?¡± His question stumps me. The previous years we¡¯ve always celebrated with my mother, who flies up from Florida for the holidays. Food and a few games, watching the parade on TV. That had been enough before. ¡°Grandma isn¡¯ting this year,¡± I say. ¡°She¡¯s going to New Orleans with a few friends from her retirementmunity.¡± She¡¯d felt guilty about it, but I¡¯d heard in her voice that she wanted to go. I¡¯d told her to do it, and that we¡¯d see her for Christmas instead. ¡°I know that,¡± Joshua says. He jumps up on a low ledge and starts to walk in a line, one foot in front of the other. ¡°But what are we doing? We can do anything we want, Dad.¡± ¡°I suppose we can. What do you want to do?¡± He thinks, holding his arms out for bnce. At nine, he¡¯s big enough to think he doesn¡¯t need to hold my hand anymore, but I walk next to him just in case. ¡°Mike¡¯s dad is having a Family Company Day for Thanksgiving.¡± ¡°A Family Company Day?¡± ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s like a big fair, and he said there will be cotton candy for all the employees and their kids.¡± ¡°Where does Mike¡¯s dad work?¡± ¡°Coney Ind.¡± That exins things. ¡°Well, mypany isn¡¯t really like that.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what yourpany is like,¡± heins. ¡°I had to exin it in ss a few weeks back and I made stuff up!¡± ¡°I buypanies, then I make sure they work, and then sell them on.¡± I¡¯ve exined this to him before, but I understand that it doesn¡¯t make much sense to a child. Joshua jumps off the ledge andnds neatly, knees bent. ¡°What are you doing for yourpany for Thanksgiving?¡± How am I having this conversation with my kid, right after having it with Frederica Bilson? I¡¯m not even a holiday person. But as I stare into my son¡¯s wide, bright gaze, I know it¡¯s time to be one. Joshua deserves nothing but the best, but he¡¯s stuck with me, and I¡¯ll just have to buck up. ¡°Not enough,¡± I admit. ¡°They¡¯ve been working very hard for me, but I haven¡¯t told them that.¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. ¡°Thanksgiving is the time of year to tell people stuff like that,¡± Joshua lectures. ¡°Last year we wrote thank-you notes to our ssmates with things we like about them. Perhaps you should do the same at yourpany?¡± ¡°Perhaps I should,¡± I murmur, putting a hand on the back of his head. ¡°You¡¯re smart, kiddo.¡± He looks up at me. ¡°That¡¯s why I faked a stomachache. I¡¯ve never had one before, so I knew they¡¯d take it seriously.¡± I smile back at him. ¡°Clever, but in the future, we don¡¯t run when things get difficult.¡± ¡°I know, Dad.¡± An hourter, when we¡¯re both safe and secure back in our apartment overlooking Central Park, I sit down in my home office and open myptop. Subject: Company Thanksgiving Celebration Ms. Bilson, Your budget for this project has just been significantly increased. So significantly, in fact, that there is no limit at all for your initial suggestions. Perhaps something that includes employees¡¯ families? Think big, Straitced. Tristan Conway, CEO Exciteur Global I press the clicker to change the slides on the screen. Beside me, William and Luke shift to the side, looking at our audience. ¡°So,¡± I say, ¡°here are all three options for easyparison. Feel free to let us know what you think.¡± Tristan and Clive gaze back at us across the meeting room, nked by two women from Exciteur¡¯s HR and event-nning team. Tristan taps his fingers against the table and studies the slide on disy with an inscrutable expression. The three options on disy all have clear budgets, timelines, and concepts. A Thanksgiving lunch on thepany, where we rent a nearby restaurant. The second option, a cash bonus in hand for all employees, on a sliding scale. The third? Renting the Wilshire Gardens in Central Park for an evening, the amusement park that¡¯s set up for a few months every fall. Inviting everyone¡¯s friends and family¡­ and booking a nearby bar for singles to go afterwards. It¡¯s outrageously expensive, but Tristan¡¯s email had specifically asked for family friendly. It had also included that nickname. Straitced. Taken from the intimate setting where we¡¯d agreed to leave it and into the workce. I¡¯d deleted that before I forwarded the email to Luke and William and told them we had to go big. And now Tristan is saying nothing. Just staring at the three options, his eyes narrowed in thought. The people on either side of him nce over. Once, twice. Waiting for his verdict. I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to let any nerves show. ¡°What do you think?¡± ¡°Is option three feasible within the time frame?¡± Tristan asks. I nod. ¡°Absolutely. We¡¯ve already reached out to the amusement park to inquire about avability.¡± Clive frowns. ¡°The cost is considerable.¡± ¡°It¡¯s high inparison to the other two,¡± I admit, ¡°but in terms of renting a venue, it¡¯s really quite affordable.¡± Think Outside the Boss 17 Tristan gives a slow nod, his gaze on mine. ¡°Right. Well, we¡¯re going with option three. Thank you for an excellent presentation.¡± Eyes turn to him and there¡¯s a beat of stunned silence. ¡°Sir,¡± one of the women hedges, ¡°this will take a significant cut out of our personnel budget for the year.¡± Tristan waves a hand. ¡°We¡¯ll replenish it with our fourth quarter returns. I¡¯m well aware that the cuts we¡¯ve made over thest year have taken a toll on morale. How many of you on my side of the table have kids?¡± Clive joins the women in agreeing that they do, even if they don¡¯t follow the reasoning behind Tristan¡¯s question. ¡°And you¡¯ve all spent a lot of evenings here,¡± he continues. ¡°No, we¡¯re going to rent Wilshire Gardens for an evening and have a Thanksgiving Family Day, all on thepany.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°Excellent choice, sir. Luke, William and I will begin nning immediately. We¡¯ll have the rental contracts for thepany to sign ready by the end of the week.¡± ¡°Right you are.¡± Tristan pushes away from the conference table. The others scramble to do the same, arranging the notes. ¡°We are done here, then. Miss Bilson, I¡¯d like a word before you return to the Strategy Department.¡± I give a stiff nod, painfully aware of how his words cause widened eyes amongst the others. William and Luke cluster at my side as I unplug my workptop. ¡°Can¡¯t believe he chose the fair,¡± William mutters, rolling up the cord. ¡°I thought that was a dead end.¡± ¡°Shows what we know about management,¡± Luke murmurs. Both of them nce over their shoulders before giving me a quiet good luck. The door shuts behind them, and after a curious-looking Clive leaves the room, it¡¯s just Tristan and me. He gestures at a chair next to him. ¡°Whose idea was Wilshire Gardens?¡± I sit on the opposite side of the table. ¡°Mine, sir.¡± ¡°And how did you think of it?¡± ¡°You mentioned family in your email. There aren¡¯t a lot of options around here that would interest kids, but still work for the employees who have none.¡± A quick Google search of the area had given me very few options, and it was just our good luck that the amusement park was in town for the holiday season. ¡°As it so happens, it was an excellent suggestion.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± The silence stretches out between us and I clear my throat. ¡°Sorry, but why did you ask me to stay behind?¡± ¡°I wanted to ask you who first thought of the idea.¡± ¡°I see. Although, without Luke or William here to correct me, I could simply be iming credit for their ideas.¡± His eyebrow rises. ¡°Are you?¡± ¡°No,¡± I admit. ¡°I doubted you did.¡± ¡°Still¡­ in front of all those people, sir. They might start to think something untoward, or to¡­ suspect.¡± Tristan runs a hand through his hair, his lips pressing into a tight line. It takes me a moment to recognize it¡¯s to keep fromughing. ¡°Not a soul in this room knows of my membership to a certain room. They certainly don¡¯t know about yours. How on earth would they suspect?¡± I press my hands t on the table in front of me. ¡°Reputations are precious things. I¡¯m sure the other trainees will ask meter what you wanted to discuss in private, and if I don¡¯t have a good answer, rumors may spread.¡± The traces of amusement leave his face. ¡°I don¡¯t like what you¡¯re implying.¡± ¡°Well, neither do I, but it doesn¡¯t change the facts.¡± ¡°They won¡¯t talk. They know better than that.¡± He waves arge hand, and perhaps that works in his world. Power and prestige trumps everything. It doesn¡¯t in mine. ¡°Why did you apply to thispany?¡± My eyebrows rise. ¡°That¡¯s what you really wanted to know?¡± ¡°Yes. You were adamantst time that you¡¯d worked hard to get here and that that you wanted the Strategy Department in particr. Tell me why.¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. I worry my lower lip between my teeth. Is he joking? Exciteur has one of the best reputations as far as consulting goes. It¡¯s a multi-national firm on the brink of joining the Big Five consultancy firms, turning them into the Big Six. The answer should be obvious. But the intensity in his gaze isn¡¯t the least bit joking. It¡¯s a side of him I¡¯d sensedst weekend, but not until I¡¯d met him here had I seen it in all its glory. Handsome might joke, but he¡¯s serious at heart. ¡°I was in the top of my ss at Wharton,¡± I say. ¡°MBA. Working in consulting is a dream for a business grad. No other area allows you to get as much business exposure.¡± ¡°Wharton?¡± I nod. It hadn¡¯t been easy, not financing my studies or the sses themselves. ¡°Both bachelor and MBA.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re here to learn.¡± ¡°Absolutely I am.¡± ¡°Why Strategy?¡± I meet his gaze. ¡°My favorite courses in college were all on business strategy and strategic management. It¡¯s the art of connecting the past with the present, to create the future. The strategy department is where the real decisions are made. It¡¯s¡­ well. There¡¯s no other area that interests me as much.¡± He gives a slow nod. ¡°Strategy is the lifeblood of apany.¡± ¡°Exactly. Firms live or die based on the soundness of it, and Exciteur has some of the best corporate strategists in the country.¡± ¡°In the world,¡± he corrects. I smile, but I don¡¯t object. He¡¯s probably right. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. For all that I know his name now, Tristan Conway is still as big of a mystery as he was in that darkened party. I don¡¯t know his background, his age. His interests and hobbies. ¡°What was this?¡± I ask. ¡°A second interview?¡± His lips quirk. ¡°I never get to talk to the trainees. Figured I¡¯d change that.¡± ¡°Then why did Luke and William have to leave?¡± Think Outside the Boss 18 ¡°You know why they had to leave.¡± I break away from the maism of his eyes, nerves dancing down my spine. ¡°This Thanksgiving Family Day may have started out as punishment,¡± I say, ¡°but I¡¯d like to thank you. Since you chose the amusement park, this might be the biggest project I get to spearhead during my time here.¡± ¡°Punishment?¡± ¡°For my first email,¡± I say. Just the memory of is it is mortifying, but I don¡¯t look away from his gaze. ¡°I realize it was perhaps more forting than you¡¯re used to.¡± His eyebrows rise. ¡°You don¡¯t think my staff tells me the truth?¡± ¡°Judging from what I saw today, every single one of your employees in the room were surprised when you picked the amusement park option, but only Clive really spoke about his misgivings¡­ and only once.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t seem to share their apprehension.¡±Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. I blow out a breath. ¡°I really want to work here, Mr. Conway. But I believe I¡¯ve already given you cause to fire me with that initial email¡­ yet you didn¡¯t. I¡¯m hoping you won¡¯t in the future.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a big bet,¡± hements, but a smile ys across his lips. ¡°For the record, I didn¡¯t give you this project as punishment.¡± ¡°No?¡± ¡°The Freddie who wrote back to my emails, who still hasn¡¯t apologized, by the way, refused to back down. I wanted to see what that person was capable of when given the opportunity.¡± Oh. ¡°I won¡¯t disappoint you.¡± Tristan gives a single nod. ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to.¡± Our eyes catch and hold, the eye contact anchoring me in ce. Like it had at the party, where it cut through the throngs of mingling guests and throbbing music to sear me where I stood. This time, there¡¯s only a conference table between us, and it¡¯s quiet enough to hear a pin drop. My voice is faint when I find it again. ¡°Was that all, Mr. Conway?¡± He clears his throat before responding. ¡°Yes. And if asked, feel free to tell your colleagues the truth.¡± ¡°The truth?¡± ¡°That I wanted to know who came up with the winning idea.¡± I stand, gathering myptop and notebook, holding them like a shield against my body. ¡°Thank you.¡± He taps his fingers against the table, toorge for this conference room. It threatens to swallow me up whole. ¡°And Miss Bilson?¡± ¡°Despite the trouble it¡¯s caused, I¡¯m d you chose thispany.¡± ¡°Eleanor is tough,¡± Toby tells me, ¡°but she¡¯s fair. Her bluntness is usually for the best. It makes it easier to do my job.¡± Quentin reaches for his beer. ¡°You should be happy you weren¡¯t here during Conway¡¯s takeover, though.¡± ¡°Was she bad then?¡± ¡°Everyone was bad back then.¡± He shakes his head, eyes tracking my hand around the ss of whiskey in front of me. They¡¯d both been surprised when I¡¯d ordered it, as most men are. I love surprising them. As if they have a monopoly on drinks? Please. ¡°The takeover was that dramatic?¡± I ask. Toby raises an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯ve met Conway. Imagine him in front of the wholepany, announcing that three departments would be shed by the end of the month.¡± I grimace. It¡¯s not hard to picture the determined lines of Tristan¡¯s face, the sweep of his arm as he speaks the words without affect or equivocation. Telling people en masse that they¡¯d have to find new employment. ¡°But it¡¯s made thepany stronger,¡± Quentin admits, running a hand through his overlong hair. ¡°You can¡¯t fault the bastard that.¡± I nod, my fingers tightening on my ss. When I¡¯d suggested grabbing drinks after work with my co-workers, I hadn¡¯t expected Tristan Conway to follow us. But here he is, the topic of choice. Toby¡¯s smile widens. ¡°Not to mention the entertainment factor. There¡¯s never a dull day when he¡¯s in the building. Employees scurrying about.¡± ¡°You mean you scurry about,¡± Quentin says. ¡°I have never scurried in my life.¡± ¡°I saw you scurry justst week, when Clive came down to speak to Eleanor.¡± Quentin crosses his arms. ¡°You need to get new sses.¡± ¡°I got these justst month, thank you very much.¡± Toby turns to me, winking. ¡°Designer sses at half-price.¡± ¡°They look great,¡± I say. The orange rimspliment his smart navy suit and match the colors in his tie. ¡°Toby, did you say you had a date this weekend?¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯m just hoping this guy isn¡¯t as awful as thest one I matched with.¡± ¡°Sock puppet guy,¡± Quentin mutters. ¡°Sock puppet guy?¡± I ask. Toby gives a grave nod. ¡°Sock pocket guy,¡± he confirms, pouring enough gravitas into the words that I hold up my hands in defeat. ¡°Say no more.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t. Those details would haunt you.¡± I give a mock shudder. ¡°Where are you going with the new guy?¡± ¡°We¡¯re going to walk the High Line. He¡¯s never been there.¡± ¡°He¡¯s new to New York?¡± Quentin asks. Toby nods. ¡°Just moved in from out of state. The poor guy doesn¡¯t know his subway lines.¡± I take a sip of my whiskey. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m from out of the state. What¡¯s the High Line?¡± ¡°Oh dear,¡± Toby says. Quentin shakes his head and reaches for his beer, the toorge sleeve shing a glimpse of a digital watch. I hold out cating hands. ¡°It¡¯s that bad, is it?¡± ¡°The worst, I¡¯m afraid.¡± Toby puts a hand on mine. ¡°Will you let me show you around the city? Please?¡± Think Outside the Boss 19 ¡°Don¡¯t say yes,¡± Quentin warns. ¡°Quiet,¡± Toby retorts. ¡°He¡¯s just annoyed because I offered to go shopping with him and give a few constructive pointers. He declined.¡± ¡°My clothes are perfectly fine.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Toby agrees, a little too quickly. ¡°They are.¡± I grin, looking between them. ¡°You know the two of you are like an old married couple?¡± ¡°No, we¡¯re not,¡± Quentin protests. Toby shakes his head at me. ¡°Very cute, but don¡¯t try to deflect. When did you move to the city?¡± ¡°A month and a half ago.¡± ¡°And where do you live?¡± ¡°Upper West Side,¡± I say, but seeing their widened eyes, I hasten to exin. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s tiny. I¡¯m practically renting a shoebox on the top floor. An olddy is renting it to me, and she thought I seemed trustworthy. Honestly, I know I¡¯m lucky to have found it¡­ even if it is the most expensive shoebox I¡¯ve ever paid for.¡± ¡°Another one in Manhattan,¡± Toby tells Quentin. ¡°See, that¡¯s why you should abandon Brooklyn and join us.¡± ¡°Imagine how much shorter yourmute will be.¡± ¡°Brooklyn has soul. No offense,¡± he adds to me. ¡°None taken,¡± I say. ¡°Should I have?¡± But they¡¯ve devolved into an argument, and I grin, watching it. The sparks are flying. I don¡¯t know if Quentin swings that way, but if he did¡­ hmm. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Once. Twice. Pulling it out, it¡¯s a New York number I don¡¯t recognize. It could be work, even if the odds of that are slim. ¡°Give me a minute, guys,¡± I say, slipping out of the booth. I hit answer. ¡°This is Frederica Bilson.¡± ¡°Yes, that¡¯s me.¡± I sidestep a few students singing, their arms around one another, and make a beeline for the door. ¡°There is a lot of noise on your end.¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sorry about that. Give me a moment¡­¡± I pull the door open and step out into the cool, New York air. ¡°Who is this?¡± ¡°Tristan Conway,¡± the deep voice replies. ¡°Mr. Conway?¡± ¡°The very one,¡± he repeats, voice dry. ¡°Am I interrupting your evening?¡± ¡°No. Well, I¡¯m out for drinks with a few of my co-workers. I just stepped outside.¡± ¡°Good,¡± he says. I can think of absolutely nothing to reply. How did he get my number? Why is he calling? We haven¡¯t spoken since the meeting in his office over a week ago. ¡°I¡¯m calling about work,¡± he says. ¡°Is it about the Thanksgiving Family Day? Because everything is in hand for the weekend.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s not about that.¡± A beat of silence. ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s better to speak about this when you¡¯re not surrounded by Exciteur employees.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not surrounded. I stepped outside.¡± ¡°Still, I think it¡¯s better we have this conversation when you¡¯re in a ce where no one can overhear. Call me when you get home.¡± ¡°Call you, Mr. Conway?¡± ¡°Yes. This is work-rted, Miss Bilson, but I think it¡¯s better we don¡¯t have this conversation in the workce.¡± Curiosity gnaws at my insides. ¡°I¡¯ll call you as soon as I get home. When is toote?¡± ¡°I¡¯m up,¡± is the curt reply. ¡°Talk to you soon, Miss Bilson.¡± And then he hangs up. I stare at my phone for a long few seconds. He can¡¯t be calling to fire me, can he? No. I thought I¡¯d convinced him out of his suggestion of shifting my internship to a differentpany, too. Work-rted. But I thought it was best to have the conversation outside of the office. ¡°Is everything all right?¡± Toby asks when I return inside. He¡¯s taken off his suit jacket, and it lies innocently between him and Quentin on their side of the booth. ¡°Absolutely,¡± I lie. The sky has darkened to a deep midnight ck when I finally get home to my building, nodding hello to the doorman outside. I¡¯m not sure when it will ever stop striking me as surreal that I live in a building with a doorman. New York is my home now. Correction, I think, as I unlock the door to my tiny studio on the top floor. This expensive shoebox is my home now. The single window offers a view of the opposite building¡¯s rooftops. Sometimes there¡¯s pigeons on them. It¡¯s riveting.This text is ? N?velDrama/.Org. I sit down onto my bed and take out my phone. It¡¯s just past eleven, but he¡¯d told me he¡¯d be up. Tristan answers after the first signal. ¡°You were outte.¡± I bristle at the clear disapproval in his tone. ¡°It¡¯s not midnight yet, but if I were, it would be my business.¡± ¡°You could be performing at less than your usual standard tomorrow at work,¡± he points out. ¡°That would make it my business.¡± ¡°I assure you, I always perform at the peak of my ability.¡± Think Outside the Boss 20 ¡°Like when you confuse the forwarding and reply button on the email interface?¡± A cheap shot, Mr. Conway. I push my hair back from my face and blow out a breath. ¡°Perhaps that was a calcted move,¡± I say, the whiskey I¡¯d had speaking for me. ¡°Perhaps I wanted to make an impact. Leave my mark. Most trainees are forgettable, you know. I don¡¯t want to be one of them.¡± The silence is brief and surprised. Then he chuckles darkly and I close my eyes as the sound washes over me. I picture him beside me on the couch at the Gilded Room, his features marked by shadow and desire. ¡°You¡¯re not forgettable, Freddie,¡± he vows. ¡°If avoiding that fate was your mission, consider it aplished.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to achieve sess quite so soon.¡± ¡°And yet you did.¡± Another pause. ¡°Where did you go out tonight?¡± ¡°A bar close to work.¡± ¡°Did you take a cab home?¡± ¡°I walked,¡± I say, digging my fingers into the thickforter beneath me. How am I lying here, having this conversation with him? ¡°You walked? Do you live near the bar, then?¡± ¡°Yes, Upper West Side. We went to the bar next to work.¡± ¡°Walking isn¡¯t necessarily safe.¡± ¡°This neighborhood is one of the safest in the city. Besides, there were people out. Do you walk home alone?¡± ¡°Freddie¡­¡± ¡°Mr. Conway.¡± There¡¯s reluctant amusement in his voice. ¡°I hope you find your co-workers to your satisfaction.¡± ¡°They¡¯re lovely people,¡± I say. ¡°You said this was work-rted, sir?¡± ¡°I did. You know, it¡¯s not necessary for you to call me sir.¡± ¡°Your other employees do.¡± He sighs. ¡°You¡¯re right. This is why I called you, by the way.¡± ¡°To discuss what I should call you? I believe we¡¯ve had that conversation before.¡± The words are risky, reminding us both of the night we¡¯re not to speak of. Tristan¡¯s voice darkens. ¡°So we have,¡± he says. ¡°I don¡¯t believe we settled on anything then, either.¡± ¡°You¡¯re difficult to pin down.¡± ¡°Impossible,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ve never let anyone try.¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°Why did you call me sir?¡± ¡°Believe it or not, it is work-rted.¡± ¡°So you¡¯ve said, yes.¡± ¡°It¡¯s also sensitive.¡± ¡°ssified information?¡± ¡°Of a sort. Tell me, Freddie, where do you see yourself at the end of this internship?¡± ¡°My ambition is the ssified information?¡± ¡°Funny,¡± he says, but the deep baritone of his voice sounds like he¡¯s smiling. ¡°No. Do you see yourself with a permanent job here?¡± ¡°Potentially,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t discount the possibility, and if I were offered, I¡¯d most likely say yes.¡±C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. ¡°That¡¯s good to know.¡± ¡°Where is this conversation headed?¡± ¡°I have a proposition for you,¡± he says. My brain short-circuits. He can¡¯t be saying what I think he¡¯s saying, can he? I press a hand to my breastbone as the words flow out. ¡°Tristan, I can¡¯t do that. You can¡¯t ask that of me. I¡¯m not the type to-¡± ¡°Christ, Freddie, I¡¯m not asking you for that. No.¡± I rx back onto the bed, my heart racing in my chest. ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°I should have worded it differently.¡± A frustrated sound, and I can see him in front of me, running a hand through his thick hair. ¡°No, I wouldn¡¯t ask that. This is about the Strategy Department.¡± ¡°It is?¡± ¡°I believe we have a mole.¡± I frown. ¡°Someone who leaks information?¡± ¡°Yes. Ourpetitors are learning about the business strategies we¡¯re proposing for our clients, and it¡¯s not just happened once, either.¡± ¡°How do you know?¡± ¡°I have my sources,¡± he says. ¡°And you¡¯re sure it¡¯sing from Strategy?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve eliminated the other possibilities. Strategy and management are the only people who deal with this information, and I know it¡¯s not management.¡± I turn over on my side. ¡°You want me to keep my eyes and ears open?¡± Think Outside the Boss 21 ¡°Yes. You¡¯re new, you¡¯re a trainee. There might be many in your department who¡¯d think to overlook you.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± But I¡¯m smiling. ¡°It¡¯s their loss,¡± he says. ¡°Not to mention that no one will suspect you to have the management¡¯s ear. To the best of their knowledge, you and I have never spoken outside of the Thanksgiving meeting.¡± The faces of my co-workers sh before me. Toby. Quentin. Eleanor. The three women working in our office who¡¯d never given me more than a polite nod. ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel good, knowing one of the people I¡¯m working with isn¡¯t on the same team.¡± Tristan¡¯s voice deepens. ¡°I know. I¡¯m paying one of them for the privilege of betraying mypany.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do it. Of course I will.¡± ¡°Good,¡± he says. ¡°I think it¡¯s for the best that this stays out of thepany altogether.¡± ¡°All right. What does that mean, exactly? I only report what I find to you over the phone?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± is his swift reply. ¡°We keep it offpany email servers, we don¡¯t talk about it at work.¡± ¡°Sounds like a n.¡± ¡°Excellent,¡± he says. ¡°Perhaps we¡¯ll finally catch this bastard.¡± I can¡¯t help but ask, ¡°Why me?¡± ¡°Why not you?¡± he retorts. ¡°I mean, why do you trust me?¡± There¡¯s a beat of silence, stretching out between us. Where is he in New York? Perhaps he only lives a few blocks away, and he¡¯s sitting alone in his apartment, just like me. ¡°I trust your ambition,¡± he says finally, ¡°because I recognize it.¡± The ground we¡¯re treading trembles beneath me. It¡¯s apliment, but it¡¯s more than that. It¡¯s recognition. It seeps through my chest and warms me as it spreads. ¡°Are you still in the office?¡± ¡°No,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m at home.¡± ¡°Did you walk home alone?¡± His voice is amused. ¡°No, I didn¡¯t. I don¡¯t give advice I don¡¯t follow myself.¡± ¡°That¡¯s unusual.¡± ¡°I¡¯m looking out at the park, actually. They¡¯ve started setting up the amusement fair.¡± His apartment overlooks Central Park. It shouldn¡¯t surprise me, but it does. I picture him standing in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, a hand in the pocket of his cks and another gripping his phone.Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. ¡°Does it look good?¡± ¡°It looksrge,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ll send you the names of a few people tomorrow. They¡¯re not employees, but I want them granted ess to the Thanksgiving Family Day.¡± ¡°Of course. Business associates of yours?¡± His voice is dry. ¡°More like someone called in a favor.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have it done right away.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Neither of us says anything, but his presence is a palpable thing on the other end of the line. I don¡¯t want to hang up. And I don¡¯t think he wants to either. Closing my eyes, I breathe out the admission. ¡°Realizing I¡¯d sent you the first email was mortifying.¡± His voice softens. ¡°I figured.¡± ¡°But do you know¡­ I¡¯m not sorry.¡± ¡°Neither am I, Freddie,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Neither am I.¡± The day hase. Instead of a normal Friday afternoon at Exciteur, the office has moved to Central Park. I catch sight of Eleanor walking into the amusement fair with a blonde tween at her side, the girl¡¯s eyes lighting up when they spot a cotton candy stand. Yes, this was a good idea. ¡°We have security at the entrance with the lists of names,¡± Reece says at my side. Fifteen years my senior, Exciteur¡¯s event nner had been less than pleased at receiving instructions from three trainees. I¡¯d given her as much power as I could to counteract that, and epted every single one of her suggestions. ¡°That¡¯s excellent.¡± ¡°Everything should go smoothly now,¡± she says. Her phone dings, and she nces down. ¡°Except someone forgot to put up the private hire sign by the exit, and now there¡¯s a line. Damn it¡­¡± She disappears down the path at a determined stride. Luke rocks on his heels beside me. He¡¯s a trainee in the sales department, and his grin is as wide as he is tall. ¡°I can¡¯t believe we pulled this off.¡± ¡°I never thought they would go for it in the first ce,¡± William says. ¡°Who knew all these people had kids?¡± ¡°How do they do it? I worked until nine every eveningst week,¡± Luke says. ¡°The others in my department were right there along with me.¡± I re-tie the waistband of my coat, pulling it tighter around myself. There¡¯s no warmth in thete November air. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing thepany is doing this, then. Giving them time to have fun.¡± I scan the crowd, amazed at the number of people. Does Exciteur really employee this many people? When we¡¯re all stacked upon one another in the high-storied building on the Upper West Side, there¡¯s no telling. My gaze snags on a tall figure. He¡¯s wearing a navy coat over his suit, a gray scarf around his neck. His thick hair is pushed back, the scruff of a few days of not shaving entuating the square of his jaw. I can still hear his deep voice in my ear. Feel the weight of his body against mine. ¡°Sorry?¡± Think Outside the Boss 22 Luke grins at me. ¡°You werepletely lost there for a moment. Are you excited for the barter?¡± ¡°Um, yeah. Absolutely.¡± I tuck my hands into my coat pocket. ¡°I¡¯ll make ap, make sure everything¡¯s in order. Talk to you guyster.¡± I weave my way through the half-empty fair, trying to spot him again. Pass by Toby and Quentin bantering by the ring toss and smile to myself. Tristan¡¯s tall enough to stand out¡­ should be here somewhere. I turn the corner at a carnival game and there he is. Tristan Conway, leaning against the counter of a game booth. He has his hand on the shoulder of a dark-haired boy. I blink, but the image doesn¡¯t go away.This text is ? N?velDrama/.Org. ¡°Can I try, Dad?¡± the boy asks. Tristan hands him a set of darts. ¡°Keep your elbow steady and aim for the balloons.¡± ¡°I know,¡± the boy says. A smile shes across Tristan¡¯s face. ¡°Of course you do.¡± His son, because he has a son, takes aim and throws the first dart. That¡¯s when Tristan looks over his shoulder. Our eyes meet. I¡¯m busted. ¡°Hello,¡± he says. I swallow. ¡°Hi. Didn¡¯t mean to ambush the two of you like this.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not a problem.¡± Tristan nces down at the boy, but he¡¯s deep in concentration. ¡°Good job on the fair.¡± ¡°Thank you. All I did was book it, though.¡± I give a crooked smile, my mind still running on overdrive. Tristan Conway is a father. ¡°Take the credit,¡± he advises me. ¡°Okay.¡± The boy turns around. ¡°I didn¡¯t hit a single one.¡± ¡°Try again,¡± Tristan says, extending a new set of darts. ¡°Really focus on aiming.¡± The boy pushes back a dark curl that¡¯s fallen over his brow. I¡¯d peg him at nine, ten. ¡°I¡¯ll get one this time.¡± ¡°Of course you will, kid.¡± Tristan must see my curiosity, but he doesn¡¯t say anything, just runs a hand over his neck. His jaw is tense. His son sees me and gives me a little wave, darts sped in his hand. ¡°Hello.¡± ¡°Hi there,¡± I say. Tristan gestures at me. ¡°This is Frederica. She works for me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Joshua,¡± his son says politely. ¡°It¡¯s very nice to meet you.¡± ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you too. Are you ying darts?¡± ¡°Yes. You¡¯re supposed to hit the balloons. If you hit three of them, you win a prize.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the prize?¡± He turns to the booth. The girl who runs it is off to the side, her eyes glued to her phone. But the ceiling is covered in stuffed animals dangling from ropes. ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡± Tristan points at a sign on the wall. ¡°Three hits and you get to choose any stuffed animal.¡± ¡°Which one would you choose?¡± I ask, stepping up beside him. My hand goes to my wallet, looking for quarters. ¡°I think I want the giant elephant.¡± Joshua gives me a smile, tinged with shyness and delight. ¡°You like elephants?¡± ¡°They¡¯re one of my favorite animals,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ve seen them a couple of times,¡± he offers. ¡°Dad and I went to Thandst year with Grandma for Christmas. We visited an elephant sanctuary.¡± He pronounces sanctuary with great care, making me smile. ¡°That¡¯s amazing.¡± ¡°It is.¡± He pauses, looking back at his dad before returning his gaze to me. ¡°Do you know they have the best memories of any animal?¡± ¡°Oh, I know, isn¡¯t that cool?¡± ¡°The coolest,¡± he agrees. ¡°Do you want to y darts too? Dad, can she get some darts?¡± Tristan opens his mouth, but I beat him to it, fishing out two quarters from my wallet. ¡°I¡¯ll y.¡± ¡°Well, I suppose that means I have to as well,¡± Tristan says. He waves over the teenager managing the booth. She epts my quarters, but Tristan hands her a twenty. ¡°Give us a bucket.¡± She grins but says nothing. A few secondster and there¡¯s a near limitless supply of darts between us. I raise my eyebrow at him. Tristan just shrugs, reaching for one. ¡°This is good target practice.¡± Joshua takes aim, tongue clenched between his teeth. He narrowly misses. ¡°Shoot,¡± he says. ¡°Dad, your turn. What are you going to choose if you win?¡± Tristan weighs a dart in hand. My eyes track the strength of his jaw, the faint crow¡¯s-feet at the edges of his eyes. He can¡¯t be more than ten years older than me, and yet he has a son this old. It¡¯s hard to superimpose the image of him here, talking to his kid, with the man I¡¯d met in the Gilded Room. Tristan Conway, the enigma. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± He aims, jaw tense, and throws. A balloon pops with a loud smack. ¡°Nice one!¡± ¡°Thanks, kid.¡± ¡°If I win, I think I want an elephant too,¡± Joshua tells me, reaching for a dart. ¡°Although I think whales are cooler.¡± ¡°Whales?¡± Think Outside the Boss 23 ¡°We¡¯ve been watching a lot of Blue,¡± Tristan rifies. His voice is deep, controlled¡­ but is there a note of embarrassment there? I can¡¯t picture him rxing in front of the TV, period, but even less while watching a nature documentary with a kid. But even as I think it¡­ an image emerges of him doing just that. My impression of the man shifts again, bing even more attractive. ¡°I¡¯ve seen The Blue,¡± I say. ¡°It looks amazing. I really want to learn how to dive one day, and get my certificate.¡± ¡°You do?¡± Joshua asks. ¡°I really want to try too. Allegedly I¡¯m too young.¡± ¡°You are too young,¡± Tristan says. ¡°There¡¯s nothing alleged about it. But we¡¯ll go diving when you¡¯re older.¡± ¡°Dad and I like to travel,¡± Joshua tells me. ¡°We go somewhere for every single one of my school holidays.¡± I grin at this chatty kid, looking from him to Tristan. The eyes are the same, but one pair is looking at me openly and excitedly, the others with something like wariness. ¡°Your turn,¡± Tristan tells me, nodding at the dart still in my hand. ¡°Let¡¯s see what you got.¡± I throw and miss, but my second shot sends a balloon exploding. I make a victory gesture. ¡°One down, two to go.¡± Joshua nces between us before fixing his gaze on the balloons in the distance. Tristan hands him a dart silently. He aims¡­ And a balloon pops. ¡°Yes!¡± He high-fives with Tristan. ¡°That was awesome.¡± ¡°It was,¡± Tristan confirms. ¡°You¡¯ve really got the hang of it now.¡± Our eyes meet over Joshua¡¯s head. Perhaps he can see the questions in mine, but Tristan just gives me a single, elegant shrug. He turns back to the balloons. Where¡¯s Joshua¡¯s mother? Is Tristan divorced? Widowed? Curiosity burns brighter in my stomach, the desire to unlock his secrets. Joshua hits another balloon. It pops with an audible snap, shaking me out of my thoughts. ¡°Nice one,¡± Tristan says. ¡°Just one more¡­¡± It takes two more tries, but he hits a third one. He gives us both high fives after that, his curls shaking as he bounces. ¡°Sess!¡± ¡°Sess,¡± Tristan echoes. ¡°Which stuffed animal do you want?¡± Joshua scans the ceiling. There¡¯s no whale, but there¡¯s a dolphin. He points at the elephant. ¡°That one.¡± ¡°Really? Good choice,¡± I say. ¡°I know,¡± he says, with the supreme confidence of a child. He tucks it under his arm, and we turn from the booth, leaving the teenager to her social media scrolling. Tristan puts a hand on Joshua¡¯s shoulder. ¡°They¡¯re here,¡± he says quietly. Joshua goes still, his gaze scanning the crowd. I see nothing out of the ordinary. Just people milling about, a child holding cotton candy. In the distance, I can make out Toby and Quentin by a Whack-a-Mole. ¡°Oh,¡± Joshua says weakly. ¡°She came.¡± ¡°Of course she did,¡± Tristan says. ¡°Go on, let¡¯s talk to them.¡± But they¡¯ve already seen us, apparently, as a middle-aged man and woman with a girl the same age as Joshua walk toward us. The girl is smiling, her wheat-blonde hair in a braid. ¡°Hello, Joshua,¡± she says in an ented voice. French? ¡°Hi,¡± he murmurs. ¡°This is your dad¡¯s ce?¡± He doesn¡¯t say anything. Tristan cuts in, extending a hand to the parents. ¡°Tristan Conway, Joshua¡¯s father. Thank you foring.¡± ¡°Thanks for inviting us,¡± thedy says, and she¡¯s definitely French. ¡°We haven¡¯t met any parents from Danielle¡¯s school yet.¡± ¡°No, people like to keep to themselves. But I¡¯m sure there¡¯ll be a chance to meet others soon,¡± he says. ¡°There¡¯ll be a bake sale or walk-a-thon soon enough.¡± Okay, this is my cue to leave. Not only have I met his son, but now I¡¯m trespassing on his socializing with other parents. I take a careful step back. ¡°I¡¯ll see you-¡± ¡°Do you want to go on the Ferris Wheel?¡± Joshua asks Danielle. His voice is high. ¡°It¡¯s really tall.¡± ¡°Oh, can I, Mama?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll go with them,¡± Tristan says. ¡°I¡¯ll be in the carriage behind theirs.¡± ¡°Why not? We¡¯ll be by the hot dog stand, Danielle.¡± Joshua turns to me. ¡°You and Dad can go in one carriage and Danielle and I in another.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not-¡± ¡°Sounds good,¡± Tristan interjects. ¡°Will you take care of this?¡± Joshua hands me the stuffed elephant and I grip on to the plushy. The long trunk drapes down my arm. I open my mouth to protest, but the kids are already heading for the Ferris wheel. A light hand on my back and Tristan is directing me after them. ¡°Sorry about this,¡± he murmurs. ¡°No, that¡¯s okay,¡± I murmur back. The Ferris wheel isn¡¯t that high, is it? It¡¯s in Central Park. We¡¯re not talking Six gs here. I should be able to do it. I can do it. ¡°These were your special guests?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°Danielle¡¯s a friend of Joshua¡¯s from school.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know you had a son.¡±Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. His breath is quiet, but audible. ¡°I know.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry if I¡­ intruded back there. I take it you don¡¯t like mixing business with your private life.¡± Think Outside the Boss 24 ¡°No,¡± he says, ¡°I don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Anonymity. I get it.¡± As he opens thetch for the Ferris wheel, he gives me a dark look that sends shivers down my spine. The guy manning the attraction motions for Danielle and Joshua to have a seat in their carriage, and the kids bundle in, chatting the whole way. ¡°I¡¯ll be right behind you,¡± Tristan tells them. ¡°Call out if you need anything at all and sit still in the car.¡± ¡°I know, Dad,¡± Joshua calls back.Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. Tristan extends an arm to our carriage. ¡°After you.¡± My hands grip the elephant tight. It¡¯s just a Ferris wheel, Freddie. And I personally read the amusement fair¡¯s safety guidelines before I booked them. What can go wrong? I step into the carriage, sitting down on the cold metal bench. It wobbles precariously as Tristan follows me in, folding his long legs into the space. His thigh presses against mine in the tight confines of the carriage. The attendant closes the metaltch behind him, stepping back. ¡°Everyone ready?¡± No, I think. How do I get off this? ¡°Yes,¡± Tristan calls back. The mechanics churn into action and our carriage swings with the sudden jolt of movement. I grip the metal bar in front of us and focus on the heat of him next to me, evident even through the thick fabric of our coats. ¡°This turned out really well,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯ve done a great job.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± We start our ascent, the people and stands beneath us shrinking with every inch we rise. I close my eyes. ¡°Now you¡¯ve met Joshua.¡± I nod, my words emerging through clenched teeth. ¡°He¡¯s lovely.¡± Tristan clears his throat. ¡°I don¡¯t talk about my family at work. Not at parties either.¡± ¡°I understand. Anonymity, and all that.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He shifts in the carriage and it rocks beneath us. I press my lips into a tight line. There¡¯s no way I¡¯m opening my eyes until we¡¯re safely back on the ground. ¡°Freddie? Are you all right?¡± ¡°Yeah, absolutely.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve gonepletely white.¡± His voice lowers, and when he speaks again, it¡¯s closer to my ear. ¡°You don¡¯t like heights.¡± ¡°Not a member of the fan club, no.¡± One breath in, one breath out. That¡¯s all I have to do. ¡°Why on earth did youe up here with me?¡± I give the stuffed animal in my grip a little shake. ¡°Your son asked me to guard his elephant.¡± ¡°Freddie¡­¡± His voice is frustrated, and so, so close. I have to open my eyes to peek. He¡¯s only inches away, and watching me with a tiny furrow in his brow. I focus on his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I murmur. ¡°I just have to focus on not panicking.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± He¡¯s quiet for a beat, but then he tugs off a leather glove and pries one of my hands off the elephant. I grip his fingers tight and close my eyes again. His skin is warm and slightly rough against mine, my hand disappearing inside hispletely. ¡°It¡¯s only twops.¡± ¡°Two?¡± ¡°It¡¯ll be okay. Just breathe, okay?¡± ¡°I¡¯m breathing.¡± I lean my head back against the seat and tighten my grip on his hand. ¡°Breathing is the only thing I can do right now.¡± ¡°Then let¡¯s just focus on that,¡± he murmurs, but I don¡¯t do what I¡¯m told. I focus on his hand and his voice, too. It¡¯s deep and calming, like crushed velvet poured into a dark cup of espresso. ¡°Talk to me?¡± ¡°All right. So¡­ elephants are your favorite animal. I can now chalk that up to the list of things I know about you.¡± ¡°Must be a rather short list,¡± I murmur. ¡°Not that short. I¡¯ve made several observations.¡± Despite myself, my lips tug. ¡°I¡¯m sure I don¡¯t want to hear them all.¡± ¡°Well, not all of them are fit for polite conversation. Doesn¡¯t mean they don¡¯t still make the list. It¡¯s a mental one. Don¡¯t worry.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± ¡°I¡¯d say the view is amazing, but I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a good idea for you to open your eyes right now.¡± I screw them shut tighter. ¡°I¡¯m pretending we¡¯re on the ground.¡± ¡°Keep pretending.¡± My hair lifts in the breeze and I lean into him, as if I can hide from the height. If it¡¯s windy, we must be at the very top. Don¡¯t think about it don¡¯t think about it don¡¯t think about it. I hear the rustle of another glove being removed, and then my hand is held in both of his. The sensation anchors me. ¡°You¡¯re okay,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ve got you.¡± A deep breath in. A deep breath out. My fingers tighten around his. ¡°Thank you. This is¡­ mildly humiliating.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not. Besides, you wouldn¡¯t be up here if it wasn¡¯t for me.¡± Think Outside the Boss 25 ¡°That doesn¡¯t make it less embarrassing,¡± I murmur. If anything, it makes it more so. Not only does he know how much I detest heights, but he also knows I braved them in order to spend more time with him. I should¡¯ve just sent him another email with the words I can¡¯t stop thinking about you and be done with it. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean by that.¡± I give a tiny shake of my head. ¡°Never mind.¡± His thumb moves over the back of my hand in a small, tight circle. ¡°Joshua took to you quickly,¡± he says. ¡°I was¡­ surprised.¡± A thousand questions I want to ask, and the only thing I can focus on is keeping my cool. ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± A snort. ¡°He doesn¡¯t understand what I do for a living, and I wonder if today will only confuse him more.¡± My lips tug. ¡°Well, venture capitalism is a difficult concept to exin to a kid.¡±This text is ? N?velDrama/.Org. ¡°It is.¡± His voice darkens, close by my ear. ¡°It wasn¡¯t one of your guesses, either, when you tried to think of what I worked with.¡± The memory of the Gilded Room washes over me, of us sitting just like this, me draped over him on a couch in a dark alcove. My stomach tightens. ¡°I wasn¡¯t imaginative enough.¡± ¡°Or venture capitalist didn¡¯t sound sexy enough.¡± I swallow, my eyes still shut. ¡°No, it¡¯s sexy.¡± Complete silence. Damn it. I open an eye, only to see him regarding me with a raised eyebrow. The darkness in his eyes swirls with humor. ¡°So you weren¡¯t disappointed I wasn¡¯t a mafia boss, then?¡± ¡°Honestly¡­ I was disappointed when I found out you were the CEO of Exciteur.¡± His mouth opens. ¡°You were?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I murmur. ¡°Because it meant we could never meet at a Gilded Room party again.¡± His dark eyes bore into mine, quiet for a long time. I don¡¯t see thendscape moving behind him. I barely register the hitch in the carriage when we finally return from our secondp, stopping at the bottom. I¡¯ve said too much. But then he murmurs something that slides across my skin like silk, his hands letting mine go. ¡°So was I, Freddie.¡± The Thanksgiving Family Day had gone off without a hitch. Luke, William and I had pulled it off, and even if it was more event management than project management, I¡¯m still proud. Smiling to myself, I take a step back and survey the newly framed pictures on my dresser. The pictures I¡¯d had erged had arrived in the mail just yesterday, one of my grandfather, another of my parents. Three of the hardest-working people I know. Also the three people who believe in me the most. My parents had bought a bottle of champagne when I¡¯d gotten the email telling me I¡¯d been epted into the junior professionals program at Exciteur. Right next to their photos is my framed college diploma and a few books on business,pleting the vite. It¡¯s my shrine to sess. One day, I think, looking around my tiny studio apartment, I won¡¯t live in a ce without an oven again. All I have is a one-top stove, a microwave, and a miniature refrigerator. Which is also empty. I close the fridge door and nce at my watch. The deli down the street is open for another hour¡­ it would make it my fourth time this week. Am I shameless enough? Absolutely. I¡¯ve just pulled on my jacket when my phone rings, and the number is familiar, sending my heart racing. We haven¡¯t spoken since the Thanksgiving Family Day and I haven¡¯t even seen him at work. Not that I¡¯d be able to talk to him there, even if I did. I hit answer. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Freddie.¡± ¡°Tristan.¡± My hand fumbles with the key. ¡°How are you?¡± Humor colors his voice, as if he¡¯s amused at my attempt at normalcy. ¡°Good. How are you?¡± ¡°Excellent? That¡¯s great to hear.¡± ¡°What can I do for you?¡± ¡°I wanted to see how you¡¯re doing with your task, the one we spoke about on the phone a few weeks ago.¡± ¡°The mole in the Strategy Department.¡± ¡°The very one.¡± I pull out the lone chair at my table and sit down. ¡°I haven¡¯t discovered anything yet. I¡¯m keeping my eyes open, though. Perhaps once I¡¯m invited to more senior meetings.¡± ¡°Hmm. I wonder if we can fast-track that somehow.¡± I frown. ¡°I¡¯m not sure¡­ that is, I want to prove myself by my work.¡± ¡°I have no doubt you¡¯ll do just that, Freddie.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± I reach down and pull on one of my boots. The weather has taken a turn for the worse, and the nip in the air has turned into a taste of winter. ¡°I really am trying to overhear things, though. I¡¯m not sure how much sneakier I can be. If Ie into work in a trench coat and a newspaper with holes in it, they¡¯ll start to suspect something.¡± Tristan¡¯s deepugh rumbles through the phone. ¡°It¡¯s almost an idea worth considering.¡± ¡°The mole might run, knowing we¡¯re on to him. You¡¯d have to have security chase him.¡± ¡°Or her,¡± he adds. ¡°Mypany ismitted to gender equality.¡± ¡°How noble of you.¡± ¡°We all do what we can.¡± I bite my lip, smiling into the phone. We shouldn¡¯t be calling like this. Talking like this. And yet here we are. ¡°Thank you forst week,¡± I say. ¡°At the fair.¡± Think Outside the Boss 26 ¡°Don¡¯t mention it,¡± he says. But I have to. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I shouldn¡¯t have gotten on that ride in the first ce.¡± ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have assumed you wanted to,¡± he retorts. ¡°It¡¯s on me, not you.¡± It¡¯s absolutely on me, but I don¡¯t press the point. ¡°Let¡¯s agree to split the me, then. Gender equality and all that.¡± ¡°All right. We¡¯re really taking a stand here, aren¡¯t we?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll be mentioned in the history books.¡± He clears his throat. ¡°At least I didn¡¯t catch you out at a bar tonight. Are you in between social engagements for the evening?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t go to bars every night,¡± I tease. ¡°Only every other.¡± ¡°Oh to live the careless life of a trainee.¡± I reach for my hat, stomach grumbling. ¡°I worked prettyte, and then I walked back to my apartment.¡± ¡°On the Upper West Side.¡± A brief pause, like he¡¯s considering his next words. But then theye. ¡°You know I live on the Upper West Side too.¡± ¡°I remember,¡± I murmur. ¡°We might be neighbors.¡± ¡°We might be.¡± ¡°I was just nning on heading out, actually.¡± ¡°To a bar?¡± ¡°No, to a deli. The one down my street has the best pastrami sandwich.¡± ¡°The best?¡± ¡°Yes. They also serve Chinese food, which is an interesting mix, but somehow they pull it off.¡± ¡°Never heard of a ce like that in this area.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s pretty good,¡± I say. And then, before I can stop myself, ¡°Do you want to join?¡± My question hangs in the air between us, and spoken out loud, it sounds ridiculous. He¡¯s busy. He has a son, apany, and probably a far more well-stocked fridge than me. ¡°All right,¡± he says. ¡°Text me the address.¡± ¡°I will.¡± ¡°See you soon,¡± he says, hanging up. I stare at my phone in half-horror, half-wonder. Tristan Conway is meeting me at the small, wildly unsophisticated deli on my street. At nine p. m. on a Thursday. I race into the bathroom and wipe at the faint mascara smudges beneath my eyes from a full day of wear. A quick pinch of blush, a brush through my dark hair¡­ it¡¯ll have to do. I¡¯m halfway to the door when I realize I forgot mints. Finally ready to go. Nope, forgot perfume. It takes me a few minutes before I finally feel presentable enough to venture out. He¡¯s waiting outside the deli when I arrive. Leaning against the brick wall, his hands in the pockets of his navy coat.Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. I swallow at the sight. There¡¯s no way he can possibly be here, waiting for me. But he is. He nods when he sees me. ¡°Freddie.¡± ¡°Tristan.¡± ¡°So this is your go-to ce?¡± I give him a crooked smile and push open the door to the deli. ¡°Don¡¯t knock it till you try it.¡± He holds up a hand in surrender, a smile ying in his eyes. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± We order a pastrami sandwich each and a te of fries to share. The familiar cashier with a beanie gives me a wide smile. ¡°Back again, eh?¡± he asks. ¡°I can¡¯t seem to stay away,¡± I admit. ¡°You guys save me most evenings.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s our pleasure.¡± He shoots Tristan a nce. ¡°d to see you¡¯re bringing friends, too. Boosts our business.¡± ¡°Anytime, Kyle.¡± Tristan and I have a seat in the stic chairs by the shop window. There¡¯s a smile in the corners of his lips, one I remember from the teasing at the Gilded Room. ¡°What?¡± I ask. The smile breaks into a grin. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting this.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°No. You¡¯re usually so¡­ Proper. Self-contained.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Straitced. I wouldn¡¯t have thought you¡¯d be a regr at a ce like this.¡± ¡°So a reformed goody two-shoes can¡¯t go to a hole-in-the-wall for food?¡± I shake my head at him and reach for a French fry. ¡°Didn¡¯t expect someone who frequents¡­ well, the ces you frequent, to be so narrow-minded.¡± ¡°Narrow-minded.¡± Tristan reaches for a fry of his own, his fingers brushing mine. The small contact sends electricity racing up my arm. ¡°I¡¯m offended, Frederica.¡± ¡°Frederica?¡± ¡°Your name is beautiful. I don¡¯t know why you insist on being called Freddie.¡± Think Outside the Boss 27 ¡°I like Freddie.¡± He nods, leaning back. The stic chair creaks ominously beneath his six-foot-two frame. ¡°I do too, when it¡¯s not deceiving me into thinking you¡¯re a man.¡± ¡°The deception was unintentional.¡± I tear back the paper wrapping around my pastrami. ¡°This, right here, is the best sandwich New York has to offer.¡± A nce up reveals Tristan, arms crossed over his chest, staring at me. ¡°Did I say something wrong?¡± ¡°How long did you say you¡¯d lived in New York?¡± ¡°Um, a month and a half. No, almost two now.¡± ¡°Then you¡¯re in no position to judge the city¡¯s best sandwich.¡± He reaches for his own. ¡°There¡¯s nearly as many restaurants as people in this city, and there¡¯s a shit ton of people, so that¡¯s saying a lot.¡± I take a bite of sandwich and vors erupt in my mouth. Pastrami. Reuben dressing. Rye bread. Wiping at my mouth with my napkin, I shake my head at him. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re one of the snobby New Yorkers.¡± ¡°Snobby New Yorkers?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°Who disdain everything a tourist would like.¡± He takes a bite of his sandwich, his gaze not leaving mine. I wait as he chews. ¡°Good, right?¡± ¡°It¡¯s good,¡± he admits. ¡°Not the best the city has to offer, though. And for the record, I don¡¯t disdain everything a tourist likes. I just¡­ disdain that they are there too.¡± Iugh, leaning back in my chair. ¡°That might be the most New York sentiment ever. Despite the money they bring the city, you¡¯d rather will them away.¡± ¡°Tourists and pigeons,¡± he mutters, reaching for another French fry. ¡°The bane of every big-city dweller.¡± I shake my head. ¡°So you¡¯re cynical, too. You must have lived in the city for a long time?¡± ¡°All my life.¡± ¡°Wow. A native New Yorker.¡±Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Manhattanite,¡± he corrects, but he¡¯s grinning as he says it. ¡°We¡¯re very protective of the status.¡± ¡°Oh, of course. My bad. I didn¡¯t mean to include the outer boroughs in my initial statement.¡± ¡°I can overlook the mistake.¡± ¡°Thank you, Mr. Conway. Very kind of you.¡± He puts down his sandwich. ¡°Mr. Conway. A couple of days ago, I was Tristan.¡± I look away from the heaviness of his gaze, back down to my own sandwich. A stray pickle has escaped. ¡°That was in apromised position.¡± ¡°Protecting my son¡¯s elephant,¡± he says, ¡°on a Ferris wheel from hell.¡± I reach for another French fry. ¡°Exactly. Where¡¯s your son tonight?¡± ¡°At home.¡± I look over at him in surprise and he snorts. ¡°He¡¯s not alone.¡± ¡°Phew.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not that irresponsible of a parent.¡± Tristan leans back in his stic chair, crossing his arms over his chest, looking like he¡¯s never been irresponsible a day in his life. I push an escaped tendril of hair back. ¡°So, as a native New Yorker, what are your favorite spots?¡± His smile is crooked. ¡°You want insider tips?¡± ¡°I want to see the city. Tell me where I should go.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a tiny deli on the end of 74th and West. It serves these great pastrami sandwiches,¡± he deadpans, ¡°but oddly enough, they also have Chinese food.¡± ¡°Watch yourself,¡± I warn him. Tristan¡¯s smile is wide and uninhibited, leaving me dazed. ¡°I¡¯d never mock you, Freddie.¡± ¡°Sure you wouldn¡¯t.¡± But I¡¯m smiling as I shake my head. ¡°I should have known better than to ask advice from an Upper West Sider.¡± ¡°There¡¯s something wrong with this area?¡± ¡°No one talks to one another,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t know the name of a single person in my building, except the doorman and my super.¡± ¡°That¡¯s New York.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were so sociable, Straitced.¡± I groan. ¡°I really don¡¯t like that nickname.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a shame, because I really do. It¡¯s what I called you in my head before I met the real you.¡± My fingers tighten around my sandwich. ¡°So you thought about me after the party, huh?¡± His eyes lock with mine. ¡°You thought about me.¡± ¡°You¡¯re so confident in that.¡± ¡°Well?¡± he asks, an eyebrow rising. ¡°Didn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I did,¡± I admit. The tension between us rises another notch, the air vibrating around me. ¡°And when I met you, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder¡­¡± ¡°Yes?¡± he prompts. ¡°Wonder why you go to those parties.¡± Think Outside the Boss 28 Something sparks in his eyes. ¡°They¡¯re fun.¡± ¡°Yes, well, they certainly are.¡± Heat rises to my cheeks, but I don¡¯t look away from his gaze. ¡°That¡¯s it, then? It¡¯s a fun pastime.¡± His eyes darken. I hadn¡¯t meant for my words to sound judgmental, but hearing them back, it¡¯s there. And perhaps I do judge him. Not for going, no, I¡¯d gone too. But for settling for that. He¡¯s in his mid-thirties, after all. ¡°They are what they are,¡± he says gruffly. ¡°No strings, no attachment, nomitments.¡± I bite my lip. ¡°It¡¯s simple.¡± ¡°It¡¯s simple,¡± he agrees. I think of his son, his job. Themitment to making Exciteur the best it could be. ¡°So you don¡¯t have the time to date properly, then, and the Gilded Room is the second best option,¡± I summarize. ¡°You have me all figured out, do you?¡± My heart does a double-take, but I give him a confident grin. ¡°I¡¯m something of a people-reader.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± ¡°Then finding the mole in the Strategy Department should be a day¡¯s work for you. Tell me, Freddie,¡± he says, reaching for the French fries, ¡°why are you single?¡± ¡°Why am I single?¡± ¡°Yes. If you think you have my dating habits all figured out, it¡¯s only fair I get a look into yours.¡± ¡°In that case, you should be guessing,¡± I point out. ¡°Since I guessed yours.¡± ¡°Hmm, right.¡± ¡°Equality and all that.¡± He braces his arms on the table. ¡°God forbid we forget equality. Right, then. It¡¯s my turn to read you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m an open book.¡± ¡°You just moved to the city, so you haven¡¯t had time to meet someone yet,¡± he says. ¡°That makes sense. But did you leave someone behind in Phdelphia?¡± I cross my arms and meet his gaze with my own. ¡°My lips are sealed.¡± ¡°Unhelpful,¡± hements. ¡°My guess is that you didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t?¡± Tristan leans back in his chair, mirroring my cross-armed stance. He pulls it off better. ¡°I think you¡¯re afraid of men.¡± My mouth drops open at that. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± ¡°Oh, not the kind of fear you have for heights. I mean the fear of being burned. You see, Freddie, I think you like to be in control.¡± ¡°I do, do I?¡± ¡°Yes. You¡¯ve kept your head down and focused on school, on internships, on your work. Told yourself there¡¯s no time for dating, but the truth is, you¡¯ve never made the time¡­ because it scares you. It¡¯s the one realm where you¡¯re not in control at all.¡± I stare at him, the half-eaten sandwich forgotten in front of me. Tristan stares gamely back at me with eyes that burn with triumph, and something else. Something that picks at my soul as surely as his words had. Recognition. ¡°Well,¡± I breathe. ¡°That was quite the analysis. Now it¡¯s my turn to wonder¡­ do you tell yourself the same thing?¡± His eyes narrow. ¡°Do I tell myself what?¡± ¡°That you don¡¯t have time for dating. That the Gilded Room parties are all you have space for, putting the majority of your energy into yourpany and family instead.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have much time, that¡¯s true.¡± My next words are breathless. ¡°And yet here you are, at a deli on a Thursday evening.¡± ¡°And yet here I am,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Was I right, Freddie? In my analysis?¡± ¡°Was I?¡± His lips curl ever so slightly, full in the five-o¡¯clock shadow that darkens his lower face. ¡°I got an envelope delivered today.¡± ¡°Did you?¡± ¡°It was gold.¡± I bite my lip. ¡°How exciting. Wonder what that can be.¡± ¡°Wonder indeed,¡± he agrees. ¡°I¡¯m assuming you got a simr one.¡± I hadn¡¯t. Moment of truth, moment of possibility¡­ ¡°No,¡± I admit. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if I don¡¯t get one at all this time.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°And why is that?¡± ¡°I might have done something that¡¯s slightly¡­ against the rules.¡± ¡°What¡¯s this, Straitced? Tell me.¡± ¡°Well, technically speaking, the invitation I receivedst time was addressed to the former tenant.¡± A smile spreads across his lips. ¡°Frederica Bilson.¡± ¡°I went, I saw, I conquered.¡± ¡°It¡¯s came,¡± he corrects. ¡°I came, I saw, I conquered. And you most certainly came.¡± I bury my head in my hands, unable to look at him. Thank God we¡¯re the only ones in the deli. ¡°Christ, Tristan.¡±C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. Think Outside the Boss 29 Hisughter is unashamed. ¡°So you snuck into a Gilded Room party. I have to say, this challenges my view of you.¡± ¡°Terrific. Can we lose the nickname now?¡± ¡°No,¡± he says. ¡°I did wonder how you¡¯d paid for membership on a trainee¡¯s sry¡­ so this solves that conundrum.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t pay at all.¡± ¡°A beauty membership after all,¡± he muses. ¡°Well¡­ let me phrase it this way. If you end up receiving an invitation, will you go?¡± I look up at him. He¡¯s watching me with practiced casualness, like my answer is nothing but a curiosity. But there¡¯s a burning interest in his eyes that he can¡¯t entirely mask. He¡¯s going. And he¡¯s asking if I¡¯m going too. My stomach locks into a fist of anticipation as want floods me. We¡¯re ying with fire, and I¡¯ve always been careful. Always done the right thing. But now I want to be burned. ¡°I think I will,¡± I tell him. ¡°If I get an invitation, that is.¡± ¡°Good to know,¡± he says, smiling. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll see you there.¡± ¡°Maybe you will¡­ Tristan.¡± A thick, golden envelope is waiting for me when I get back from work a few dayster. It¡¯s lying on my trodden doormat, innocuous. Like before, my address is written on it. Like before, my name isn¡¯t. ¡°Well, well¡­ let¡¯s see what you have in store for me this time,¡± I murmur, slicing it open with my finger. This is worth daring a paper cut for. I pull out an invitation printed on thick cardstock. It¡¯s addressed to me. Me, as in, Frederica Bilson. Not Reba Hartford. I sink down onto my kitchen chair with the invitation still in hand. This has to be Tristan¡¯s doing-it has to be. Has he paid the fee for me? Pulled some strings with the selectionmittee? My eyes scan the rest of the invitation. Frederica Bilson,C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. It¡¯s December, and the holidays are just around the corner. You know what that means¡­ a lot of gift-wrapping and bow-tying. Or untying. We know which one we prefer. Join us at the Winter Hotel thising Saturday. Leave your smartphone and inhibition at the door, and remember, anonymity is the currency that makes the world go round. It feels like the invitation has a heartbeat of its own, and it¡¯s pounding just as fast as mine. Closing my eyes, I see Tristan¡¯s face in front of me, the way he¡¯d looking sitting across from me in the dimly lit delist week. Deep, blue eyes. Thick dark hair. Two-day-old beard along his square jaw. My stomach clenches at the idea of sleeping with him again. This time, we¡¯ll know each other. Who we are outside of the confines of the Gilded Room. And we¡¯d still be choosing one another. I nce over at the dresser in my tiny room, at my shrine to sess. My grandfather. My parents. My business books and my diploma. Sleeping with a boss has never been the kind of move I want to make. I had onceughed at women who did that-I¡¯d scorned it. And yet here we are. Tristan had been right, the arrogant bastard, when he said I¡¯m afraid of dating. Somehow he¡¯d found my weak spot and applied pressure to it, like he knew the ins and outs of me just by looking. It¡¯s the one realm of my life I¡¯ve never managed to feel confident in. Where effort doesn¡¯t corrte to sess, where I can¡¯t study my way to an A or work long hours to get a good performance review. My fingers tighten around the invitation still in my hand. Perhaps I¡¯m done being afraid. Time to undo thoseces. When Saturday rolls around, I¡¯ve repeated the same I¡¯m-going-to-a-secret-elite-sex-club shower I didst time. Shaved. Scrubbed. Contemted my life decisions. Blow-dried my hair. The dress I¡¯m wearing isn¡¯t remotely as revealing asst time¡­ but it is tighter. It clings to my skin like a second one, deep red in color. It¡¯s a dress I¡¯d bought with friends in Phdelphia, the kind your girlfriends say you have to get this! but you have absolutely no business wearing to work or bars. Turns out I have just the asion for it now. I arrive at the Winter Hotel just as it begins to snow. The kes fall gently from the dark sky, whirling to the sidewalk like heaven-sent crystals. I pause outside to catch a few in my gloved hand. I¡¯ve always loved the snow. Has to be a good sign. The elevator to the thirteenth floor is smooth and uninterrupted. I keep my eyes trailed on the monitor for each passing floor. I¡¯ve learned how to conquer elevators. Phdelphia taught me how, but it¡¯s still a small mental hurdle every time, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I step out. ¡°Wee,¡± a smartly dressed woman in a suit says. She¡¯s not wearing anything beneath her zer, the open V neatly covering her breasts. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, extending my invitation. She smiles as she looks it over. ¡°Wee, Frederica. Do you have your mask with you?¡± I pull it out of my clutch. ¡°I do.¡± ¡°Then you¡¯re good to go. Enjoy yourself.¡± She pulls back a draped curtain and I step into the Winter¡¯s grand ballroom and enter a world of decadence. I hand my phone to the attendant, barely looking at him as I receive my numbers. Because there¡¯s a giant catwalk in the middle of the ballroom, and walking on it are women draped in silk and pearls¡­ and nothing else. Guests mingle around the catwalk, apuding, whistling. As I watch, a guest is pulled up by a performer, and she joins them without breaking stride, pulling off her dress as she walks down the runway. The same thick, pulsing beat resonates from the speakers, and my nostrils fill with the scent of incense. ¡°Champagne?¡± ¡°Yes, thank you,¡± I murmur, epting a flute from a waiter¡¯s tray. In a daze, I move through the party in search of a tall, broad-shouldered man I have no business talking to. I don¡¯t see him. A woman sitting on a couch sees my roving gaze. She gives me a grin and runs her hand over her partner¡¯s hair. His hand is moving between her legs. ¡°Join us, honey?¡± ¡°Thank you, but I¡¯m here with someone.¡± ¡°Bring him too,¡± she purrs. Christ. ¡°Maybeter, thank you.¡± She smiles. ¡°Enjoy yourself, then. Let loose.¡± Think Outside the Boss 30 Right. I nod at her and move on, weaving around drapedpartments in search of the bar. A few people sit on the stools, but it¡¯s mostly empty. Tristan¡¯s not here either. Had he already disappeared into one of the private rooms? The party has barely begun. I sit down by the bar and cross my legs, intimately aware of how the red fabric slides up. My gaze skims over people walking in various stages of undress, women in lingerie mixed with men in suits. An attendant in the corner in a silken loincloth gives me a cursory nce, and I smile. Security, just like Tristan had pointed out. If only he was here. Half an hourter, I motion the waiter for another ss of champagne. I repeat the motion forty minutester. Still no Tristan. And with no phone, there¡¯s nothing to do but watch the increasinglyscivious performance on stage. In a way, I can only apud them, because there¡¯s no way I could do what they do. Being pleasured while suspended naked from the ceiling in silk, with dozens and dozens of people watching¡­ Nope. But no Tristan.Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. The shirtless bartender pushes a drink across the bar to me. He rests on his arms, giving me a grin. ¡°Your first time here?¡± I must look pathetic. ¡°My second, actually.¡± There¡¯s a kind look in his eyes. ¡°I see. You¡¯re hoping to see a special someone.¡± I frown. ¡°That obvious?¡± ¡°Just because I¡¯ve seen it before, darling. Second-timers are often set on repeating their first night. But guests change, and change changes the guests. Manye here in search of new partners¡­ not to repeat the old ones.¡± ¡°He said he would be here, though.¡± But even as I say it, I hear the thinness of my words. I sound like someone who¡¯s been stood up at a bar. I¡¯d assumed that Tristan had gotten me the invitation, that he¡¯d been as excited to repeat this as me¡­ but he¡¯s not here. Or if he is, he¡¯s already busy, distracted with someone else. I nce down at my ss. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I tell the bartender. ¡°I¡¯m probably a textbook second-timer.¡± His smile widens. ¡°Don¡¯t beat yourself up about it. There are plenty of people here who¡¯d love to have fun.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure there are,¡± I say, thinking about the several interested looks I¡¯d received from men already. None hade up to talk to me-the first rule of the Gilded Room in action. I slide off the high barstool. ¡°Thanks for the pep talk.¡± ¡°Anytime, gorgeous.¡± He waves me away. ¡°Have fun.¡± I give the room onest walk-around, tossing back the contents of the drink he¡¯d given me. The gin and tonic burns as it goes down my throat. I discard it on a table, ignoring the couple furiously making out next to it, and head to the corridors beyond. One open door reveals¡­ oh God. No, no, why did I think I could do this? If Tristan is behind any of these, I don¡¯t want to see him. It would kill me. My painful high-heeled shoes steer me directly toward the exit. A few secondster and I have my phone and my coat, hurrying to the elevator. A pipe dream, that¡¯s what this was. Even if he was here¡­ what then? He¡¯s still my boss. The CEO of Exciteur, older, more experienced, rich. A father. Someone who frequents a club like this. And I spentst night on my bed, watching old re-runs of Gilmore Girls and making s¡¯mores by heating up chocte and marshmallows in the microwave. What was I thinking? Arriving back in my tiny apartment feels likeing home for the first time since I¡¯d moved in. Shutting out the city beyond, the temptations, the disappointments. I kick off my shoes and tug, tug, tug at the tight red dress. Slip into my sweatpants and old T-shirt. I¡¯ve just sat down on my bed, my head in my hands, when my phone dings with a text. There¡¯s just one thought in my head. It¡¯s Tristan, asking where I was. Tristan, exining that he couldn¡¯te. It¡¯s not. Luke: Hey, team leader. Want to grab a coffee one of these days and let me show you New York? My fingers tremble only slightly as I write back the response. I¡¯m not afraid, I tell myself. I just know myne. And it¡¯s with guys my age, perhaps a trainee in a different department, and not with the head of thepany. Freddie: I¡¯d love to! How about tomorrow? The coffee is bitter and too hot, burning my throat. It does nothing to counteract the pit of jealousy in my stomach. It¡¯s a feeling I have no right to, not to mention no reason to feel, and I hate things that have no purpose. But I hate things I can¡¯t control even more. Yesterday¡¯s snow hadn¡¯t settled, but a light dusting of it remains on the trees in Central Park. Joshua and I spent an hour in the park earlier with an obligatory stop at Larry¡¯s. In our household, it¡¯s never too cold for ice cream. And the entire time I¡¯d been debating the wisdom of calling Frederica. Had she gone to the Gilded Roomst night? My hand tightens around the coffee cup. And what could I do about it if she had? I¡¯d pulled a favor to get her a personal invite, and it hadn¡¯t been so she could get close and personal with some smarmy Wall Street banker. No, I¡¯d nned on being there. Joshua was supposed to spend the night at his godmother¡¯s. But one of her kids had gotten mono, so the ydate was cancelled. And with Linda scheduled, I¡¯d already given both my housekeeper and the nanny the weekend off. Which meant there was no one left standing but me. ¡°Dad?¡± I swallow the bitterness. I¡¯d had an evening with my kid instead, ordering pizza and ying cards, and it had been great. ¡°Yes?¡± Joshua bounces past the grand piano andes to stand beside me by the windows. The piano had been my sister¡¯s. Joshua doesn¡¯t like his weekly piano lessons, but I haven¡¯t let him quit yet. Jenny hated hers when she was his age too. ¡°Guess what?¡± he asks. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Marianne is makingsagna tonight.¡± I grin, ruffling his hair. ¡°Did you ask her nicely?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t have to ask.¡± He does a little dance in his whale-print sweatpants, a gift from his grandmother. ¡°She offered. I think she knows I have a test in school tomorrow.¡± ¡°Your schedule is on the refrigerator, so she knows. And you¡¯re going to do great, kid.¡± ¡°I know,¡± he says, a little too quickly. ¡°We¡¯ve been practicing a lot.¡± ¡°We sure have. Do you want to run through it again?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°All right. We¡¯ll do it one final time after dinner, then.¡± I follow him into his bedroom, ncing at the giant world map above his bed. That had been a birthday present from me. Together, we¡¯d scratched out the ces we¡¯ve visited and circled the ces that are still on the bucket list. Between me and my sister, Jenny had been the worldly one. The one who jumped at the chance of an exchange year in Sydney, who went against our parents¡¯ wishes to backpack in Southeast Asia for five months. I¡¯d had my head in numbers and school, and then, in business. No time for travel or frivolity. That¡¯s changed. Joshua will have seen the world by the time he¡¯s eighteen, if I have a say in it, including the ces his mother had loved. Think Outside the Boss 31 ¡°Have you spoken to Danielle since the Thanksgiving fair?¡± I ask him. ¡°Yes,¡± he says, sitting down cross-legged by histest Lego set. He¡¯s graduated to moreplex builds and the pieces for each now number in the thousands. ¡°And?¡± ¡°She thought it was cool that we had the amusement fair to ourselves. She asked if it was your amusement fair,¡± he says,ughing. ¡°I told her no.¡± ¡°I¡¯m d the two of you enjoyed yourselves.¡± He lies back on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling. ¡°She said I was one of her favorite people in ss the other day.¡± ¡°Did she? Joshua, that¡¯s awesome.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says, kicking one of his legs up in the air. ¡°But she also said Maria was one of her favorites. And Turner and Dexter.¡± I put my hand in front of my mouth to hide my grin. ¡°Mhm.¡± ¡°So I¡¯m not the only one.¡± He screws his eyes shut. ¡°Dad, we can¡¯t talk about this right now. I have to prepare for my test.¡± ¡°All right, all right. I was just curious.¡± ¡°You¡¯re always curious,¡± he uses me, and now I have tough. That¡¯s what I¡¯ve told him for years, right after he¡¯s asked me a string of fifteen increasingly impossible-to-answer questions. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you alone.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± he says. ¡°We¡¯ll talk at dinner.¡± It¡¯s such a teenage thing to say that I¡¯m still chuckling to myself when I return to the living room. The smell of Marianne¡¯ssagna drifts from the kitchen, meat and tomatoes and cheese. My hand goes to my pocket. My phone. My musings. Without Joshua to distract me, my mind finds its way back to Freddie and the wound ofst night. I know there¡¯s only one way to quell the jealousy simmering inside of me. I shouldn¡¯t, of course. I could write a book about all the reasons why interacting with Frederica Bilson won¡¯t end well. Not only is she a trainee, but she¡¯s a hungry one, with her eyes set on forging a career of her own. And I¡¯m not the young man I was before Jenny and Michael¡¯s ident, when rtionships were easy and fun. And yet, the jealousy burns on. When Joshua has gone to bed, I dial the now familiar number. She picks up after four eternity-long signals. ¡°Hello.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have any more information on the mole in the Strategy Department,¡± she informs me. I blow out a breath, amused despite myself. ¡°No, I didn¡¯t expect you would.¡± ¡°All right, then.¡± The question hangs in the abrasive silence. What are you calling for, Mr. Conway? ¡°How are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯ve had a rxing weekend.¡± My teeth grit at the word rxing. ¡°Meet me at the deli down the street?¡± ¡°Turns out those sandwiches were some of the best in the city after all. I¡¯m craving one.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I¡¯m hungry,¡± I say. I¡¯m not. ¡°Mr. Conway¡­¡± ¡°Meet me, Freddie.¡± ¡°I just got back home and I¡¯ve been out all day.¡± It¡¯s not a no, but it¡¯s not a yes, either. ¡°Then you must be hungry. If I remember correctly, pastrami is your favorite.¡± She sighs. ¡°I¡¯ll be there in five.¡± The tiny, reluctant yes soothes the mes in my stomach. I need to look her in the eyes when I ask her about yesterday. When I exin why I couldn¡¯t be there. Grabbing my coat from the rack, I pop my head into the kitchen where Marianne is prepping tomorrow¡¯s breakfast. ¡°I¡¯m heading out for a few hours, just down the street.¡± ¡°All right, sir.¡± ¡°If Joshua wakes up or needs anything, call me.¡± The deli is just as garishly lit by neon lighting as it had been a week ago. I must have walked by it a thousand times and never given it a passing thought, only two blocks from my apartment.Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. She¡¯d said it was just down the street from her. So it¡¯s not enough that Freddie infiltrates the club I frequent. It¡¯s not even enough that she starts working at mypany. She also lives a ten-minute walk from my home, and now, it seems, she¡¯s upying space in my mind rent-free. Which means I¡¯m pretty much doomed. I¡¯m there first, so I lean against the building and scan the surrounding streets. It doesn¡¯t take long before I see her. She has a beige coat wrapped tightly around her curvy figure, dark hair lifting in the wind. Red lips and sharp eyes that narrow as she sees me. ¡°You came,¡± I say. ¡°You insisted,¡± she says. I push the door open to the near-empty deli. ¡°After you.¡± She orders nothing but a soda, smiling at the guy behind the counter. He smiles back, smitten. The expression disappears when it¡¯s my turn to order. ¡°Coffee, if you have it. ck.¡± ¡°Coming right up.¡± Freddie leads the way to the same table as before, right by the windows and the whirl of snowkes in the air. I watch as she removes her ck leather gloves, slim, long-fingered hands closing around her soda can. The sight brings other images to mind, memories I¡¯d do better not to dwell on. Like her hand closing around me. ¡°Why did you call me?¡± Think Outside the Boss 32 ¡°I wanted to see you,¡± I say. It¡¯s the truth. Freddie nces out the window. ¡°I didn¡¯t see you yesterday.¡± So she¡¯d gone to the Gilded Room. She¡¯d gone, and she¡¯d looked for me. ¡°I couldn¡¯t make it.¡± Can she hear the burning regret in my voice? ¡°I figured as much, yeah.¡± I lean back in the stic chair, my hand on the one next to me. ¡°But you attended?¡± ¡°After you went through so much trouble to get me my own invite, how could I turn it down?¡± My lips curve. ¡°It wasn¡¯t too much trouble.¡± Her gaze returns to the can in front of her, and the question springs out of me, ill-advised and unstoppable. ¡°Did you meet someone?¡± ¡°I met several someones,¡± she murmurs. Jealousy has a tight grip around my insides, squeezing until I feel nauseous. ¡°Several someones, Straitced?¡± Her eyes flicker up, widening as she registers the look in mine. ¡°Oh, not like that, silly. I spoke to a few people. The bartender, mostly.¡± ¡°You spoke to a few people.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± She crosses her arms. ¡°Are you wondering if anything more happened? If I slept with someone?¡± I meet her gaze baldly. ¡°You know I am.¡± ¡°And you should know better than to ask. What happens at the Gilded Room stays there. You were the one who taught me that.¡± ¡°I know.¡± Speaking through gritted teeth is difficult, but I manage. ¡°I also know I have no right to ask.¡± ¡°None,¡± she says. ¡°If you¡¯re so concerned, you should have showed up.¡± ¡°Something came up.¡± ¡°Yeah, you said that.¡± She braces her hands on the table and leans forward. ¡°As you¡¯ve demonstrated tonight, you have my number. You could have texted me at any point before the party to warn me you weren¡¯t going to show.¡± The thought hadn¡¯t struck me. I¡¯m not a texter, not to mention that we¡¯ve never texted, her and I. But here she is, angry that I hadn¡¯t let her know. Which means she¡¯d waited for me. She¡¯d sat at that club, and she¡¯d waited for me. Hell, she¡¯d even resorted to talking to the bartender. The idea that a woman had waited for me¡­ ¡°You didn¡¯t sleep with anyone,¡± I say, sure now that I¡¯m right. Freddie rolls her eyes, but I keep going. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. You¡¯re right, and I should have let you know.¡± Her palms fall t on the table between us, her soda can untouched between them. ¡°I would have appreciated that, yes.¡± ¡°I never meant to leave you waiting. If anything, I spent the evening imagining all the things you were doing and growing more miserable by the minute.¡± She snorts, looking down at my hand on the stic table. It¡¯s only inches away from her own. ¡°That seems like a waste of energy.¡± ¡°It was.¡± ¡°Why didn¡¯t youe?¡± I admit what must sound like a remote problem for her, unattached and young as she is. It¡¯s miles away from her own life. ¡°My son was supposed to be at a sleepover, but it was cancelled. There was no time to get a sitter.¡± Freddie¡¯s eyes soften. ¡°Oh. I understand.¡± ¡°Damn annoying, though.¡± ¡°There¡¯ll be more parties,¡± she murmurs, and the acknowledgment makes my body tighten. The things I¡¯d do to her, the things I¡¯d let her do to me. My gaze strays to the dark red lipstick. ¡°What have you been up to today?¡± Her gaze drifts back to the window, the whirling snow beyond. ¡°I was out seeing the city with a friend.¡± And just when I thought I was beyond jealousy, ites roaring back, an unwee friend. It¡¯s been years since I felt anything like this. ¡°Where did you go?¡± ¡°The Met first, and then we had dinner at a ce in Tribeca. There was a line. It¡¯s apparently very popr.¡± ¡°Medusa?¡± ¡°That¡¯s the one, yes.¡± In profile, her face is stunning. A nose that¡¯s lightly turned up, like she¡¯s judging everything around her, but with full lips that are quick to smile andugh if you pass the test. ¡°I¡¯m d you¡¯re making friends in the city.¡±C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. Her gaze returns to mine. There¡¯s no animosity there now, her brown eyes soft. ¡°Actually, I think it might have been a date.¡± Is the woman trying to kill me? My scowl deepens without conscious thought. Of course she¡¯s dating. The woman is a fucking twenty on a scale of ten. ¡°Oh?¡± I ask, making my voice casual. Behold, world, my acting abilities. ¡°How did it go?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure I wanted it to have been a date in the first ce.¡± Shaking her head, she looks down at her hands. ¡°I was a bit angry at you, and I was thinking about how you said I¡¯m afraid of men. Of things I can¡¯t control. So I said yes when he asked me.¡± My eyes widen. I don¡¯t think she realizes it, but her honesty is breathtaking, and just as beautiful as she is. ¡°You wanted to test yourself?¡± ¡°I suppose so, yes. Not to mention I don¡¯t know anyone in New York, and I want to make friends.¡± ¡°You know me,¡± I say. Her quirked eyebrow makes me smile, and I hold up a hand. ¡°All right, all right. I suppose I don¡¯t really count?¡± ¡°Not really,¡± she admits. ¡°No offense, but I don¡¯t see myself calling you for help if my heater breaks down and my super doesn¡¯t respond.¡± ¡°You could, you know. I¡¯m only a few blocks away.¡± Think Outside the Boss 33 The look she shoots me makes it clear she thinks I¡¯m ridiculous. ¡°I live in a shoebox.¡± ¡°So? That should make repairs easier, not more difficult,¡± I say. She shakes her head, like I¡¯m missing an obvious point. I brace my arms against the table. ¡°We can be friends, Freddie.¡± ¡°You¡¯re my boss. Well, technically my boss¡¯s boss.¡± ¡°Sure, we¡¯re friends outside of the office. I thought that was a given.¡± Her smile widens. ¡°Friends.¡± ¡°Friends,¡± I agree. ¡°So if you need someone to show you around New York or take you to the Met, you can ask me. Not to mention I could get you past the line at Medusa.¡± The improbable words fall from my lips, despite the fact that I have no free time, and what time I have I give to my son. ¡°Is this because I mentioned I had a date today?¡± ¡°The two are unrted.¡± ¡°Right.¡± Sheughs, shaking her head so the dark locks fly, tangled from the snow and the wind. ¡°If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d say you¡¯re jealous, Tristan.¡± ¡°I would never stoop so low,¡± I say. ¡°The emotion is beneath me.¡± ¡°Oh, of course it is. Toomon?¡± ¡°By far.¡± A smile ys across lips I can recall kissing all too well. ¡°Now that we¡¯re unofficially friends, there are a ton of things I want to know about you,¡± she says. I groan, looking up at the neon lights in the ceiling. ¡°I¡¯m regretting this already.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll start easy, don¡¯t worry. You¡¯re just fascinating to me.¡± The sincerity in her voice is unexpected, seeping through my cracks. ¡°Tell me why you go to the Gilded Room.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve already told you.¡± ¡°I feel like it wasn¡¯t the entire truth.¡± I drag my gaze back to her, to eyes that are sparkling with humor and friendliness, and find myself actually considering answering the question. Even if the response isn¡¯t one that¡¯ll paint me in the best of lights. A shadow next to our table stops me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, guys, but we¡¯re closing in a few minutes.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Freddie says with a frown, like she¡¯s disappointed she doesn¡¯t get to talk to me more. We can¡¯t have that. ¡°Thanks for letting us know,¡± I tell the employee. ¡°We¡¯ll be out before then.¡± ¡°Have a good night.¡± ¡°You too,¡± Freddie says. When he¡¯s left, I reach over and lift up Freddie¡¯s soda can. It¡¯s full. ¡°You haven¡¯t even had a taste.¡± ¡°I was distracted.¡± I lift up my own cup of takeaway coffee, still full. ¡°So was I.¡± She catches on immediately. ¡°It would be a shame to throw these out.¡± ¡°It would be wasteful, really. And I¡¯mmitted to eliminating all forms of waste.¡±C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. Her smile widens. ¡°You are famouslymitted to efficiency.¡± ¡°So this can¡¯t stand.¡± I push back my chair and grab my coffee cup, handing Freddie her gloves. ¡°Show me your shoebox and we¡¯ll drink it on the way.¡± Her breathing hitches, despite the excitement in her eyes. ¡°Show you where I live?¡± ¡°If I¡¯m going to fix your heater one day, I¡¯ll need to know where it is, won¡¯t I?¡± I push open the door and a cold gust of wind sweeps in. ¡°After you, Frederica.¡± The coffee is cold and tastes like the bottom of a never-cleaned French press, but I drink it like the flimsy excuse of finishing our drinks is real. Snowkes catch in Freddie¡¯s dark hair. ¡°This doesn¡¯t feel real,¡± she says. ¡°The two of us, walking to my shoebox apartment.¡± Damn her, for being ambitious and intelligent as well as sincere and shy. I can handle one or the other, but both? It¡¯s more than a man should have to face. ¡°We¡¯re friends, and this is a friendly thing to do. How¡¯d you find the ce?¡± She takes a sip of her soda. ¡°Thedy who owns the apartment lives a few floors below. I think it used to be the ce their au pairs lived in, and then the maid, when they had one. She¡¯s alone now, her husband dead and the children gone. A friend of mine from Wharton lived there while she studied for her undergraduate at Columbia.¡± I nod. ¡°She put you in touch with thendlord?¡± Freddie nods, smiling warmly. ¡°Geraldine is lovely. She doesn¡¯t trust easily, you see, and so the fact that I was vouched for by someone she liked helped. Then we met, and she decided she liked me too.¡± ¡°You do seem like the perfect candidate for impressing old women, Straitced,¡± I say. ¡°I trust she doesn¡¯t know anything about the Gilded Room?¡± ¡°God, no. And don¡¯t you dare mention anything about it while we¡¯re inside.¡± ¡°Do you think she¡¯s spying on you?¡± ¡°Probably not, but I¡¯m not willing to take any risks.¡± We stop in front of a gray-stoned building, looking much like any Upper West Side residential. Freddie nods to the doorman. He nods back, but gives me a look I know well. It¡¯s the you¡¯re-new-to-me look, coupled with a dose of watch-yourself. So Freddie has managed to charm him too, on top of the guy who works at the deli ce and her fellow trainees at Exciteur. I¡¯m not surprised, because here I am, heading up to her apartment with a cold coffee in hand that I¡¯m apparently desperate to finish. ¡°I live on the top floor,¡± she says, pausing by the elevators. ¡°I have one window, but it doesn¡¯t overlook anything. Not if you don¡¯t count some rooftops, a solid brick wall and a few ces where pigeons perch.¡± ¡°They count,¡± I say. ¡°Brick is¡­ interesting to look at.¡± ¡°Liar,¡± she says, stepping after me into the elevator and pressing the top button. Her hands sp in front of her, and as I watch, she goes rigid. Her gaze is fixed on the floor numbers shifting on the monitor. Ah. The fear of heights. Think Outside the Boss 34 ¡°I¡¯m not going to judge where you live,¡± I say, raising an eyebrow at her. ¡°If that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about.¡± Her gaze doesn¡¯t waver, but she smiles. ¡°Sure you won¡¯t. Your apartment overlooks Central Park, right? I remember you saying that on the phone.¡± ¡°It does,¡± I admit. ¡°But what¡¯s Central Park to a brick wall? Just a few trees. Nothing I haven¡¯t seen before.¡± That earns me a chuckle. ¡°As opposed to brick.¡± ¡°You know what they say, once you¡¯ve seen one tree, you¡¯ve seen them all,¡± I say, talking to keep her distracted as the elevator ascends at a snail¡¯s pace. ¡°But bricks¡­ there are endless nuances. Colors. Textures. Sizes.¡± She breaks her staring contest with the elevator panel to give me an amused look. ¡°Is this some sort of fetish, Tristan?¡± My smile is crooked. ¡°Oh, if you want to talk about-¡± The elevator groans andes to a sudden stop. The lights flicker once, twice, before they give up. We¡¯re swallowed by pitch darkness. Freddie doesn¡¯t scream, but the gasping from her direction is filled with such terror that I move toward her on instinct. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I say. ¡°We¡¯re okay.¡± ¡°This can¡¯t be happening.¡± Her voice shakes with the effort to stay in control. My hand closes around her arm, her coat soft beneath my fingers. ¡°Breathe, Freddie. Breathe. We¡¯ll be okay.¡± She takes deep, shuddering breaths. I settle my hands on her shoulders and press inwards, as if I can anchor her by my touch alone. ¡°Are you breathing?¡±Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Yes,¡± she whispers. ¡°Tristan, I think I¡¯m about to have a panic attack. At any second, a cord could snap, and we would plummet to-¡± ¡°No,¡± I say firmly. ¡°That¡¯s not going to happen. Do you know what will?¡± ¡°What?¡± she breathes. ¡°We¡¯re going to sit down, right here, and we¡¯re going to call maintenance as well as that doorman of yours. They¡¯ll have this fixed in no time.¡± I reach for the steel wall, and then gently pull us both down to the floor. She follows in a fluid motion. Then I do something I know I shouldn¡¯t, but it¡¯s just the two of us here, and judging by the shallowness of her breath, she¡¯s fracturing. So I pull her into my arms. ¡°Breathe, Freddie. Deeply in, deeply out.¡± She trembles but does what I say, following along to my own exaggerated breaths. I tighten an arm around her shoulders and her hair tickles my nose. ¡°We¡¯ll be okay,¡± I say. ¡°The elevator looks new. I¡¯m sure an automatic alert has already been issued.¡± The panel in the elevator isn¡¯t lit up, though. Pressing the rm button would likely do zilch. Perhaps a power outage? Freddie¡¯s hands tighten on the fastening of my coat, curling around the edges. ¡°Do you know the number to your doorman?¡± She shakes her head, but after a few more breaths, she speaks. ¡°I think it¡¯s in my phone.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll call him.¡± ¡°Okay. Just give me a minute.¡± I hold her, smoothing my hands over her arms, before she¡¯sposed enough to reach into her pocket and hand me her phone. There¡¯s a notification waiting for her on her phone. A message. Luke: Had a great time today, Fred. I hope you¡¯ll let me show you around next weekend too. I click the annoying message away-now¡¯s not the time, Tristan-although the name imprints itself in my mind. Scrolling through her contacts, I find the one titled Doorman Tom and hit call. Put him on speakerphone. ¡°This is Tom,¡± a voice says. ¡°What can I help you with?¡± ¡°This is Tristan Conway and Frederica Bilson. We entered the building just a few minutes ago, and we¡¯re now in the elevator. It stopped when we were roughly at the thirteenth floor. The lights are all out and the panel is unlit.¡± ¡°Shit,¡± Tom says, and despite the unprofessionalism, I can only agree with him. ¡°I¡¯ll call for a technician right away. Don¡¯t worry, either of you. This has happened before.¡± Then it should have been fixed before, I think. ¡°We¡¯ll wait. Please keep us updated of any developments.¡± ¡°Of course, sir. We should have you out in no time.¡± A brief pause. ¡°Is everything all right with Ms. Bilson?¡± Raising her head from my shoulder, Freddie clears her throat. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Tom.¡± ¡°Good. All right, then. Sit tight,¡± he says and hangs up. A breathless, scaredughter bubbles out of Freddie. I can¡¯t see her face, but I don¡¯t need to to understand her reaction. ¡°Sit tight,¡± she wheezes. I slide my arm down and circle her waist, evident even through the thickness of her coat. ¡°You heard the man. Come here.¡± She sidles closer. ¡°You don¡¯t think we¡¯ll die?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°Not even a little bit. Let¡¯s breathe again, sweetheart.¡± We breathe in tandem for ten long, slow breaths, my hand moving over her lower back the entire time innguid strokes. ¡°Okay,¡± she whispers. ¡°I¡¯m better.¡± ¡°Good,¡± I murmur back. ¡°I¡¯m focusing on you and not on the hundred-feet drop beneath us.¡± My hand brushes the bottom of her hair, the thick strands tickling my skin. ¡°Focus on me, then.¡± She clears her throat. ¡°Can you talk for a bit?¡± ¡°Okay,¡± I say, pitching my voice to soothe. ¡°You said earlier that you wanted to get to know me. There are all kinds of things I could tell you, you know.¡± Her silence tells me to keep going, so I do, my hand rising to smooth over her hair. It¡¯s like silk beneath my palm. ¡°I was born and raised in this neighborhood. Just a few blocks over, actually. There¡¯s no other ce I¡¯d want to live, not permanently. New York is my home.¡± ¡°Despite the pigeons and tourists,¡± she whispers. Think Outside the Boss 35 ¡°Despite them,¡± I agree. ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s all the brick in this city that appeals to me.¡± She snorts once in humor, a small victory. I stretch out my legs in front of me and tighten my arms around her. ¡°My favorite ice cream vor is mango.¡± ¡°Mango?¡± ¡°Yes. Mango sorbet, actually.¡± ¡°Well, the way I see it, I¡¯m leaving all the cookie dough and mint chocte chip to the rest of you. It¡¯s a win-win situation. Let¡¯s see what more¡­¡± I cast my mind out for anything about myself, anything that would be interesting enough to keep her focus on me and away from the height we¡¯re currently sitting at. ¡°You asked me why I attend the Gilded Room party, even though I¡¯d already answered you.¡± ¡°The real answer,¡± she murmurs. ¡°Right. The real answer.¡± Sighing, I lean my head against the steel wall behind us and bare my soul. ¡°Thest decade, I¡¯ve be ustomed to a certain kind of woman approaching me. The one who expects designer handbags for birthdays, Valentine¡¯s days and Christmases, who shivers at the mention of a prenup.¡± Not that I¡¯d dated many, not with Joshua and my job. There were none that I¡¯d ever consider turning into a stepmom, and even fewer I think would actually relish the task. Joshua would be an unfortunate consequence of getting me, and my wealth, rather than a reason to stay. But Joshua has never been an unfortunate consequence. He might not havee to me naturally, but over my dead body will he ever feel like he¡¯s a burden. Freddie¡¯s caressing fingers makes me realize I¡¯ve fallen silent. I cover her hand on my chest with my own, wrapping my fingers around hers. ¡°Anyway. The women I meet at the Gilded Room don¡¯t know who I am, at least the majority of them. When one speaks to me, I know they don¡¯t want me for my money.¡± Freddie twists in my grip, like she¡¯s looking at my face. Perhaps she is, but it¡¯s too dark for either of us to see anything. ¡°But they only want you for your body,¡± she whispers. ¡°Is that better?¡± I walk my hand up her arm to cup her cheek in my palm. It¡¯s wet, and I use my thumb to brush away the panicked tears that have fallen in the darkness. ¡°It is,¡± I say. ¡°Perhaps only marginally, but it¡¯s better. How are you doing, sweetheart?¡± ¡°Holding it together.¡± ¡°Do you want us to breathe again for a bit?¡± She nods, and we do another round of ten breaths. In and out, slowly and surely. I stroke my hand over her hair. ¡°We¡¯ll be fine, Freddie. I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll be long now.¡± She doesn¡¯t call me on it, shivering instead. ¡°Cold?¡± I ask. ¡°It¡¯s just the fear. God, I feel silly.¡± Fuck. I really don¡¯t want her to feel afraid, but there¡¯s nothing I can do but keep her distracted. ¡°You¡¯re not silly,¡± I tell her. ¡°But I know that I am, because there isn¡¯t any real danger. And now you¡¯re seeing me like this.¡± Her breathing speeds up until it¡¯s in pants, her hands on my chest tightening into gripping ws. ¡°Hey, we¡¯re friends, aren¡¯t we? I¡¯m here, and I won¡¯t go anywhere. Just focus on me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m trying,¡± she whispers, but she¡¯s still trembling in my arms. In the darkness, I can¡¯t see her expression, but I can hear the increasing panic in her breathing. So I tip her head back and stroke her full lips with my thumb, and do the only thing I can think of. I nt my mouth over hers. Our lips meet in softness, fear meeting strength. I smooth my thumb over her cheek and try to conveyfort, stability. Try to tear her mind away from the panic. She pulls me into it instead. Her mouth opens on a gasp and slim fingers slide into my hair. They tug, sending shivers down my spine. Kissing her at the Gilded Room had been like drinking the sweetest wine. Here in the darkness she¡¯s whiskey, and she burns. Her lips open and I take what¡¯s offered, sweeping my tongue over her lower lip. It¡¯s gentle.This text is ? N?velDrama/.Org. She responds by climbing into myp. My hands shift to her thighs, gripping her as she straddles me. In the darkness, there¡¯s no telling where one of us ends and the other starts, and I kiss her like she¡¯s the only light avable. She kisses me back like she trusts me. Like she needs me as desperately in this moment as I need her. My fingers dig into her hips, craving the contact of her smooth skin instead of the fabric of her coat. My entire body tightens in need. She locks her hands behind my neck, and it¡¯s been so long since someone clung to me like this, like she needs me and only me in this moment. Her teeth scrape over my lower lip and I chuckle, my palms ttening against her back. So she wants to y rough? Sudden light ys against my closed lids. I lift my head from Freddie¡¯s, blinking against the brightness. A clipped voice echoes from the panel. ¡°We¡¯re very sorry about this inconvenience. We should have the elevator moving again shortly.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I call out. The line clicks off and I turn my attention to Freddie, still straddling my legs. Her eyes are red and wet, her lips puffy, and I know thetter is my doing. ¡°How are you doing?¡± ¡°Good,¡± she says, but the harrowed look in her eyes doesn¡¯t leave. I smooth my hands over hers and loosen the death grip on my coat. ¡°Let¡¯s stand.¡± She gives me a look that makes it clear she thinks I¡¯m crazy for suggesting it, but I help her up, my arm around her waist. We sway as the elevator begins to move with a faint jerk. She buries her face in my jacket, and I smooth a hand over her back. Over and over again until the elevator slides to a smooth halt at the top floor. It¡¯s a tangle of arms and haste in making it out into the narrow corridor, and then Freddie¡¯s hand finds mine and she¡¯s pulling me to a door at the end. Her hands tremble as she pulls out her keys, so I take them from her and unlock the door. All of her is trembling. She pauses in the middle of her tiny studio and covers her face with her hands. There¡¯s not a sound, but her shoulders shake. I shut the door behind me and wrap my arms around her. ¡°You¡¯re okay now,¡± I tell her. ¡°You¡¯re home.¡± ¡°This is so silly,¡± she says in between racketing sobs. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Tristan, I don¡¯t know¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s not silly. That was a stressful situation, and now it¡¯s over. Of course you¡¯re reacting to it.¡± I look around the room for a couch, but there is none, only a bed tucked into a corner of the room. It¡¯s neatly decorated with a gray spread and colorful pillows. I pull us toward it, and we sink down together, her still in my arms. ¡°You¡¯re not,¡± she uses. ¡°I¡¯m not reacting?¡± I smooth my hand over her hair, looking up at the ceiling in the tiny studio. The bed smells like her, of floral perfume and shampoo and the woman clinging to me. I¡¯m most definitely reacting. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that. That wasn¡¯t a pleasant experience.¡± She shudders in my arms. ¡°I¡¯m only taking the stairs from now on.¡± ¡°You live on the fourteenth floor.¡± ¡°Then I suppose I¡¯ll get in great shape.¡± I chuckle, curving my fingers around her waist and holding her as she calms down. Her crying abates as quickly as it hade on, a consequence now of released tension and not fear. It¡¯s gone entirely when she props her head in her hand and looks at me. Think Outside the Boss 36 I smooth my thumb over her cheek, over the lightly smudged mascara. ¡°You¡¯re okay,¡± I murmur. Her smile is small but true. Traces of amusement y in her eyes. ¡°This is really not how I wanted you to think of me.¡± ¡°I can think of you anyway I want,¡± I say. ¡°Not for you to decide.¡± Her faintughter is breathless. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°And your fear of heights hasn¡¯t made me think less of you, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about.¡± My fingers shift to her ear, tracing the smooth edge of her jaw. Her skin is like silk beneath my fingers. No, this has only made her more human to me, real and fallible and sweet and nuanced, with frailty to counter the ambitious fire. And it just makes me want her more. Freddie leans into my hand and closes her eyes. ¡°How did you know what to do?¡± ¡°What to do?¡± ¡°To calm me down,¡± she says. ¡°Have you talked people away from a panic attack before?¡± My hand slips from her cheek. ¡°My sister used to have them.¡± ¡°Oh, I see.¡± Giving me an apologetic smile, Freddie gets up from the bed and gets a tissue to wipe her eyes and nose. She kicks off her shoes and shrugs out of her beige coat. A turtleneck and dark jeans cling to her body, to the shapely thighs and hips, the dip of her waist. I close my eyes, but it¡¯s no use, because she settles against me on the bed. Her hand on my chest, her leg over mine, as if we lie like this all the time. ¡°Used to?¡± she asks. ¡°How did she get them to stop?¡± I look up at the ceiling. ¡°She died a few years ago.¡± ¡°Oh. Tristan, I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to bring it up.¡± ¡°You couldn¡¯t have known.¡± ¡°Still. I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. My coat is unbuttoned and there¡¯s nothing but the fabric of my shirt between her fingers and my skin. I close my eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve never kissed anyone to stop them from having a panic attack, though.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t believe that worked,¡± she says. The warmth of her exhale against my neck makes my body tighten. Awareness of her is everywhere, from the pads of my fingers to the tingling in my lips. My fingers brush over a strip of bare skin where her sweater has ridden up. ¡°It worked pretty well, I¡¯d say.¡± ¡°If you¡¯re looking for ttery, you won¡¯t get it from me,¡± she says. But she tucks her face against my neck in a gesture that feels more ttering than words ever could. My hand slides clean under her sweater, palm against her lower back. Once, twice, I run my fingers over her skin. Freddie presses a soft kiss to my neck. I graze the sp of her bra and trace the length of her spine. ¡°Freddie¡­¡± Her lips continue to move, tracing the edge of my jaw, finding my lips with her own. She tastes like sweetness andfort, like sincere thank-yous and I-want-yous. I kiss her back, our mouths meeting. What starts soft takes no time at all to ignite. My hand tangles in the length of her dark hair. Freddie moans into my mouth, surrendering to the kiss in a way that is so trusting it threatens to shatter me. It¡¯s too precious. I shift, stretching her out beneath me. Her dark hair is a beautiful wilderness on theforter beneath us, but it¡¯s her eyes I can¡¯t look away from. They hold desire and trust, tentative and wonderful. Her hands pull me back down and I kiss her like I need her more than air, more than life itself, because that¡¯s how it feels. After yesterday¡¯s close call, the jealousy, the elevator, holding her trembling in my arms-the desire to make her mine is damn near all-consuming. I want her skin against mine and her moans in my ear. And that¡¯s exactly why I can¡¯t. Not while there are dried tears on her cheeks, not when adrenaline and fear are still pulsing through her system. I shift my kisses from her lips to her neck, smoothing her sweater back down over the taut expanse of her stomach. She turns into me with a frustrated sigh and I hold her, kissing her forehead. We lie like that for a long time. ¡°What are we going to do, Tristan?¡± she finally asks. I¡¯m wondering the same thing myself. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t have anyone finding out about this.¡± ¡°I know.¡± I shut my eyes tight, fighting with the arousal still alive in my veins. Freddie takes a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯ve worked so hard to be where I am. And I have so much work still to do. I can¡¯t be the trainee who sleeps with the CEO to get ahead.¡± The perfectly reasonable words cut. It¡¯s what I¡¯ve known for weeks. She has so much left to experience that doesn¡¯t include someone like me. ¡°And I need to have control, Freddie, but with you I have none.¡± There¡¯s a resigned smile in her voice when she speaks again. ¡°So what are we going to do with ourselves, then?¡± ¡°We¡¯re going to be friends,¡± I say, smoothing my hand over her hair and hating the word. ¡°Outside of work. Perhaps just from afar¡­ but we¡¯ll be friends.¡± ¡°Friends,¡± she repeats, like she¡¯s tasting the word. I wonder if she finds it as bitter as I do.This text is ? N?velDrama/.Org. I know my weaknesses well, know where I fracture and break. Sharing them with Tristan had never been my n. But in the span of one evening, I¡¯d given him all of it. My panic attacks, my fear of heights, even my fear of dating, the way I clung to him more than I needed to for the simple pleasure of holding him close. He¡¯d seen it all. What we are now doesn¡¯t exist, a word that can¡¯t be found in the dictionary. Two people who met as strangers. Who enjoyed one another as strangers, but who have gotten to know one another as friends. Two people who live very different lives and have to abide by workce rules. And yet, yesterday had happened. I¡¯d given him all of my fragility, and he¡¯d held it in the palm of his hand until I was strong enough to take it back. There¡¯s no way I can forget that. No way I want to forget that. I rest my head in my hands, turning away from the painful thoughts and the numbers on my screen. We¡¯d been wise in stopping yesterday, in establishing rules and boundaries. I¡¯m only two months into a one-year internship. He¡¯s a single dad with apany to run. The world would only see one thing. But why, then, does it feel like we made a mistake? ¡°Frederica.¡± I look up. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I need you for a client meeting. We¡¯re meeting with Nicour in-¡± Eleanor nces at her watch-¡°less than thirty minutes, and Clive couldn¡¯t make it. I just love it when he cancelsst minute.¡± Think Outside the Boss 37 I reach for my binder, my handbag, following her out of the office. Toby gives me a thumbs-up and a mouthed good luck. Not a single part of me thinks he might be the mole. My gaze drifts over the back of Quentin, but for all his mutterings and bad moods, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s him either. ¡°Coming.¡± I hurry after Eleanor to Strategy¡¯s conference room. In the spirit of saving time as well as miles to travel, this is a digital meeting. Exciteur has an entire camera setup just for this sort of thing. When they work, that is. Eleanor grows increasingly stressed as the technician struggles with the electronics. ¡°They¡¯re waiting for us,¡± she hisses. ¡°Any second now¡­¡± he murmurs. I open myptop and prepare for taking notes, drawing up all the info I have on Nicour. The door to the conference room opens. I don¡¯t look up, focused as I am on the numbers on the screen. ¡°Mr. Conway?¡± Eleanor asks. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware you were joining this meeting.¡± ¡°Filling in for Clive,¡± he says. A chair is pulled out next to me, a familiar cologne scenting the air. Something knots in my stomach. I look over, but Tristan¡¯s gaze is focused on Eleanor and the techie. Cool, casual power on his face. Here he¡¯s a man made for boardrooms and thousand-dor watches, no trace of the handsome stranger from the Gilded Room or the caring man in my elevator yesterday. I turn my focus back on Eleanor. ¡°There we go,¡± the technician says, stepping back. The projector screen flickers once, and then the good people at Nicoure into view, sitting at a conference table much like ours. Discussions begin, so I turn to my note-taking, focusing on the words being said and not on the man sitting a few feet from me. It¡¯s difficult, when he¡¯s all I can concentrate on. Eleanor defers to him when he deigns to speak, but he mostly lets her handle the show. Has hee to watch her performance? Or had hee to watch mine? Perhaps he¡¯d decided I haven¡¯t been effective at finding the mole and chose to take matters into his own capable hands. Tristan is the one who ends the meeting. My hands still on the keyboard of myptop as he speaks, the depth of his voice filling the room. ¡°It¡¯s been good to touch base with you,¡± he says. ¡°Our team will have a new business strategy to present to you in a month¡¯s time.¡± ¡°Looking forward to it, Mr. Conway. Thank you for taking the time.¡± ¡°Of course, Howard,¡± Tristan says. ¡°Talk to you soon.¡±Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. The conversation clicks off and sudden silence reigns supreme. He taps his fingers along the table. ¡°Nicour is one of our biggest clients.¡± ¡°And they¡¯ll get nothing but our best,¡± Eleanor promises. I close myptop and look between them. Tristan still hasn¡¯t given me a single nce since he entered the room. Is it only professionalism? ¡°Excellent,¡± he says and moves to stand, but Eleanor stops him with a cleared throat. ¡°While I have you here, might I ask a favor for the conference in Boston this week?¡± He sinks back down, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure you remember our junior trainee, Frederica Bilson,¡± she says, nodding to me. ¡°I¡¯m aware that Strategy is only approved for four attendees for the conference, but she has a lot to rmend her. I¡¯ve nothing but high praise for her and I¡¯d like to include her from my department as well.¡± Wow. The praise makes my cheeks heat, but I meet Tristan¡¯s gaze with a level one of my own. His eyes are bottomless, unfathomable. No hint that he recognizes me beyond the courteous. ¡°That would make your department the biggest we¡¯re sending to the event,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± Eleanor responds, ¡°but she¡¯s worth it.¡± A pang of warmth spreads through my chest. Praise from her is rare indeed, but here she is, going to the mat for me. Tristan pushes his chair back. ¡°Very well. You¡¯re going to the conference in Boston, Miss Bilson.¡± ¡°Thank you, Mr. Conway.¡± ¡°Thank your trainee supervisor,¡± he says dryly and nods to Eleanor. Another hit of his cologne strikes me as he walks past, and without as much as a goodbye, he disappears out the door. It shuts behind him with finality. I open my mouth, but Eleanor stops me with a wry smile. ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet, Freddie. It¡¯ll be a lot of work.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a fan of hard work.¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve noticed. That¡¯s part of why I want you there. We¡¯ll need all hands on deck.¡± I nod, reaching for myptop. Eleanor smiles. ¡°I¡¯ve never met a more diligent note-taker.¡± ¡°It came in handy in college and ites in handy now.¡± ¡°It sure does.¡± She gathers her own papers, standing. A frown mars her lips. ¡°Mr. Conway¡¯s not usually so¡­ short.¡± I focus very hard on looking pleasantly interested. ¡°Who knows what bothers management?¡± ¡°Who knows, indeed.¡± She shakes her head, the clean-cut bob swaying. ¡°Oh well. He¡¯ll be excellent at the conference regardless, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°Is he ever anything else?¡± Eleanor shoots me a surprised nce. ¡°Indeed, Freddie. I¡¯ve sometimes wondered that myself.¡± As I return to my desk, my hands tremble. Not with fear or nerves, not even with anticipation. The mess of emotions inside me includes far too many to be ssified. Yesterday, he¡¯d held me like I was all he wanted. Yesterday, all I¡¯d wanted had been him. And yet we¡¯d stopped it. For me, it had been on ount of this job, my career, my sense of self-worth. He¡¯s not someone who dates, but I can¡¯t forget the words seared into my mind-the sad way he spoke about why women want him. I can¡¯t forget the way he is with his son. Had I been wrong? ¡°I just heard the good news!¡± Toby says, sliding into view on his desk chair. ¡°You¡¯re going to Boston with us this week!¡± ¡°Another pair of hands on deck,¡± Quentin says from his desk, not turning around. Think Outside the Boss 38 ¡°Not to mention another soul ready to party on Thursday evening.¡± Toby does a little dance in his chair. ¡°Are you ready, Freddie?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say weakly. ¡°I was born ready.¡± Toby grips the conference badge hanging on anyard around my neck, turning it one way and then the other. ¡°It still looks pretty good.¡± ¡°It does not,¡± I protest. ¡°It looks like it¡¯s taken a dip in a cup of coffee, because it has.¡± ¡°Well, it sort of works with your dress. It¡¯s blush-colored.¡± ¡°It¡¯s supposed to be peach.¡± I reach out and put a hand on Toby¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I really appreciate the pep talk, but let¡¯s face it. I¡¯m just going to have to give up on the idea of one day framing this.¡± Heughs. ¡°Can you imagine the sociopath who would do that?¡± ¡°You mean me?¡± ¡°If the shoe fits,¡± he says, leaning on the high drinks table we¡¯re standing by. Not fifteen minutes after thest workshop ended, and the conference hall had been transformed into a professional meet-and-greet. ¡°Where¡¯s Quentin?¡± ¡°Offworking,¡± Toby says, waving a dismissive hand. I raise an eyebrow at him. ¡°Quentin? Networking?¡± ¡°He¡¯s good at schmoozing when he wants to be. Others, like me, aren¡¯t.¡± ¡°Toby, you¡¯re the most sociable person I know.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°Yes, but see, that¡¯s the problem.¡± He raises his ss of wine to me in triumph. ¡°I¡¯m unable to be anyone but who I am, and in ces like this, no one¡¯s really interested in getting to know you. They just want to get to know the you that will help them get ahead.¡± ¡°Wow. That was astoundingly cynical.¡± He grins at me. ¡°I¡¯m only two years older than you, Freddie, and yet so much wiser.¡± ¡°And so humble,¡± Iugh, raising my winess to his. It¡¯s the one free drink included in our conference package, but I already see attendees heading to the bar to pay for their second. ¡°So?¡± he asks. ¡°What did you think of your first day?¡± I mimic wiping sweat off my brow, and he grins. ¡°Yeah, Strategy is always sent to every single meeting, just in case there are new tactics to pick up on.¡± ¡°Eleanor asked me to go to two workshops. At the same time. When I pointed out that I couldn¡¯t, she actually growled down at her phone.¡± He snorts. ¡°Yeah, the bosses get a bit intense here. This is where they recruit new clients and do a bit of schmoozing themselves.¡± My eyes catch on a familiar figure over Toby¡¯s shoulder, far in the distance. Quentin. His gaze is fixed on us¡­ or at least on Toby. There are none of the usual traces of wryness on his face. As soon as he catches me watching, he turns, disappearing into the mingling crowd. ¡°Uh-oh,¡± Toby says by my side, obvious relish in his voice. ¡°Your date ising our way.¡± ¡°Luke, at eleven o¡¯clock.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think Sales would be here.¡± ¡°Love will find a way,¡± Toby teases, too loud for my liking, and then Luke reaches us. He gives us both a wide grin and runs a hand over his short hair. ¡°Of course Strategy is here,¡± he says. ¡°You know it.¡± I raise my ss to his. We¡¯ve texted a bit after our day spent in New York, but I¡¯ve made it clear that I¡¯m only looking for friendship. ¡°Sales made it too?¡± Toby asks. ¡°Yeah, it was ast-minute thing. Not nned or anything, but when my boss asked me, I jumped at the chance.¡± He moves next to me, our elbows touching. ¡°Of course you did,¡± I joke. ¡°Who can resist twelve-hour workdays andnyards?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t forget aplimentary drink,¡± Toby points out. ¡°That¡¯s key.¡± ¡°But only one,¡± I say. ¡°We don¡¯t want attendees getting rowdy.¡± Toby rolls his eyes. ¡°God, I can¡¯t wait to get rowdy. There¡¯s a bar next to the hotel¡­ so you know where people will migrate when this is done.¡± ¡°And they¡¯ll be paying for it tomorrow,¡± Luke says with a chuckle, looking over at me. ¡°Think you¡¯ll join?¡± I shrug. ¡°Probably, but I won¡¯t be outte.¡± ¡°You¡¯re so young,¡± Toby says. ¡°So idealistic, so motivated. I remember those days.¡± I grin at him. ¡°Sorry, I forgot how cynical you¡¯ve be.¡± ¡°I¡¯m the worst.¡± ¡°Well, maybe not the worst,¡± Luke says. ¡°Did you hear Conway up there on the panel?¡± ¡°I thought he was good,¡± I say. ¡°Oh, of course he was. He could convince anyone of anything when he deigns to try,¡± Toby says. ¡°But you¡¯re right. His view of the industry wasn¡¯t necessarily¡­ optimistic, not for us little guys.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯d call it realistic,¡± I say. ¡°That only makes it worse.¡± ¡°Well, he¡¯s a venture capitalist,¡± Toby says. ¡°He took over Exciteur to ensure it makes money, and when it does, he¡¯ll leave. That¡¯s their role.¡± I take a sip of my ss and make my tone casual. ¡°Think it¡¯ll happen soon?¡± Toby shakes his head. ¡°I doubt it, but I can¡¯t im to know what goes on in management.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not here, is he?¡± Luke asks. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen Upper Management since thest panel.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± I reply, and I¡¯ve been keeping an eye out. Tristan has been in meetings not open to the likes of us most of the day, but I¡¯ve seen him striding down hallways and of course, working the microphone during the panel discussion. The difference couldn¡¯t be clearer-me, in the back, taking notes. Him, being interviewed on the future of consultancy. Think Outside the Boss 39 Luke drains thest of his wine, putting it down decisively on the table in front of us. He leans in close enough that I can smell his aftershave. ¡°We should head to that bar soon.¡± I make a nomittal sound. Damn Toby for grinning beside me, for knowing about our date and for finding it hrious. My eyes search for a possible out. But they lock on a pair across the crowded room, a pair that ze with intensity. The burn scalds. Tristan¡¯s here. His gaze travels from me to Luke, standing closer than he should. There¡¯s none of the professional civility of thest couple of days. Despite the distance, I can read his face perfectly. He¡¯s burning, he¡¯s angry, and he¡¯s not as indifferent as he pretends. My hand trembles as I put my winess down. Tristan turns, parting the mingling crowd like the Red Sea as he strides toward the elevators. I force my gaze away. ¡°I¡¯ll be right back,¡± I tell Luke and Toby. If they reply, I don¡¯t catch it, hurrying through the packed crowd. Like a moth drawn to a me, I know I shouldn¡¯t, but I can¡¯t resist. He¡¯s gone when I reach the elevators. Only one is still in motion, and as I watch, it stops at floor twenty-six. The top floor. Putting steel in my spine, I step into a free elevator and press the same button. The doors close behind me and I focus on breathing, in and out, in and out, my gaze on every floor that passes. Elevators have been harder than ever since the one in my building stalled. I¡¯ve avoided them whenever I can, but here and now, there¡¯s no way around it. I can do this. Nothing is going to happen. Don¡¯t think of the possible drop. The elevator gives a cheery sound when it reaches the top floor and I breathe a shaky sigh of relief, emerging in a narrow corridor. A sign points to the right with the words Rooftop Terrace emzoned in gold letters. Balconies and rooftops are my kryptonite. I hedge toward the ss door. It¡¯s dark outside, it¡¯s December, it¡¯s cold. Why had he gone up here? Wrapping an arm around my midsection, I pull open the ss door and immediately regret it. Goose bumps race over my bare arms at the chill in the air. One step out onto the terrace. Another step. I¡¯m far away from the ledge, but I can still see it, fenced and menacing in the distance. A dark figure is standing with his hands on the railing and head bowed against the chilly wind. I brave another step forward. ¡°Tristan?¡± He turns his head. ¡°Freddie?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Releasing the railing, he runs a hand through his hair. Wind whips at his suit jacket. ¡°Christ, you followed me up here?¡± ¡°Yes. Ta-da.¡± His mouth quirks, but it¡¯s brief. Then he¡¯s shrugging out of his jacket and wrapping it around me. It¡¯s warm from his body heat and I drown in it. ¡°Thank you,¡± I murmur, my fingers curling around the fabric. ¡°Why are you up here?¡± He shakes his head, looking away from me to the soft Bostonian skyline. It¡¯s less crowded than New York¡¯s. ¡°You¡¯ll catch a cold,¡± he says. ¡°You looked like something was on your mind.¡± His mouth twists in a not-smile. ¡°Someone was.¡± My stomach feels like it might give out. ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°You, in fact.¡± His jaw clenches, working tight. ¡°I saw you and the other trainee, and the jealousy hit me like a fucking freight train.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not¡­ Tristan-¡± ¡°I know,¡± he says. ¡°I have no right, Freddie. You told me you can¡¯t go there with me. Not to mention the two of you were just talking. I know the jealousy is irrational, but it lives inside of me nheless.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want him.¡± He closes his eyes. ¡°All those people down there, all of them wanting to talk to me. Not for me, but for what I represent. And the only person I wanted to talk to was you, but approaching you was unthinkable. I was jealous of that, too. They could talk andugh with you and I couldn¡¯t.¡± ¡°I¡¯m here now.¡± ¡°Why are you?¡± he asks. ¡°Why follow me up here?¡± ¡°We¡¯re friends.¡± ¡°Friends, yes. Friends. And yet I think about you all the time. How you felt in my arms, the taste of you, the sounds you made. I want you so fucking much, Freddie, and I can¡¯t have you, and it¡¯s driving me up the walls.¡± My breath hitches, every word of his a blow against my resolve. ¡°I didn¡¯t tell you I wanted to be friends because I don¡¯t want that either, Tristan. I go to bed hoping you¡¯ll call me and ask me to meet you at the deli. I walk the corridors at work hoping to bump into you. I think about you all the time.¡± His eyes are focused and sharp on mine. ¡°I used to be in control before you,¡± he uses. ¡°So was I. You¡¯ve ruined all of that for me.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Neither can I,¡± I breathe. He closes the distance between us and fits arge hand to my cheek. Tilts my head up, until he blocks out the city lights around us. ¡°Be with me tonight,¡± he says. ¡°Just the two of us in my hotel room. We can just be us. Frederica and Tristan, and not who we are at work.¡± The raw note of need in his voice sparks the same chord in me, beckoning me to join in the symphony. And oh, how I want to. ¡°Yes,¡± I murmur.All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. His hand slides down to grip mine. He leads the way, opening the ss door and bringing us both back into the warmth. Tristan pauses by the elevator. ¡°You didn¡¯t take the stairs?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, shaking my head. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to risk missing you.¡± Think Outside the Boss 40 He kisses me with startling intensity then, bruising my lips with the force. I savor the taste of him, the strength of his body against mine. Every nerve ending feels electrocuted by his touch. ¡°God, I want you,¡± he murmurs. My hands dig into his shirt. ¡°I want you too.¡± ¡°We¡¯re taking the stairs this time.¡± His hand slips down to mine and then we¡¯re walking, taking stairs devoid of people. We shouldn¡¯t walk like this in public, but the idea of pulling my hand out of his feels akin to losing a limb. We¡¯re not going far. He pushes open the door to the twenty-fourth floor and we walk down rows of identical hotel doors. Tristan unlocks the door at the end. ¡°My suite,¡± he says. A quick nce back at the corridor tells me what I already know. Nobody¡¯s watching. There¡¯s no one to see us, to see me, no one to spread rumors. I step inside, and he closes the door behind me. His hands smooth up my arms, strong and sure. ¡°You walked out onto a rooftop terrace.¡± I lean against him. ¡°I did.¡± ¡°You¡¯re worth a bit of fear.¡± Tristan¡¯s chuckle sends shivers over my skin. ¡°What apliment, Frederica.¡± His hands slip down, over the sleeves of his jacket, tracing my bare skin beneath. I tip my head back against his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you.¡± ¡°It hasn¡¯t been that long,¡± he murmurs, his hand sliding inside his suit jacket to rest on my stomach. His thumb brushes over the underside of my breast. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°It has.¡± Another hoarse chuckle, and then his lips brush over my exposed neck. ¡°You¡¯re right. And every night since I was at your apartment, I¡¯ve thought of how you felt against me.¡± My eyes slide closed. ¡°Tristan¡­¡± ¡°What are the rules?¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°The rules, sweetheart?¡± He smooths his suit jacket off my shoulders and it drops to the floor between us. Unable to bear it any longer, I turn to him. ¡°You told me about the rules at the Gilded Room. What about tonight?¡± Tristan tips my head back, running a thumb over my lower lip. ¡°No rules,¡± he murmurs. His kiss is powerful in its slowness. Deliberate and methodical. The need from the stairwell is still there, but it¡¯s leashed now. Held in careful check but brimming beneath the surface. Tristan walks us backwards until my knees hit the edge of the hotel bed. He lifts his head, hands gripping my waist. ¡°Freddie¡­¡± ¡°I know,¡± I tell him, pulling his head back down. Because I do. The need is crawling beneath my skin, an itch that¡¯s bone deep. ¡°Come here¡­¡± He groans against my lips. I¡¯m lifted up and then I¡¯m horizontal, all in one smooth motion, and Tristan never stops kissing me. His hand slides beneath the hem of my dress and finds the back of my knee. Notches it around his hip. Stretched out like this, even fully clothed, our bodies align like they¡¯re meant for one another. Like it¡¯s all they¡¯ve ever been meant for. His hips roll once. Twice. Even through the fabric, the feel of him against me is enough to send an ache through my body. ¡°Off,¡± I tell him, my hands moving across the expanse of his chest. I need to touch his skin. Tristan sits back on his knees and tears the shirt off in one smooth motion, not bothering with the buttons. His chest rises and falls with the force of his breathing. A smattering of hair dances across his chest. ¡°Freddie,¡± he says hoarsely, hands digging into my thighs. ¡°I need you too much to go slow.¡± I reach for the zipper on the side of my dress. ¡°You think I¡¯d let you go slow?¡± A savage grin crosses his face and then he¡¯s there, tugging the sheath off me. The fabric snags at my breasts. I wiggle to help it slide down and he growls, eyes tracking the movement. His hands linger at my ankles, over the straps that keep my heels in ce. ¡°These stay on.¡± I nod, stretched out on the bed in front of him. ¡°Anything.¡± The way he watches me is my undoing. There¡¯s nothing he could ask of me now that I¡¯d say no to, nothing I wouldn¡¯t seek to satisfy. His want fuels mine, and mine enmes his, a cycle I can¡¯t wait to lose myself in. Tristan trails kisses down my neck, my corbone, the sharpness of his stubble grazing the swells of my breasts. He buries his face between them with a growl, hands reaching for the bra sp. I arch my back and sigh with relief when ites undone. Tristan lifts himself up on one arm, eyes on my chest as he peels the bra off me. Freed, my breasts rise and fall with my breath, my nipples hard. ¡°I¡¯ve missed these, Freddie.¡± My breathlessughter is cut off as he dips his head, sucking one of my nipples into his mouth. Every aching pull spreads liquid fire through me. He shifts between my legs, the hard length of him pressing against me once more. ¡°Tristan¡­¡± I beg, burying my hand in his thick hair. He switches, taking my other nipple in his mouth. But he hears me, because his hand dives beneath the waistband of my panties. My breath turns shaky as he cups me, fingers parting, stroking. I roll my hips against his hand in the search for more friction. He doesn¡¯t give it to me. No, he pulls my panties clean off instead, tossing them to the side. Once again, I¡¯m spread out naked in front of him in a hotel room while he¡¯s half-dressed. But this time, he¡¯s not wasting any time ying. Tristan undoes his zipper and the swollen length of him springs free. ¡°I¡¯m so hard for you, you have no idea.¡± He opens his wallet, fishing out a foil wrapper. ¡°Do you know how many nights I¡¯ve gotten off just thinking about our night together at the Gilded Room?¡± I shake my head, the image his words elicit making my throat dry. ¡°Tell me.¡± He rolls the condom on with a low groan. A line of hair runs up to his navel, muscles tensed beneath still-tan skin. ¡°So many. I¡¯ve been hard and cursing myself for leaving as early as I did that night,¡± he says. ¡°For not taking the time to fuck you more than once. Thinking that if I had, I wouldn¡¯t crave you like I do.¡± I sit up, reaching for his arms, the rock-hard muscles shifting underneath my hands. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t have been enough,¡± I say. ¡°Once, twice. I would have wanted you again.¡± He takes my mouth in agreement. It¡¯s a kiss to devour. A kiss to seal. A kiss to im. He grips my thighs and pushes them apart, settling between my legs. Thank God for high hotel beds and tall men, because the angle is perfect. He grips my hips and uses them as leverage, burying himself inside me with one strong thrust. I gasp at the sudden sensation, but it¡¯s drowned by Tristan¡¯s hoarse groan. His eyes drift closed in pained bliss as he pauses, buried to the hilt. ¡°Tristan,¡± I murmur. He grins and looks at me, because he knows exactly what he¡¯s doing by denying us both movement. But two can y this game. Think Outside the Boss 41 I arch my back, reveling in the way his eyes track the movement. The way they widen when I cup my breasts. He groans at the sight and flexes his hips, thrusting hard inside me. ¡°Gorgeous,¡± he mutters, his fingers digging into my hips as he strokes in and out. I arch my back further. ¡°Do you know how good you feel inside me?¡± He thrusts so deeply the air is knocked out of my chest. I reach out blindly and grip theforter, holding on as he responds by pushing us both closer to the brink. I¡¯ve never been driven out of my mind by a man like this. There¡¯s no room in my head for doubts or thoughts, just this connection and the growing pleasure. He hooks my knees under his arms and bends forward, until I¡¯m folded in half and his face is inches from mine. ¡°Oh my God,¡± I breathe. ¡°That¡¯s deep.¡± ¡°Too deep?¡± I shake my head and he resumes his thrusts, hips moving like a piston against me. The muscles in his arms strain, bulging on either side of my neck. Itch on to his neck and kiss the heated skin. Tell him exactly what I¡¯m thinking in the moment.C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. ¡°I can feel you so deep inside me.¡± He growls into my ear. ¡°You can¡¯t fucking talk dirty to me, Freddie, or I won¡¯tst.¡± I wrap my arms around his back. My body is near the breaking point with pleasure and intensity, so close to my own release, but I can¡¯t help myself. I still want to be the best sex he¡¯s ever had. So I tighten my muscles around him and press my lips to his ear. ¡°I want to feel youe inside of me.¡± He gives a hoarse groan, his muscles tensing up. I hold him through the force of his release, as he pushes harder against me, bruising my inner thighs. It¡¯s the most glorious thing I¡¯ve ever experienced. Tristan, undone like this, undone in the same way I¡¯ve been unravelling for weeks. Aplete loss of control. I dig my fingers into the wide expanse of his back as if I can keep him by force, fuse the two of us together. He¡¯s crushing me, but I think I¡¯ll die if he moves. ¡°Holy shit,¡± he whispers. Our heartbeats thunder against one another, chest to chest, his hair-roughened skin against my nipples. I take a deep, nourishing breath. Tristan must feel it against him, because he lifts himself up. ¡°You okay?¡± I nod. He raises a questioning eyebrow, thick hair falling over his brow. The gesture tugs at my heart. ¡°You didn¡¯t hurt me,¡± I insist, flexing my legs around his hips. There¡¯ll be soreness tomorrow, sure, but none of it ufortable. Tristan grips the base of the condom as he pulls out. I wince at theck of him. It¡¯s just as jarring as his intrusion had been. He returns to me within moments and stretches out beside me on the bed. I turn on my side, but he stops me with a hand on my hip. ¡°Not yet, you don¡¯t,¡± he murmurs, bending his head to my nipple. It¡¯s still taut. ¡°But-¡± ¡°I¡¯d never leave you hanging.¡± His hand skates down my stomach, and oh God, he¡¯s circling that spot again. I close my eyes against the sensations building inside me. I¡¯d been right at the edge before, and now¡­ Tristan tugs me effortlessly to the side and curls his hands around my thighs, spreading them. Bending his head. I break apart at the touch of his lips and tongue, fracturing and reassembling as pleasure ripples through me. He doesn¡¯t stop touching me, either. It just shifts from rapid to soothing. I struggle to catch my breath, staring up at the eggshell-white ceiling. My hand knots in his thick hair. ¡°I hope nobody was in the hotel room next to ours.¡± He chuckles against my thigh, his eyes telling me exactly how he feels about himself right now, and it¡¯s pretty damn good. ¡°I don¡¯t care if they were.¡± I give him a crooked smile. ¡°Howe you¡¯re always the one who goes down on me? I want a shot too, you know.¡± ¡°There¡¯ll be time for that.¡± He pushes off the bed and walks to the minibar. I flip onto my stomach and watch him pour us both a ss of sparkling water. Admire the long, strong lines of his legs. The muscled expanse of his back, widening into broad shoulders. Every inch of him speaks of confidence and masculinity, a body inhabited by someone who revels in life. Tristan hands me a ss of water and watches as I drink, his eyes never leaving mine. Nerves flutter in my stomach as we bothe back down after our orgasmic high. What does this mean? Tristan reaches down and runs his thumb over my bottom lip. ¡°I have to say, I didn¡¯t expect this, Straitced.¡± I catch his thumb between my lips and bite down softly. He grins. ¡°I won¡¯t stop calling you that, you know, no matter how much you bite.¡± My teeth dig into his thumb and he pulls it out with a chuckle. ¡°Heathen.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t expect it either,¡± I say. ¡°To be honest, I didn¡¯t think much further ahead than making it to the roof.¡± ¡°About that,¡± he says, setting down his ss on the small table in-between two leather chairs. This suite has to be three times the size of mine. ¡°Where did that phobiae from?¡± I rest my head in my hands. ¡°You¡¯llugh.¡± ¡°I very much doubt that.¡± ¡°Promise me you won¡¯t?¡± ¡°I promise,¡± Tristan says, stretching out beside me on the bed. I take a deep breath. ¡°I liked to climb trees when I was little. Large ones, small ones, didn¡¯t matter. I climbed them all.¡± ¡°Non-discriminatory,¡± Tristan notes with a nod. ¡°Admirable.¡± I knock him with my shoulder and heughs, draping his arm over my bare back. Fingers trace down my spine. ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Well, I fell out of one.¡± ¡°Did you break anything?¡± Think Outside the Boss 42 ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± he murmurs. ¡°But Freddie, why would Iugh at that?¡± ¡°Because I fell five feet.¡± His eyebrows rise and I shake my head at him. ¡°I know, it¡¯s nothing. I climbed higher trees than that all the time. But after that, I stopped, and somehow the fear just grew and grew in my head.¡± Tristan presses a kiss to my forehead. ¡°We all have scars. I won¡¯t judge where yours came from.¡± ¡°And what would-¡± The shrill sound of my cell phone cuts off my response. It¡¯s jarring and sharp in this little bubble we¡¯ve created. I fly off the bed and fumble through my handbag for the offensive thing, all while Tristan is watching me. It¡¯s Toby. ¡°Hey?¡± ¡°Freddie!¡± he calls. ¡°Where are you? You said you¡¯d join us at the bar!¡± Someone cuts in, and then I recognize Quentin¡¯s voice. ¡°Pleasee save me from having to talk to any more strangers. I¡¯m all strangered out.¡± ¡°Did you hear that?¡± Toby asks. ¡°Quentin said please! Where are you?¡± ¡°In my hotel room.¡± ¡°What? Are you feeling okay?¡± ¡°Yes, yes, I¡¯m not-¡± ¡°Good! Either you¡¯re joining us or we¡¯reing to get you!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be right there,¡± I hear myself saying, reaching for my discarded dress on the floor. ¡°Buy me a drink.¡± Toby hoots. ¡°The bar next to the hotel. We¡¯ll save you a seat!¡± ¡°See you soon.¡± I click off and scramble in search of my underwear. Toby and Quentin¡¯s voices in my ear were like a p of reality, a cold bucket of water. The entire conference center, not to mention the hotel, is crawling with people we know. People who are all too eager to put two and two together and arrive at twenty-eight. ¡°Heading out?¡± Tristan asks. He¡¯s lying on the bed, an arm behind his head and a knee bent, like nothing bothers him. But his face is unreadable again. Have I jeopardized everything? Not just my job, but the two of us, too. The budding friendship, the way he looked at me in my apartment just a few days ago. That look is gone at the moment. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°We can¡¯t have people knowing about this.¡± ¡°They¡¯re not in this hotel room with us.¡± ¡°No, but they are in the hotel.¡± I shimmy into my dress, and he watches me struggle with the zipper in silence. Why on earth had I decided to do this at a work conference?All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. Had people seen me following him up to the roof? He watches me search for my panties. He¡¯d tossed them to the side, but the carpet is infuriatingly panty-free. ¡°Over there,¡± he mutters, pointing to the chairs in the corner. My bright-redce panties hang off the edge of one. A blush creeps up my cheeks as I shimmy them up my legs and beneath my dress. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I have to run so fast,¡± I tell him. ¡°I just, I don¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°You don¡¯t want them to suspect anything,¡± he finishes. ¡°I get it. We¡¯ll talkter.¡± I give him my widest smile, but even I can hear the faint panic that vors my voice. ¡°Thank you.¡± He nods. ¡°Go.¡± So I do, the door shutting behind me with a solid thud. The corridor is still empty, and nobody sees me race for the elevators in an attempt to get off a floor I have no business being on. ¡°We could get Grandma another set of knitting needles. She likes that,¡± Joshuaments. He kicks at a stray lump of snow on the sidewalk, one of the final remnants fromst weekend¡¯s weather. ¡°That¡¯s not a bad idea,¡± I say. ¡°Perhaps a pattern book. String, too, maybe. Or is it yarn?¡± ¡°You¡¯re just making stuff up, Dad. You have no idea how to knit.¡± I grip his shoulder, giving him a yful shake. ¡°Who made you an expert, huh?¡± Heughs and pushes away from me, grinning under the thick head of curls. ¡°I know a ton of things. Like I know I¡¯ll get another sweater from her!¡± ¡°Oh, you sure will. Makes sense, too, since we¡¯re going somewhere cold for Christmas.¡± It takes a moment, but then his face lights up as he gets the joke. We¡¯ve been working on sarcasm and irony. ¡°Do you have any clever ideas for what Linda might want?¡± I ask him. ¡°You were there justst night.¡± His godmother had been my sister¡¯s best friend, and after Jenny died, she¡¯s stepped in as often as she can. Despite having two kids of her own, she¡¯d helped me navigate the first few years of parenthood in a way that made her more god than godmother in my eyes. Joshua takes a moment to think. ¡°Sheined about the dishwasher.¡± ¡°You want us to give Linda a new dishwasher? She¡¯d love that.¡± As often as I can, I¡¯ve tried to let Linda and her husband know I¡¯m here to help just as much as they are with me. I reach out and tug Joshua¡¯s jacket back in ce. It¡¯s cold out. He lets me, despite hating how snugly it fits around his neck. ¡°You¡¯ll be in charge of what we buy her kids,¡± I tell him. ¡°I¡¯m delegating that to you.¡± His smile is back. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Absolutely.¡± Well, within reason. But he knows better than me what they¡¯d like, not to mention this Christmas shopping expedition should be fun. Another notch in my grand scheme of creating more holiday memories. Jenny and I used to bake gingerbread cookies with Mom the night before Christmas. We¡¯d race down the steps the next morning to the Christmas tree, one side of it decorated with our ornaments and the other side with Mom¡¯s collectibles. A pang of familiar guilt hits me. Joshua looks just as he always does, walking next to me with a bounce in his step. But he¡¯s never known what it¡¯s like to have a sibling or two parents. All he¡¯ll remember of his childhood is me, and I¡¯m not Jenny and Michael. ¡°Look!¡± Joshua says. ¡°It¡¯s the elephantdy!¡± I¡¯m so focused on him that I don¡¯t notice who¡¯s walking towards us until he points her out. Freddie¡¯s coat is bundled tight around her body, a hat pulled low over her dark hair. Her feet are in giant boots, unlike anything I¡¯ve seen her wear in the office. Gone are the sleek skirts and heels. It¡¯s a Saturday, and we live in the same neighborhood. Her gaze drifts from mine to Joshua¡¯s, and then a smile spreads on her face. ¡°Hi there!¡± Think Outside the Boss 43 ¡°Hi,¡± he says back. ¡°We¡¯re out doing our Christmas shopping.¡± Freddie makes a show of looking between the two of us. ¡°But where are the bags?¡± ¡°We just left home,¡± I reply. Freddie¡¯s eyes dance, not quite meeting mine. Redness starts to tinge her olive-toned cheeks. ¡°How¡¯re you doing?¡± ¡°Good. Great, I mean. I¡¯ve spent the morning doingundry.¡± Her gaze flicks from me to Joshua. ¡°I was at the same conference as your dad this week.¡± ¡°In Boston?¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°He spoke in front of several hundred people.¡± Joshua turns to look up at me. ¡°Really, Dad?¡± ¡°Yeah, I suppose.¡± ¡°That¡¯s pretty cool,¡± he says, with the air of someone who can make such judgements. ¡°Did you do it too?¡± Freddie shakes her head. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think I¡¯d dare.¡± ¡°You would,¡± I interject. ¡°I have no doubt you would.¡± Her eyes return to mine, and there¡¯s a question in them I can¡¯t decipher. Not when she¡¯d been the one to rush out of my hotel room in Boston as if we¡¯dmitted a sin. We haven¡¯t spoken in the days since. ¡°We¡¯re going to Tahiti for Christmas break,¡± Joshua tells her. ¡°Dad¡¯s taking me to swim with whales.¡± ¡°Really? That¡¯s so exciting!¡± ¡°Yes, we¡¯ve done a lot of research,¡± I say. Joshua nods. ¡°There should be humpback whales there this time of year, migrating from Antarctica. They stop in French¡­¡± ¡°Polynesia,¡± I fill in. ¡°Right, they stop there to have their calves. And there are whale sharks. And dolphins.¡± Freddie¡¯s eyes widens. ¡°And you¡¯ll swim with them? That sounds a bit scary.¡± ¡°No, it just seems really, really cool,¡± Joshua says. I can¡¯t help but smile at the bluster. We¡¯ve had long discussions about this very topic, because even if he won¡¯t admit it, he thinks it sounds a bit scary too. I¡¯ve told him it¡¯s fine to stay on the boat, but he¡¯smitted to getting into the water. ¡°It sounds out-of-this-world cool,¡± Freddie confirms. ¡°How awesome of your dad to take you there.¡± ¡°Yeah, and my grandma ising too,¡± Joshua adds. I clear my throat. ¡°Where are you going for the holidays, Freddie?¡± ¡°Probably back home to Phdelphia. My extended family celebrates together every year, with all of my aunts and uncles and cousins.¡± She shrugs, a wry smile on her face, as if she¡¯s described something dull and ordinary. ¡°It¡¯s not swimming with whales in French Polynesia, but it¡¯ll do.¡± ¡°It sounds lovely,¡± I say. I mean it, too. Her gaze warms, her hands falling still where they¡¯d fiddled with the sleeve of her coat. Looking at her, I realize just how much of a fool I¡¯ve been for being hurt she rushed out of my hotel room in Boston like that. Perhaps she¡¯s regretting what she did. Thinking about her job, the possible consequences if someone finds out¡­ If she¡¯s having doubts, I¡¯m not helping. Joshua¡¯s voice cuts through the silence. ¡°Do you have a lot of aunts and uncles?¡± Freddie refocuses on my son. The winter sunlight glints off her raven hair. ¡°I have a few, yes. Let¡¯s see¡­ three uncles and two aunts. Do you have any?¡± Oh, no. ¡°Yes,¡± Joshua replies. ¡°Dad is actually my uncle and my dad. I think that¡¯s pretty cool.¡± I close my eyes. He doesn¡¯t understand how that sounds to people, and I¡¯ve never wanted to enlighten him about it. But that leaves us with encounters like this. God help me if he goes around saying that without context at school. Freddie¡¯s silence is shocked. I clear my throat. ¡°Joshua is biologically the son of my sister and her husband. After they passed, I adopted him.¡± ¡°I was tiny back then,¡± Joshua adds, helpfully holding up his index finger and thumb to indicate just how small he was. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry about that,¡± Freddie says, and then doesn¡¯t seem to think of anything else to say. I don¡¯t me her. Most people have the same response whenever Joshua wants to let them know. I always let him decide if and when, both with friends and adults. I put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Thank you. We do all right, don¡¯t we, kid?¡± ¡°We do,¡± he confirms. ¡°We also didn¡¯t mean to keep you here. Are you heading somewhere¡­?¡± Freddie¡¯s smile turns rueful. ¡°Just the grocery store. Good luck with your Christmas shopping.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll probably need it,¡± I say. ¡°Here¡¯s hoping the stores won¡¯t be full yet.¡± Freddie smiles and takes a step to the side. ¡°I¡¯ll let you go, then. Enjoy your day.¡± ¡°You too.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll see you at work,¡± she tells me. It¡¯s thest ce we¡¯ll see each other, with the floors and red tape separating us. As much as I¡¯ve wanted to over thest couple of weeks, walking into the Strategy Department and talking to one of their trainees is verboten for me. All the power of the CEO, and yet I can¡¯t choose which of my employees I want to talk to. ¡°We¡¯ll talkter,¡± I say. ¡°Bye!¡± Joshua calls. She heads past us down the street. Joshua peers over his shoulder before tugging on the sleeve of my jacket. ¡°She¡¯s really nice.¡± ¡°I think so, too.¡± ¡°She¡¯s your friend, right?¡± Think Outside the Boss 44 I nod. ¡°Yeah.¡± He gives me a solemn two-eyed wink, not yet having mastered the art of using only one. ¡°I get it, Dad. You want to be her best friend first, before you tell her you like her.¡± My mouth opens, my brain drawing a nk. He¡¯s using my own words against me. Clever kid. ¡°But you have to talk a bit more,¡± he advises me, dropping my sleeve. ¡°You were too quiet!¡± With the startling revtion that my kid just gave me advice about women, I follow him down the street, wondering if the world haspletely turned on its head. Joshua and I return to the apartmentte that afternoon, carrying bags of stuff. Scented candles, gift cards, toys for Linda¡¯s kids, a book on knitting for my mother. Joshua heads to his room as soon as we get home and leaves me with my thoughts. And like all roads lead to Rome, my thoughts take me to Freddie. The idea of her regretting the night in Boston is a sharp pain sliding between my ribs, lodging somewhere between soft tissue and my pride. It hurt that she¡¯d rushed out like she did. But it hurt more to think she wished it had never happened at all. Joshua is sound asleep when I call her that evening. She answers after the third eternity-long signal. ¡°Tristan?¡± ¡°Hey.¡± ¡°Hi.¡± ¡°Are you busy?¡± She clears her throat. ¡°No, I¡¯m not.¡± ¡°Laundry¡¯s all done? Grocery shopping?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she says, sighing. ¡°Of all the people in New York, I run into you two. What are the odds?¡± ¡°We¡¯re pretty great people to run into.¡± ¡°You are,¡± she confirms. I close my eyes as I ask the question, as if it makes it easier to imagine her face before me. Easier to picture what her eyes will look like as she replies. ¡°Do you want to meet up tonight? I¡¯d like to talk to you.¡± The pause is excruciating. ¡°Okay,¡± Freddie says. Blessed relief sweeps through me. ¡°The deli?¡± Another pause, this one more delicate. ¡°Yeah. Or you coulde to my ce, if you¡¯d like?¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°Absolutely. I can be there in fifteen minutes.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll buzz you in.¡± My nerves are on fire as I pull on my coat, as I let Marianne know I¡¯ll be out. The brisk winter air doesn¡¯t cool me down either. Freddie¡¯s pull is undeniable. My feet take me to her apartment door without conscious thought, my mind spinning possibilities in kaleidoscopic patterns. She opens the door in a pair of ck sweatpants and a sweater, her dark hair unbound around her face. ¡°Hi,¡± she murmurs. ¡°Hey,¡± I say, a hand on the door. ¡°Can Ie in?¡± She lets me in. The simple sound of the lock sliding in ce behind me sends hot, erotic anticipation through me. Can¡¯t be helped. I reach for her, powerless in the face of her nearness. Her hands are warm in mine. ¡°I know the other night wasn¡¯t what you¡¯d nned. What either of us had nned,¡± I say. Her mouth opens on a soft exhale, but I barrel on. ¡°Did your co-workers suspect anything when you met them?¡± ¡°No. Not at all, actually.¡± ¡°Good,¡± I say, and I mean it. ¡°I understand why you¡¯d want to keep it from them.¡± She frowns. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to rush out like that. The idea of them being in the same hotel, of potentially having to answer questions¡­ of HR finding out¡­¡± ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°It was panic. I don¡¯t like to panic.¡± Her eyes turn to our intertwined hands. A soft thumb smooths over the back of my hand, the smallest, tiniest of caresses. ¡°As long as you don¡¯t regret it,¡± I say. My body feels like it might break if she says she does. But Freddie shakes her head. ¡°I don¡¯t regret it.¡± My eyes close at the relief of those four words. ¡°How could I?¡± she continues. ¡°When it was everything I¡¯ve wanted for weeks? You¡¯re not the only one who¡¯s been burning since the Gilded Room.¡± She reaches up and runs the cool touch of her fingertips along my jaw. Soft. Sure. I bend my head and kiss her, and her arms twine around my neck, leaning into me with the same trust she¡¯s shown from the start. The same trust that undoes me. As much as I loved her body in the tight dress and heels, the feel of her in loungewear is almost better. It¡¯s easy to slide a hand under the hem of her sweater, smoothing across the skin on her lower back. She tugs off my coat, and I toss it over the single chair in her studio. ¡°I¡¯m happy you¡¯re here,¡± she says, running her hands over my chest. ¡°I wasn¡¯t too forward in inviting myself over?¡± Her grin widens. ¡°No.¡± Kissing her is like losing myself. All the titles, the roles, the worries, they melt away. She pulls me forward until we¡¯re back on her bed, devoting ourselves to kissing. Freddie bends a knee to fit me more snugly against her, but my hand never rises further beneath her sweater than the curve of her hip. When I finally lift my head, her lips are rosy and swollen. ¡°I didn¡¯te here just for this, you know,¡± I murmur. ¡°I know,¡± she says, her hands sliding under the cor of my shirt. ¡°But you¡¯re notining, are you?¡± ¡°Never.¡± Her smile beneath me is intoxicating, beckoning me back down. We lose another few minutes to kisses, but any time lost in that way is never wasted. She¡¯s the one who tugs the sweater over her head. Think Outside the Boss 45 I watch as it inches over olive-toned skin, and Christ, she¡¯s not wearing a bra. The magnificence on disy derails all my thoughts of being a gentleman. They derail all thoughts, period. Sheughs as I bend my head and suck one of her nipples into my mouth, worrying it hard between my teeth. We slip effortlessly into an intimacy deeper than any we shared the first night at the Gilded Room, a repeat of Boston without the urgency or the hesitancy. Freddie explodes before I do, clinging to my shoulders and moaning against my ear. I give in, burying myself deep and shaking from the pleasure-pain of my release. I rest against her until the thundering of my heart has quieted, until I can see straight again. It¡¯s somewhat reluctantly I lift myself off and shift beside her, wrapping my arm around her waist. ¡°I know we shouldn¡¯t,¡± I say, ¡°but I can¡¯t imagine ever tiring of this.¡± Freddie¡¯s smile is heavy with pleasure. ¡°Me neither.¡± I nce around the tiny apartment. Last time I¡¯d been in here, I hadn¡¯t given it much thought, focused as I¡¯d been on her. She¡¯d been trembling from the stalled elevator. Now she¡¯s rxed andnguid beside me, and the trembling this time hadn¡¯t been from fear. ¡°So this is your kingdom,¡± I note. She chuckles. ¡°Yes, if a kingdom can be considered less than two hundred square feet. Sorry about the chill in here, by the way. The heating system isn¡¯t great.¡± ¡°Hadn¡¯t noticed.¡± I lean over and press a kiss to her shoulder. ¡°You kept me warm.¡± Her smile widens. ¡°What a line, Mr. Conway.¡± ¡°Does it give me bonus points?¡± ¡°Half of one, perhaps.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll have to show me the heaterter. We forgot thatst time.¡± I nod to her dresser, the framed photographs standing there. ¡°Who are they?¡± She settles into the crook of my arm. ¡°My parents and my grandfather.¡± ¡°From Phdelphia.¡± ¡°Yes. Well, my grandfather was technically from Palermo.¡± ¡°Italy?¡± ¡°Yes. He came here after the war. Had nothing, really, but his studies as a technician and a few English phrases. Learned to speak thenguage within months.¡± ¡°That¡¯s impressive,¡± I say, and I mean it. Her voice warms. ¡°He started working in a small clothing store, and within a few years, he became the manager. Opened his own store a few yearster.¡± I curve my hand over her hip. ¡°And his granddaughter got an MBA?¡± ¡°Yes. He passed a few years ago, but we used to talk a lot about business. He liked to give me the name of apany, and a weekter, he¡¯d ask me why I thought they were sessful. I¡¯d have to give him my analysis. He¡¯d listen, nodding every now and then, eyes thoughtful behind his sses. And then he¡¯d tell me what I¡¯d missed and correct any Italian grammar I¡¯d messed up.¡± The warmth in the picture she paints is enough to make me smile. ¡°He sounds brilliant,¡± I say. ¡°You speak Italian?¡± ¡°Yes, but anyone can tell I¡¯m American from my ent.¡± ¡°That¡¯s still more Italian than I speak.¡± My fingers trail across her bare ribs, her skin like silk. ¡°How do you be more interesting every time I talk to you?¡± She raises an eyebrow, the smile on her face glorious. ¡°I¡¯m multi-faceted like that.¡± ¡°You most definitely are, Straitced. So, tell me. What¡¯s your own great business idea?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not telling you, you venture capitalist. You¡¯ll just steal it.¡± I press a hand to my chest. ¡°You wound me.¡± Laughing, Freddie turns over on her stomach and rests her chin in her hand. Dark, silken hair slips over her shoulder and tickles my bare chest. ¡°That was my snarky way of saying I don¡¯t have one, at least not yet. Perhaps my thing is helping already existingpanies rather than starting my own.¡± ¡°Now that sounds like a venture capitalist in the making,¡± I point out. She grins. ¡°I want to work at a Fortune 500pany someday. I¡¯d love to live in Italy for a few years and work at apany there. Perhaps somewhere in Asia, too. Singapore?¡± ¡°It¡¯s lovely there,¡± Iment. ¡°Of course you¡¯ve been.¡± I make my voice lofty. ¡°Many, many times.¡± Her grin widens. I reach up and trace the smattering of faint freckles across her nose. Long, bare eyshes flutter over her cheeks. ¡°I won¡¯t be able to stay away,¡± I tell her. ¡°Not when I know you want me too.¡± Freddie¡¯s eyes soften. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to stay away.¡±C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. My thumb slides down to her lips, tracing the outline. ¡°Outside the office, then.¡± ¡°When it¡¯s just you and me,¡± I murmur. ¡°Just us,¡± she agrees, her lips brushing mine with promise. My cards are terrible. Two sevens and a five, not to mention a two, and there¡¯s not a unified suit amongst them. The only possible strategy is to bluff, but looking around the table, I doubt any of my business partners at Acture Capital will buy it. We¡¯ve yed too many times. Carter reaches for his ss of whiskey, smiling a bit too widely to himself. I narrow my eyes at him. ¡°You¡¯re the worst at bluffing.¡± ¡°Or the best,¡± he counters. ¡°He¡¯s certainly the least consistent,¡± Victor says dryly. ¡°You change your tactics every few months.¡± ¡°I have to keep you sharp,¡± Carter says, raising his ss to us. ¡°You¡¯re wee.¡± Anthony says nothing, just shakes his head at our youngest partner. Carter burns with the same kind of energy I had at twenty-eight. Victor looks at me over his cards. ¡°How are things in the consulting world? Tired of being for sale?¡± Think Outside the Boss 46 ¡°Not yet. The beast is just starting to turn around.¡± ¡°Just? Exciteur has been profitable for months.¡± ¡°It was profitable when we bought it,¡± I point out. ¡°The aim is to make it more so.¡± The decision to acquire the majority share in Exciteur had been joint, but Acture always offers human capital as well as financial. I¡¯d insisted on being the one to take on the CEO position. Carter tosses his cards onto the table. ¡°I fold.¡± I grin. ¡°So you were bluffing after all?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll never tell.¡± Victor looks down at his cards and there¡¯s not a smile in sight. The bastard might be ice cold, but he knows his business. ¡°Have you found a mediapany you think is right for us yet?¡± Carter leans back in one of my leather chairs. ¡°No, but I¡¯m monitoring a few. I¡¯ll email the short list to all of you when I have it.¡± ¡°Good,¡± I say. ¡°Because you know that if you¡¯re not running point on something, we¡¯re going to foist apany on you.¡± ¡°Like that matchmaking business,¡± Anthony says, the threat hanging in the air. Carter groans. ¡°Please don¡¯t. I¡¯ll find a mediapany for us to buy tomorrow.¡± ¡°We joke about it,¡± Victor points out, ¡°but Opate Match could go off the market any day now. If we¡¯re going to make an offer, we need to do it soon.¡± I reach for my own ss of whiskey. ¡°It has global potential. Very small overhead. Minimal effort. Victor¡¯s right, Carter, we should buy it soon.¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. ¡°I can draw up the papers for you tomorrow,¡± Anthony adds. Carter¡¯s eyes narrow with betrayal. ¡°Don¡¯t think I don¡¯t get what you¡¯re doing. I¡¯m not opposed to running point on this one, but I¡¯ll be damned if I let you all win on walkover.¡± ¡°You folded,¡± I point out. ¡°That was before I knew this was on the cards.¡± He gestures to the wads of cash in the center of the fold-up table. I stash it in the closet when Joshua is home, but he¡¯d begged to spend the night at Linda¡¯s, talking about her son¡¯s new video game. ¡°If we¡¯re ying poker for who has to run point on Opate Match,¡± Carter continues, ¡°I demand a rematch. One where the stakes are clear.¡± I run a hand over my jaw, the stubble rough against my hand. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong.¡± Victor shoots me a withering look. ¡°Your sense of fairness is appalling sometimes.¡± ¡°Just because youck one,¡± I retort. Victor St. ir is all caustic humor and underhand business deals, and has been since the moment I met him on the other side of a negotiating table years ago. Half the time, I¡¯m not sure why we tolerate him at all. The other half, he reminds me by bringing in an obscene amount of money through hostile takeovers. ¡°One final game,¡± Anthony decides. ¡°The weakest hand has to run point on Opate. Fuck, that¡¯s a stupid name.¡± I drum my fingers against the velvet-d table. ¡°We make them an offer of purchase on Monday. No procrastination this time, either.¡± ¡°No procrastination,¡± Carter echoes, shuffling the cards. ¡°I won¡¯t fold this time, boys.¡± Anthony snorts, crossing his arms beside me. If Victor is ice cold bordering on rude, Anthony is skepticism personified. Joshua once referred to him as ¡°my sad friend¡± in a bout of childlike insight. He¡¯d also been my friend through all of it. Jenny and Michael¡¯s airne crash and Joshua¡¯s adoption. I lean against him. ¡°I¡¯ll bet you ten thousand that Carter will fold in the first five minutes.¡± ¡°I heard that,¡± Carter grinds out, handing out the cards. I tilt mine close to my chest, watching as the others do the same. The table falls into tense silence. As opposed to when we y for money, this has real stakes. I don¡¯t have time to take on the running of a secondarypany, even if it is a small, easy flip. Judging by the cards I¡¯ve been given, I probably won¡¯t have to, either. Two queens and a four. ¡°Dealing the river,¡± Carter says, flipping up card after card in the center of the table. It seems like we¡¯re all holding our breaths. ¡°You know,¡± I say, ¡°I think there¡¯s an inherent value in having the one of us who¡¯s best at romance running point on this. It is a matchmakingpany, after all.¡± Victor and Anthony catch on instantly. ¡°Imperative,¡± the former agrees. ¡°For business¡¯s sake.¡± Anthony nods. ¡°I¡¯d be just as likely to wreck the business as I¡¯d be to make it profitable. Matchmaking for the rich? You know I think it¡¯s bullshit.¡± Carter keeps his eyes on his cards. ¡°I hate all of you.¡± Laughing, I reach for a card in the river and exchange my four. Two queens and a king, now. I could lose, but the others would have to have a hell of a hand for that. ¡°Thanks for having us here tonight,¡± Anthony tells me as he reaches for his own card. ¡°Yes,¡± Victor drawls. ¡°The kid¡¯s out tonight?¡± ¡°Out of the apartment, yes, but hopefully not out on the town. He¡¯s nine.¡± ¡°Right, right.¡± ¡°He¡¯s at his godmother¡¯s. Begged me to go, really. Something about her kids having a game that he really wants to y.¡± ¡°He¡¯s getting big,¡± Anthony says. ¡°Yes. Only a few more years and I¡¯ll have a teenager to deal with.¡± ¡°My condolences,¡± Carter says. ¡°I remember how I was, and I don¡¯t envy you.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s hope he¡¯s a better kid than you were.¡± Carter grins at me. ¡°Let¡¯s hope.¡± It¡¯s over an hourter when the gamees to an end. Carter has folded, as was expected, and he¡¯s already enjoyed a solid fifteen minutes of jokes on the topic. Anthony is thest to show his cards. He spreads them out on the velvet table and leans back in his chair. ¡°Sorry, Carter.¡± Think Outside the Boss 47 But the cards he¡¯s disying aren¡¯t good. ¡°Wait a minute, though.¡± Victor leans over and inspects the mismatch of cards. It¡¯s almost a flush, but it consists of both spades and clubs. ¡°That¡¯s not a flush. The suits are mixed up.¡± Anthony lifts up his cards, eyes narrowing. ¡°Well, fuck. I could have sworn those two were the same.¡± ¡°Shit,¡± Carter says. ¡°Seems like you¡¯re our love expert after all.¡± ¡°Anthony ¡®the Matchmaker¡¯ Winter,¡± Victor adds. ¡°It has a nice ring to it.¡± Anthony runs a hand over his face, pushing back from the chair. ¡°I need another drink. And Tristan, I¡¯m ming this entire thing on you.¡± ¡°On me?¡± ¡°A ten-million-dor apartment, and you have lighting dim enough to make a man lose at poker.¡± He stops by the bar-cart I keep in the corner, pouring himself another brandy. ¡°A matchmakingpany. Christ.¡± ¡°See it as an opportunity!¡± Carter calls. ¡°You can use it to find love!¡± ¡°One more word out of you, and you¡¯re out of thispany,¡± Anthony responds. I reach for the cards on the table and start to shuffle. ¡°Do we go back to money?¡± ¡°There¡¯s nothing better,¡± Victor agrees. The sound of my phone cuts through the room, drowning out the low music from my speaker system. I push back from the table. ¡°One moment.¡± The familiar number sends a thrill through me. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Hi,¡± Freddie says. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to call you thiste. I know you said you had ns for the night.¡± ¡°Not a problem at all. What¡¯s happened?¡± Her voice turns apologetic. ¡°Well, you know how you made that joke about the heater?¡± My mind sorts through our previous conversations, the jokes and jabs and flirtation. The joke about fixing her heater. It had been an excuse tossed out between us, testing the waters. ¡°I remember,¡± I say. ¡°Well, it¡¯s actually broken.¡± The snow swirls outside the windows, draping the street in a heavy white nket. ¡°It¡¯s freezing tonight.¡± ¡°Yes, the heater chose the worst possible moment. The super¡¯s not working tonight, and I can¡¯t find an electronics store that might sell a space heater open thiste.¡± ¡°Your apartment must be an icebox, Freddie.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not warm, no,¡± she says with a small chuckle. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m calling. Do you happen to have a space heater I could borrow? Just for a few days.¡± I nce over my shoulder at the three men I work with. They¡¯re at the poker table, drinking and talking and pretending like they¡¯re not listening to every word I say. ¡°I don¡¯t, but I have something better. A warm apartment.¡± ¡°Tristan, I couldn¡¯t ask-¡± ¡°You¡¯re not asking, I¡¯m offering. Come to mine. We¡¯ll fix your heater tomorrow.¡± ¡°Absolutely. Pack a bag and get here as soon as you can.¡± She breathes a sigh of relief that makes me feel ten feet tall. ¡°Okay,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯ll see you soon.¡± ¡°You will.¡± Anthony and Carter give theatrical groans as soon as I hang up. ¡°Well, boys,¡± Victor says. ¡°I guess this means we¡¯re being kicked out.¡± Carter shakes his head. ¡°He has to make the most of his kidless night. I suppose we should just be happy we got worked into the rotation.¡± ¡°Fuck you guys.¡± Anthony shakes his head, but there¡¯s no real resentment in his eyes. If anything, he looks pleased. ¡°Who is she?¡± The answer to that is moreplicated than I care to share. Someone I work with. A trainee, technically. She¡¯s eight years younger than me. And she¡¯s the best thing that¡¯s happened to me in years.C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. ¡°A friend,¡± I respond. ¡°She lives close, and her heater just broke.¡± ¡°A friend,¡± Carter drawls, draining thest of his ss. ¡°Right, well, have fun with your friend.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be jealous,¡± I tell him. He gives me a wolfish grin right back. ¡°I¡¯m not. Anthony might be, though.¡± ¡°Why on earth would I be jealous?¡± he asks, leading the trio to my hallway. ¡°Because you¡¯re about to enter the world of elite dating as a single man. Thedies will be on you like vultures.¡± ¡°Just when I¡¯d managed to forget about it,¡± Anthony says, ¡°you bring it right back up again.¡± ¡°I¡¯d apologize, but, you know¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯re not actually sorry?¡± The doors close behind them and then they¡¯re gone, without any genuineints about being kicked out. I wait a few minutes before I head into the lobby to wait for her. When she arrives, her giant coat is wrapped tight to protect her from the chill, snowkes dusting her dark hair like the freckles on her cheeks. They¡¯re rosy from the cold wind. I reach out and take the bag she¡¯s carrying. ¡°Hey.¡± Think Outside the Boss 48 ¡°Hi,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry about this, you know.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± I say, typing in the keycode for the elevator. ¡°We¡¯ll have your heater fixed tomorrow.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t even know what happened. One moment, it was making a lot of noise and heat, and the next¡­plete silence. It won¡¯t start,¡± she says. She gets into the elevator with me, but there¡¯s hesitation in her features that she can¡¯t quite hide. ¡°This is my private elevator,¡± I tell her. ¡°It only goes to my apartment. I have it serviced twice a year.¡± A shaky smile. ¡°You¡¯re telling me no elevator of yours would ever malfunction?¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m saying, yes. It wouldn¡¯t dare to.¡± And just like that, the ride is over. The doors open into my hallway. Freddie steps out, looking around, before turning to me with rm in her eyes. ¡°Your son. What did you tell him?¡± ¡°He¡¯s not home tonight.¡± Her eyes soften. ¡°Right. Sorry, I just realized I had no idea what I was walking into.¡± ¡°No need to worry.¡± ¡°What were you doing tonight?¡± ¡°Come. I¡¯ll show you.¡± She follows me into the living room, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that look over the park. The poker table is still in the middle, the coffee table shoved unceremoniously to the side. Four chairs are empty and abandoned around it. Through Freddie¡¯s eyes, this might look ostentatious. Showy. It screams of everything her apartment didn¡¯t. Every descriptor an antonym. ¡°Wow,¡± she breathes. ¡°The view must be amazing during the day.¡± ¡°It is. Especially after it¡¯s snowed, actually. The entire park is white.¡± She trails a hand along the green velvet that lines the poker table. Her eyes rest on the pile of hundred-dor bills in the center. The guys must have forgotten to collect their winnings on the way out. It looks obscene to me too, suddenly. But Freddie doesn¡¯tment, continuing on toward the gallery wall by the TV. ck and white pictures, all in dark frames. I watch in silence as she takes them all in, seeing everything I¡¯ve done in the past few years. Everything Joshua and I are, all that we¡¯ve seen and all that we¡¯ve lost. Surprisingly, I don¡¯t get the urge to cover them up. ¡°This one is gorgeous,¡± Freddie murmurs, stepping closer to arge, ck and white photograph of a volcanic coastline. I clear my throat. ¡°Hawaii.¡± ¡°Joshua and I took a helicopter. The photo¡¯s taken from the air.¡± Freddie studies the surrounding photographs. Joshua, standing at the foot of a waterfall in Yosemite. He¡¯s grinning from ear to ear as the water cascades behind him at a ny-feet drop. Something tinypared to something huge. Another is Joshua, smaller than he is now, and myself on a boat in the Caribbean. Half of his small face is covered by a snorkel. He¡¯s giving the camera a thumbs up and a smilecking both front teeth. ¡°You really do take him everywhere,¡± Freddie murmurs. ¡°I try to, at least.¡± ¡°Howe?¡± She works her way down the gallery wall, studying each photograph in turn. ¡°Well, I want him to see the world,¡± I say. It¡¯s the truth, but it¡¯s not all of it, and my response hangs in the air between us. Inadequate. Freddiees to a halt by the final ck and white photograph. Jenny is smiling wide, her eyesughing at the camera. The braid down her back hase half-undone in the whipping wind and tendrils of hair curve around her head like a halo. She¡¯s standing on a bridge with a harness strapped around her. ¡°My sister,¡± I tell Freddie. ¡°Joshua¡¯s mother?¡± ¡°Yes. I took that picture right before she bungee-jumped for the first time.¡± It feels like Jenny is seeing us, looking out from beyond the years, the miles, the chasm that separates us today and her then. On the Rio Grande Bridge in New Mexico. Freddie shivers. ¡°Wow. I can¡¯t imagine doing anything like that.¡± ¡°I jumped after her.¡± Her eyes swirl back to me. ¡°You did what?¡± ¡°Jenny wouldn¡¯t have let mee that far with her and then not jump.¡± ¡°You said for the first time. She bungee-jumped more than once?¡± ¡°Oh, yes. She loved adventure.¡± I nod toward the wall of photographs, the testaments to our travels, Joshua and I. After Tahiti, I¡¯ll send off another picture to be framed. ¡°She¡¯d have wanted her son to experience the world. To see it like she did, as a beautiful,plex, ever-changing yground.¡± Freddie¡¯s hand brushes against mine. Her fingers curl around it in the lightest of grips. ¡°Did you travel with her often?¡± I shake my head. ¡°I was focused on Acture Capital. On growing thepanies I took over. She was the one who couldn¡¯t sit still. Who had a list as long as she was tall with all the ces she wanted to visit and things to do.¡± Freddie¡¯s fingers tighten, and I look from Jenny¡¯s familiar portrait to eyes that are soft, and strong, and kind. ¡°Joshua looks like her,¡± she says. ¡°He does.¡± ¡°He looks a bit like you, too.¡± ¡°Well, I am his uncle.¡± A smile ys on her lips. ¡°And his dad, as he informed me.¡± I close my eyes. ¡°I have to tell him one day how that sounds when he says it. Sometimes I imagine him telling teachers and other kids just that piece of information, no context. One day I¡¯ll have police showing up here.¡± ¡°It¡¯s sweet,¡± she says. ¡°He didn¡¯t seem upset when he told me.¡± My fingers thread through hers into atticework. ¡°It¡¯s not real to him.¡± Think Outside the Boss 49 Freddie¡¯s eyebrow rises in a silent question, so I serve up another painful slice of me, aided by the whiskey I¡¯ve had and the kindness in her eyes. ¡°He was just shy of turning three when Jenny and Michael died. He doesn¡¯t remember them. All he knows about themes from stories, things he¡¯s been told. He knows he had a mother and a father before me.¡± Her fingers tighten around mine. Go on, the gesture says. And I find the words pouring out. ¡°Trying to keep their memory alive is impossible. I¡¯ve tried. But talking about them is like talking about legends to him. He enjoys stories of their adventures, but they¡¯re not¡­ real. And if I force us to dwell on it, will I just make him sad? Do I keep reminding him of what he lost or let him embrace the life he has now?¡± I look back at Jenny on the bridge. She gazes boldly back at me through the void, but has no answers to give. No guidance or opinions on how I¡¯m raising her son. The boy she¡¯d called her greatest adventure. ¡°When he started calling me Dad¡­ it was rough.¡± ¡°Was it?¡± My gaze shifts to the ck and white picture of Michael. His hangs higher than Jenny¡¯s, his mouth serious but eyes smiling into the camera. Jenny took that picture, but she never told me where. ¡°He knows he doesn¡¯t have a mother. I can¡¯t take Jenny¡¯s ce. But I have taken Michael¡¯s, in all the ways Joshua will remember.¡± ¡°You haven¡¯t taken anyone¡¯s ce,¡± Freddie tells me. ¡°You stepped in, at a time when it was necessary. Don¡¯t you think Jenny and Michael would understand that?¡± ¡°They would.¡± I run my free hand over my face, all the ways I¡¯m not good enough racing through my head. The nights I¡¯m not home in time for dinner with Joshua and Marianne. The curious questions I haven¡¯t answered as well as Jenny would have. A soft tug of Freddie¡¯s hand takes us past the discarded poker table, toward the cloud couch in the corner. We sink down onto the softness together, like we¡¯ve done it a thousand times before. Like her body was meant to curl up next to mine. And the words keeping. ¡°I know every day that they¡¯d do a better job, too. I know I¡¯m a recement. Being the best father to Joshua is something I¡¯ll fail at.¡± I rest my head on top of hers, scenting floral shampoo and Frederica. ¡°You came over for heat, and you got this heaviness instead.¡± There¡¯s a smile in her voice when she responds. ¡°I don¡¯t mind heaviness, Tristan. And I enjoy getting to know you better.¡± My eyes drift closed at the words. Innocent, simple words, but they haven¡¯t been spoken to me with sincerity for years. I wonder if they ever have. Her hand drifts to the nape of my neck and fingers slide into my hair. Touch for touch¡¯s sake. ¡°Myst rtionship ended when I adopted Joshua,¡± I admit. Freddie¡¯s fingers still for a moment, but then they plunge deeper, nails raking softly over my scalp. ¡°Hmmm,¡± she says. ¡°I imagine it was a difficult time.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t a good partner in the months after Jenny and Michael died. And she¡­ well. She apologized for it, but she wasn¡¯t ready to be a stepmother.¡± I close my eyes, wondering at how a simple touch can feel so good. ¡°I can see now that she wasn¡¯t in it for the right reasons.¡± Freddie makes another humming sound, shifting closer. Secondster and her lips brush softly against the edge of my jaw. ¡°The right reasons,¡± she repeats. ¡°What are the wrong ones?¡± ¡°Money, prestige. Status.¡± I give a shrug. ¡°Jenny never liked her.¡±Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°You told me that¡¯s why you go to the Gilded Room parties.¡± ¡°Mhm, so I did. At a time when I wanted to distract you.¡± She smiles. ¡°It was appreciated. And remembered.¡± ¡°Clearly.¡± ¡°You said at least women want you for your body there.¡± I close my eyes at my own words reflected back at me. ¡°Lovely sentiment.¡± Freddie chuckles, and I shift us so she¡¯s in myp, knees on either side of me. The soft fabric of her sweater has ridden up and my fingers brush against the skin of her lower back. ¡°Tell me,¡± she insists, her dark hair falling forward like a curtain. ¡°Do you think you could live without them?¡± ¡°Without the Gilded Room parties?¡± ¡°Yes. They¡¯re fun, and I understand that they provide¡­ thrilling entertainment, but¡­ is it really want you want?¡± My fingers dig deeper into her hips, hearing a question she hasn¡¯t asked. A question I haven¡¯t asked. One that hovers close to defining what we are. ¡°No,¡± I murmur. ¡°It¡¯s not what I really want. But I don¡¯t think I¡¯m capable of taking care of what I do want, even if I were to get it.¡± Her breath hitches, full lips falling open. But her eyes don¡¯t stray from mine. ¡°I think,¡± she murmurs, ¡°that you¡¯ve made it pretty clear you never give anything less than your best.¡± The air warms between us, herpliment stirring inside me. It forces me to bend my head to her neck and press my lips against the sensitive spot beneath her ear. Her fingers tighten in my hair, a soft sigh escaping her. And I know I always want to be the man she sighs like this for. The man she confides her fears in. The man she trusts and holds on to. So I grip her tighter and pull us both into standing. Her hands slide down my chest. ¡°We¡¯re going somewhere?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I pull her through the living room, down the hall, passing Joshua¡¯s closed door. Further down to mine. ¡°Hungry?¡± I ask her. She shakes her head. ¡°I ate earlier.¡± ¡°How long was your heater off for?¡± ¡°A few hours.¡± ¡°A few hours before you called me?¡± Freddie gives a sheepish shrug. ¡°Yes.¡± That¡¯s it. I grip her around the waist and grin as she squeals, tossing her onto my bed. She bounces once on the wide surface and spreads her arms, like she¡¯s about to make a snow angel. Her hair is a dark halo. ¡°You told me you were busy tonight. I didn¡¯t want to bother you if it wasn¡¯t important.¡± ¡°You not freezing to death is pretty important.¡± She reaches for me, pulling me down on the bed. ¡°Do you know,¡± she asks, her smile a beautifully wicked thing, ¡°that I agree with that?¡± ¡°One more thing we have inmon.¡± I brace myself on my elbows above her, and while her breasts press tantalizingly against my chest, it¡¯s her smile I can¡¯t look away from. ¡°Do you want to know something?¡± she asks. ¡°I do,¡± I say, bending to press my lips to the soft skin of her neck. She lets out a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan. Think Outside the Boss 50 ¡°From where I stand, you¡¯ve done a pretty good job with everything, Tristan,¡± she murmurs. ¡°Things don¡¯t need to be perfect to be worth doing.¡± I wake up in a bed that¡¯srge enough for five, snuggled deep under soft linenforters. A heavy arm is draped around my waist. My legs threaded through someone else¡¯s. I smile sleepily. I¡¯m with Tristan in his bed, having spent the night. The intimacy we¡¯d shared has settled into my bones, thorough rxation throughout my body. Lingering pleasure from the night before. A light, pleasurable soreness. The giant room is cast in soft shadows and flickers of faint December light. The strong lines of Tristan¡¯s face are smoothed into softness, the thick hair mussed. A man used to being watched, here where no one can watch him. Tenderness clenches in my chest at the sight. He might be my boss. There might be a thousand things standing in our way. But I want this man, with all of his doubts and ws and strengths and skills. His arm tightens around my waist. ¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± he murmurs, not opening his eyes. ¡°So are you.¡± His arm inches higher, a hand settling around one of my breasts. I¡¯ve quickly learned it¡¯s one of his favorite handholds. I run a hand over his chest. ¡°Thanks for being my heater.¡± ¡°Hmm,¡± he says, hand squeezing. ¡°I do my best.¡± ¡°You must run a degree or two hotter than me.¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. ¡°We all have our skills.¡± He rises on an elbow, his shoulders a contrast of sharp, masculine angles against the softness of theforter. ¡°You really have amazing breasts, you know.¡± It¡¯s such an offhandment that Iugh. He raises an eyebrow. ¡°It¡¯s true. Perhaps not a skill, but very true.¡± I peer underneath theforter, where his hand covers one of them from view. ¡°They¡¯re all right,¡± I agree. ¡°But the size can get pretty annoying. I can¡¯t really buy sports bras from normal stores, for example. Shirts often gape at the buttons.¡± Tristan frowns. ¡°Must be difficult.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a nuisance sometimes.¡± ¡°One wonders if they¡¯re worth it.¡± He pulls theforter back, folding it at my waist, and inspects my breasts. His hand switches from one to the other and myughter makes them bounce. ¡°Yes,¡± he finally announces. ¡°From my perspective, they¡¯re worth it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m so happy to hear that,¡± I tease. He grins as he bends his head, taking one of my nipples in his mouth. A sharp sting of arousal rushes through my body at the heat. ¡°Can¡¯t resist,¡± he tells me, as he switches breasts. ¡°You did warn me,¡± I murmur, sliding my hand into his hair. Closing my eyes as his hand moves down my stomach and over my bare thighs. ¡°It¡¯s a Saturday morning.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± I echo. ¡°We don¡¯t have to be anywhere.¡± ¡°Your heater¡¯s not running away.¡± My breathing hitches as he pushes my legs apart beneath theforter, his fingers finding me as naked as I¡¯d beenst night. ¡°No,¡± I breathe. ¡°It¡¯ll be just as broken in a couple of hours.¡± ¡°No need to rush.¡± ¡°None at all.¡± My back arches at the smooth circling of his fingers. My pleasurees easily, a path well-trodden in the past few weeks with him. ¡°That¡¯s it.¡± He bites down softly around a nipple and I shudder against him, my fingers knotted in his hair. Lazy, unhurried, unrushed. Intimate. Tristan in the morning, I¡¯m learning, is a glorious thing. I try to reach for the hardness resting against my hip, but his fingers stop me. One of them sinks deliciously deep inside me. His mouth slides up to my neck. ¡°Do you know how good you feel?¡± ¡°Mmm.¡± ¡°Sore?¡± I shake my head, my hands curving around his wide shoulder. ¡°Just a little.¡± ¡°Good,¡± he murmurs, adding another finger. His movements are still light and teasing. I twist my hips and he shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯ll never tire of this, Freddie. Never stop needing you.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like a problem.¡± A hoarse chuckle. Then his hand disappears, leaving me bereft and wanting. He pulls theforter back and reaches for a pillow. ¡°On your stomach,¡± he orders, voice rough from sleep and want. I look down at him, hard and aching, and obey. He slides the pillow beneath my hips and I look over my shoulder to see him there, straddling my legs, tightly pressed together. ¡°Tristan,¡± I tell him. A plea and a question. He gives me the wide, unfiltered grin I love the most. The one of a man who loves being in control. And then he pushes into me from behind. The fit is snug like this, the pressure inside me rising with each disappearing inch. Only when he¡¯s buried to the hilt does he lie down on top of me, elbows on either side of my face to bear his weight. He¡¯s everywhere. His body on top of mine, touching from foot to crown, his hair-roughened chest against my back. It¡¯s the most delicious thing I¡¯ve ever experienced. ¡°Yes,¡± I breathe as he starts to move. With my legs still pressed close together, I can feel every ridge of him. He bends his head and gently bites into my shoulder. Laughter escapes me, one he echoes, before it turns into a groan. I turn my head against the mattress and wrap my arms around his, the muscles taut and bulging as he carries his own weight. Press my lips against his arm. ¡°Never stop wanting you,¡± he murmurs, voice pained. ¡°Me neither.¡± He¡¯s bearing me into the bed, and with the pillow beneath my hips¡­ The pressure is right where I need it. ¡°Don¡¯t stop.¡± The pleasure spreads through me in shockwaves, my hands turning into ws around his braced arms. I can¡¯t move, can¡¯t think around the pleasure of my orgasm and Tristan moving inside me. My whole world narrows to sensations. Like the sound of his hoarse groan in my ear. The feel of his hot skin against mine. He rests his cheek against mine and grinds out the words. ¡°It¡¯s too good.¡± Think Outside the Boss 51 ¡°Let go,¡± I urge him, borne into the mattress with the force of his full-body thrusts. ¡°Come for me.¡± His hips lose rhythm as he explodes, growling in my ear with the force of it. Both of us left panting and loose-limbed on the giant bed, his body covering mine like a nket. It¡¯s a long moment before either of us speaks. Tristan goes first,ughing softly into my hair. ¡°Felt like you were squeezing the life out of me, Freddie.¡± ¡°Not all of it, I hope?¡± ¡°No, but it was damn close.¡± He presses another kiss to the nape of my neck before lifting himself off. I give a sound of protest and heughs again, arge hand yfully pping my hip. ¡°I¡¯d be very upset with myself if I crushed you.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. There¡¯s such buoyancy in his voice, so different from the heaviness it had containedst night. I roll onto my back and reach for a pillow to prop up my head. ¡°You¡¯re wee to wake me up like that anytime.¡± His eyes warm as they slide over my body. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind that myself,¡± he says. ¡°You are unbelievably gorgeous, you know. Have I told you that? Just how attractive I find you?¡± Despite what we¡¯ve just done, a blush creeps over my cheeks at the frankness in his tone. At this man, kneeling naked on the bed beside me, who isn¡¯t the least bit afraid of saying what he¡¯s thinking. No games, no hesitations. ¡°You¡¯ve made it pretty clear,¡± I say, ¡°but I¡¯ll never tire of hearing it.¡± He grins. ¡°Good. I won¡¯t tire of saying it, either.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve told you how handsome I find you.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I called you in my head, when we met. Handsome.¡± I reach for his hand, ying with his fingers. ¡°So much better than Straitced, by the way.¡± ¡°Oh, but I love undoing yources, Frederica. It¡¯s my favorite pastime.¡± ¡°Notining about that.¡± My thumb smooths over his. ¡°I didn¡¯t know it was possible to want someone this much.¡± His gaze warms. ¡°You didn¡¯t?¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s never been this way before. This easy, or this natural.¡± ¡°Effortless,¡± he echoes. ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°You do?¡± A single, clear nod of his head, as our gazes lock and hold. This is more than either of us had anticipated when we gave in to the attraction again. But judging from the way he¡¯s looking at me, he¡¯s not the least bit unhappy about that. Neither am I. A trickling sensation snaps me out of my thoughts. ¡°Oh! I have to go clean up.¡± He nces down between my legs. ¡°Mmm. We were irresponsible.¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯m on the pill, at least.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m sure you take it regrly.¡± ¡°I do. I had a checkup a little more than a year ago, and I haven¡¯t slept with anyone since then.¡± ¡°Three months ago for me,¡± Tristan says. ¡°But even before, I hadn¡¯t been with anyone without a condom for years.¡± His gaze drifts back between my legs, lingering over the evidence visible there. ¡°d we can skip them from here on out,¡± he says, satisfaction in his voice. ¡°So am I,¡± I say, snapping my legs together. ¡°If you¡¯re done inspecting your handiwork, I think we should shower.¡± He pulls me off the bed with augh. ¡°You want to wash away my pretty signature?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll sign me again soon enough,¡± I retort, threading our fingers together. ¡°Now show me the water pressure you must have here. I¡¯m expecting perfection.¡± ¡°That was the pretext all along, wasn¡¯t it? I bet your heater isn¡¯t even broken.¡± I push open the door to his en suite. Bingo. The giant marble shower is more thanrge enough for the two of us. ¡°It was all a hustle,¡± I tease. Tristan reaches past me to turn on the waterfall showerhead. ¡°Then consider me a very happy mark.¡± I pull on one of Tristan¡¯s shirts, and it falls halfway to my thigh. ¡°Should I get started on coffee?¡± I call. He¡¯s in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. ¡°Sure!¡± I fold up his sleeves, one at a time, as I pad through the enormous apartment. Long hallways, rooms off to the side. One looks like a home office, another aundry room. A guest bedroom. The kitchen is a gleamingndscape of stainless-steel appliances and marble kitchen counters. Someone has meticulously organized the cereals into ss jars on the counter. The onebelled Cocoa Pops has a tiny sign next to it. Only on weekends. It makes me smile. As does the schedule attached to the fridge, clearly outlining a child¡¯s school year. I stop in front of Tristan¡¯s coffeemaker. The appliance looks more monster than machine. ¡°Do you have to be a licensed barista to use this thing?¡± I call in the general direction of his bedroom, but there¡¯s no response. Right. You probably need walkie-talkies in this apartment. I¡¯ve just figured out where you add water when a sharp elevator ding sounds from the living room. Someone¡¯s here. I tug at the hem of Tristan¡¯s shirt and head into the living room. He¡¯s told me he has a housekeeper and a driver. It¡¯s mildly embarrassing to be seen like this, though. The woman I encounter in Tristan¡¯s living room is very clearly neither. Snow clings to her ck puffer jacket, kes in the blonde curls of her hair. She¡¯s a few years older than me, perhaps, a pair of mittens in hand. She stares at me like I stare at her. From the shock in her gaze, she might as well have been confronted with a unicorn or a yeti. ¡°Hello,¡± I attempt. ¡°I realize I¡¯m not who you were expecting. Tristan¡¯s in the bathroom.¡± ¡°Right,¡± she says. ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Frederica.¡± Manners kick in and I step forward, offering her my hand. She shakes it woodenly, her gaze drifting to my shirt. It¡¯s very clearly not mine. ¡°Linda. I¡¯m his son¡¯s godmother.¡± I smile. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right. He¡¯s told me about you. Joshua stayed with youst night?¡± Her eyes widen further, but then she gives me a tentative smile back. ¡°That¡¯s right. He¡¯s downstairs.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s good. I should probably change.¡± I nce down at my shirt. Mortification nips at my heels, but I don¡¯t let it in. Tristan and I have done nothing wrong. Think Outside the Boss 52 Well, not unless this woman is also an Exciteur HR rep. ¡°Probably,¡± she says. ¡°Tristan should be done any minute now.¡± ¡°Right,¡± she says. ¡°I have to say, I wasn¡¯t expecting to meet anyone. He doesn¡¯t often have guests over.¡± ¡°I see.¡± ¡°With his work and his son, he¡¯s a busy man.¡± I nod. ¡°Yeah, he is that. Did you perhaps want a cup of coffee? I was going to make one, but I can¡¯t seem to figure out the machine.¡± ¡°No, thank you. I just came up because-¡± ¡°Freddie?¡± Tristan¡¯s strong voice echoes from the hallway, and then he emerges, dressed in cks and a barely buttoned shirt. His eyebrows rise at the sight of Linda. ¡°Is everything okay?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she assures him. ¡°Absolutely. Joshua¡¯s downstairs.¡± ¡°Right.¡± The question is clear in his voice, now colder. ¡°Didn¡¯t know you wereing up.¡± ¡°I tried to call ahead. A few times, actually. But there was no answer.¡± He nods. ¡°Sorry about that.¡± Linda gives us both a genuine smile. ¡°It¡¯s snowed. Look outside.¡± We turn toward the window-d wall, and yes, Central Park is covered in a nket of thick, white snow. My breath catches in my throat. ¡°It¡¯s gorgeous.¡± ¡°Joshua is downstairs with Mark and Andrew. They¡¯ve got a head start into the park. The boys want to have a snowball fight. Or build a snowman. Or a fort. They kept changing their minds.¡± Tristan snorts at my side. ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°I just came upstairs to tell you about it, and to grab Joshua¡¯s mittens and snow pants. He told me where they are.¡± Tristan nods. ¡°I¡¯ll join you. I¡¯ll bring his stuff, too.¡± ¡°That works.¡± She steps back toward the elevator. ¡°We¡¯ll be by the ice-cream shop, but just call if you can¡¯t find us.¡± She gives me a little wave. ¡°It was nice to meet you, Frederica.¡± ¡°Likewise.¡± The elevator doors close behind her, and then we¡¯re once again alone. Tristan runs a hand through his hair and steps past me to the coffee machine. A few wan clicks of his fingers and it whirls to life. Responding to its master in a way it had refused to do for me. ¡°I know I can¡¯t be angry at her foring up, but I still am.¡± He shakes his head, back turned. ¡°All for snow pants.¡± ¡°Was it bad that she saw me?¡± He hands me a cup of freshly brewed coffee. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± I say, the heat warming my hands. ¡°I¡¯ll leave in a few minutes, Tristan.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want you to,¡± he says, but the conflict is there on his face. ¡°I know. But you need to go meet your son and y in the snow.¡± ¡°Your apartment has no heat,¡± he retorts. ¡°I still haven¡¯t called my electrician to have a look at it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s okay, I¡¯ll figure something out.¡± His jaw works with the force of his thinking. ¡°I¡¯ve never introduced him to a woman I¡¯m seeing before. I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s a good idea to tell him about us unless it¡¯s¡­ well.¡± ¡°Unless it¡¯s serious,¡± I finish, putting the cup down. ¡°God, I understand, Tristan. Completely. Let me just pack my stuff.¡± He follows me down the hallway, clearly displeased with the situation. But I mean what I said. I understand. He¡¯s a father. He has someone else to think about. While it¡¯s not at all the same, I have my career and reputation, too. Neither one of us is entirely free to do as we please. He leans against the doorway and watches me get dressed. ¡°Joshua¡¯s already met you,¡± he says. ¡°Yeah, I suppose so. Twice.¡± ¡°Right. Look, this is what we¡¯ll do. I¡¯ll call the electrician right away. Have hime over as soon as he can to look at your heater. It should be no more than a few hours.¡± ¡°That¡¯s perfect, thank you.¡± ¡°Meanwhile, you join us in Central Park.¡± My hands pause on the zipper of my jeans. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°He knows you and I are friends, and he¡¯s met friends of mine before. I¡¯ll introduce you as that.¡± ¡°Okay?¡± I smile at him. ¡°Absolutely. But only if you¡¯re okay with it.¡± ¡°I am. But just because I want to make sure, and I¡¯m always honest with him¡­¡± Tristan pulls out his phone and shoots me a chagrined smile as he raises it to his ear. ¡°Joshua has a phone for emergencies. Not that it¡¯s always charged, but it¡¯s worth a-oh. Hi, kiddo.¡± A pause. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ming down with your ski pants and boots in a few minutes. Do you have your hat?¡± I pull on my shirt and hunt through his bedroom for my socks. ¡°Good. I have a question for you. Do you remember my friend? The elephantdy?¡± My smilees unbidden at that, and I look over at where he¡¯s standing. Tristan is smiling right back at me. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s her. What do you think about her meeting us in Central Park?¡± Think Outside the Boss 53 I sit down on his bed and pull on my socks, still looking at him. He chuckles. ¡°Only if she¡¯s okay with having a snowball fight. Okay, I think that¡¯s fair.¡± I pretend to lob a ball at Tristan¡¯s head, and he ducks to the side, grinning wide. ¡°Okay, kid. I¡¯ll see you in a few minutes.¡± He clicks off the phone and leans back against the wall. ¡°He thought it was a great idea.¡± ¡°That¡¯s terrific,¡± I say. ¡°But elephantdy?¡± ¡°Is it better than straitced?¡± ¡°No. You really need to work on your nicknames.¡± Tristan catches me around the waist as I pass, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. ¡°Sweetheart,¡± he says. ¡°I like that one.¡± Something flutters in my stomach. ¡°So do I, handsome.¡± Grinning, he pulls me along down the corridor. ¡°Let¡¯s go. We have snowballs to throw.¡± I close the door behind me. My studio is toastypared to the cold New York air, courtesy of Tristan¡¯s electrician and the newly installed heater. I kick off my boots and hang up my coat before I call him. ¡°You¡¯re back home?¡± he asks. ¡°Yes,¡± I tell him. ¡°And you¡¯re overprotective.¡± He sighs on the other line. ¡°Walking home at night is still a risk.¡± ¡°A small one. I was just at the bar next to work. It takes me fifteen minutes to walk.¡± ¡°With your co-workers?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I sit down on my bed and pull up my legs. ¡°You know, after having worked with them for a few months, I really don¡¯t think the mole is in my department.¡± There¡¯s a smile in his voice. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised you¡¯d think that.¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. ¡°It¡¯s not because I¡¯m biased.¡± ¡°Of course it¡¯s not.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve really been paying attention, you know. To their schedules and what calls they take. How they talk about projects. More so, how they talk about you or Exciteur when we¡¯re alone together. But all of them seem loyal to the bone.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good to know,¡± he says. I fluff up a pillow behind me. ¡°I can be a great corporate spy. I don¡¯t know why you doubt me.¡± Heughs then, warm and rich, and the sound washes away the days since we¡¯dst seen each other. Since our snowball fight on Saturday, we¡¯d only managed e-night meeting since, here in my apartment. It¡¯s been nearly four days since then. ¡°I don¡¯t doubt you, Freddie. I know better than that. But I think you bring out the best in people, including someone who might be leaking information.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± I take a sip of my tea, contemting his words. ¡°Perhaps I¡¯m the one who has to make the first move. If I start talking crap about thepany and your takeover, they¡¯ll feel morefortable to let their traitor g fly.¡± Heughs again. ¡°You¡¯re that good of an actress?¡± ¡°I¡¯m good at everything. Haven¡¯t you heard?¡± ¡°I have,¡± he says. ¡°The pitch you helped Eleanor deliver today has received raving reviews.¡± ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Really,¡± he echoes. ¡°I heard the head of sales talk about it, not to mention the email we received from the clients afterwards.¡± I breathe out a sigh of relief. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s amazing. We really worked so hard on this one, and the strategy we came up with was excellent.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll have to give the pitch to me one day.¡± ¡°Yes, well, I spent several evenings working on it this week. It better be good after all that time,¡± I say. On the other end, I hear the sound of his feet, and then the closing of a door. ¡°You¡¯re in your bedroom?¡± ¡°My home office,¡± he says. ¡°You remind me of me when I was your age.¡± ¡°When you were my age? You¡¯re not that much older than me, mister.¡± ¡°I suppose not,¡± he admits. ¡°But the ambition, I mean. Working evenings and being eager to rise in the ranks.¡± My gaze snags on the pictures on my dresser, the shrine to sess. My parents. My grandfather. ¡°I know you work evenings too, Tristan. And what you¡¯ve aplished is really inspiring. Exciteur is doing better now than it ever did before you took over the leadership.¡± He brushes past thepliment. ¡°I used to have your hunger.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you still?¡± There¡¯s a smile in his voice. ¡°I¡¯m not twenty-six anymore. There are responsibilities I can¡¯t forsake for a few extra hours at the office.¡± He¡¯s talking about his son. Joshua, whose smilees wide and easy and has the confidence of a kid raised with love. I make my voice teasing. ¡°Then why do you have a home office? Something tells me you spend evenings there every now and then.¡± ¡°And what would make you think that?¡± ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know, just knowing you? Tell me I¡¯m wrong.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not,¡± he admits. ¡°I¡¯m often answering the emails at night. Why do I get so many?¡± Iugh, turning over onto my back. Stare up at the ceiling and feel perfectly happy. ¡°Have you received any from a disobedient traineetely?¡± ¡°As a matter of fact, I haven¡¯t. I keep expecting it, but no dice.¡± ¡°Expecting it?¡± ¡°It would spice things up. Rise right to the top of my priority list.¡± I smile. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you thought I was a man.¡± Think Outside the Boss 54 ¡°Frederica, you¡¯re called Freddie.¡± ¡°I know. But it was amusing, all the same.¡± He sighs, but it¡¯sced with pleasure. ¡°It¡¯s been too long since I¡¯ve seen you. And it¡¯s only been a few days.¡± ¡°I¡¯m d you said it first.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t want to admit it?¡± he asks. I run a hand through my hair, wishing he was in front of me. ¡°Yeah, I like to y hard-to-get like that. I¡¯d hate for you to think I like you.¡± ¡°What a horrible thought,¡± he says. ¡°So, you like me?¡± ¡°I might, yes.¡± ¡°Hmm. Well, I might like you too,¡± he says. My heart swells in my chest at the words, smooth despite the rough baritone of his voice. ¡°And I want to take you out. Properly, on a date, just the two of us. Somewhere in New York.¡± I close my eyes. ¡°We can¡¯t do that. We never know when someone might see us. See you, especially.¡± ¡°And that would be bad.¡± ¡°Yes, unfortunately. My co-workers, the ones I had drinks with tonight? They were gossiping about two people at Exciteur who slept together once, afterst year¡¯s holiday party. And they¡¯re in different departments. You and me? As far as gossip goes, we¡¯re meat and potatoespared to that little appetizer.¡± Tristan¡¯s rich chuckle fills my ear. ¡°We¡¯re tastier?¡± ¡°Infinitely.¡± ¡°I understand, you know.¡± ¡°About the not-being-seen-in-public-together part?¡± He hmms in agreement, and I close my eyes to picture him, sitting in the leather desk chair in his apartment. Arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face. ¡°We both have things to lose, but the reputational toll would be harder for you.¡± ¡°Probably true,¡± I admit. ¡°Unfortunately.¡± ¡°But I won¡¯t be the boss of Exciteur forever,¡± he continues. ¡°And you won¡¯t be the trainee forever.¡± ¡°Do you think we can¡­ keep going until then? Hiding it?¡± ¡°I can,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m not saying it¡¯ll be easy, but for you, of course I can. The question is, can you?¡± My heart speeds up. ¡°Yes. If you can, why couldn¡¯t I?¡± ¡°Because you¡¯re the one with a career to build, a social life to establish. I wouldn¡¯t be giving anything up, Freddie, but you¡­ you might be. Only seeing me in the evenings every now and then. Not dating anyone else. Because that would have to be part of it.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I murmur, voice dry. His words sink in, but there¡¯s no hesitation in me. No fears. ¡°But I¡¯d be gaining you, Tristan. Even if it¡¯s only behind closed doors.¡± He¡¯s quiet for a beat, the silence heavy on the line between us. ¡°You¡¯re sure, Freddie?¡± ¡°All right,¡± he says, and now there¡¯s a smile in his voice. ¡°I can¡¯t offer you champagne and candlelit dinners in restaurants around New York yet, but I can offer you home-cooked meals andpanionship. Not cooked by me, really, andpanionship includes my son. You¡¯re wee to dinner tomorrow evening if you want to.¡± I have to swallow before I can answer. ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°He had more fun with you at the snowball fight than with me. Besides, I think he¡¯s more observant than I give him credit for. The other day he offered to be my wingman, and I have no idea where he learned that term. He¡¯s nine, for Christ¡¯s sake.¡± Iugh, turning on my side in the bed. ¡°That¡¯s sweet.¡± ¡°Or creepy. Haven¡¯t decided yet.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be there, Tristan. Tomorrow.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t wait,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯ve turned me into a teenager, Freddie, and a few days without you are suddenly far too many.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°Tell me about it. I work every day in a building with you in it and I can¡¯t see you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve thought about bending the rules.¡± I bite my lip. ¡°More than we already have?¡± ¡°Oh yes. The past week, I conjured up ten different reasons I had to go down to Strategy.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t see you.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t go through with any of them,¡± he admits. ¡°I understand how important it is for you that no one finds out. Truly, I do. So I keep myself to the thirty-fourth floor.¡± ¡°Your ivory tower,¡± I murmur. ¡°Thank you for that.¡± We might be crossing all kinds of lines, but he has never been anything but respectful every step of the way. He clears his throat. ¡°Tell me more about your grandfather.¡± ¡°Yes, or your parents, or where you grew up in Phdelphia. Anything to keep me from having to answer these damn emails.¡± Laughing, I turn onto my back. ¡°I think I can save you from that fate, handsome.¡± ¡°We could go to the sd ce,¡± I tell Quentin. ¡°Or the sushi one next door.¡± He frowns. ¡°No, they¡¯re always packed for lunch. Toby, do you remember when we had to stand in line for thirty minutes?¡± Toby gives a nomittal grunt from his desk. Quentin doesn¡¯tment. No snide aren¡¯t you done soon? Or what¡¯s keeping you? Nothing at all. I nce at him, but his face gives nothing away. Still, I¡¯m convinced something has happened. The tension between them has changed vor. I lean against Quentin¡¯s desk. ¡°Howte did you guys stay at the bar the other night?¡± His gaze slides to mine. ¡°Not thatte.¡± ¡°Uh-huh.¡± My face is neutral, but he narrows his eyes regardless. I give him an innocent look. I don¡¯t know anything, won¡¯t say anything. A flush creeps up his ruddy cheeks. He turns from me to Toby. ¡°Are you done soon?¡± Think Outside the Boss 55 ¡°Yep, I just need to send this email off to Clive. He¡¯s up my ass about the Stanton project, wants all the details¡­ I don¡¯t even know why,¡± he grumbles. ¡°I¡¯m reporting to Sharon on this case. But I¡¯ll be a few minuteste for lunch.¡± Quentin groans beside me, but it¡¯s not as dramatic as it would¡¯ve been a week ago. Call me Sherlock, but I¡¯m on to something here. ¡°We don¡¯t mind waiting,¡± I tell Toby. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, Quentin?¡± He shoots me another withering stare. I grin dly back at him. But then his gaze drifts over my shoulder, eyes widening. It¡¯s the ssic oh shit look. Eleanor¡¯s voice falls like a scythe. ¡°Frederica. Do you have a moment?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I say, pushing from the desk. ¡°In your office?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Not waiting for me, she turns on her high heel. I grab my notebook and pen. ¡°Go ahead and have lunch without me, boys.¡± Quentin groans. ¡°Unlikely. At this pace, my stomach will devour itself, and you two will be responsible for my death.¡± ¡°In that case,¡± Toby responds, fingers typing furiously, ¡°I suggest you start working on your eulogy.¡± I leave them to their bickering and head into Eleanor¡¯s office, closing the ss door behind me. She gestures to the chair in her office and looks over at me from the edge of steel-rimmed sses. She rarely wears them, but when she does, she goes from ice-cold raptor to intimidating librarian. ¡°Excellent job on the pitch the other day.¡± The unexpected praise makes me smile. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°The clients were impressed, and I¡¯ve sent word along to my superiors about how important your contribution was.¡± ¡°Thank you for that,¡± I say. ¡°That was very thoughtful.¡± She holds up a finger. ¡°Not thoughtful. I was being fair. And if I hadn¡¯t been, you would have been in the right to ask me to do so.¡± I nod. ¡°Okay, noted.¡± ¡°To tell you the truth, Freddie, you¡¯ve surpassed my expectations during your time here already.¡± ¡°I appreciate that.¡± She gives me a thoughtful look. ¡°This is a bit unusual, but I recognize an ambitious woman when I see one. A position has be avable, one we need filled soon.¡± Her words set off a storm of excitement. ¡°This sounds interesting.¡± She gives me a rare smile. ¡°Yes, one could say so. One of the international consultants at our Mn office will go on eight-month-long maternity leave. We need to rece her for that time¡­ and when I saw the email, I of course thought of you.¡± My stomach squeezes into a tight fist. ¡°You did?¡± ¡°You speak Italian. Now, it is umon to hire a junior trainee like this, but I think there¡¯s some real potential here. This would be a full-time, fixed position, and after your eight months there, I can promise you thepany will want to retain you. Either in Italy or back here at headquarters.¡± ¡°This is incredibly kind of you.¡± She raises a finger, but there¡¯s a smile in her eyes. ¡°Not kind,¡± she says. ¡°Remember, just like I wasn¡¯t being thoughtful before.¡± ¡°Right, I¡¯ll remember,¡± I say, smiling. ¡°I¡¯m d you see the potential in me.¡± ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± she says. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do this if I didn¡¯t want to ensure thepany keeps you. So, if I have your permission, I¡¯m going to rmend you to HR and the Mn office immediately.¡± My throat dries. Mn. Italy. Eight months. A full-time job and a sry that¡¯s higher than what a trainee makes. A more permanent foot into thispany and a chance to live in Italy. The giant, man-shaped but is like a dagger inside of me. Tristan. I have to talk to him about it. I have to think about it. ¡°Can I have until Monday?¡± I ask. Eleanor¡¯s eyebrows rise, but not in dismay. ¡°Absolutely. Very wise, to take some time to think about your options.¡± ¡°Yes, I want to do a bit more reading about Mn. But I won¡¯t keep you waiting longer than that.¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. ¡°I appreciate it.¡± She stands, and so do I, surprised when she extends me a hand. Like we¡¯ve concluded an informal interview, which I suppose in a way, we have. ¡°Good to see another strong woman joining Exciteur.¡± Her words reach right inside and twist the innermost core of me. Everything I want, everything I¡¯ve dreamed about, is within reach. And I¡¯m not sure which of the two options I should choose. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. It feels like a lie. ¡°I appreciate it.¡± The offer churns inside me for the rest of the day. Everything inside me is leaning toward no, that I can¡¯t give up what I¡¯ve just started with Tristan. But saying no to an opportunity because of a man feels like a betrayal of everything I¡¯ve worked so hard for. My MBA. My grandfather. My family who believes in me. Myself, for working long hours. My head and my heart, torn. It¡¯s so clich¨¦ it would have been funny if it wasn¡¯t my life. If it wasn¡¯t real. Tristan smiles at me when I arrive at his apartment for dinner with him and Joshua. He¡¯s leaning against the wall in his hallway, hands in his pockets, the top buttons of his shirt undone. No suit jacket. Casual, masculine elegance, power in the frames of his shoulders. A soft wee in his eyes. ¡°Hi,¡± he says. ¡°How was the elevator ride?¡± He always remembers. ¡°It went surprisingly well. I haven¡¯t forgotten that it¡¯s your elevator, so it never malfunctions.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he says, eyes warming. ¡°Something smells delicious.¡± Oregano and garlic float like divine essence through the air. ¡°What¡¯s for dinner?¡± ¡°Marianne is makingsagna.¡± ¡°Do you likesagna?¡± Joshua¡¯s voice echoes into the hallway a second before he appears, rounding the corner in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a safari-themed print on it. Another ce they¡¯ve visited? The giant smile on his face makes me smile in return. ¡°I lovesagna,¡± I tell him. ¡°With lots and lots of cheese on it.¡± Think Outside the Boss 56 ¡°Cheese is my favorite meal.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not really a meal,¡± Tristan tells him. ¡°Yes, it is,¡± Joshua replies with the tone of someone who¡¯s had to exin this multiple times. ¡°We should give you a tour.¡± ¡°A tour?¡± Joshua nods, and Tristan steps in, a wide smile on his face. ¡°You¡¯re right, buddy. Of course we should.¡± Ah, because I haven¡¯t been here before. Not in Joshua¡¯s eyes, anyway. I nod in the direction of the living room. ¡°Lead the way, guys.¡± Joshua is just as rxed and funny, the same happy-go-lucky kid he¡¯d been the past weekend in the park. He doesn¡¯t seem to mind my presence, talking to his dad about things he¡¯d likely talk about even if I wasn¡¯t there. Seeing the two of them interact twists something inside me. For all his fears, Tristan is a really great dad. One look at how confident and kind his son is makes that crystal clear. His housekeeper doesn¡¯tment on my presence, but treats me with the same natural, effortless level offort as she does the other two. ¡°Dad,¡± Joshua says when he¡¯s done, pushing his te away. ¡°Let¡¯s make s¡¯mores for dessert.¡± Tristan looks like he¡¯s fighting a smile. ¡°S¡¯mores¡­ but we¡¯re not camping.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have to be camping to have them,¡± Joshua exins, turning to me. ¡°Do you like s¡¯mores?¡± ¡°They¡¯re pretty great,¡± I admit. ¡°I made them in the microwave the other night.¡± ¡°You did?¡± ¡°Oh yes. It¡¯s one of my favorite things.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. Joshua¡¯s eyes widen and he turns to Tristan. ¡°See? Our guest loves s¡¯mores! So it¡¯s kind of our responsibility, too. As hosts.¡± Tristanughs, reaching over to run his hand through Joshua¡¯s hair. ¡°We¡¯ll make s¡¯mores, kid. Over the firece?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± Joshua goes to his room to y after dinner, with the happy words that s¡¯mores are only half an hour away. We¡¯ve been instructed to tell him as soon as it¡¯s time. I don¡¯t want to leave this. Not when I¡¯m just learning their lives, their secrets. Captivated by their charm. Tristan nods toward his office and I step past him into the man-cave. ¡°Thanks for dinner,¡± I say. He crosses the distance to me. ¡°Was it too much?¡± ¡°Too much?¡± ¡°Dinner, here. Me and Joshua.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Not at all.¡± He reaches up to run a tendril of my hair between his fingers. ¡°You¡¯re sure? You¡¯ve been distracted all through dinner.¡± His jaw works, the only sign of difort. ¡°I know it must be difficult to date a man who¡¯s a father. Not having time just to¡­ date.¡± ¡°No, Tristan, that¡¯s not it.¡± I reach out and curl my fingers around the soft fabric of his shirt. ¡°Not at all.¡± His thumb curves down to my chin. ¡°Then what is it?¡± ¡°Eleanor wanted to speak to me today,¡± I say. Needing to say the words aloud, wanting to hear his calm, collected input on it. Tristan can make sense of this. ¡°Did she?¡± ¡°Yes. There¡¯s an opening in your Mn office.¡± His thumb stills along my jawline. ¡°That¡¯s right. I saw it in an email today, from HR. Did they approach you?¡± I nod. ¡°Eleanor wants to rmend me for it. It¡¯s a full-time position. And I don¡¯t know what to do.¡± His hand moves again, his gaze watching it travel down my neck. ¡°It¡¯s a good opportunity for you.¡± ¡°Yes, it is.¡± ¡°And you¡¯d get to experience living in Italy. Honor your grandfather. Speak thenguage.¡± ¡°Yes, but-¡± Tristan shakes his head. ¡°This is fantastic, Freddie. I understand why they approached you.¡± I nod, mute. His smile nts. ¡°I know you want to go.¡± I do, but as I look into the deep blue of his eyes, the decision isn¡¯t an easy one. It¡¯s not really a decision at all, not when I feel bonded to the man in front of me. To my co-workers and the life I¡¯ve started to build here. My throat closes. ¡°I asked for the weekend to think about it.¡± ¡°Good,¡± he says.¡± Very professional.¡± ¡°You¡¯re ambitious, Freddie. And brave. Two of the things I like most about you. You¡¯ll do brilliantly in Italy.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll miss you, though.¡± Somehow, I manage to keep my voice light. My smile crooked. ¡°Amongst all the gto shops and the Vespas.¡± He smiles right back at me. ¡°So will I. But I¡¯d hate myself for holding you back.¡± I find myself nodding. Like we¡¯ve agreed on this, as if the decision is made, even as my heart feels like fracturing. He¡¯s not reacting the way I¡¯d hoped. The way I¡¯d needed. Tristan tips my head back and presses a kiss to my lips. It¡¯s full of the same quiet confidence as usual, but something about it makes me want to cry. ¡°Come on,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Let¡¯s have s¡¯mores. They don¡¯t have that in Italy, do they?¡± I rest my head in my hands, turning away from the bright re of unread emails in my inbox. The same fucking inbox that¡¯s full every time I look, no matter how many emails I keep reading. Jenny¡¯s voicees back to me, as it does from time to time. Little things she used to say. Don¡¯t work to live, she¡¯d say. Right before leaving on one of her adventures around the globe, taking her to Southeast Asia or Bermuda or the coral reefs that shelter Australia¡¯s Gold Coast. I didn¡¯t start listening to her advice until after she¡¯d gone. What would she tell me in this situation? Think Outside the Boss 57 Freddie¡¯s beautiful, elfin face drifts into my view. Olive-toned skin and brown eyes, dark hair, a beauty with fire in her eyes. And now she¡¯s been offered her dream job. Oh, I¡¯d recognized the tentative hope in her eyes as she told me. The warring of emotions. She¡¯s conflicted, and it¡¯s because of me. I can see so much of myself in Freddie. The hunger in her eyes. I¡¯d had the same desire, undiluted and powerful, when I was her age. Before I¡¯d received Joshua. I will never regret taking care of him, never regret signing those papers. He¡¯s Jenny¡¯s greatest lesson and greatest gift, as if she¡¯d handed me the note slow down, brother in human form. He¡¯s a wonder. And yet I remember the initial feeling of being held back. Of making concessions, of sacrificing pieces of your old dream as you try to make sense of the new one. I can¡¯t ask Freddie to do that, and we can¡¯t build a rtionship that¡¯s heavy with that decision, weighed down by her sacrifice. I don¡¯t know if it would survive it. She might resent me one day, not to mention how I might resent myself, because it would kill me to be the reason she doesn¡¯t get what she dreams of. I reach for the phone on my desk. Dial the number to the chief HR rep. To do what, though? Instruct them to give her the job? Or tell them to choose someone else? Slowly, I put the phone down. For a long moment I just stare at it in horrified silence. I can¡¯t interfere with this. Whatever happens, it¡¯s Freddie¡¯s decision, and it has to be on her merits alone. My fingerprints can¡¯t be anywhere near this. Not if we¡¯re to have a hope of surviving past it, as friends. Friends. Could I stand just being her friend? Receiving polite little postcards from Italy? Never has the knowledge that she¡¯s in the same building as me burned the way it does today. Sitting just a few floors below me, but she might as well be on the other side of the globe already for all the good it does. I can¡¯t take her to lunch. I can¡¯t show her the city. I¡¯m powerless. And I hate feeling powerless. So I open my emails and type a quick one to Gwen in HR, still keeping my internal promise not to interfere. Let me know when you have a viable candidate for Mn, I write. I want the position filled as soon as possible. The emotions inside me still as soon as I¡¯ve sent it. At least I¡¯ll be notified when she¡¯s made a decision. Should give me an opportunity to put on my game face for when shees to tell me. To break up with me gently. Tell me she¡¯s following her dreams, the way I want for her. Even if it¡¯ll hurt. I don¡¯t know if it makes it easier or harder that we won¡¯t have much time to spend together before she goes. Thepany¡¯s holiday party is tomorrow night. Then I fly to Tahiti with Joshua, and she heads to Phdelphia to celebrate Christmas with her family. A quick, rapid-fire session of knocks on my office door, the pattern familiar. ¡°Come in.¡± Clive¡¯s navy-blue suit is a bit toorge for his form. He¡¯s wearing the same nd smile as always, but it widens when he notices my scowl. ¡°You look like you want to punch someone,¡± hements. ¡°Should I leave? Because I¡¯m not a volunteer.¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m good.¡± ¡°You sure?¡± ¡°Yes. What do you need?¡± He doesn¡¯t waste any time. That¡¯s one of the things I¡¯ve always appreciated with Clive as a COO, that he isn¡¯t here for idle chitchat or trying to get to know me. We run a business, so let¡¯s get down to running it. ¡°Actually,¡± he says, sinking down in the chair in front of my desk, ¡°what I want is an update on the mole situation.¡± My mood sours further. The fucking leak had struck again, at least if the article Anthony sent me this morning was correct. A rivalpany in the biotech sphere just unveiled their new five-year n, and it¡¯s nearly point for point the same as the business strategy we¡¯d developed for a client. I run a hand through my hair. ¡°I think it¡¯s time we start broadening our horizons away from just Strategy.¡± He frowns. ¡°Logically, Strategy makes the most sense. They¡¯re the only ones with ess, if one excludes the executive branch. And it¡¯s not amongst us.¡± ¡°I have it on good authority that it¡¯s most likely not an employee in Strategy.¡± ¡°Yes. I want you to draw up a list of everyone who knew about the biotech strategy for Finley. Leave no one out, including the two of us.¡± His eyebrows rise. ¡°Okay, sure thing. But just out of curiosity¡­ who is your source in the Strategy Department?¡± The name hovers on my tongue, but something about Clive¡¯s interest halts me. Freddie doesn¡¯t deserve to be dragged into this. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that to myself.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Clive shuts the door behind him as he leaves, the silence of my officeplete. The way I usually like it, but today, the absence of sound grates. It leaves too much space for my thoughts. A click on my keyboard wakes myputer to life, and there¡¯s already a peppy email waiting there for me from Gwen in HR.C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. Great news! We¡¯ve found a trainee from the New York office who would be excellent for the position. We just need to dot some i¡¯s and cross a few t¡¯s, but we¡¯ll have the position filled shortly! I close my eyes and push back from the desk, telling myself I¡¯m happy for Freddie, but all I feel is happiness slipping out of my grasp. I spin the frosted ss of white wine around, the red imprint from my lipstick sharp against the rim. He isn¡¯t here, and yet I can¡¯t stop ncing around the packed holiday party, searching for a glimpse of the man I¡¯d first locked eyes with across the Gilded Room. The man who grilled s¡¯mores with his adopted son in the firece of a multi-million-dor apartment. The man who¡¯d refused to be categorized from the very start. ¡°Earth to Freddie,¡± Toby says. ¡°Are you okay?¡± ¡°Oh, yes. Absolutely.¡± ¡°You looked lost in thought,¡± he says. ¡°I hope you were somewhere far better.¡± ¡°Better than this?¡± I sweep an arm out at thevishness. One of Exciteur¡¯s office spaces has been transformed, and foodden tables surround a tastefully decorated Christmas tree. ¡°What more do we need?¡± ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. A beach. A raise. A longer vacation to look forward to,¡± Toby suggests with a grin. ¡°God, I¡¯d love a longer vacation. What are you doing for yours?¡± I ask. ¡°Both of you?¡± Quentin frowns into his ss, but he shoots a sideways nce at Toby. Toby, who is almost forcefully cheery. Who hasn¡¯t made a single snide, cheeky remark about Quentin. ¡°I¡¯m staying in New York. Well, I¡¯m going to my family in Jersey for the holidays, but that¡¯s only thirty minutes away.¡± I nce at Quentin, but he doesn¡¯t rise to the bait, doesn¡¯t make ament about how Jersey isn¡¯t New York. ¡°I¡¯m staying here,¡± he tells us both. ¡°That¡¯s nice. You two have someone to hang out with, then,¡± I say. ¡°Just in case, I mean. I know I spent some lonely weekends here when I first arrived.¡± They don¡¯t look at each other, but nervousness vors the air. Perhaps they¡¯re navigating the same turmoil that Tristan and I have, working at the same firm. But for them it might amount to no more than a p on the wrist. For me and Tristan? A junior trainee and thepany¡¯s CEO looks awful, from both perspectives. ¡°But not anymore, not when you have us,¡± Toby says. ¡°Because we¡¯re going to the opera in January.¡± Quentin groans at this, but I don¡¯t. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Toby says, clinking his ss with mine. ¡°I¡¯m going to make a real New Yorker out of you.¡± ¡°And thises from someone raised in Jersey,¡± Quentin mutters, but his voice is fond. My attention slides from their ensuing banter to our mingling co-workers. To thepany I¡¯ve just started to get to know. Think Outside the Boss 58 And there he is, across the room. The man I¡¯m falling in love with. He¡¯s talking to Sharon and Clive in the far distance of the employee-packed room. There¡¯s an ufortable tilt to his shoulders, like he doesn¡¯t want to be here. He shakes both of their hands and disappears toward the hallway. I watch him retreat just like I did at the conference in Boston. We don¡¯t have a rooftop terrace here, though. And he¡¯s not going home, not when he hasn¡¯t grabbed the mic yet and wished everyone here a Merry Christmas. My heart speeds up as I tell Quentin and Toby I forgot something at my desk. I ride the elevator to the thirty-fourth floor instead. There¡¯s so much churning emotion inside of me that I barely register the familiar fear. Mn is my decision, and yet Tristan hadn¡¯t wanted me to make the one my heart is telling me to. You¡¯re ambitious and brave, and that¡¯s what I like about you. Would he think less of me if I turned Italy down? And worse, would I think less of myself? I walk down the empty hall on the top floor, passing offices I¡¯ve never entered. Heading to therge one at the end of the hall with the emzoned letters on the door. Tristan Conway. I knock and he responds a few secondster. His voice is familiar, and yet not. Because this professional tone isn¡¯t one I¡¯ve heard him use toward me since¡­ well. Ever. Even in the Gilded Room, he had his walls lowered more than he does here, in thepany he owns and operates. He closes hisptop when he sees me. ¡°Freddie?¡± ¡°Hi.¡± I push the door shut. ¡°Are you hiding from the party?¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t be down there. Besides, they don¡¯t want me there.¡± ¡°They don¡¯t?¡± He pushes back the chair and rises. ¡°No. They want to gossip and blow off steam. They want to talk about me, not with me.¡± I frown. ¡°That sounds sad.¡± He waves a dismissive hand,ing around to lean against his desk. Not crossing the distance to me. Not wrapping his arms around me or pressing a kiss to my temple. Just calm, collected, restrained. A man who¡¯s made up his mind. ¡°We haven¡¯t spoken this weekend,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ve been busy. So, I take it, have you?¡± The voice isn¡¯t unkind, but it is determined. ¡°I heard you epted the job.¡± ¡°No, I haven¡¯t. Eleanor gave me an extension. I have until the end of the week,¡± I say, taking a step closer, and hating the unusual formality between us. Tristan meets me halfway. I lean against his chest and he wraps his arms around me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. The bristles of his rough-shaven jaw tickle my skin. ¡°You¡¯re hesitating?¡± he asks.C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. ¡°I am, yes.¡± ¡°I hope you¡¯re not hesitating because of me,¡± he says. The hand on my back is soft, but the steel in his voice is not. Something in my chest cracks. ¡°And why not?¡± He sighs, both armsing around me. ¡°Because we¡¯re in different times of our lives,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Because I can¡¯t be the one who holds you back. Because this is a dream of yours, Freddie, and it would kill me if you regretted saying no.¡± My next words aren¡¯t well-thought out. They¡¯re a fear given words, and like a genie, they can¡¯t be put back into a bottle. ¡°What happens if I go? Does that mean we¡¯d be over?¡± The single nod against my head is heart-breaking. ¡°How can it be differently?¡± he asks. There are a million things in my mind. I can stay here instead. Or you can quit being the CEO. We can do long-distance. Or, worst of all, Why don¡¯t youe with me to Italy? But it wouldn¡¯t be fair to ask him that, not when I know what he¡¯d have to sacrifice in return. The value he ces on being a good father and a good boss are his very best qualities, and I wouldn¡¯t want him to break them even if he was inclined to. My eyes burn and I clench them tight, but it only speeds the tears on their journey down my cheeks. ¡°Frederica?¡± Tristan murmurs, a hand smoothing over the back of my head. ¡°Are you okay?¡± I shake my head against his chest, and he sighs, pressing me closer. He might not say a word, but I can feel it in the strength of his arms. I know, he¡¯s saying. I know exactly. ¡°When do they want you there?¡± he murmurs. My wordse out muffled. ¡°First of February. I understand if you don¡¯t want us to continue seeing each other, you know. If I¡¯m moving.¡± He leans back, eyes widening as he takes in my face. They grow soft as he cups my cheek, a thumb smoothing over my tear-tracked cheek. ¡°We can,¡± he says. ¡°But it will make things harder for us both when you go.¡± ¡°Yes, it might.¡± ¡°So you¡¯ll go to Phdelphia to celebrate with your family.¡± ¡°And you¡¯ll go to Tahiti to see the whales,¡± I whisper, my hands locked in his shirt. He nods. ¡°And when we get back in January¡­ we can see. We¡¯ll meet to say goodbye, if nothing else. I¡¯m here, Freddie. Always. Just not to hold you back.¡± But what if you¡¯re not? I want to ask. What if Italy¡¯s the thing that¡¯s holding me back? The trust in me I see in his eyes stops my words. Combined with the look in Eleanor¡¯s eyes when she said how much she believed in me. My grandfather, with more business savvy in his pinkie than most people had in their entire body. ¡°Don¡¯t go back to the Gilded Room,¡± I blurt. Tristan¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Where did thate from?¡± I take a step back from him. ¡°Tristan, you¡¯re worth so much more than someone who only wants you for your body, or for your money. Than something that¡¯s just for a night.¡± His jaw works, and he leans back from me, hands braced against the edge of his desk. ¡°You¡­ you want me to start dating properly?¡± The words make my eyes burn with tears. ¡°No. Yes. I don¡¯t know, but I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy.¡± ¡°So do you,¡± he tells me, voice hoarse. ¡°More than anyone. But forgive me, Freddie, if I¡¯m not quite at the stage yet where I can wish you happy dating.¡± My attention narrows to small, discernible things. The miserable lines on his face. The way he¡¯s holding himself back. My own feelings spinning out of control. And I have to get out of here before I lose my own determination, asking him to be okay with me instead. With letting him hold me back, as he put it. But how can I do that? ¡°Bye, Tristan,¡± I say. My voice breaks on his name. Think Outside the Boss 59 His voice reaches me as I open the door out of his office. Against the New York lights streaming in through his window, he looks like a sentinel. A quiet guardian, a warrior of old. ¡°Bye, Freddie,¡± he murmurs. The door shuts behind me with a finality that bruises and I race down the hallway toward the elevators, the hated, sted things, and for the first time I think I¡¯d be happy if they drop me all the thirty-four floors to the bottom. A hard chest stops me and I stagger back, looking up at the man who¡¯s stepped out of his office. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry.¡± Clive holds my elbow a second too long to steady me. ¡°That¡¯s all right,¡± he says, eyes widening as he sees the tears on my face. ¡°Are you okay?¡± ¡°Yes, yes, absolutely. Just¡­ allergies.¡± It sounds just as stupid spoken out loud as it did in my head. ¡°Allergies?¡± Clive looks from me to the office down the corridor, at those incriminating letters emzoned on the oak door. His eyes widen. ¡°Ah. I see. Did he hurt you?¡± What? ¡°No, of course not. We were discussing work.¡± ¡°Work?¡± He releases me and steps back, eyes narrowing. ¡°You work in Strategy, right? One of the junior trainees. You organized that Thanksgiving thing he suddenly decided to throw.¡± There¡¯s no way to surreptitiously wipe tears from your cheek, so I just go for it, forcing spine into my steel. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Clive nods. ¡°Interesting. And you¡¯re sure, absolutely sure, that he didn¡¯t hurt you?¡± It¡¯s an odd question. So is the gleam in his eyes, a gleam that turns my stomach from sad to ufortable. Suspicions form in my mind. ¡°He didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Good. Had to ask.¡± ¡°I¡¯m heading out,¡± I say, stepping past him. ¡°Goodnight, Mr. Wheeler.¡± Clive gives me a nod, gaze lingering. ¡°Goodnight, Miss¡­¡± ¡°Frederica Bilson.¡± ¡°Frederica Bilson,¡± he echoes. ¡°That¡¯s right. Good night, then.¡± I make it home without sobbing, but the tears burn at the back of my eyes like a party-crasher or an unwee guest. They¡¯re in goodpany with the suspicions Clive had brought up, twisting into fear in my stomach. He¡¯d realized right away that there¡¯s something between Tristan and me. My hand trembles around my phone. I can¡¯t talk to him. Not so soon. Not yet. And yet I¡¯ve worked for this career, and so has he. If my suspicions are correct¡­ I have no other choice but to be professional and suck it up. I dial Tristan¡¯s number. It takes him five long signals to pick up. Had he been back at the holiday party? Still in the sheltered silence of his office? There¡¯s no knowing, but the voice on the other end is weary. ¡°Freddie¡­¡± he murmurs. ¡°Clive saw me on the way out of your office. He saw me, and he saw my¡­ he saw that I was crying. I think he put two and two together.¡± Tristan¡¯s voice snaps intopetence. ¡°Okay. What makes you think that?¡± I pace the tiny space of my apartment. ¡°He knew. He asked me if you hurt me.¡± ¡°He asked what?¡± ¡°He asked it twice.¡± Tristan¡¯s shock on the other end of the line is profound. Mine, however, isn¡¯t. I can¡¯t keep silent as the suspicions bubble out of me. ¡°Are you sure he¡¯s not the mole?¡± ¡°Of course I¡¯m sure,¡± is the response, but something about it sounds reflexive. Rehearsed. ¡°He¡¯s been asking Toby, one of my co-workers, for information. Information about projects that Toby doesn¡¯t usually report to him about. Thatst time I heard, it was regarding the Stanton case.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± ¡°And remember that meeting, over a month ago, where he couldn¡¯t make it? You went in his stead.¡± ¡°I remember.¡± A hard note creeps into Tristan¡¯s voice. ¡°Yes, the pattern matches up. He was away that day for personal reasons, and a weekter we found out that¡­ Well. He could have been selling the strategy you pitched to ourpetitors.¡± ¡°So you believe me?¡± ¡°It¡¯s usible.¡± A rough sigh, and it¡¯s everything I feel too. It¡¯s a sigh of I can¡¯t take any more of this shit. ¡°Clive was with me from the very beginning. He was my right-hand man when I took over, the one person who seemed to wee it when Acture Capital bought thepany from the old management.¡± ¡°Maybe he wasn¡¯t so weing after all.¡± ¡°No, maybe he wasn¡¯t.¡± ¡°But, Tristan, he knows. About us.¡± My voice grows feverish. ¡°He might use it somehow. It could cause some really bad publicity for you.¡± ¡°He won¡¯t use it.¡± ¡°How do we know that? Can we stop him?¡± ¡°We will,¡± Tristan repeats, and this time there¡¯s no mistaking the steel in his voice. It¡¯s unbending. ¡°If he¡¯s the mole, the things thispany can do¡­ I¡¯ll take care of him. No one will find out about us, Freddie. Your reputation is safe.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± I sink down on the edge of my bed. ¡°But how?¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. As far as days go, this one has been too intense for my liking. If I slept for a week, I doubt it would be enough. ¡°I¡¯ll tell him you were my eyes and ears in Strategy. Give him one truth to keep his eyes off the other.¡± I nod slowly. ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll handle it, Freddie. Go to your family,¡± Tristan says. ¡°I¡¯ll keep you informed if anything happens, but it shouldn¡¯t. Not after I¡¯m done with him.¡± Perhaps the calm ruthlessness beneath his voice should scare me, the mixture of threat and reassurance. But I know him, and I know his values, and it leaves me with a sense of peace. ¡°Thank you,¡± I breathe. ¡°Are you in your apartment?¡± ¡°Good. Thanks for calling me,¡± Tristan murmurs. ¡°I understand that it was¡­ difficult. I appreciate it.¡± Think Outside the Boss 60 ¡°Of course. You did ask me to find your mole, you know.¡± His voice softens. ¡°So I did.¡± ¡°And I always deliver.¡± ¡°You always do,¡± he agrees. ¡°Sleep tight, Freddie.¡± ¡°I will, thanks.¡± ¡°And Freddie?¡± ¡°Merry Christmas.¡± I open my mouth to wish him and Joshua the same, but by the time the words emerge, he¡¯s already hung up. So I close my eyes and lean back on my bed, the fixed heater humming loudly beside me, and let the tears flow. Fish in vivid colors swirl beneath me on the dock, dancing in the crystalline waters like they¡¯re performing a ballet recital to music only they can hear. Like so much on Tahiti, they¡¯re beautiful. We couldn¡¯t have asked for a better seaside bungalow, built right on the shoreline. The ce is a marvel in the Pacific, an untouched paradise, and I¡¯ve already promised Joshua we¡¯d start donating to marine conservation as soon as we get home to preserve pristine ces like this. And yet. Because isn¡¯t there always a but? The phone in my hand lies cold, empty and near signal-less. I¡¯d had to walk to the hilltop in the small settlement to get enough signal to call Freddie on New Year¡¯s Eve. But she hadn¡¯t responded. Hadn¡¯t called or texted back, either. So I hadn¡¯t tried to reach her again, instead keeping my promise to avoid making this harder for her. Even if the idea of her moving away feels like a splinter, burrowing deeper every day. In the short months I¡¯d known Frederica, she¡¯d wormed her way under my skin in a way no one else had. No woman, none since my ex, and that was before Joshua. Years ago. I open the emails on my phone. I haven¡¯t looked at them in days, and only then in the evenings, when Joshua has already gone to bed. But now he¡¯s resting inside the bungalow and I¡¯m allowed to sneak a few minutes of work in. Mywyer has responded, assuring me we¡¯ve got Clive in hand. Sellingpany secrets is a vition with some serious legal ramifications, and we¡¯re going to pursue them all. I close my eyes at the memory of the conversation. Of Clive¡¯s usually nd, obsequious face turning red with rage. I was second in line to take over thispany. Management had groomed me for CEO. And then you and your friends took over, and I was pushed back down the chain. It had been there, under the surface, for over a year. The hate and the envy. And I hadn¡¯t seen it. So you tried to destroy thepany as revenge? I¡¯d asked him. Is that any way to honor this firm or the employees? He¡¯d shook my words off as if they meant nothing. Lost in his resentment, they probably didn¡¯t. I have dirt, he¡¯d said with obvious pleasure. Sleeping with a trainee, Conway? How do you think that¡¯ll look in the press? You¡¯ll be barred from every event and function in the city, with the current climate. All they¡¯ll see is a dirty, powerful man, abusing his- I¡¯d cut him off. If he wanted to hurt me with Freddie, he would have to try harder than insinuating anything had ever been coerced or sinister about us. If there¡¯s one thing it wasn¡¯t, it had been that. It had been one the purest experiences of my life. She was my informant in Strategy, I¡¯d told him. You¡¯re reaching, trying to discredit the employee who helped unmask you. If you think anyone will believe your attempts to save face, you¡¯re delusional. And that had been that. He¡¯d been escorted off the premises, all of hispany ounts shut down, his emailmunication onpany servers seized. The very next call I¡¯d made had been to Eleanor. I had briefed her on the situation, letting her know Freddie had been reporting to me. Phrased correctly, it wasn¡¯t a big deal. I¡¯d simply been impressed with Freddie¡¯s abilities after Thanksgiving and asked her to keep her ears and eyes open. Eleanor had been quietly impressed, rather than offended that I¡¯d bypassed her. ¡°I never liked Clive,¡± she told me. ¡°Something about his manners always felt too sugary.¡± I¡¯d sent her the email asking her to rece Clive as my COO the very next day. I put my phone down and close my eyes against the Polynesian sun. The anger at Clive still burns, even if it¡¯s more at his threats than his betrayal. Hisplete disregard for Freddie, who had never done him a single wrong. Freddie. All thoughts start and end there, it seems. A child¡¯s skipping footsteps on the dock makes me turn. Joshua¡¯s in a T-shirt and shorts, his hair mussed from where he¡¯s been lying on the giant hotel bed. He¡¯d watched a bit of a nature documentary on his iPad after we¡¯d gotten back from whale-watching. ¡°What are you doing?¡± he asks me. ¡°Just thinking. Looking at the ocean.¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. He sits down cross-legged beside me on the dock. Beneath us, soft waves break against the pirs. ¡°Can we go swimmingter?¡± ¡°You bet we will. Is Grandma inside?¡± He nods. ¡°She¡¯s resting. She said she¡¯s been on enough boats this week tost her for life.¡± Iugh, mussing his salt-roughened hair. ¡°She¡¯s not a boat person.¡± ¡°She said she took pictures today, when you and I snorkeled.¡± ¡°But not as good as ours.¡± He gives me a cheeky smile. The underwater camera we¡¯d brought hade in handy today, when we¡¯d finally swum next to a whale shark. ¡°We¡¯re hanging that one up at home, right, Dad?¡± ¡°We sure are, kid.¡± We grin at each other for a few seconds, and damn, my kid really is the best. My phone pings and his grin turns into a frown. ¡°Dad, were you working?¡± He says the word like I¡¯ve been busymitting violent crimes out here on the dock. ¡°Just answered a few emails,¡± I tell him, grabbing my phone. ¡°I¡¯ll put it on silent¡­ oh. It¡¯s from Anthony.¡± Joshua¡¯s frown disappears. My son knows and likes Anthony, having seen him often over the years. He might be quiet, and he¡¯s often scowling, but Anthony is a good man through and through. ¡°What did he say?¡± Joshua asks. ¡°Did you tell him about the whale shark?¡± ¡°Not yet, but I¡¯ll tell him now.¡± Smiling, I click open the text. Andugh. ¡°He¡¯s being cranky.¡± Think Outside the Boss 61 ¡°Because of thepany we told him he had to take over next.¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t want to?¡± ¡°No.¡± Seeing Joshua¡¯s expression, I hurry to exin. ¡°No, he does. It¡¯s a good opportunity. But it¡¯s in an industry he thinks is a bit¡­ silly.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°A matchmakingpany.¡± Joshua frowns, a tiny furrow between his brows. ¡°A what?¡± ¡°It¡¯s for grown-ups who want to meet a wife or a husband, but are having trouble finding one on their own.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Joshua lets out a chuckle, swinging his legs above the water. ¡°That is silly.¡± ¡°Anthony thinks so too.¡± ¡°There are a ton of grown-ups. Shouldn¡¯t it be easy to find someone to marry?¡± I run a hand over my rough jaw. I hadn¡¯t bothered to shave this week, and the feeling is foreign against my hand. ¡°Well, grown-ups don¡¯t want to just marry anyone. It¡¯s difficult to find the right person.¡± Joshua gives a wise nod. ¡°Is that why you haven¡¯t gotten married, Dad?¡± ¡°Part of it, I suppose. And I work a lot too.¡± His nce down at my phone makes it clear my kid thinks the very same thing. No doubt emphasized by Linda¡¯s well-meaningments. ¡°Do you wanna get married?¡± ¡°Well, kid, I don¡¯t know. I suppose I do, if I meet the right woman.¡± He shades his eyes and looks out across the endless water ahead of us. He¡¯s a little red at the nape of the neck despite the copious amounts of sunscreen my mother is careful to ther him in. ¡°I like your friend who came to dinner. Freddie.¡± I try to keep my tone level when I answer. ¡°She¡¯s really nice, isn¡¯t she?¡± He looks down at the fish beneath us. ¡°Yes. When shees over again, I think I might give her my giant stuffed elephant, the one I won at the Thanksgiving Fair.¡± ¡°Oh? Howe?¡± ¡°She liked elephants more than me, and besides, I¡¯m almost too old for stuffed toys.¡± He turns to me with a smile that looks so much like Jenny¡¯s that I suddenly feel seven years old again, looking up at my older sister at his age. ¡°Besides, you want to marry her, don¡¯t you, Dad? I can help you convince her.¡± My heart squeezes tight in my chest and perhaps my answering smile is a bit sad, because his falters. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to?¡± ¡°I do,¡± I admit. ¡°But she¡¯s moving away.¡±C0pyright ? 2024 N?v)(elDrama.Org. ¡°Yeah. To Italy.¡± He sighs, looking down at his bare feet. ¡°Danielle might move back to France.¡± ¡°She told me before we went on break. She¡¯d heard her parents say they weren¡¯t going to stay in America forever.¡± I smile. ¡°That might still be a while. They could stay here for years.¡± He shrugs. ¡°I told her I didn¡¯t want her to go.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± A private smile forms on his lips, and I know he¡¯s far away. Lost in the memories of his first crush. I wonder when he¡¯ll stop confiding this sort of thing to me. I hope it¡¯s never. ¡°So you still like her,¡± Iment. He nods. ¡°And I think she likes me too. She¡¯s stopped spending time with Dexter. She always sits next to me.¡± ¡°That¡¯s great, kid.¡± His smile widens. ¡°Yes. Did you ask Freddie not to move away?¡± I shake my head slowly. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Why not? Perhaps she won¡¯t. You know, if she likes you too.¡± It¡¯s so simple,ing from Joshua. Obvious. The rity in his voice isn¡¯t hindered by adult concerns or nuance. I run a hand through my hair, and it¡¯s just as salt-roughened as my kid¡¯s. ¡°If I say it, she might stay. And as much as I want that, I also know that moving to Italy is her dream.¡± Joshua frowns in concentration. He¡¯s really considering this, gears turning in his mind. ¡°But Dad,¡± he says, ¡°if you don¡¯t tell her, perhaps she doesn¡¯t know you want her to stay.¡± ¡°I think she knows.¡± ¡°Thinking and knowing isn¡¯t the same thing,¡± he informs me, legs swinging. ¡°Mrs. Kim always says that in science ss.¡± My lips tug. ¡°Well, she¡¯s right about that.¡± ¡°I think you should tell her. Then she knows, and she can make up her mind.¡± So simple. So clear. And yet his words lead me into a different direction, one I hadn¡¯t considered before. By not asking her, by not telling her explicitly how I feel, I¡¯m not trusting her to make her own decisions. I haven¡¯t given her the full picture. All the words I haven¡¯t spoken suddenly fill my chest, clog my throat, until they feel like they¡¯re going to choke me. Joshua gives me a wide smile. ¡°I¡¯m right?¡± ¡°You are,¡± I tell him. ¡°You really are.¡± ¡°See, Dad, I know things too.¡± ¡°Oh, you sure do, kiddo.¡± He¡¯s his own person, someone unique and separate from me, Michael and Jenny. And yet I get the strangest feeling that Jenny has told me off again, this time from the grave and through her son. Think Outside the Boss 62 And this time, I¡¯m going to heed her advice to throw caution to the wind. Joshua stretches out on the dock beside me, putting his skinny arms beneath his head. It¡¯s such a teenage pose, showcasing the length of his legs and torso. The shorts we¡¯d bought him for this trip already look a bit short. But he¡¯s only nine. Is this the precursor of a growth spurt? ¡°You gotta stop growing, kid,¡± I tell him. ¡°It¡¯s going too fast.¡± He grins up at the sky, a boy without a care in the world. A boy who was brave enough to swim with a whale shark today. His smile had been ecstatic when we¡¯d been back on the boat, my arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders to keep him from shivering. ¡°I¡¯ll be ten in a few months,¡± he informs me. ¡°Don¡¯t remind me.¡± ¡°You want me to be a kid forever?¡± I lie back on the dock beside him, my feet hanging off the edge. The sky is as turquoise above us as the Pacific beyond. ¡°I want you to be my kid forever.¡± Heughs. ¡°I¡¯ll still be your kid when I¡¯m a grown-up.¡± ¡°Yes, I suppose you¡¯re right.¡± ¡°You¡¯re being stupid, Dad.¡± He shakes his head, nudging me with his elbow. ¡°And we¡¯ll go on adventures then, too.¡± My heart aches with love for him, and for the first time in years, something pricks behind my eyes. I look up at the heavens above. Thank you, Jenny. ¡°Yes,¡± I assure him. ¡°We always will.¡± ¡°Who knows?¡± Toby asks. ¡°It could have been anything. Breach of contract. Insider trading. Perhaps he just pissed Mr. Conway off one time too many.¡± Quentin shakes his head. ¡°No, the man wouldn¡¯t fire someone who¡¯s productive just because of his attitude. Ten bucks it¡¯s because he harassed someone.¡± ¡°Are we really taking bets on this?¡± I ask, my hand tight around my ss of whiskey. The first day back after the Christmas holidays, and the entire office had been abuzz with spection about the personnel changes. It¡¯s a weight off my shoulders that nothing rtes to me. ¡°You don¡¯t have any theories?¡± Toby asks me. He¡¯s sitting across from me, his arm brushing Quentin¡¯s on the bar table. Both seem entirely rxed with this casual touch. ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°And to tell you the truth, I doubt we¡¯ll ever find out. Management is being really tight-lipped about it.¡± ¡°These things leak. They always do.¡± ¡°Mmm, not all things,¡± I murmur, nodding to them. I can¡¯t help letting them know what I suspect, not when we work so closely. Quentin goes still. Toby, however, doesn¡¯t. Heughs. ¡°Freddie, you know?¡± I shrug. ¡°I always thought you two would be cute together.¡± Quentin looks away from our booth to the crowded bar, a flush rising on his cheeks. ¡°Cute,¡± he mutters. Toby elbows him, still looking at me. ¡°Although now we have a new problem.¡± Quentin looks back at me, face fondly resigned. ¡°I was offered a job today.¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. My eyebrows rise. ¡°What? Really?¡± ¡°Yes. Apparently Eleanor¡¯s been offered a position higher up, so to speak.¡± Clive¡¯s job. It has to be. ¡°Oh God, are you saying what I think you¡¯re saying?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not saying anything,¡± is his cool response, ¡°as I¡¯m not yet allowed to.¡± ¡°But you see what this means, right?¡± Toby asks. ¡°We¡¯re not just co-workers who are dating. I will now be dating my boss. That¡¯s a whole different ballgame with HR.¡± I can¡¯t help butugh, and there¡¯s no stopping it, despite my happiness for them. The irony is too much. Toby joins in, even if he¡¯sughing for a different reason. ¡°It¡¯s like a bad movie, isn¡¯t it? What do I do?¡± ¡°You¡¯re an MBA grad,¡± Quentinments, and it¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve heard him say it without a trace of scorn. ¡°You¡¯re in high demand in all the other departments too.¡± ¡°But then I¡¯d leave Freddie behind,¡± Toby says, touching his ss to mine. ¡°How would she survive without my guidance?¡± ¡°I¡¯d flounder,¡± I say, my smile growing wider. As happy as I am for them, I¡¯m just as nervous about talking to Tristan again. When I see him next, I¡¯ll have to tell him what I decided. What I¡¯d told Eleanor the day before I left for Phdelphia. That while I truly appreciated the offer, I wasmitted to staying at the Exciteur headquarters and fulfilling the position for which I was hired. The second I¡¯d said it, and the moment I¡¯d seen the begrudging eptance and respect in Eleanor¡¯s eyes, I¡¯d feltpletely at ease with my decisions. Happy, even. Italy will still be there in a few years. In decades, too. But what I have going on now feels more important. Tristan feels more important. But I don¡¯t know if he¡¯ll think less of my ambition because of it. My phone rings, vibrating on the table between us. I give Quentin and Toby an apologetic smile and slide off the stool. My heart stops in my chest when the familiar caller ID appears. I weave my way through the people in the bar as I answer, still in the outfit I¡¯d worn at work. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Hi, Freddie.¡± His deep voice is familiar in my ear, like the past two weeks of separation hadn¡¯t happened. ¡°I¡¯d very much like to see you.¡± I swallow. ¡°I¡¯d like that too. Did you just get back from Tahiti?¡± ¡°Yes, a few hours ago. I cane to the bodega on your street, if you¡¯d like.¡± Someone screams beside me in post-work bliss and drink, and I hold my hand to my ear. ¡°Sorry, sorry, I¡¯m heading for the exit.¡± ¡°You¡¯re at a bar? Oh. The one close to work.¡± Think Outside the Boss 63 ¡°Yes, but I¡¯ll be leaving soon.¡± ¡°No need, I¡¯m already out. I¡¯ll meet you there.¡± ¡°Tristan, I-¡± But he¡¯s already hung up. I stare at the phone in my hand, blindly, wondering if that just happened. But there¡¯s no denying the effect his voice and words have had on me. Adrenaline floods my system andunches me into action. He¡¯sing here. When I return to our table, I reach for the coat hung over the back of my chair. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, guys, truly, but I have to head out.¡± ¡°What? Why?¡± ¡°We just got here.¡± ¡°I know,¡± I say, ¡°and I¡¯m sorry. But we¡¯ll have other nights. Congrats again, Quentin.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. He gives me a rare smile. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°And don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll keep it to myself until it¡¯s official.¡± ¡°Thank you. Both of the things I know.¡± Toby winks. ¡°And don¡¯t¡­ oh my God. What is he doing here?¡± Their eyes are both locked on a point somewhere over my shoulder, and I still, too scared to turn around. ¡°Frederica,¡± he says, drowning out the sounds around us. My hands shake as I tie the waistband of my coat. When I turn¡­ there he is, standing in a suit and a navy overcoat, his thick hair dusted with snowkes. A tan across his skin. Seeing him feels likeing home, like something clicks inside of me, and I know I¡¯ve made the right decision to stay in New York. ¡°You came here,¡± I say. ¡°I did,¡± he confirms, looking past me to Toby and Quentin. He gives a single, professional nod in their direction. ¡°Gentlemen.¡± A nce over my shoulder tells me they¡¯re in aplete and utter state of shock. ¡°I need to speak to Ms. Bilson for a moment,¡± he says. ¡°Enjoy the rest of your evening.¡± He steps aside and motions to the exit, the length and breadth of him easily giving us space in the crowded bar. I wonder who else in here is from the office. Who might be watching. But I can¡¯t find it in myself to care. ¡°See you tomorrow,¡± I tell Toby and Quentin. ¡°Um, sure. Have fun?¡± Tristan holds the front door open for me and we emerge on the busy sidewalk, the cold New York air afort to my fevered senses. ¡°Thank you for meeting me,¡± he says. ¡°Of course. Wasn¡¯t expecting you to be here so quickly, though.¡± ¡°I was in the area already.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°It¡¯s actually perfect, this, because I have to tell-¡± Tristan shakes his head. ¡°Let me go first, please. I need to tell you what I should have told you weeks ago, before you epted the job in Italy. What I wanted to say.¡± My mouth closes on my words. ¡°You do?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been an idiot.¡± ¡°You have?¡± A smile spreads across his features, andbined with the tan and the look in his eyes, he¡¯s breathtaking. Every inch the handsome stranger I¡¯d met at the Gilded Room all those months ago. ¡°Freddie¡­ Frederica. I want you, and I¡¯ve vowed to never stop telling you just how much. Fuck, Freddie, do you know how deep inside of me you¡¯ve crawled?¡± A shake of my head and his words pour out, passion zing in his gaze. ¡°I was in the crystal blue waters of Tahiti with my son. I was determined that I wasn¡¯t going to hold you back in any way. I tried to be happy for you, genuinely. But you were there on that trip along with me, next to me the whole time, a phantom you. One I couldn¡¯t reach out and grasp, couldn¡¯t share my thoughts with, couldn¡¯t sleep at night for thinking of.¡± My throat is dry, a desert of emotion. ¡°Tristan, I want you too. You know I do.¡± ¡°I do, Freddie, and I¡¯ll never take it for granted again. So I¡¯ll tell you what I felt like I couldn¡¯t before, and perhaps it¡¯s selfish of me, and if so, you¡¯re free to hate me for it. But I don¡¯t want you to go to Mn. I want you to stay here in New York with me.¡± I open my mouth to respond, but he shakes his head. ¡°But,¡± he interjects, ¡°I know you have your dreams and goals, and I will never stand in the way of that. So if you¡¯d like, go to Mn. I¡¯ll be there as often as I can. As often as you¡¯ll let me.¡± I shake my head at him, but I¡¯m smiling. ¡°Tristan, I turned down the job.¡± ¡°You did what?¡± ¡°I turned it down,¡± I say. Above us, snow whirls in indecipherable patterns under the streetlight. ¡°I just got to New York, and I want to stay here. I want to work at the headquarters and I want to live in my tiny apartment a bit longer.¡± Tristan grips me around the waist. ¡°You¡¯re serious.¡± ¡°I am, oh I definitely am.¡± Heughs, a deep, unbelieving sound, and then he bends his face to mine. Perhaps I should mind. There might be people from work passing by. But I can¡¯t, and I don¡¯t, because the feeling of his lips against mine is a promise and a balm after two weeks of uncertainty. He kisses me like it¡¯s the first of many, many, many. ¡°I¡¯ve already called my co-owners,¡± he murmurs as he lifts his head, thumb grazing my chin. ¡°Okay. Uhm, why?¡± ¡°Because I¡¯m renouncing my title as CEO of Exciteur.¡± ¡°You¡¯re doing what?¡± Think Outside the Boss 64 ¡°I¡¯m not going to spend theing ten months of your internship hiding, Freddie.¡± His hand slides down my arm to grip my hand. Long fingers twine through mine. ¡°I want to show you around the city. Take you to my favorite spots, have dinner with you at restaurants, Sundays in the park. All of it.¡± I grip thepels of his coat. ¡°But what about Exciteur?¡± ¡°One of my business partners will take over as CEO.¡± A trace of sly confidence appears in his smile. ¡°I¡¯ll still be able to influence decisions behind the scenes.¡± ¡°Of course you will,¡± I tease, but there¡¯s no emotion behind it. Nothing can drown out the happiness bursting through me like a broken dam. ¡°What will you do instead?¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± he murmurs, lowering his head again, ¡°I¡¯ll take some time off.¡± ¡°Oh, will you?¡± ¡°Mhm. And if that doesn¡¯t work, there¡¯s a publishingpany I¡¯ve been looking to buy.¡± Laughing, I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him. He can deny his hunger all he wants, but he¡¯s just as ambitious as me, and that hasn¡¯t changed with fatherhood. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of this cold,¡± I tell him when he finally raises his head again, both of us breathing hard. ¡°I have a brand-new heater in my apartment.¡± He lets me pull him down the street, smiling. ¡°Oh, do you?¡± ¡°Yes, and I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve seen it.¡± ¡°I bettere up, then,¡± he says. ¡°To inspect it.¡± Four monthster The damned mask chafes at my skin, reminding me why I¡¯ve rarely worn the thing. I tuck it into the inner pocket of my suit jacket instead. The incense hangs thick in the air, the scent of citrus and chamomile familiar but not unpleasant. I gaze out over the writhing bodies in the warehouse the Gilded Room chose for this asion. Women in lingerie serve drinks out of highball sses while a man trails them in nothing but a police hat and shorts. I watch as one of the city¡¯s top bankers invites a model to sit on hisp. She agrees, smiling with false modesty. My gaze continues, past the performance, until I find the one woman I¡¯m here for. She¡¯s leaning against the opposite wall. The silky fabric of her red dress clings to every exquisite curve, draped around her chest in a way that beckons a man to drown himself between those breasts. Dark, thick hair hangs in loose waves down her bare arms and shoulders. I know how it feels over my skin as she rides me, and how it must be tickling hers even now. The mask she wears hides most of her face from view, but I¡¯d recognize Frederica anywhere. I motion for a waiter and rece my empty whiskey ss with another. Coming here tonight had been her suggestion. It¡¯s been six months since we first met, and when I¡¯d proposed dinner to celebrate the asion, she¡¯d suggested this. I¡¯d been shocked. Intrigued. And what thedy wants, she gets. A sultry voice to my right forces me to break eye contact with Freddie. A woman has her hand on my arm, nails digging into the fabric of my suit. ¡°Hello, stranger. I haven¡¯t seen you around in a long while.¡± She¡¯s vaguely familiar, with ice-cold blue eyes and a pointed chin. ¡°It has been a while,¡± I agree. The old days when I¡¯d attend a few of these parties a year seem like they belong to a different life. One where interactions with women were short, to the point, always fun, but never serious. A way to keep rtionships at arm¡¯s-length, until Freddie refused to stay away. Until I couldn¡¯t let her go. ¡°I¡¯m going to head into one of the bedrooms soon,¡± the woman drawls, her hand inching down to wrap itself around my hand. ¡°If you¡¯d care to join¡­¡± I release her with a cid smile. ¡°Sorry, but I¡¯m taken for the night.¡± Her eyes scan the area. ¡°And she¡¯s left you here alone?¡± ¡°For the time being, yes.¡± ¡°A pity,¡± ice-blue eyes says with a shrug. ¡°She¡¯d bettere to her senses soon.¡±? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. As she meanders off, my gaze returns to where Freddie had been. But she¡¯s gone. I take a sip of my whiskey and relish the familiar burn down my throat, amplifying the punch of lust in my stomach. She¡¯s here, somewhere, being admired by all the men. But she¡¯ll pick me. Her strength, ambition and fierce intellect hasn¡¯t stopped impressing me yet. With Victor in charge of Exciteur, the talented son-of-a-bitch, I¡¯m still kept informed by both him and Freddie. So I know she¡¯s been offered Quentin¡¯s old job in Strategy, a position that would guarantee a full-time job after her internship ends. I lean against the wall and scan the crowd for a spark of red silk and dark hair. Some of the women here are in lingerie, but even fully naked they¡¯d have nothing on Freddie¡¯s allure. Her voice reaches me first. ¡°Hi there, handsome.¡± I turn to find her leaning against the wall beside me, her arms tucked underneath her breasts. The move gives me an even deeper view of her cleavage. ¡°Hello,¡± I say. She re-adjusts her mask, a sh of territorialism in her eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve already been spoken to.¡± The urge to grin in triumph grows stronger, but I y along, crossing my arms over my own chest. ¡°So I have.¡± ¡°She looked¡­ interesting.¡± ¡°I told her I was already with someone.¡± Freddie¡¯sposure cracks and her lips break into the smile I love the most. Wide and unrestrained and just a bit fierce. A mouth that is kind, but never weak. ¡°I¡¯m happy to hear that,¡± she says. I take her hand in mine, fingers brushing over the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. It had been a gift for her twenty-seventh birthday. She hasn¡¯t taken it off since. ¡°Have you seen how the men have watched you here tonight?¡± ¡°No,¡± she says. My thumb smooths over the rapid pulse in her wrist. ¡°I have. I¡¯ve seen them all look at you, at how that dress clings to your body, at your hair. They¡¯ve all been hoping they¡¯d be the one you came and spoke to.¡± ¡°Yet here I am,¡± she murmurs, shifting her hand in mine. ¡°Talking to you.¡± I incline my head. ¡°Here you are. And do you want to know something?¡± I lean forward, brushing her ear with my lips. ¡°I¡¯ll never tire of being chosen by you.¡± A shiver ghosts across her skin, and it¡¯ll never stop turning me on, seeing how I can affect her, even after these months of ever-growing intimacy. Freddie slips her fingers in between the buttons of my shirt. ¡°Thank you for agreeing toe here with me tonight.¡± ¡°Anything you want,¡± I say, moving my lips down to her neck. ¡°But would you mind telling me why?¡± ¡°Why not?¡± she asks. ¡°It¡¯s fun.¡± Think Outside the Boss 65 ¡°It is indeed.¡± Her fingers tighten in my shirt. ¡°You once told me you don¡¯t need this anymore, not while we¡¯re together. Is that still true?¡± ¡°Unequivocally,¡± I tell her. Through the thin fabric of her silk dress, my hand traces the outline of her hip. I love these handholds. ¡°Good. Then this is ourst time here.¡± I smile against her skin. ¡°I won¡¯t miss it.¡± ¡°We¡¯re saying goodbye to it tonight,¡± she murmurs. ¡°And I¡¯m iming you.¡± I tip her head back to give me better ess to her corbones. I won¡¯t go further than this, not with all these people looking¡­ but there¡¯s no denying a part of me longs to with the fall of her chest so close to my face. My teeth graze over the thin spaghetti strap. ¡°iming me?¡± I ask. Freddie gives a single nod. ¡°Yes. Thest thing these men and women are going to see tonight is me, leading Tristan Conway out of the Gilded Room.¡± I smile against her skin, this fierce, brave woman who went to a sex party she wasn¡¯t invited to, who seduced a man who thought himself un-seducible, and who stood up to her boss when she identally emailed him with an insult. ¡°You¡¯vee a far way, Straitced.¡± Her hand slides up to grip my hair. A slight, unmistakable tug. But my grin doesn¡¯t falter. ¡°You don¡¯t hate that nickname anymore,¡± I challenge. ¡°No,¡± she admits, the hand softening. ¡°I don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Tell me when you want to lead me out of here, and I¡¯ll follow you.¡± Her smile turns crooked as she pulls my head down for a kiss. It quickly turns heated with her body beneath my hands. A tug and she¡¯s pressed against me, those gorgeous breasts a delicious weight on my chest. ¡°Now,¡± she murmurs. Her hand slips down to grip mine as she turns, leading me with confident determination through the popted warehouse. And people do watch us. How could they not? Her, drop-dead gorgeous and on sky-high heels, a woman on a mission. And me, following her with my hand linked to hers. My conqueror is showing off, and yet I feel nothing but pride. Let them see her take me off the market for good. We get our phones back from the attendant by the door and leave the party behind. Freddie steps into the elevator ahead of me without hesitation. I squeeze her hand in mine and she looks up, smiling. She rarely looks at the monitor counting the floors anymore. She¡¯s challenging her limits all the time, now. We¡¯ve even been out on my balcony a few times. ¡°What?¡± she asks me, but she¡¯s smiling. I take her in my arms and tip her head back. ¡°You did great in there.¡± She licks her bottom lip. A clear invitation, and my body rises to it. The things I¡¯ll do to her when we get back to her studio¡­ I¡¯ve learned to work with the size constraints. Her mouth softens into a delighted smile. ¡°You¡¯re looking at me like that again.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± I brush her lips with mine once, twice. ¡°Like I love you, sweetheart?¡± Her breath hitches. ¡°Yes. Like that.¡± ¡°Well,¡± I murmur, kissing the corner of her lips. ¡°Perhaps that¡¯s because I do.¡± The sultry seductress before me transforms into my smiling girlfriend. ¡°I love you too,¡± she murmurs, arms around my neck. ¡°So much. I didn¡¯t know when to tell you.¡±? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. ¡°Well, is there ever a bad time?¡± I kiss her again. This must be the longest elevator ride in history, but I¡¯m notining. Sheughs in my arms, a sun exploding, and I¡¯m the only one here to soak up the rays. ¡°The first time you kissed me after the first night was in my elevator, when it stalled. Do you remember? Now the first time you tell me you love me is in an elevator. Are you trying to get rid of my fear by positive reinforcement?¡± ¡°Maybe. Is it working?¡± ¡°It might be.¡± She presses her lips to mine again, still half-smiling. ¡°There¡¯s just one thing we have left to do in one.¡± My eyebrows rise. ¡°Are you saying what I think you are?¡± The elevator doors open to reveal the candlelit lobby of the old Brooklyn warehouse. Freddieughs, pulls me toward the exit. ¡°You do have a private elevator,¡± she says. ¡°You¡¯re right, I do. It¡¯s almost the same size as your studio.¡± ¡°Be nice,¡± she chides me, eyes glittering. ¡°There¡¯s something else I think we should do too.¡± I push open the front door for her. ¡°Tell me.¡± ¡°Well, remember the previous tenant in my apartment? Reba Hartford?¡± ¡°The one whose invitation to the Gilded Room you stole? I remember.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t steal it,¡± Freddie protests. I bite my tongue to keep from smiling. ¡°Of course not, Straitced.¡± ¡°Well, I was thinking we should send her flowers,¡± she says, her hand tightening on mine. ¡°We owe her a lot, don¡¯t we?¡± I smile back at her. ¡°We owe her everything.¡± Epilogue Six yearster The strong wind whips at my hair and pulls tendrils out of my tight braid. The New Mexican air is dry and hot, the glittering Rio Grande a thin snake of water more than five hundred feet beneath me. It¡¯s the exact spot Tristan and his sister bungee-jumped from more than twenty years ago. Tristan and Joshua had nned our trip here since he was ten, but it had taken time, because you had to be fourteen to be allowed to jump. Tristan had insisted on waiting one more year. Sweat drips down my spine and I give the harness I¡¯m in a tentative tug. ¡°It¡¯ll hold,¡± Tristan says by my side. His calm, familiar voice steadies me. Of course it¡¯ll hold. Breathe in. Think Outside the Boss 66 Breathe out. Two bungee-jump operators unstrap Tristan¡¯s own harness with quick hands and I grip the railing tight. ¡°And you¡¯re sure you enjoyed it?¡± His grin is wide beneath his wind-tousled hair, handsome streaks of gray at his temples. ¡°A rush like no other,¡± he assures me. Joshua gives me a nearly identical smile. ¡°It was amazing, Freddie. You won¡¯t regret it.¡± I peer over the edge of the bridge to the five hundred feet drop. It had been hard enough to watch my husband and stepson jump, both of them screaming at the top of their lungs. ¡°You were so brave,¡± I say. ¡°Both of you.¡± Joshua runs a hand through his curls and smiles down at me. Down, because he¡¯s now taller than me, and I still haven¡¯t gotten used to it. ¡°It wasn¡¯t as scary as I expected. Not when I¡¯d actually jumped.¡± At fifteen, he¡¯s not yet at the age where we are terribly embarrassing to be around¡­ but it¡¯s getting closer. Every trip we still go on where he¡¯s enthusiastic and invested is one to treasure. Tristan slings an arm around his son¡¯s shoulders. A few years more and they¡¯ll be the same height. ¡°Your mom would have been so proud of you,¡± he tells Joshua. ¡°Or angry at me, for letting you jump.¡± ¡°Perhaps both?¡± ¡°Very likely,¡± he agrees, tugging Joshua closer. ¡°At any rate, I¡¯m proud of you, kid.¡± Joshuaughs. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you too, Dad. Thought you¡¯d chicken out at thest minute.¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. ¡°Who, me?¡± ¡°I¡¯d never,¡± Tristan says grandly, but we¡¯re all grinning. The adrenaline of the day has pushed us all to the edge in more ways than one, here on the bridge to honor Jenny and to ovee fears. Tristan gives Joshua¡¯s shoulders a final squeeze. ¡°Do you want to go wait by Grandma and Julie?¡± He nods, shooting me onest smile. ¡°You can do it.¡± ¡°Thanks, honey.¡± Tristan and I watch him walk the twenty feet or so back to where Maud is standing, our two-year-old safe and snug in her arms. Julie watches us with the rapt attention only an awed toddler possesses. We both give her a little wave, and she waves back, dark hair whipping in the wind, just like mine. Mommy jumping too? she¡¯d asked earlier. It had been easy then to give her a confident affirmative. Tristan turns me away from our family, his hands steadying weights on my shoulders. ¡°Frederica,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Tristan,¡± I murmur back. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this, you know.¡± ¡°I know, but I want to.¡± He doesn¡¯t raise a questioning eyebrow, doesn¡¯tment. Just steadies me with the familiar gaze that promises truth, and kindness, and loyalty. ¡°You don¡¯t struggle with elevators anymore. You can sit on a balcony without feeling anxious, and we even zip-lined in Costa Rica. I¡¯d say you¡¯ve already conquered this fear.¡± I shake my head. ¡°This is the final step.¡± ¡°All right. But if you¡¯re wondering¡­ you¡¯re already the bravest person I know. By far, Freddie. You took that spot squarely when I watched you give birth to Jules. There¡¯s nothing left to prove, sweetheart. And no one will think less of you if you unsnap this harness.¡± ¡°You¡¯re supposed to talk me into this, not out of it.¡± His grin shes. ¡°All right. I¡¯m sorry.¡± I close my eyes and take a deep breath. ¡°It¡¯ll be over so fast.¡± ¡°Real fast,¡± he says. ¡°In the blink of an eye, really.¡± ¡°And after that I¡¯ll always be the person who bungee-jumped. I can say that for the rest of my life.¡± ¡°You sure can.¡± Behind my closed eyes, I conjure the picture that hung in Tristan¡¯s apartment. It hangs in our new home now on the ever-expanding gallery wall. Jenny strapped into a harness, smiling into the camera, standing on this very bridge. I¡¯m doing this jump for me. For me, for my husband, for my children, and for my son¡¯s parents, who I never had a chance to get to know. ¡°It¡¯s one hundred percent safe,¡± Tristan says. ¡°You know I wouldn¡¯t have let Joshua or you jump here if it wasn¡¯t.¡± Yes, I do know that. He¡¯d done extensive research before we came here, and we¡¯ve rented the bridge and the bungee-jumpingpany for the full day. Everything has been quadruple-checked. ¡°You won¡¯t be straitced anymore if you do this.¡± ¡°Give me another reason?¡± His smile turns crooked. ¡°Well, this might be yourst shot at doing something like this for a while, sweetheart.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± I nod. ¡°I want to start trying again right after this.¡± ¡°We will,¡± he vows. Both of us want to give Julie and Joshua another sibling, and once we start, this will be off-limits. If there¡¯s one thing pregnant women shouldn¡¯t do, it¡¯s bungee jump. ¡°Okay,¡± I tell him. ¡°I¡¯m ready. I¡¯m doing this.¡± He tips my head back and presses a confident, determined kiss to my lips. ¡°You can do absolutely anything, Freddie.¡± He steps back and motions for the professionals. Ben and An hustle into action immediately. Strap me in, tightening carabiners and pulling ropes taut. Tristan is thest to tug at my checks and bnces. ¡°It¡¯ll be over so fast,¡± he says. ¡°Conquering my fear,¡± I murmur. We give each other a single nod of determination, because we¡¯re in this together, even if it¡¯s my turn to jump now. Since we got married, it¡¯s been the two of us, a team tackling life. Work. Joshua. Pregnancy. Birth. Julie. At every step of the way it¡¯s been us, and despite theck of sleep and the stress of bing a stepmother, we love each other more now than we ever did that first year. With the right person, love only gets deeper with time. So it¡¯s with confidence that I walk toward the edge of the bridge, knowing he¡¯s got my back. The tips of my toes extend past the edge of the bridge. The Rio Grande beckons like a ribbon of light blue at the bottom, further than I¡¯ll reach. ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready!¡± An calls. I think of Joshua and Tristan, brave enough to let me into their life. Of Maud, who lost a daughter but fought her way back to a new, sunny outlook on the world. I think of my grandfather, the hardest-working man I know, who took risks I couldn¡¯t imagine. What¡¯s jumping off a bridgepared to leaving your homnd behind? And I think of me, daring to take that first step with Tristan all those years ago, the two of us strangers in a crowded room. What¡¯s a fear of heightspared to the fear of the unknown? And I¡¯ve already conquered that with my family by my side. As scary as jumping might be, they¡¯ll be right up here when I return. My hand slides from the railing as I let go, stepping out into the unknown, a smile on my lips. Want more Tristan and Freddie? Join my newsletter to read a 4000-word short story told from Tristan¡¯s perspective. He and Freddie are newly married, settled¡­ and trying. For a baby, that is. Follow along! The story continues Saved by the Boss 1 Summer ¡°A boss a day keeps bankruptcy away,¡± my aunt says. She¡¯s perched on the edge of my desk with a wide smile on her face. ¡°Isn¡¯t that what we¡¯ve always said? And Anthony Winter is the biggest boss of them all!¡± ¡°Yes, but he¡¯s not signing on as a high-paying client. He¡¯s our new owner.¡± ¡°No,¡± Vivienne corrects me. ¡°Co-owner.¡± ¡°With a fifty-one percent stake.¡± ¡°Still an important distinction.¡± She walks to the gilded mirror in the corner of my office, one of two at Opate Match. We¡¯re small, but we deliver love to New York¡¯s elite. Started by Vivienne Davis twenty-five years ago. Now sold by Vivienne Davis, two days ago. And she doesn¡¯t seem the least bit concerned the venture capitalists she¡¯s sold it to will dismantle us. I try a different route. ¡°It¡¯s your life¡¯s work.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she agrees, fixing her lipstick in the mirror. Re-arranging her honey-wheat hair, styled into shoulder-length curls. ¡°But we¡¯ve been close to bankruptcy for years. I hate that word. After today, let¡¯s never use it again.¡± ¡°We have plenty of clients.¡± ¡°Not enough, Summer. You¡¯re worrying, darling, and it¡¯ll give you wrinkles if you¡¯re not careful.¡± I sigh. Ace lifts his golden head from the floor at the sound and flicks his ears, attuned to my moods. ¡°I wish I could be as happy about this as you are. I know it¡¯s a good thing, it¡¯s just¡­ well, there will be changes.¡± ¡°Dear, I¡¯m the one who should worry, not you!¡± ¡°I know, I know.¡± ¡°They¡¯re not allowed to fire any employees in the first three years, I made them put that into the contract. You¡¯ll meet Mr. Winter when he drops by the office tomorrow. He¡¯s the serious, grumpy type. Definitelymitted to turning our numbers around.¡± She gives a smallugh. ¡°In truth, I think our ability to turn a profit is the only reason he¡¯s willing to stand me.¡± I meet her smile with one of my own. My aunt is an excellent judge of character. ¡°He¡¯s too good for a matchmakingpany?¡± ¡°He thinks he is,¡± she says. ¡°We¡¯ll see about that. But I don¡¯t doubt hismitment to turning this ship right side up. We need some business savvy, Summer, and we need their capital.¡± I sigh. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right. I look forward to meeting him tomorrow.¡± ¡°Good.¡± She puts her vintage handbag over her shoulder and gives me a winning smile. ¡°I have to head out for lunch, or risk keeping the Walters waiting even longer. Did you hear they¡¯re celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary this summer?¡± ¡°I did, yes. That¡¯s fantastic.¡± ¡°One of my triumphs. Suzy is out of the office too, had to run some errands. You¡¯ll take a break, won¡¯t you, darling?¡± ¡°Yes, I will. Ace and I will hit the park for lunch.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a good dog,¡± she says, patting Ace¡¯s head on the way out. ¡°How about we have lunch at Olive next week? It¡¯s been a while.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°I¡¯d love that,¡± I say. ¡°Then it¡¯s a date,¡± she says, smiling. There¡¯s the sound of heels on hardwood and then the decisive snap of our front door closing. I lean back in my office chair and look down at Ace. My golden retriever looks back at me. ¡°Opate Match,¡± I tell him. ¡°Sold, like a piece of furniture. To a venture capitalist.¡± He cocks his head like only a dog can, as if he¡¯s trying to solve a puzzle. But this is one I don¡¯t have the answer to. Opate is Vivienne¡¯s pride and joy. She¡¯s poured her sweat, blood and tears into making it work for decades. I know the decision to take in outside investors hadn¡¯t been easy, even if we needed it. But her optimism seems unfailing. Ace trails me as I head to the coffeemaker in the reception. Suzy¡¯s desk is abandoned and the door to my aunt¡¯s office left ajar. The three of us have tried to save this sinking ship for over a year, butpeting with free dating apps, well¡­ it hasn¡¯t been easy. I look out the window at the sun-drenched New York street and take a sip of my freshly brewed espresso. Selling out feels like the end of an era. The buzzer rings on our front door. I frown, heading to Suzy¡¯s desk. None of us have clients scheduled for the rest of the day. I press down the answer button. ¡°Opate Match, how can I help you?¡± The voice is masculine and clipped. ¡°I¡¯m here for a meeting.¡± A meeting? We don¡¯t have anyone scheduled, but Suzy¡¯s made mistakes before. ¡°Of course,¡± I say. ¡°Come on in.¡± I hide the coffee cup behind a steel statue of Cupid and brush away some biscuit crumbs from my skirt before opening the door. I don¡¯t recognize the man who enters. He¡¯s also tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Dark-haired and suit-d, but so are most of the men whoe seeking our matchmaking services. No hints at his profession there. Early thirties, I¡¯m guessing. I extend a hand and give him my warm, professional smile. ¡°I¡¯m Summer Davis. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you.¡± He looks at my hand a second too long before sping it in his for a brief shake. ¡°I¡¯m here for a meeting with Vivienne Davis.¡± There¡¯s a frown on his lips, as if the prospect tastes sour on his tongue. He¡¯s one of the more reluctant clients, then. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right,¡± I say. ¡°She delegated the meeting to me, but I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll get off to a great start. I take it this is your first time here?¡± His scowl deepens. ¡°It is.¡± ¡°Excellent. Let¡¯s get you sorted. You¡¯re wee to step into my office, just through here¡­ would you like a cup of coffee?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°All righty. Just let me know if you change your mind.¡± I close the door behind me and motion for him to have a seat. Despite the scowl, he has a good look. Not ssically handsome, I¡¯ll admit. There¡¯s something too rough-hewn about his facial features for that. But he¡¯s tall and broad-shouldered, with an old-world masculine look. Not to mention he has the dark, scowling thing down pat, and there are tons of women who like that. Yes, I think. I can work with this. I take a seat opposite him and fold my hands together on the oak desk. ¡°First and foremost, I¡¯d like to thank you foring in today. It¡¯s the first step, after all.¡± Saved by the Boss 2 The stare he levels at me is unnerving. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°I¡¯m aware of how difficult it can be to try something like this, especially if you haven¡¯t used any form of matchmaking services before. But we¡¯replete professionals, and I promise you that our service is always first-ss. We¡¯ll never pair you with someone we don¡¯t believe will be a good fit.¡± He leans back in his chair, hands curving around the armrests. Something shes in his eyes. Is it amusement? This man is impossible to read, but I¡¯ll figure out hisnguage. ¡°Good to know,¡± he says. ¡°Not to mention we haveplete client confidentiality.¡± ¡°Right.¡± His gaze travels from me to the framed images on the wall beside me. They¡¯re wedding photographs. A real chatty Cathy, this guy. ¡°All sesses,¡± I tell him. Couples who meet through Opate often send their wedding photos to us, together with handwritten thank-you notes. I¡¯d saved every one. ¡°What made you approach Opate Match?¡± He looks down at the sleeves of his suit jacket, re-adjusting them. Is he smiling? Offended? He¡¯s giving me nothing to work with, and it¡¯s not like I have ess to his initial emails with Vivienne. No, I¡¯m flying blind, but I¡¯ll have to pretend I¡¯m not. Is he a stockbroker or an oil tycoon? Interested in men or women? I¡¯m walking a tightrope over here.? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. ¡°What made me approach Opate Match¡­¡± he repeats, his deep voice filling my office. ¡°Truthfully, I¡¯ve never had much respect for agencies such as yours. I¡¯ve long been somewhat of a¡­ skeptic, you might say.¡± I nod. This is not unusual. ¡°That¡¯s understandable when you¡¯ve never been a client of one before.¡± ¡°Most dating services and websites seem to be quick ways for people to find sexual partners,¡± he says, looking straight at me, a glint in his eyes. It¡¯s clear he thinks he¡¯s offending me. I lean back in my chair. If he thinks he¡¯ll unnerve me, he has no idea of the matches I¡¯ve brokered. Three times divorced? I¡¯ll find someone perfect for them. Can¡¯t date in public for fear of the press? Bring it on. ¡°There are certainly some who use dating services for that end,¡± I agree. ¡°But Opate is not one of those services.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°No. We pride ourselves on makingsting matches, ones our clients are pleased with long-term. Naturally, what people do with their free time is outside of our hands, but once we know what a client wants, we¡¯ll never set them up with someone looking for a different level ofmitment.¡± He gives a slow nod. ¡°And the couples on the wall there? They all wanted the same level ofmitment from the beginning?¡± ¡°For the most part, yes.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t seem convinced,¡± I say, adding my widest smile. ¡°I understand that blind dating can be unusual, intimidating even, when you¡¯re not used to it.¡± He drums his fingers along the armrest. ¡°You believe in thispany. In what you offer.¡± ¡°Of course I do,¡± I say. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t work here if I didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Many people work with things they dislike.¡± ¡°Not me.¡± He gives another quiet hum and nces from me to the room around us. The hardwood floors and white walls, polished tables and expensive armchairs, filled with the elegant minimalism somon in high-end decor. ¡°Opate Match profiles itself as apany for elite matchmaking. Matches for the rich and famous, I believe, is one of the tag lines.¡± ¡°Our clientele is well-heeled, yes.¡± I tip my head in his direction. ¡°Like you.¡± When in doubt, tter a client. The look on his face makes me think he¡¯s fighting against rolling his eyes. ¡°Right. Well, I understand the merits of that¡­ but it doesn¡¯t convince me thepany deals in true love.¡± I¡¯ve had clients in my office who have cried, screamed, cursed the person they were just on a date with for not wanting to continue. This man might be obstinate, but he¡¯s far from the most difficult case I¡¯ve had. Has he been burned in the past? ¡°How so?¡± ¡°It¡¯s prestige dating,¡± he says. ¡°Trophy wives and rich men, or Upper-East-Siders who didn¡¯t have the good fortune of meeting their future spouse at an Ivy League college. They¡¯re not here for love, Ms. Davis. They¡¯re here for an arranged marriage.¡± My hands fall t on the desk in front of me. It¡¯s one thing to be used of being a service setting up people for the sole purpose of sex. It¡¯s something else to be told I don¡¯t deal in love. ¡°Our clients, due to their status, have a very unique set of challenges when ites to dating. Not all of them can walk into a bar and talk to a stranger,¡± I say. He inclines his head. ¡°That can be difficult, yes. But for more people than just the so-called elite.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right. A difficulty with dating isn¡¯t unique to the people who hire us,¡± I say, smiling wide again. Whatever he might say, I¡¯ll crack him. I¡¯ll just have to work a bit harder. ¡°But we always pre-vet clients before epting them. The level of personal interaction between myself or Vivienne with each client means that the matchmaking is a far smoother process. There¡¯s no need to spend three weeks dating someone toter learn you¡¯re ipatible on some fundamental level.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve turned a messy, human process into something logical?¡± ¡°In some ways, yes. But we don¡¯t control it. We¡¯re just facilitators. The real magic happens when our clients leave this office, ready to meet with someone who¡¯s just as ready as they are to find a life partner.¡± He gazes back at me. ¡°I see.¡± ¡°Is it all right if I begin with some introductory questions? Just to get to know you better and round out your client profile.¡± ¡°Go ahead,¡± he says. Still with that half-scowl, half-amused look on his face. Like he can¡¯t believe he¡¯s actually here, sitting in this chair, about to do this. I pick up a notepad and lean back in my chair, crossing my legs. Always better to have the first meeting face-to-face, to connect with a client. Theputerester. ¡°Remind me,¡± I say, ¡°how old are you?¡± ¡°Thirty-three.¡± ¡°Terrific.¡± I note it down. ¡°Now, I understand your reticence about us as apany, but I assure you, you¡¯re in good hands. We¡¯ll be transparent about the entire process.¡± ¡°I appreciate that.¡± ¡°Are you looking for a male or female partner?¡± There¡¯s a smile on his face. ¡°I¡¯m interested in women.¡± ¡°Excellent.¡± Saved by the Boss 3 ¡°Will you praise me after each answer?¡± ¡°Only if you¡¯d like me to.¡± I lower the notepad. ¡°Actually, how do you feel about praise? Is it a vital part of a rtionship, or just good to have?¡± ¡°Knowing that,¡± he says, skepticismcing every word, ¡°will help me find a life partner?¡± ¡°Well, it will help me learn more about what kind of person you are. How you see rtionships in general. Let me ask you this instead: what¡¯s your ideal long-term rtionship?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure I believe in long-term rtionships.¡± I put the notepad back on my desk. This one has been burned indeed. He should have walked in stamped with a giant red caution sticker. ¡°And why is that?¡± ¡°True love is a fairy tale,¡± he says. ¡°Nothingsts in life, and certainly not love.¡± There¡¯s a quick session of knocks on my office door. I don¡¯t have the time to reply before it¡¯s opened, my elegant aunt on the other side. Her face turns into a serviceable smile as soon as she sees the two of us. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to have kept you waiting,¡± she says, breathing fast. ¡°I¡¯ll be happy to meet with you in my office now. Summer, would you mind getting Mr. Winter and myself a cup of coffee?¡± My heart stops as I look from her to the man in front of me, the one who never gave me his name. The one who didn¡¯t say a word when I made my assumptions. He rises from his seat and buttons his suit jacket in one smooth gesture. ¡°A pleasure meeting you, Miss Davis,¡± he says. ¡°It was very enlightening.¡± Ace trots by my side to work the next day, close at heel, one of the few things he¡¯s kept from his guide dog training. ¡°Look at that,¡± I tell him as we pass a for sale sign on the door to Charlotte¡¯s Coffee Corner. For years, it¡¯s been one of my New York staples, a familiar part of the route I take to and from work. I should have bought more coffee there. If only I did, she might not have had to sell. To go out of business. To surrender to someone else¡¯s demands. Anthony Winter and Acture Capital can do whatever they want with Opate now, the clientele, the staff. Vivienne spent weeks pouring over the contract, but even so¡­ I don¡¯t trust it. I don¡¯t trust him. He¡¯d said not a word to correct my false assumptions yesterday. Vivienne had sent me an apologetic email after he left, the subject line in all caps. I MISTOOK THE DAY! Ace¡¯s tail wags as we step into the lobby of our office building and I smooth my hand over his silky ears. He¡¯s beautiful, my loyal dog, the one I can always count on. Good thing my aunt agrees with me. She likes to say having an animal in the office gives it soul, and I¡¯m grateful for that, because I can¡¯t imagine leaving him with my parents. ¡°Ready to meet the others?¡± Ace looks up at me with alert, chocte eyes. Yes, they say. ¡°There¡¯ll be someone else here today. Someone we have to be nice to, even if we don¡¯t want to. No biting.¡± I¡¯m smiling even as I say it, and his tail wags harder. So fearsome. I open the door to Opate and he makes a beeline for Suzy at reception. She grins when she sees him and puts down her lip gloss. ¡°Hi, buddy,¡± she says, burying her hands in his fur in greeting. The door to Vivienne¡¯s office is open and voices emanate from within. I step closer and my aunt looks up from her desk, golden reading sses perched on the edge of her nose. ¡°Ah, Summer! Come in,e in. I was just talking to Mr. Winter here and his associate, Ryan¡­¡± ¡°Walker,¡± a young man supplies. ¡°Walker, yes. They will be here often in theing weeks to pick our brains on thepany and to learn how it works.¡± Ah, I think. They¡¯re scouting it out before they make any changes, which means we have to be on our best behavior during this time. And I¡¯m already off to a bad start with Mr. Winter. He¡¯s sitting in one of Vivi¡¯s chairs, arms draped along the armrests. The gaze he shoots me is as dark and inscrutable as yesterday. No hint he even remembers our exchange. I give him a bright smile. ¡°We¡¯ll do our best to make you feel at home then, gentlemen,¡± I say. ¡°When I don¡¯t have client meetings, my door is always open to answer questions about the business and our practices.¡± Both men¡¯s gazes drop to my knees and a secondter I feel the solid weight of a golden retriever pushing past me in the doorway. ¡°Our favorite employee,¡± Vivienne says. ¡°This is Ace, my niece¡¯s dog.¡± The dog in question is busy scouting out the two men. He receives a pat on the head from Ryan, but he¡¯s ignored entirely by Anthony, who only looks from the dog to me. I¡¯ll have to apologize when I get the chance. Try to smooth things over from yesterday. Oh, the things I¡¯d said to him. Asking our new owner if he had a partner, or if he preferred women or men. Heat rises to my cheeks. ¡°Miss Davis was helpful yesterday,¡± Mr. Winter says. ¡°I know she¡¯ll continue to be so in the future.¡± I give them both my sunniest, brightest smile. ¡°Whatever you need,¡± I say and pat my leg. Ace returns to my side and we head into my office. I¡¯ve survived the first, shameful encounter. Whether I survive the second remains to be seen. I¡¯m sorting through our ever-shrinking pile of client applications when a single knock on my door sounds. Anthony Winter, hands by his sides, suit jacket unbuttoned. He¡¯s nearly tall enough to graze his head on the doorway. I turn away from myputer screen. ¡°Mr Winter. Come on in.¡± He stops a solid few feet away from my desk. Says nothing. I clear my throat. ¡°I¡¯d like to apologize about yesterday. About mistaking you for a client. I realize that wasn¡¯t what you¡¯d expected, and well¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡± He pulls out the chair opposite my desk and sits down. Stretches out long legs in front of him. ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯re not?¡± ¡°Like I said, it was enlightening,¡± he says and lets his gaze travel from mine to the pictures on the walls. My triumphs, my sesses. I open my mouth. Close it again. And then: ¡°I¡¯m sorry to ask, but why did you buy Opate Match?¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Why did I buy your aunt¡¯spany?¡± ¡°Yes. Judging from yesterday¡­ you don¡¯t believe in our services.¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. ¡°No. But I believe in your ability to generate profit.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s something, I suppose.¡± His gaze returns to mine. ¡°Tell me more about your business structure, Miss Davis. I¡¯d like to hear it from you.¡± From me? Saved by the Boss 4 But I clear my throat and dive into an exnation of Opate Match, detailing uses and structures he¡¯s doubtlessly already aware of. Things he knows, or he wouldn¡¯t have bought the business. But Anthony just listens, asionally tapping his fingers along the edge of his armrest. ¡°At the moment, Opate is limited to the East Coast. New York specifically, even if you get a fair amount of clients who are just traveling through. Correct?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°How do you feel about expanding internationally?¡± My eyebrows rise. ¡°Internationally?¡± ¡°People paying this amount of money for prestige matchmaking services like the idea of exclusivity. Traveling around the world for a date with a simrly-minded person¡­ well, that might only add to the appeal.¡± ¡°Yes, well, it might not make forsting rtionships.¡± The look in his eyes tells me he doesn¡¯t see that as a problem. ¡°Ryan is a coder and programmer.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°He¡¯ll start working on a prototype app.¡± My hands drop into myp. He sees it, another eyebrow rising. Almost as if he¡¯s intrigued against his best wishes. ¡°You don¡¯t approve?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t say I do, no.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Our strength is our personal service,¡± I say. ¡°We provide something you can¡¯t get anywhere else. We know the people whoe to us, so we can actually set them up with people they have a chance of seeding with. If we let people decide that themselves on the basis of self-generated profiles, all that swiping¡­ Our sess rates would plummet.¡± ¡°It would allow you to expand.¡± ¡°But at what cost?¡± I shake my head, but soften the gesture with a sunny smile. ¡°If you¡¯re asking for my opinion, that¡¯s it. The personal touch makes Opate Match.¡± He taps his fingers against the armrest again. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°¡®I know you don¡¯t believe in it. Our services, I mean, or that peoplee here with good intentions.¡± I shrug. ¡°Judging from our conversation yesterday, I mean. You¡¯re very cynical, Mr. Winter.¡± Both of his eyebrows rise at that. If there¡¯s a hint of amusement in his eyes, it¡¯s there and gone so fast I can¡¯t register it. ¡°Cynical, Miss Davis?¡± ¡°I know the majority of our clients believe in love. They¡¯re here filled with hope, and nerves, ready to try something new. The ones who open themselves up to the process are usually the ones most likely to seed.¡± ¡°Right.¡± There¡¯s a world of skepticism in that single word. It fills my office, multiplying and expanding. A determined dog shoves the half-closed door open. Ace trots in and sits down on his haunches next to Anthony, his gaze fixed on the man¡¯s face. Anthony looks from me to the dog. ¡°You have pets here.¡± ¡°That¡¯s Ace. He¡¯s great at getting clients to rx, actually. More than one nervous person has sat in here with their hand in his fur as they tell me about themselves.¡± Anthony¡¯s gaze turns from me to my dog, as if he¡¯s doubting this. Ace keeps looking at him. I can¡¯t help but smile. ¡°He¡¯s waiting for a hello.¡± ¡°Hello,¡± Anthony says. But then he relents, reaching out and resting arge hand on the top of Ace¡¯s head. His fingers sink into the golden fur and the telltale sound of Ace¡¯s tail against the floor picks up. You brilliant traitor, I think. He has always had a knack for figuring out when someone needs a bit of canine distraction orfort, another of the skills he¡¯d kept from his guide dog training days. Anthony¡¯s gaze holds resignation. ¡°You really are a hopeless romantic, then.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± ¡°A hopeless romantic,¡± he repeats. ¡°You believe in the core values of this business. You believe in love.¡± He says thest word like it has sharp edges. ¡°Yes,¡± I say, leaning forward. He might be our new owner, but isn¡¯t it in the best interest of the business if he learns what we¡¯re truly about? If he understands what makes us sessful? ¡°If only you could see how well this process really works,¡± I say, ¡°you¡¯d be a hopeless romantic too.¡± ¡°I doubt that, Miss. Davis.¡± It¡¯s a crazy idea. One of my wilder ones. And perhaps I¡¯m overstepping my boundaries, but¡­ I already did that yesterday. ¡°Well,¡± I say. ¡°Let us set you up on a date.¡± His eyes settle on mine with an intensity that makes my mouth dry. ¡°Pardon me?¡± ¡°If you want to see how this business truly works, I¡¯m happy to show you. Three dates,¡± I say, improvising. ¡°I¡¯ll make the arrangements for you. If you still think there¡¯s no merit after you¡¯ve been on all three, and if none of the women are people you¡¯d consider having a second date with¡­ I¡¯ll admit defeat.¡± ¡°Defeat?¡± he asks. ¡°Yes. I¡¯ll admit I was wrong, and Opate Match isn¡¯t for everyone.¡± It¡¯s a gamble, and my heart pounds in my chest with the audacity of what I¡¯m proposing. Vivienne would have my head if she knew. Or she¡¯dugh at the sheer nerve. There¡¯s never any knowing with her. Anthony narrows his eyes. ¡°And if I deem one of the dates good enough to warrant another?¡± ¡°Then you¡¯ll admit you were wrong about thispany. Yourpany, in fact. Either way, you¡¯ll have gained some experience about how our business works.¡± His jaw tightens, eyebrows drawing together over dark eyes. He¡¯s coldness itself, and I¡¯m about to freeze. But then he gives a single nod. ¡°You have yourself a deal.¡± My smile is entirely genuine. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s great. You¡¯re really going to enjoy this, I promise.¡± ¡°I¡¯d be careful about making that promise.¡± A few taps on my keyboard and myputer sings back to life. ¡°That means I¡¯ll create a quick client profile for you. Nothing fancy, but just enough so I can set you up with women I think will be good matches.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. He shifts in the chair. ¡°Ah. Okay.¡± I nce over. ¡°It¡¯ll be quick.¡± ¡°Take your time, Miss Davis. As I have no intention of losing this bet, I don¡¯t mind it being done thoroughly.¡± Saved by the Boss 5 I have to hide a smile as I open up a new client profile. Perhaps this is the way to crack him, then. Friendlypetition and bets. He can¡¯t help but be drawn in by them, intrigued despite himself. ¡°What age span are you interested in?¡± He gives a faint sigh, like he can¡¯t believe he¡¯s sitting here, answering this. ¡°I¡¯ve never considered one before.¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯re thirty-three,¡± I say. ¡°How about we put you down for twenty-five to thirty-five, give or take a few years on either end?¡± ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°How would you describe your ideal rtionship?¡± There¡¯splete silence on the other side of the desk. I look over to see him wearing an expression somewhere between masculine exasperation and pain. It¡¯s clear he¡¯s rethinking this bet. ¡°We can skip that one,¡± I say. ¡°Moving on, moving on¡­ I just need enough to set you up with women I think you¡¯d enjoy spending time with.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not picky,¡± he responds. ¡°They need to be able to hold up their side of a conversation. Some humor.¡± I¡¯ve never met a single person who said they weren¡¯t picky and actually meant it. People who im to have no demands inevitably have the most. But I can¡¯t tell him that. So I smile and make a note of it in his application. ¡°Humor¡¯s important for you, then. How about I ask you a few easy questions? These are some fun prompts we use to get a sense of a client¡¯s personality.¡± He sighs again, like I¡¯m imposing on him. ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°What¡¯s your favorite holiday?¡± ¡°My favorite holiday?¡± ¡°Michaelmas.¡± ¡°Really?¡± His lips twitch. ¡°No,¡± he says. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t mock you.¡± ¡°Not if we¡¯re going to do this bet properly.¡± ¡°Christmas, then. Put me down for Christmas.¡± I write down a great deal more than simply ¡°Christmas.¡± Sarcastic, dry sense of humor. Dislikes pretense. Needs a patient hand. ¡°That¡¯s a great choice,¡± I say. ¡°Is this the part where you praise me for my responses again?¡± I tilt my head in acknowledgement. ¡°Right, you didn¡¯t enjoy that. I¡¯ll refrain. Now, here¡¯s another prompt¡­ What¡¯s the best part of your day?¡± He taps his hands along the armrest, gaze turning to Ace. My dog has sprawled out beside Anthony¡¯s chair like he¡¯s never been more rxed in his life. ¡°My morning cup of coffee,¡± he replies. I note it down, and I know I shouldn¡¯tment, but¡­ ¡°Yet you didn¡¯t want a coffee when you came here yesterday.¡± ¡°I doubt your machine is very good.¡± I nce up at him, but there¡¯s a wryness to his features. He knows he¡¯s being provocative. I give a one-shouldered shrug. ¡°Compared to whatever fancy one you have at home, it¡¯s likely not, no.¡± He nods. Looks past me again. I clear my throat and return to my prompts. They¡¯re fun, easy ways to establish rapport with a client. To tease out things about their personality you¡¯d never get from asking people to describe themselves. I¡¯ll establish rapport with Anthony Winter, even if I have to be the one doing eighty percent of the work. ¡°Have you ever broken any bones?¡± His eyebrows rise, but he responds. ¡°A corbone. Left wrist.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not left-handed?¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. ¡°No, right.¡± ¡°How did it happen?¡± ¡°I used to climb.¡± He turns his head back to the pictures of the wall, breaking eye contact. ¡°It doesn¡¯t always go as nned.¡± An ident, then. Not that getting information out of him is easy. ¡°That sounds thrilling, climbing,¡± Iment, noting adventurous on his client profile. ¡°I¡¯ve only tried on one of those indoor gyms once. God, that was difficult.¡± ¡°Hmm,¡± he says. ¡°I didn¡¯t n on going, but it was with a boyfriend, and he insisted. It didn¡¯tst. My interest in climbing, I mean. Well, he didn¡¯tst, either.¡± I never ramble on like this with a client. But here I am, filling up the silence. Perhaps he¡¯ll feel morefortable if I make a fool of myself. Anthony¡¯s gaze shifts back to me. ¡°Indoor climbing gyms aren¡¯t fun. He should have taken you somewhere outdoors.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°Yes. Well, perhaps one day. Let¡¯s see here¡­ oh, this is a fun one. Give me two truths and a lie about yourself.¡± ¡°Two truths and a lie?¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯ll see if I can parcel out the lie.¡± He crosses his arms over his chest and nces back at the half-open door to my office. ¡°I¡¯m born in January, my social security number ends in thirty-seven, and this suit is new.¡± Oh, this man is frustrating. Saved by the Boss 6 I don¡¯t let it show, giving him a smile. ¡°One of them is a lie?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± There¡¯s challenge in his eyes. Clearly, he thinks he¡¯s outsmarted my prompt. His three things are about as personal as asking someone about the weather. ¡°You¡¯re not born in January,¡± I guess. ¡°Wrong. My social security number does not end in thirty-seven.¡± I smile, like he¡¯s won a point, and return to the client profile. Enjoys being difficult, I write. Could be devastating if he decides to flirt with a woman in earnest. Doubtful he¡¯ll ever do something he doesn¡¯t want to. ¡°You learned a lot about me from that response,¡± he says. ¡°What did you just write?¡± I ignore his question. ¡°What are your thoughts on marriage?¡± He drums his fingers against the armrest again. A cue that he¡¯s ufortable? Or just bored? ¡°Good for some, bad for others,¡± he replies. ¡°And where do yound?¡± ¡°I doubt it¡¯s something for me.¡± My stomach sinks at that. He really is going into this with a cynical mindset, not just to the matchmaking service, but at the idea of love and rtionships in general. I might lose this bet. But I refuse to admit that until it¡¯s time. And who knows, by then he might have found one of our fellow clients far too attractive to remember this little sparring match. ¡°Not what you wanted to hear?¡± he asks. I shake my head. ¡°The thing that makes Opate Match work is that we don¡¯t set people up based on what they project to the world. We set them up based on who they actually are. So I won¡¯t suggest you to one of our clients who are looking for marriage within theing years.¡± ¡°Good,¡± he says. ¡°How about kids? Something you¡¯d like in your future?¡± It¡¯s a standard question, but it feels invasive asking my new boss this. The man who holds the fate of Opate in one of thoserge, constantly-armrest-drumming hands of his. But if I can win him over to respecting our business model¡­ maybe I can protect Opate. ¡°No kids,¡± Anthony says. I note it down, even if it¡¯s a shame. With aforting strength to him, it¡¯s easy to picture a child riding on his shoulders. I bet he¡¯d soften then, in a way these silly prompts could never aplish. ¡°That¡¯s all right,¡± I tell him. ¡°We have plenty of clients who share your sentiment.¡± ¡°Plenty?¡± he asks. ¡°Plenty,¡± I echo. It¡¯s not, strictly speaking, a lie. We have a lot of female clients who are unsure about kids, and a few who have a strict no-kids-ever policy. ¡°Dogs or cats?¡± Anthony looks up at the ceiling, the picture of a man tortured. ¡°Knowing if I have a preference for cats or dogs will help me find evesting love?¡± ¡°Ah, we don¡¯t promise evesting love, Mr. Winter. We promise healthy rtionships with well-adjusted people.¡± ¡°How romantic,¡± he mutters. ¡°Dogs, then. Put me down as a dog person.¡± Ace shifts at his feet, letting out a soft canine sigh. Almost like he¡¯s agreeing. I smile as I make a note of it in Anthony¡¯s client profile. He might huff and puff as much as he likes, but my little house won¡¯t blow over. It¡¯s getting sturdier with every thing he says, the contours of his personality emerging little by little. It wouldn¡¯t be enough with a paying client, but it¡¯ll have to be enough with him, because I doubt he¡¯s going to endure a lot more of this. ¡°Onest question,¡± I say. ¡°Where do you see yourself in five years?¡± Anthony¡¯s gaze shutters. ¡°Not that one.¡± ¡°No?¡± I nod and smile. ¡°Okay, no problem. We¡¯ll go silly instead, for thest one¡­ What would the title of your autobiography be?¡± Anthony¡¯s jaw tenses as he thinks. Looks away from me. ¡°Hindsight is twenty-twenty,¡± he says. I think that might be the saddest thing I¡¯ve ever heard. He turns back to me, like he¡¯s remembering who I am. He clears his throat. ¡°Is that all you need, Miss Davis?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± It¡¯s not, not by a long shot. ¡°Would you be free for a date a few days from now? I¡¯ll email you with the details. It won¡¯t be a long encounter, likely an hour or two at a caf¨¦.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± he says and rises. Ace lifts his head and we both watch Anthony stop by my office door. ¡°Yes?¡± I say. ¡°What we¡¯ve spoken about, it stays between us.¡± ¡°It does,¡± I say. ¡°Anything we discuss as a client to matchmaker is bound by confidentiality.¡±? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. He nods in response and steps out of my office, shutting the door behind him. I stare at it for far too long, one question and one only in my head. Who the hell am I going to set this man up with? Suzy leans against her desk, arms moving as she describes her weekend. It was filled to the brim with excitement, just as usual, and aplete contrast to mine. ¡°Ivory wasn¡¯t packed at all this time,¡± she says. ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t want toe along this weekend? There are a ton of great guys there.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± I say. ¡°Last time was enough.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°It¡¯s a great ce to meet guys. That¡¯s where Chase and I met.¡± ¡°The DJ, right?¡± She brightens. ¡°The very one!¡± Truthfully, Suzy dates more than I can keep track of. She moved here two years ago and threw herself into crafting her dream New York life with enviable enthusiasm. Her social media is full of cocktails on rooftops. She looks down at Ace, his head in herp. ¡°Can I be honest with you?¡± ¡°Of course you can.¡± Saved by the Boss 7 ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m going to stay with Chase much longer.¡± That¡¯s not a surprise. ¡°Oh? Why not?¡± ¡°I thought dating a musician was amazing at first. But¡­ well, he¡¯s thirty-two and doesn¡¯t have a ce of his own. I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s really for me.¡± I smile at her. Beneath her veneer, Suzy¡¯s good stock. ¡°I think you might be right.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean, however,¡± she says, holding up a hand, ¡°that Ivory doesn¡¯t have great quality guys. Before Chase I met the banker there, remember?¡± ¡°I remember.¡± ¡°So you shoulde along. You¡¯ve been single for too long, Summer.¡± I give her a confident hair toss, ying it off with drama. ¡°What do you mean? I¡¯m thriving on my own.¡± ¡°But wouldn¡¯t it be fun? You¡¯re so good at matchmaking, it should be easy for you to find someone yourself!¡± I shrug, turning toward the coffee machine. My best friend Posie often says the same thing, but it doesn¡¯t seem like there¡¯s a corrtion between the two. ¡°I go on dates,¡± I say. ¡°Plenty of them.¡± Suzy makes a sound of disbelief. ¡°Yeah, right. Do you know what? You should go out with the delivery guy!¡± ¡°With Dave? Where did thate from?¡± She gives me a triumphant look. ¡°He always lingers when you¡¯re around. I¡¯ve caught him stealing nces toward your office every time he¡¯s here delivering our packages. Remember the time he yed with Ace for ten minutes?¡± ¡°Everyone loves dogs.¡± ¡°Yes, but he did it after I told him Ace was your dog. Before then he¡¯d always rushed off.¡± I take a sip of my coffee, my cheeks heating up. Suzy, despite her kind nature, mostly swims in the shallow end of the pool of life. She is, however, a great reader of men¡¯s interest. ¡°You think so?¡± ¡°Oh yes. Try talking to him the next time he¡¯s here and you¡¯ll see just how responsive he is. You¡¯re gorgeous, Summer, and he¡¯s average. He won¡¯t know what¡¯s hit him.¡± I shake my head at her. If there¡¯s one thing I¡¯ve learned in my matchmaking days, it¡¯s that beauty and appearance matters little when two people don¡¯t have chemistry. And when they do, it doesn¡¯t matter at all. She holds up her hands. ¡°Sorry, sorry. I know you don¡¯t like ranking people on their looks.¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s the truth.¡± I take a sip of my coffee and decide to deflect. It¡¯s a tried and true method with Suzy. ¡°Where¡¯s Vivi? She¡¯s been out of the office for a long while.¡± ¡°Oh, she said she might note back after lunch.¡± ¡°She did?¡± Suzy looks sheepish. ¡°Yeah. I mean, she sometimes does that. She has no more meetings this afternoon.¡± ¡°Right, that¡¯s true.¡± Still, I look at Suzy and she looks back at me. There¡¯d been a time when my aunt had lived and breathed Opate Match, using her charisma and connections to turn this ce into a small but powerfulpany. Now she¡¯s checking out more and more often. ¡°She didn¡¯t say what she was going to do,¡± Suzy adds. I shrug. ¡°Well, maybe she had another hairdresser appointment.¡± We both know that isn¡¯t true. She always goes to the blow-dry bar on Thursdays, but Suzy nods. ¡°Yeah. Maybe.¡± My phone rings and I give her a smile, heading into my office. The name on my phone brings me right back to professionalnd. I set down my cup of coffee and hit reply. ¡°Hi, Isabelle.¡± ¡°Summer!¡± Her voice is excited-a good sign. ¡°I know we talk after the dates, but this time I had to call you before. I¡¯m on my way to the caf¨¦ now.¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s terrific. I¡¯m happy you¡¯re excited.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°That has to be a good sign, right? Yes, it is. I read the information you sent me about him three timesst night. He¡¯s really quite impressive, isn¡¯t he?¡± I think of Anthony Winter opposite me in my office, the rough-hewn features, the unrelenting gaze. The uncooperative silences. ¡°Yes, he is. A man with a presence.¡± Isabelle gives a small oooh of appreciation. This will be the sixteenth man I¡¯ve set her up with. A small, unhelpful part of me suspects Isabelle enjoys dating too much tomit, and has no problem paying our matchmaking fees with her inherited fortune. ¡°He¡¯s charmingly grumpy,¡± I tell her. ¡°A man you need to draw out of his shell.¡± The sigh on the other end tells me I¡¯ve phrased it just right. ¡°I can do that,¡± Isabelle says. ¡°I¡¯ll lure him right out. Can you imagine, a Winter? He can be as grumpy as he wants.¡± That gives me pause. Vivienne knows all the families in New York, and yet she hadn¡¯t told me anything about Anthony¡¯s. ¡°Good,¡± I say, not sure if I want to encourage her way of speaking about him. ¡°Best of luck with the date, Isabelle. And remember what we spoke aboutst time?¡± ¡°Oh, yes, Summer. Thanks for reminding me,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m so excited! And now I¡¯m almost here! I¡¯ll talk to you afterwards.¡± I lower my phone and release the breath I¡¯d been holding in. Anthony Winter and Isabelle Ashford. Not a bad set-up, even if she¡¯s a serial dater. She¡¯s a great example of the clients we have. Someone who¡¯ll love to go on this date whether or not it actually ends up in¡­ you know. Anything. Petite, redheaded, an art gallery owner. Someone to match Anthony. I hope. He¡¯sing here for a debrief tomorrow, and I know I¡¯ll be given a scathing review if I¡¯ve misjudged this. Isabelle calls again not fifty minutester. ¡°Oh no¡­¡± I murmur, looking from my phone to Ace. Good first datesst a lot longer than this. ¡°Hi, Isabelle.¡± Saved by the Boss 8 ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± she says. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting to hear back quite so soon. Is the date over?¡± ¡°Yes, we cut it short. Although it didn¡¯t feel short.¡± I ask the next question with dread. ¡°How did it go? First impressions?¡± There¡¯s a delicate pause, and Isabelle doesn¡¯t do delicate. I grit my teeth. ¡°Well, he¡¯s not very talkative, is he?¡± ¡°He¡¯s definitely more of the strong, silent type,¡± I agree. ¡°Which can be good, at times. It means he gives others more space to express themselves.¡± ¡°That¡¯s true, Summer. I¡¯m sure there are women who¡¯d like that.¡± Another pause, and her words don¡¯t need to be spoken to be heard. A woman who isn¡¯t me. ¡°He certainly has a lot of¡­ well. He¡¯s memorable, you know?¡± ¡°Sure is,¡± I say. No white lie there. ¡°I was willing to overlook the silent thing, the fact that I had to drag responses out of him. And oh, he had magnificent hands. Men sometimes do, and you know I like men¡¯s hands. But even so¡­¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°The thing is, Summer, I just can¡¯t see myself dating a guy who collects dolls. I¡¯m sorry. I know you¡¯re so good at what you do and I always enjoy my dates, but this is a hard no for me. I didn¡¯t know it was before I met him, so I suppose I learned that about myself tonight?¡± Sheughs, once more the Isabelle I¡¯d spoken to an hour ago. ¡°So you can add that to my profile. Won¡¯t date a guy who collects dolls.¡± It takes me several moments to form words. ¡°Anthony Winter¡­ collects dolls?¡± ¡°Oh yes. It was the only subject he seemed passionate about. Porcin ones, too.¡± Her voice drops an octave. ¡°He said he has them all on disy in his apartment. He¡¯d just ordered a rare one from Russia. Had it flown here with its own attendant.¡± ¡°Christ,¡± I mumble. ¡°That¡¯s what I thought too. You know, I¡¯ve heard this before about some of the old New York families. Not about the Winters specifically, of course. But about others. They have their little quirks. Perhaps that¡¯s whates with too much time on your hands.¡± Isabelleughs again. ¡°Yes, well, I suppose we all have to have hobbies. I¡¯m sorry this date wasn¡¯t a hit for you. I¡¯d hoped it might be.¡± ¡°Oh, Summer, I don¡¯t mind. Anthony¡¯s older brother was in school with my brother, but I¡¯d never spoken to him before. This was nice. Unexpected¡­ but nice.¡± ¡°I¡¯m d you see it that way.¡± ¡°Absolutely. And you know what?¡± she says, voice turning optimistic. ¡°Collecting dolls might be a wonderful pastime, for some. We shouldn¡¯t pass judgement. Who knows? Without it he might have turned to hard drugs or liquor, or something.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°Quite.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll talk to youter, Summer. Thanks for tonight.¡± She hangs up with a cheery goodbye. Good to know nothing rocks Isabelle Ashford, not even being set up on a date with an adult man who apparently collects porcin dolls. When Anthony strolls in through Opate Match¡¯s doors the next day, I¡¯m ready for him. My professional smile has a knife¡¯s edge to it. His dark eyes meet mine. ¡°Miss Davis.¡± ¡°Mr. Winter.¡± ¡°Is your aunt out of the office?¡± I speak before Suzy can. ¡°She is indeed, but she¡¯ll be back shortly. Why don¡¯t we head into my office? I can give you another overview of our clientele. You were so interested in itst time.¡± His lips tug, a slight shift in the muscles. ¡°All right.¡± Ace makes it into my office before the door shuts. He sprawls on the carpet beneath my desk, his tail on one of my shoes and his head next to Anthony¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯m interested in the clientele?¡± Anthony asks. His gaze is fixed on me, prating in a way I refuse to let make me ufortable. I knot my hands in front of me on the desk instead. I¡¯d worn a zer today and put my blonde hair into a high ponytail, all to feel more in control of this conversation. ¡°You¡¯re sabotaging the bet,¡± I say. J¡¯use, Winter. Anthony raises an eyebrow. ¡°Sabotaging the bet?¡± ¡°You collect porcin dolls?¡± ¡°They have a separate room in my apartment,¡± he deadpans. ¡°You lied.¡± He leans back in the chair. ¡°Yes, I did.¡± ¡°That goes against the bet. If you¡¯re to get the true Opate experience, you can¡¯t deliberately undermine yourself on dates.¡± ¡°I have to be on my best behavior?¡± ¡°Yes. Don¡¯t be anything other than what you are. If you keep sabotaging, well¡­¡± ¡°You won¡¯t admit I won the bet fairly,¡± he says. ¡°Is that it?¡± ¡°Fine. I won¡¯t sabotage any more of the dates.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± He leans forward, bracing his hands on the edge of my desk. They¡¯re good hands, I admit. Perhaps I¡¯m not Isabelle with a hand fetish, but¡­ yes. Strong, broad across the back, with wide knuckles and long fingers. They¡¯d probably feel amazing gripping your skin. ¡°Miss Davis,¡± he says. I look up. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°For the record, I told her about my imaginary doll collection to end the date. It was clear to me that we wanted different things, and I didn¡¯t want to lead her on.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t sabotage going forward, but once I¡¯ve determined that the date won¡¯t work out, I won¡¯t waste these women¡¯s time.¡± ¡°No, that¡¯s good.¡± I nod. ¡°I approve.¡±Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. Saved by the Boss 9 Another ghost of a smile on his lips, even if it looks dusty, a seasonal item he rarely takes down from the attic. ¡°I¡¯m d to hear it.¡± ¡°Just so I understand you better¡­ what made it clear you two wouldn¡¯t be a good fit?¡± He nces from me to the pictures on the wall. The wedding pictures. I still can¡¯t figure out why they intrigue him so much. ¡°I could tell.¡± ¡°Right. Well, if you were to borate just a smidge?¡± He sighs. ¡°She was too serious.¡± I just stare at him. ¡°What?¡± he asks, a bit testily. ¡°Nothing. No, that¡­ makes sense,¡± I say. Isabelle was too serious? Anthony is the most serious person I¡¯ve ever met. ¡°I¡¯m avable when you have decided on a second candidate,¡± he says. I can¡¯t help but smile at the phrasing. Candidate. Here I¡¯d thought Isabelle was a good attempt. She was from his own social circle, simr backgrounds, simr in age. But perhaps¡­ Ciara. She¡¯s a new client, young, who said she was looking for someone older and with a distinguished career. While I might not approve, I can¡¯t judge others¡¯ motives. I¡¯m just here to make connections. ¡°I think I have someone for you,¡± I tell him. Anthony I blink up at the indistinct crown molding on my bedroom ceiling, as if it will clear my sight. As if all I need to do is squint and I¡¯ll see as clearly as I once did. Funny how the impulse hasn¡¯t disappeared. Is it worse than it was yesterday? Is it better? Every day, I do the same fucking dance of monitoring my own deterioration, as if I¡¯m a weatherman predicting a storm. But does it matter when it strikes? In a week or five years, the hurricane will hit, and the results will be the same. One day I¡¯ll be trapped in darkness with no way out, and when that¡¯s a reality, squinting won¡¯t do a goddamn thing. The darkness will be the only color I¡¯ll see. Or will I lose that, too? Blindness is the absence of sight, after all, and ck is a color. I close my eyes as the familiar wave of panic sweeps through me. Is this what it¡¯ll be like? A prisoner in my own head, forever reliant on others. Led around or helped by paid assistants. Entirely dependent on their mercy, while they could do whatever they wanted, with me helpless to stop them. I press the heels of my hands over my failing eyes. Any other body part, I think. Any other. No one is listening to make the trade, of course. No roadside devil I can bargain away years of my life with to stave off the decline. Just me and my failing vision, the ustrophobia and panic rising with every second spent in ckness. I breathe through it until the pressure inside my chest grows unbearable, until needles scream beneath my skin. Then I pull my hands away and blink at the faint sunlight streaming in through my bedroom windows. Not yet, at least. Not yet. Is it faint sunlight? Or does it just look that way to me? It shouldn¡¯t still bother me that I¡¯ll never know the answer to that, but even two years after the diagnosis, the knowledge burns. I push out of bed, the heap of nkets a testament to my restless night. The diagnosis had taken sleep away from me, too, that day in the doctor¡¯s office. Together with my girlfriend and my future. I¡¯d like to report a robbery¡­ But this kind of theft is legal. The hot water from the shower scalds, but I wee the sensation. Let it sweep the mminess from my skin. A cup of ck coffee from freshly ground beans settles some of the darkness. Relegates it back to manageable levels. There¡¯s nothing coffee doesn¡¯t make better. Remnants of take-away boxes litter the kitchen table as I walk past it to my home office. Turn on all the lights, including the new spotlights I¡¯d had to install just a few months ago. My office is flooded by light. Even so, the headache that hovered behind my eyes yesterday evening is still here, my sleep be damned. Reading the print on myputer is bound to bring it out in full force. Time to dance with my demons. I give myself ten minutes to scan the headlines of the news before moving on to my emails. Acture Capital employs several assistants, two top-tier ountants, awyer on retainer as well as a wealth manager. We regrly acquiredpanies, using our human and financial capital to turn them from struggling to sessful. Just now, one of our four partners was CEO of one of America¡¯srgest consulting firms. Another was negotiating the purchase of a multi-mediapany. And I¡¯d been put in charge of a fucking matchmakingpany. The sheer humiliation of it makes my skin crawl. No doubt Tristan, Victor and Carter assumed I had other business projects ongoing at the same time. Save Tristan, all of them also assume I¡¯m still involved in the family¡¯s hotel business. None of them know I spend most of my days holed up in this New York townhouse. Or that I haven¡¯t spoken to anyone in my family for two months. I scan through an email from my financial advisor, rmending a few investment opportunities. Save them to read more thoroughlyter. Pass over the one from my older brother before looking at it adds guilt to the cocktail of negative emotions pulsing through me. My gaze snags on an email thread from my business partners. The email chain has devolved, as it so often has since I¡¯d lost the fateful poker game that put me in charge of Opate Match. In one email, Carter asked if he could be taken on as a client at a discount. Tristan replied that I was the one who had to test out the wares. Victor ended the email thread by telling all of us he had better things to do than talk about this. Clutter up your own inboxes, he¡¯d said. But he¡¯d always been an asshole. I¡¯m not about to tell them that somehow I¡¯d already been roped into testing out Opate¡¯s service by Summer Davis, because I still can¡¯t quite believe it myself. Dates? I¡¯m going on dates? It won¡¯t amount to anything, but I can¡¯t tell her that, not when she¡¯d looked at me like I¡¯m a puzzle she wants nothing more than to solve. She¡¯d bet on the wrong man when she¡¯d dared me to it. I shouldn¡¯t have gone along with it.Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. But her naive optimism and belief in love galled something inside of me, itched at the bitterness that sometimes threatened to choke me. Summer Davis. Blonde, cutesy, with a matching golden retriever sidekick toplete an image fit for an advertisement. I frown at the text on myputer. Had it been this difficult to read only moments before? No, I¡¯m sure it had been clearer. It¡¯s been months since I had to increase the size of the on-screen text. I erge it a few sizes more, and the text bes clearer. Even if doing so makes me want to punch the screen, shattering the damn thing as well as my hand in the process. At least my hand would heal. I¡¯d stopped working in the office soon after my diagnosis, preferring to sit here, where I can control the light source and theputer. Where I can shut it all down on bad days. My phone rings, but there¡¯s no one I¡¯m in the mood to talk to right now. Right after the diagnosis, I¡¯d interacted with the world regrly, but I¡¯d learned soon enough that things just got worse when I did. I couldn¡¯t conceal my rancor. Call it ck curiosity or restlessness, but I answer my phone. The number is unknown to me. The voice on the other end is feminine, professional and familiar. ¡°I have another date for you, Mr. Winter,¡± she announces, without preamble or hello. Saved by the Boss 10 I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. Her voice is interesting. Deep and soft, but with a distinct bubbliness to it. ¡°I hope you¡¯ve found someone better this time,¡± I tell her. ¡°I won¡¯t respond to that,¡± she says primly. ¡°Isabelle is terrific, as are all of our clients. Some people simply don¡¯t work together.¡± And some people don¡¯t work together with anyone. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°Are you free Thursday for lunch?¡± she asks. ¡°I think this one will be good.¡± Why am I putting myself through this charade? I should say no, but the sound of her voice and this inane scheme is something, anything, to soothe my restlessness. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll meet your candidate.¡± ¡°Her name is Ciara,¡± she says. ¡°Do you want to go into this blind, or with a bit of information?¡± I grit my teeth. ¡°Not blind, if I can help it.¡± ¡°All righty. She¡¯s twenty-three and a model. Originally from Georgia, but has been in New York for the past few years.¡± ¡°Twenty-three?¡± ¡°Yes. Is that a problem?¡± ¡°No, I suppose it¡¯s not.¡± ¡°She suggested a Japanese ce for lunch. Is that eptable?¡± It had been a long time since I¡¯d rotated Japanese food into my takeout schedule. ¡°Yes.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. She breathes a sigh of relief, as if she¡¯d expected me to be prickly about that. ¡°Okay, good.¡± ¡°I suppose you¡¯ll want me toe to the office afterwards,¡± I say. ¡°For the debrief?¡± Summer¡¯s voice is pleased. ¡°That¡¯s right. It¡¯s such an important part of the process for us.¡± Meeting with this model would be¡­ well. It¡¯d be quick. And then I¡¯d get to see Summer flustered again, her hopeless romantic idea of this job fighting against the facts she saw sitting right in front of her. Me. ¡°I¡¯ll see you then,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯ll email you the restaurant details. And Anthony?¡± My eyes drift closed at the sound of my name. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want you to self-sabotage again.¡± Here, where she can¡¯t see me, I smile at her pointless optimism. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± As if anything I do could make my life worse. I keep my promise not to self-sabotage. I can¡¯t, however, say the same for Ciara. She sits in front of me like she considers herself a piece of art to be worshipped, a woman who measures her worth in gold. Where Isabelle had been interested in having a conversation, Ciara¡¯s focus is on seduction. She rests her head in her hands and blinks in slow, deliberate movements that sweeps darkshes over pale cheeks. It has to be a good day for my vision, then, if I can make out these details. And I¡¯m wasting it by looking at her. ¡°Anthony Winter,¡± she says, like she¡¯s testing the vor of my name. It¡¯s the third time she¡¯s said it. ¡°Why does that sound familiar?¡± I put down my chopsticks. The food is good, and the restaurant is well-lit. It¡¯s a shame thepany is so poor. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t.¡± ¡°And yet it does.¡± Another slow blink, before her face shifts into a teasing, charming smile. ¡°I¡¯ll figure you out.¡± ¡°I doubt it.¡± Her smile falters only for a second. In a top that shows off her midriff and a designer bag she insists on keeping on herp as we eat, she returns to her sashimi. ¡°I love Japanese food.¡± ¡°It¡¯s great, yes.¡± ¡°I was in Tokyo recently, for Fashion Week. Pretty stressful, but¡­ you know. Comes with the job. I work as a model.¡± The look in her eye makes it clear this is when I¡¯m to be impressed. That I¡¯m to make an overture of some sort. Fawn, perhaps. Or let my gaze rake down her body like she¡¯d done twice to me already, the second more brazen than the first. I do neither. She asks me where I live less than halfway through the date. While she just nods andments nice when I tell her, there¡¯s a glint in her eyes at the words Upper East Side. Makes severalments about looking for stability, for a man who provides. I pay the check and leave her without more than a polite take care of yourself, but despite my lukewarm interest, she insists on hugging me. My distaste notches up another level. At her. At myself, too, for putting myself in this position. I¡¯m not particrly gentle in extricating myself from her arms. Ciara has confirmed every single one of my suspicions about Opate Match and their clientele. Like so often when you market something for the elite, this is what you get. Shallowness and superficiality. Certainly not true love. This was who Summer Davis thought I¡¯d want? I¡¯m not set to return to Opate Match until tomorrow, but my feet carry me there regardless, and I open the office door with more force than needed. The lights in the reception are dimmed. Once you start noticing how rarely ces are well-lit, it¡¯s all you see. Or in my case, it means you can see even less. The receptionist looks up at me with wide eyes. ¡°Mr. Winter. If you¡¯re here to see Vivienne, you just missed her. She¡¯s at a client meeting uptown, I¡¯m afraid.¡± ¡°Miss Davis?¡± ¡°She¡¯s here, and she just finished with a client. Do you want me to¡­ oh.¡± Her voice trails off as I reach the closed door to Summer¡¯s office. Knock twice. ¡°Come in!¡± she calls. I push the door open. Her drapes arepletely pulled back and with that amount of natural light, it¡¯s easy to make out the surprise on her face. The sunshine gilds her blonde hair, falling in waves over her shoulders. Yes, I think. Today really is good day, because I can even make out the shade of blue in her eyes. ¡°Mr. Winter. Back from your date?¡± ¡°I see,¡± she says. ¡°Judging from your expression, I¡¯m guessing it didn¡¯t go well?¡± I pull the chair out opposite her and sit down, crossing my arms over my chest. ¡°Oh, I think it went as well as could be expected.¡± Her eyes narrow, as if she¡¯s expecting a trap. ¡°How well was that?¡± Saved by the Boss 11 I¡¯m as unable to stop taunting her as I had been on the first day we¡¯d met. ¡°I¡¯m offended, actually.¡± ¡°Offended?¡± ¡°Yes. You analyzed my personality and made the conclusion that Ciara is the kind of woman I¡¯d be interested in?¡± She meets my gaze for a few long moments before her shoulders slump. ¡°It was a gamble,¡± she admits. ¡°I knew it could go either way. And for the record, I¡¯m not one to speak ill of other clients. I won¡¯t.¡± ¡°I¡¯m allowed to, am I not?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she acknowledges. ¡°Was it that bad?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s just say she¡¯d made her intentions clear before we¡¯d ordered the food. A rich man who could keep her.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Summer breathes. ¡°Well, you said yourst date was too serious, so I made sure this one wouldn¡¯t be.¡± The irony tugs at my lips. ¡°Perhaps an overcorrection.¡± ¡°I gave you someone bubbly.¡± ¡°You gave me someone who still chews pink bubblegum.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re saying I¡¯ve drawn the wrong conclusions about you,¡± Summer murmurs, hands flying over her keyboard as she fires up herputer. There¡¯s a look of excited calction I recognize from my first visit to this room. When she¡¯d thought I was a client. ¡°Are we going back to me answering ridiculous prompts?¡± I ask, drumming my fingers along the armrest. Looking away from the bright lightness that is her. ¡°How long would Ist in a zombie apocalypse? What was the name of my first pet?¡± Sheughs, like I¡¯ve made a good joke. ¡°They were very informativest time.¡± ¡°I doubt that.¡± ¡°People say a lot when they think they¡¯re being shallow. Now¡­ this means I only have one more try.¡± She turns those sky-blue eyes on me. ¡°And you didn¡¯t like Isabelle or Ciara.¡± ¡°I did not.¡± If anything, they¡¯d only strengthened my preconceived notions. I find myself holding my tongue on that score, though, as she looks at me with yful challenge. ¡°It might take me a bit longer to think this through,¡± she says. ¡°As you¡¯re not only a client but the co-owner of Opate Match, you¡¯ll get the absolute best service I can provide.¡± The emphasis on co-owner makes me snort. Acture Capital has a fifty-one percent stake in thepany, negotiated at painstaking lengths. ¡°Good. Because you remember what you have to admit if it doesn¡¯t?¡± ¡°Yes, I do. Matchmaking isn¡¯t for everyone. But that won¡¯t happen. I¡¯m determined.¡± The smile she shoots me is one of triumph, even if she hasn¡¯t won yet. She¡¯s surprising. Naive, perhaps¡­ but funny. Unexpected. I doubt anyone else would have led me down this path, or gotten me to agree to the outrageous idea of three dates. Not when I hadn¡¯t been on a date in over a year before this. I bite the inside of my cheek and look away from the expectancy in her eyes. Toward the half-blurry images of couples on the wall. Smiling with false happiness in stylized poses. I surprise even myself with my response. ¡°How about I give you two weeks? There¡¯s an event I¡¯m attending on Friday the fourteenth. I could use a date to that.¡± Summer¡¯s eyebrows rise. ¡°You¡¯d be okay with that? Having a first date at an event?¡± ¡°Why not?¡± I shrug. It had been a foolish suggestion, but here I am,mitted to it. ¡°No, no, that¡¯s great. If the female client is amenable to that, it¡¯ll work great.¡± She gives me another sunny smile. ¡°Two weeks, then, to find your soul mate.¡± ¡°Good luck,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯ll need it more than me.¡± The summer rain is a torrent outside my office window, stronger than New York has experienced in weeks. It¡¯s needed, but I still don¡¯t like it. Not when I know what it¡¯ll mean for the windows in my apartment. No matter how many rolled-up towels I stuff against the window frames, water still finds ways to seep through. I might apud its ingenuity, if I wasn¡¯t living with the consequences. I sigh. Ace looks up at me from his sprawl at my feet, eyebrows raised the way only a dog can. ¡°Nothing¡¯s up,¡± I tell him. ¡°Excited to go to my parents this weekend?¡± He gives a huff and settles his head back on the floor. Manhattan¡¯s not the ce for a dog, and my parents would be more than happy to add him to their little pack upstate, but¡­ I want him here with me. ¡°You¡¯re the real matchmaker, aren¡¯t you?¡± I tell him. My door is closed, with neither Suzy nor my aunt here to witness just how often I talk to my dog. ¡°Clients take one look at you and they melt.¡± Ace turns on his side and pushes his snout against my ankle, his nose cold. ¡°That¡¯s right. Now, if only you could charm Anthony Winter too.¡± Ace doesn¡¯t reply. Smart move, too, because the man seems utterly resistant to charm of all sorts. And utterly dismissive of the women I¡¯ve set him up with. How do you win a bet against someone who is determined to y unfairly? He might say otherwise, but I doubt he gave Isabelle a proper shot. Ciara, well¡­ that¡¯s a different story. Which reminds me. I reach for my phone and put on a wide smile as I dial Ciara¡¯s number. She¡¯d asked me to call her back. ¡°Summer,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m so d you called.¡± ¡°I¡¯m here to help.¡± ¡°I just want to touch base about the datest week.¡± I grit my teeth. We¡¯ve already spoken about it. ¡°Absolutely. What about it do you want to discuss?¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. ¡°Like I said right after, I¡¯d really like to go on another date with Anthony. The date ended so quickly, he didn¡¯t have a chance to grab my phone number.¡± Sheughs, like that had been a silly mistake on Anthony¡¯s part. ¡°I see,¡± I say. ¡°Well, it¡¯s always up to both parties if they¡¯d like to schedule another date.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right, and I think in this situation, it is certainly mutual,¡± she says, voice lowering. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m a bit impressed, Summer. I¡¯d heard great things about Opate but I couldn¡¯t imagine my first date would be with Anthony Winter!¡± Saved by the Boss 12 I frown. ¡°Were you aware of him before you went on a date with him?¡± ¡°Okay, I admit I wasn¡¯t. But I Googled him before, of course. Did you know his family owns Winter Hotels? You know, the giant chain?¡± I didn¡¯t. I clear my throat. ¡°Well, we do pretty extensive interviews with clients when they join.¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right. Of course you know.¡± She sighs, a tad dreamily. ¡°He wasn¡¯t very talkative, but that¡¯s okay. There are more important things. Would you be so kind as to give Anthony my number and let him know I¡¯m avable? That¡¯d be lovely. Oh, I have to go.¡± I open my mouth. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if-¡± ¡°Thank you! Ciao!¡± Ciara hangs up before I can let her down. It¡¯s always a tricky thing to do, but I¡¯ve learned to do it with tact, reminding clients that not every connection is a hit on both sides. Now I¡¯ll have to write her an email. But first, I type Winter Hotels into the search bar of myputer. Contrary to our normal clients, I have nearly no information on Anthony Winter. Pictures of a familiar sky-rise emerges. It¡¯s one I¡¯ve walked past multiple times in New York, a proud staple of Park Avenue. With over a century of history, the hotel is a veritable New Yorkndmark. An institution. He¡¯s not just any old season. He¡¯s a Winter. Which means Anthony is as old money elite as theye. He hadn¡¯t spoken out of ignorance or dislike when he derided our clients for being elitist or status-seeking. He¡¯d been speaking from experience. I lean back in my chair and stare at the imposing image of the Winter Hotel, a pre-war building on Manhattan¡¯s most expensive address. So I have to set him up with someone¡­ well. He¡¯d want someone not of that world, judging by hisments. But I¡¯ve learned a thing or two about what people think they want, and what they actually do. They¡¯re rarely the same thing. Anthony needs someone he can take home to that old money family of his, but not someone who takes it too seriously. Someone with one foot in and one foot out. A woman who appreciates his sarcastic sense of humor and can draw him out of his shell. A womanfortable with money and prestige without cing undo value on it. In short, he needs a female client we don¡¯t currently have at Opate. How am I going to pull this off? Ace rises from his sprawl half an hourter and heads to my closed office door. Three sharp knocks sound a few secondster. ¡°Come in!¡± Ace¡¯s tail wags softly as Anthony Winter takes a step inside. He looks down at my dog, a frown on his face. ¡°He¡¯s always here, isn¡¯t he?¡± I turn away from myputer. ¡°He¡¯s good for business.¡± Anthony doesn¡¯tment, but he runs a hand over Ace¡¯s head, his fingers smoothing over one of the floppy ears. ¡°A matchmakingpany with a mascot,¡± he mutters. I straighten in my chair. ¡°Can I help you with something?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°I came by to speak with your aunt and wanted to ask you about the bet. Do you have someone ready to apany me on Friday evening? I meet the solid, dark gaze across the room. What did I agree to? Finding a woman this man will approve of is impossible. ¡°Soon,¡± I lie. ¡°I think I¡¯ve found the perfect woman for you.¡± His lips tug. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°I¡¯d also like to apologize for Ciara. I admit that you were right about her not being a good fit for you. I¡¯ve noted it down as another data point, and your next date will be much better.¡± This time, he has to look away to hide a smirk. ¡°Well, I¡¯m d you acknowledge that I can make my own decisions about partners.¡± Damn. I make my smile wide and serviceable. ¡°You certainly can, Mr. Winter. All I ask is that you keep an open mind.¡± ¡°I will,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯ll send me details regarding whoever you choose?¡± ¡°Excellent.¡± Anthony returns to my office door, his gaze on Ace. ¡°I¡¯m looking forward to seeing how this bet ends, Miss Davis.¡± ¡°So am I, Mr. Winter.¡± His eyes sh, as if I¡¯ve made a joke only he understands, and then he closes the office door behind him. I stare at the empty space and regret every decision I¡¯ve made that¡¯s brought me to this point.Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. I do not have the perfect woman for him. I¡¯m starting to doubt she exists. ¡°Looks good,¡± I say. Tristan gives an approving hum, ncing down at his phone. ¡°Imagine it filled to the brim with people, too. We¡¯ll be packed in here.¡± The giant ballroom is a bit gaudy, perhaps, but it¡¯s just what the clientele will expect. People who attend charity auctions in mid-Manhattan on a Friday evening aren¡¯t going because they expect Louvre-level ss. ¡°It¡¯ll do.¡± Tristan snorts. ¡°So enthusiastic.¡± I nce down at my watch. It¡¯s nearly ten in the morning, the day of the function, and Miss Davis hasn¡¯t gotten back to me with my date for the evening. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m hoping for most-that she does, or that she doesn¡¯t. The idea of walking around here in the dim lighting, with all these people, having to make idle chitchat¡­ I¡¯d rather suffer through one of my migraines. ¡°I¡¯m not sure why Victor needs us here at all,¡± I say. Tristan slides his phone into his suit pocket. ¡°Of course you are,¡± he says dryly. ¡°He wants the pizzazz we add.¡± I raise an eyebrow at him. ¡°The pizzazz?¡± ¡°Yes. We¡¯ll bid highly and it¡¯ll give us a chance to mingle. Carter has some executive at a multi-mediapany he wants us to meet.¡± Tristan waves a hand. ¡°We¡¯re here to see and be seen.¡± ¡°And you¡¯ll stay for exactly fifteen minutes,¡± I use, ¡°before escaping back to your beautiful girlfriend and your son.¡± Tristan¡¯s smile is shameless. ¡°Yes, but I¡¯ll bring as much pizzazz as I can for those fifteen minutes.¡± Saved by the Boss 13 ¡°I can¡¯t believe I was happy for you in the beginning. I wish I could take it all back,¡± I say, shaking my head. ¡°You smug bastard.¡± Tristan¡¯s smile just widens further, and despite my words, we both know I¡¯m still thrilled for him. He¡¯d found happiness in a way that had been denied him for years. Doesn¡¯t mean it isn¡¯t still insufferable to watch, sometimes. He doesn¡¯t ask me why I hadn¡¯t responded to his text abouting around for dinner yesterday, and I¡¯m grateful for that. He doesn¡¯t push. Victor strolls toward us, weaving around tables covered in white linen. His hands are in the pockets of his cks. ¡°Think it¡¯ll do?¡± he asks. ¡°It will.¡± His face is a cool mask. ¡°Remind me why we do these things again.¡± ¡°Network. Prestige. Goodwill,¡± Tristan says. ¡°Thepany looks good. Acture Capital looks good.¡± Victor shakes his head. ¡°I had to tell them to relegate all emails about this to my assistant. Do you think the question of what the cateringpany should serve really deserves the CEO¡¯s attention?¡± I look past him to the preparations for the evening. Two technicians are on the stage, unrolling foot after foot of cords. ¡°Cecilia is good at handling that,¡± Tristan says. ¡°It¡¯s the one thing I miss about Exciteur.¡± Victor¡¯s quiet for a beat. ¡°You mean Miss Myers?¡± ¡°Yes, Miss Myers,¡± Tristan says dryly. ¡°Your assistant, previously mine.¡± ¡°She does good work, I suppose.¡±Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. I roll my neck, catching a crick. Last night had been another one with barely any sleep. Tristan bumps my elbow with his. ¡°Tell us how the matchmakingpany is doing. Have you found your ideal woman yet?¡± I shake my head. ¡°I still can¡¯t believe I¡¯m the one who got this assignment. Should have never lost that poker game.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s not like you¡¯re too busy with anything else, are you?¡± Victor asks, answering emails on his phone. His words are spoken matter-of-factly. Because it is a fact. I don¡¯t do much else these days, not when I can handle my business from my home office. ¡°We¡¯re turning it into an app,¡± I say. ¡°Should have thepany turn green in a matter of months.¡± ¡°Gutting staff?¡± Summer¡¯s face flits through my mind. ¡°No. They have expertise, and they¡¯re a small operation already.¡± Tristan nods, a thoughtful look in his eyes. ¡°We¡¯re going global with it, right?¡± ¡°There could be something there. Hosting elite singles parties worldwide.¡± ¡°Like the Gilded Room?¡± I ask. Tristan frowns at me. He doesn¡¯t like it when I mention his past habits, despite the fact that I¡¯d once apanied him to one of those parties. Especially not in public. I know he doesn¡¯t like it, yet here I am, needling him. When did I start wanting to watch the world burn? ¡°In a way,¡± Tristan says, lowering his voice. ¡°But more¡­ respectable. An appunch with a purpose.¡± ¡°Could work.¡± Victor clears his throat. ¡°Are you bringing any family members tonight, Anthony? Your brother?¡± I stare at him long enough that he looks up from his phone. Ice-blue eyes are cold as they stare into mine. ¡°That¡¯s a no,¡± he assumes. ¡°That¡¯s a no,¡± I repeat. He shrugs, returning to his phone. ¡°A shame. Your connections could help us.¡± Tristan and I watch in silence as he strides off to the event coordinators. They stand straight as pins when he instructs them on what is doubtless minutiae. ¡°Remind me,¡± I say, ¡°why we tolerate him again?¡± Tristan sighs. ¡°He brings in a shit-ton of money.¡± ¡°It¡¯s almost not worth it.¡± ¡°Almost not,¡± he agrees, and turns so he¡¯s standing by my side. We look out over the ballroom. ¡°I¡¯m d you¡¯reing tonight.¡± I make a nomittal sound. Hate that he, too, has started to walk on eggshells around me. It¡¯s bad enough whenever I speak to my parents. Bad because I know it¡¯s not my impending blindness they¡¯re careful not to bruise themselves against, not when they have no idea the thorn is there. It¡¯s my temper they¡¯re wary of. ¡°d you don¡¯t have to spend those fifteen minutes alone, you mean.¡± He snorts, more to humor me than in any real amusement. The silence between us shifts, deepens, and his voice drops. ¡°You know I care about you, man.¡± I close my eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± ¡°I have to,¡± he says, and his eyes are on mine. ¡°Is everything all right? Truly?¡± It¡¯s the first time he¡¯s outright asked. Not justmented on my singleness, or myck of social life, or my temper. But actually asked me for a response. The truth rises further up my throat than I¡¯d anticipated. Further than it ever has with my family. But the thought of whates after stops me. The questions. The well-meaning advice. The suggestions for a second opinion, for technology, for fucking Braille and guide dogs and how are you feeling¡¯s? The altered behavior. How I¡¯d turn from a friend and business partner to someone you pity. He¡¯d inevitably ask the question that burned like acid in my stomach whenever I thought about the future. How long do you have left until you can¡¯t work anymore? Until my time as an equal partner at Acture Capital is over, until I be a burden, obsolete to everyone I know. ¡°I¡¯m great,¡± I say. My answer might be dishonest, but the silence between us isn¡¯t. Tristan hears the lie and I know he does. But he just nods. ¡°All right.¡± Saved by the Boss 14 My nerves are so frazzled that I curse out loud when my phone rings twenty minutester. The cleaningdy before me in the hotel corridor jumps and I mutter a muffled ¡°sorry¡± as I pass by. Pick up my phone to turn it off. And see the name on the screen. ¡°Oh, hi? Mr. Winter? I hope I¡¯m not calling at a bad time,¡± Summer says. I force myself to take the edge off my voice. It¡¯s not her fault that I¡¯m about to put myself through a charity event in a ballroom filled with strangers. Despite what I¡¯d said to Victor, it¡¯s not impossible that one of my family members will be here. Isaac Winter is the king of schmoozing when he thinks it will benefit my family¡¯s hotel empire. ¡°It¡¯s not a bad time. Do you have a date set up for me tonight?¡± I hope she doesn¡¯t. My energy feels strained enough as it is. ¡°Unfortunately, I don¡¯t. I¡¯m so sorry, but I haven¡¯t been able to find someone I believe would be a good match. I know I waited too long to let you know, but I had hopes for onest client¡­ but no. I apologize, Mr. Winter.¡± ¡°Well, stop,¡± I say. Ites out rougher than I¡¯d meant it. ¡°It¡¯s all right.¡± She breathes a sigh of relief and I feel like an asshole. An asshole for going through this charade when she won¡¯t win the bet. But then her voice slips into a teasing note, soft through the phone. ¡°Trying to strike the right bnce between serious and silly with you is difficult.¡± ¡°I imagine I¡¯m not the easiest client you¡¯ve ever had.¡± Summerughs on the other line. ¡°No, I can¡¯t say you are. But you¡¯re not the most difficult either.¡± ¡°Are you sure about that?¡± ¡°Well,¡± she admits, ¡°you¡¯re among them, but not the worst, no.¡± ¡°Yet.¡± ¡°Yet,¡± she agrees. ¡°Are you really sure you¡¯ll be all right without a date to your event tonight?¡± A wicked idea takes form. One I shouldn¡¯t speak out loud. But the interaction with Tristan has put me on edge, on a day where I¡¯m already dancing with my demons. Why not add one more? ¡°I¡¯m not sure, Miss Davis. You did promise me a date, and so I haven¡¯t set up one on my own. But there is a way you could make it up to me.¡± ¡°You could take her ce tonight.¡± Complete silence on the other line. ¡°Mr. Winter, I¡¯m not sure if that would¡­ I mean. Huh.¡± A cleared throat. ¡°What is this event?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a charity auction, hosted by Exciteur Consulting at the Halycon Hotel. There will be canap¨¦s. An open bar.¡± Her chuckle sounds nervous. ¡°An open bar?¡± ¡°Is that a key selling point?¡± ¡°No. If I go, Mr. Winter¡­¡± ¡°Anthony.¡± ¡°Anthony,¡± she repeats, her voice soft. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t absolve either of us from the bet. I¡¯d still be looking for a third perfect date for you.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t expect anything less from you.¡± Her voice strengthens. ¡°Okay, then. I¡¯ll go. It¡¯ll be professional, right?¡± Her fears make sense, and I curse myself for being another form of asshole, too. Three for three. It really isn¡¯t my day, and it¡¯s not even noon yet. ¡°Yes. You work at Opate Match, Summer. I¡¯m not asking anything more than somepany at a function.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be there,¡± she says. ¡°Will you text me the address?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll pick you up,¡± I say, my strides lengthening as I head through the lobby. Back out to the beckoning New York streets, the ce I¡¯d grown up, and the city that would one day be a deadly obstacle course for me. ¡°You don¡¯t have to-¡± ¡°I¡¯m the one asking you for a favor,¡± I say. The words flow easily, following a script I¡¯d once known intimately. ¡°Let me send a couple of dresses over to your apartment.¡± ¡°Mr. Winter, I can¡¯t possibly ept that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m the one who asked you,¡± I say. For someone who worked at a matchmakingpany priding itself on catering to the elite, she seems unaware of its trappings. ¡°I¡¯d do the same for any woman I¡¯d personally invited to a function.¡± ¡°Okay then,¡± she murmurs. ¡°I¡¯ll text you my address.¡± ¡°And your dress size.¡± ¡°Um, yes. Okay.¡± We click off the call and I find my feet steering me in the opposite direction of my apartment, toward Bergdorf Goodman. I¡¯d meant to make a phone call. Tell them to pick out three dresses. The way I¡¯d often done for Shelby, once. She¡¯d always liked it when I did that.Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. But I¡¯d never set foot in the store myself. Savoring the light of the New York summer sun on my face, illuminating the world to a brilliance that makes my eyesight feel normal again, I wonder why I hadn¡¯t. Picking out the colors and shapes that would look good on Summer doesn¡¯t seem like a nuisance at all. When Ie home, there¡¯s a delivery man waiting outside my apartment building, shifting from foot to foot like he¡¯s waiting for the chance to bolt. ¡°Do you live here?¡± he asks, hoisting up three garment bags on his arm. ¡°I do, yes. And I-¡± ¡°Do you know who Summer Davis is?¡± ¡°That¡¯s me, actually.¡± He breathes a sigh of relief. ¡°Thank God. This ce doesn¡¯t have a doorman or a concierge.¡± ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t. Oh, all right. Thanks?¡± I ept the parcels, and as I recognize one of the designer names on a box, my stomach nearly drops out beneath me. Apparently this is just what Anthony Winter does when he invites a woman to an event. Saved by the Boss 15 Par for the course. ¡°I can¡¯t sign,¡± I tell him. ¡°My hands aren¡¯t free.¡± The delivery guy chuckles and takes them from me again. ¡°I should have realized. Wait, let¡¯s do it this way¡­ here. Sign this.¡± A few minutester he takes off down the street, hurrying to where a delivery car is double-parked. I shake my head and head upstairs. Greet Ace who has been home all day, his tail wagging so hard it nearly knocks a ss of water off the sofa table. ¡°I know, buddy. I couldn¡¯t bring you in today.¡± I take him for a walk to the nearby dog park before finally allowing myself to open the parcels spread out on my bed. A nce at my watch tells me I only have a few hours before Anthony will be here to pick me up. Nobody has ever picked me up in New York before. For a dazzling, daydreamy moment, I feel like I¡¯m one of the women I regrly take on as clients. They date men like Anthony Winter. Men who run this city, or at least know the ones who do. But I¡¯m not one of those women. I sit behind a desk and help them find love instead. Tugging on the delicate wrapping paper, I open the first box. Run my fingers over the red, satin fabric beneath as if in a daze. A certainty settles in my bones. He hasn¡¯t picked these out personally. Can¡¯t have, if this is something he does regrly for women. The realization bolsters me. I open the others and pull out the three options. A red, spaghetti strap one. A ck sheath that falls to my knees. And a dark green option with only one shoulder, narrow at the waist before it res out. My hands shake as I read the designerbel.Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. Vivienne would absolutely adore this. It¡¯s exactly the kind of grand, over-the-top gesture she¡¯d love. Would she love that it¡¯s our new owner who sent them to me? I flip the question over in my mind as I shower and straighten my hair, re-doing my makeup. Dark brown eyeliner, soft against my light coloring, and a touch of red lipstick. I stare at the three dress options on my bed. Slipping into the dark green, one-shouldered dress, I find that it fits. ¡°Wish me luck,¡± I ask Ace. He rubs his head against my hand, the soft, silky fur sliding through my fingers. ¡°You know how long it¡¯s been since I went out with a man.¡± His tail wags. ¡°Thanks for being here with me, too, by the way. I know Mom has a giant yard you could y in.¡± He licks the back of my hand. ¡°You too, buddy,¡± I say. ¡°You too.¡± My phone chimes and I give him a farewell pat. The text is simple. I¡¯m outside. A dark Town Car idles by the curb and one of the passenger doors opens as I step outside. Nerves flutter in my stomach. Professional favor or not, he¡¯s not an easy man to be around. It doesn¡¯t help that I¡¯m not even close to figuring him out. But I paint a wide smile on my face as I get into the car. Anthony¡¯s waiting in the backseat. The dark tux he¡¯s wearing blends in with the dark leather seat. Dark hair. Dark clothes. ¡°Hello,¡± I say. He inclines his head. ¡°You live close to the Halycon Hotel. Both are in Soho.¡± ¡°Yes, I suppose I do.¡± I fasten my seat belt. ¡°Was it still okay for you to pick me up? I hope it didn¡¯t dy you.¡± ¡°Of course not.¡± I open my mouth to tell him that I¡¯m not used to this. Blurt something out about the dress. The car. The night. ¡°You wore the ck,¡± hements. I nce down at the dark green fabric. In the dim lighting, I suppose it looks almost ck. ¡°The green one, actually. Thank you. Or should I thank a personal shopper?¡± He turns away from me, jaw working. ¡°You¡¯re wee.¡± The ride to the hotel is quiet. I open and close my clutch twice to double-check I brought my phone, just to have something to do other than ncing over at Anthony. Long fingers drum against his thigh when the car pulls up outside the hotel. Is he nervous? I am. ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± I say. He nods and gets out of the car, his jaw working again when hees to my side and finds me already on the curb. He buttons his dinner jacket and extends an arm to me. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡± I take his arm and make it my personal mission to get one smile out of him tonight. Just one. ¡°A charity auction,¡± I say. ¡°Will guests be bidding on luxury items?¡± ¡°Do you have your eye on anything in particr? Oh, look, they have a brochure.¡± His voice is dry as he hands me a glossy pamphlet. ¡°I suppose I have to buy something, but I haven¡¯t looked.¡± ¡°You have to buy something?¡± ¡°As one of the partners of Acture, I¡¯m technically a co-owner of Exciteur.¡± I swallow. ¡°Right. The consulting firm throwing this party.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Anthony steers us through the open double-doors and into a bustling ballroom. A string quartet ys from a podium, soft music permeating the air. Anthony¡¯s tux blends right in, and thankfully, so does my dress. I¡¯m d I didn¡¯t go for the red one. ¡°So?¡± I ask him. ¡°What¡¯s the charitable cause they¡¯re raising money for?¡± He¡¯s quiet for a beat. ¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡± Unable to help myself, Iugh. ¡°You were really involved with the nning for this, weren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I had my hands full with all of your dates,¡± he says. ¡°Two measly dates took up that much of your time?¡± Saved by the Boss 16 ¡°There was a lot of prep work,¡± he says. ¡°Takes me hours to get ready for a date.¡± My eyebrows rise and then I burst outughing. His rough, scowling handsomeness is entirely natural. I wondered if he even runs a brush through that thick, dark hair of his. Not that he needs to. Anthony looks away, but not before I catch a faint tug at his lips. Almost . ¡°Let me get you something to drink. Champagne?¡± ¡°Yes, please.¡± A few minutester, the two of us lean against the bar in the corner of the ballroom. He¡¯d opted for a brandy and has a crystal tumbler in hand. I look out over the crowd of people. Fancy dresses. A string quartet. Waiters carrying trays with champagne. Anthony takes a drag of his brandy. ¡°Not a fan of mingling?¡± I ask. He shakes his head. At his height, and so close, the cut of his jaw is sharp. ¡°I can¡¯t stand small talk.¡± I grimace. ¡°God, neither can I.¡± The sound he makes is skeptical. ¡°What?¡± I ask. ¡°You disagree?¡± ¡°You¡¯re the definition of someone who loves small talk,¡± he says. ¡°What do you do with all of your clients? Small talk.¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s different.¡± He turns his torso my way, his dark gazending on me. ¡°Is it?¡± ¡°Yes. I have a purpose. It¡¯s all about finding out more about the person, never about just making idle chitchat. People reveal a lot when they think they¡¯re saying very little.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re a good judge of character.¡± ¡°I like to think I am. In my line of work, you certainly have to be. We¡¯re all about the personal touch at Opate.¡± Anthony narrows his eyes. ¡°And yet you thought I¡¯d hit it off with that model. Ciara.¡± ¡°It was a possibility ,¡± I say, taking a sip of my champagne. ¡°Tell me I¡¯m wrong, though, and that men like you would never enter a dating situation like that.¡± He looks at me over the edge of his brandy ss. Something burns in his eyes, but then he relents. ¡°I know men who would have taken the bait,¡± he admits. I beam at him in victory. ¡°Right. Before I suggested Ciara, I had no way of knowing which camp you belonged to. And now I do.¡± ¡°So it was a reconnaissance date? Your tactics are more refined than I¡¯d expected, Miss Davis.¡± ¡°Oh, I have a ton of tricks up my sleeve.¡± His gaze drops to my lips, lingering for a second before it falls to the brochure in my hand. ¡°Rainforest conservation,¡± he says. ¡°That¡¯s the charitable cause.¡± ¡°Oh!¡± I set my now-empty champagne ss down on the bar and open the brochure. ¡°I like that.¡± ¡°It¡¯s inoffensive,¡± he says. ¡°The perfect non-political choice. I¡¯m surprised they didn¡¯t choose orphans or cancer research.¡± ¡°Are you always so cynical?¡± ¡°Are you never?¡± I bite my lip to keep from smiling and open the first page, scanning through the list of items and experiences up for auction. My eyes widen at the starting prices. ¡°You¡¯re really going to bid on these, are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have to buy something.¡± ¡°It¡¯s all for show?¡± ¡°Something like that,¡± he says, staring out at the crowd again. ¡°We¡¯re four co-owners, and we all should, really. Buying will look good in the papers, not to mention encourage others here to bid, buy and donate.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± I look through the list, the small print, the images.All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°Find anything good?¡± ¡°The starting bids are very high,¡± I say. ¡°I mean, significantly higher than what these things might retail for.¡± ¡°The markup is what makes it charity.¡± ¡°Well, I suppose so. Oh, I don¡¯t-thank you. Okay,¡± I say to the waiter, epting another flute of champagne. ¡°Read it to me,¡± Anthony says. ¡°The brochure?¡± I clear my throat and start from the top. Detailing paintings, jewelry and vacations. A twenty-year-old diamond Cartier watch. ¡°Christ, they¡¯re asking¡­ I can¡¯t tell you how much they¡¯re asking for this.¡± ¡°Try me,¡± Anthony says. ¡°Eighty-five thousand dors.¡± ¡°Is it pretty, at least?¡± ¡°Yes, it is,¡± I say, smoothing my finger over the picture. It¡¯s something my aunt would wear, gifted to her by a lover from one of her travels. I¡¯ve never met a more hopeless romantic than my aunt, but shebines it with a shrewd sense of business. I had the one, and was trying to foster the other. ¡°But not eighty-five-thousand-dor pretty.¡± ¡°Think about the rainforest,¡± he says. ¡°All those cute monkeys.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± ¡°I hope I¡¯m not expected to bid on anything? Oh, there¡¯s a china set here that I could¡­ no. Definitely not.¡± Anthony takes a sip of brandy. Is it to hide a tug of his lips? Saved by the Boss 17 ¡°Not to mention I wouldn¡¯t dare use it if I paid this much for it,¡± I say. ¡°Oh God. It has pheasants on it.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not a fan of pheasants?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever given them much thought.¡± ¡°Tell me,¡± Anthony says, turning toward me, ¡°what is your favorite fowl, Miss Davis?¡± The dry humor in his tone makes meugh. I hadn¡¯t expected him to have so much of it. ¡°Are you using my own tactic against me? I should add that to the list of prompts we ask potential clients.¡± ¡°It would be original.¡± ¡°It sure would,¡± I agree. ¡°You told me to call you Anthony. Doesn¡¯t that mean I¡¯m Summer?¡± He leans against the bar beside me, crossing his arms over his chest. Looking back out over the crowd. ¡°Summer,¡± he agrees. ¡°Good.¡± I take another sip of my flute, only to find it near empty. I should slow down. ¡°Are there canap¨¦s around here somewhere?¡± ¡°They should start serving them soon.¡± ¡°Good.¡± His voice drops. ¡°Oh, joy.¡± I follow the turn of his head to the two approaching men. Simr in height, but one has brown hair, the other light auburn. Both in tuxes. Bothing straight here. ¡°Friends of yours?¡± I ask. ¡°Business parters,¡± he says, and then, murmured beneath his breath, ¡°and friends.¡± I smooth a hand over the dark green silk of my dress. ¡°That¡¯s exciting.¡± Anthony has time to shoot a dry look my way before his business partners are upon us. ¡°Have you seen what¡¯s on offer?¡± the auburn-haired one says by way of introduction, an arm against the bar. The quick smile on his face makes up for a crooked nose¡­ had it been broken once? ¡°What the hell am I supposed to bid on here? A sixteenth-century French futon?¡± ¡°It would liven up your bachelor pad,¡± the dark-haired one says. His eyes find mine and I can tell he clocks how close Anthony and I are standing. ¡°Yes, but a futon?¡± I clear my throat. ¡°There¡¯s a lovely set of china,¡± I say. ¡°With a pheasant pattern.¡± Anthony snorts at my side, reaching for his ss of brandy. The crystal hides the twitch of his lips. ¡°China,¡± the auburn-haired one repeats. ¡°Victor has lost his mind about this whole thing.¡± ¡°I¡¯m guessing he has no idea what¡¯s actually being auctioned here tonight. Anthony, why don¡¯t you introduce us to your date?¡± He puts down his drink. ¡°Gentlemen, this is Summer Davis. Summer, this is Carter and Tristan. We work together at Acture Capital.¡± I shake their hands. Neither of them tries to hide the looks they shoot Anthony. Is it surprise? Shock? Regardless, I give them my widest smile. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you both,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ve heard a lot about the work Acture Capital does.¡± ¡°A china expert and a venture capitalist fan?¡± Carter asks. ¡°Anthony, where did you meet this woman, and can you point me in the same direction?¡± ¡°Much like a sixteenth-century French futon,¡± Anthony says, ¡°Summer is one of a kind.¡± I have to smile at that. He¡¯d sidestepped the issue of me working at Opate, hiding it in the guise of apliment. ¡°But unlike a sixteenth-century futon, I¡¯m not usually sold at auction,¡± I add. All three of them chuckle. ¡°What a shame,¡± Carter says, putting down his ss. ¡°Should we¡­ oh. It¡¯s showtime.¡± A hush settles over the gathered guests as the MC takes the stage, tapping the mic a few times. He introduces the CEO of Exciteur to polite apuse and a tall, dark blond man strides across the stage. The illusive fourth partner of Acture Capital. A nce at the brochure gives me his name. Victor St. ir. ¡°Let¡¯s have a seat,¡± Anthony murmurs by my side. A momentter arge hand rests on the small of my back. We find seats at the back of the room. His business partners sit two rows ahead, giving us privacy. I wonder if we should have made it clear that it¡¯s not like that between Anthony and me. The bidding kicks off with an abstract painting no bigger than my hand, by renowned-artist-I¡¯ve-never-heard-of and at a price-too-high-toprehend. I sit in awed silence as items and trips are auctioned off at hair-raising prices. Anthony doesn¡¯t bid on a single one of them. I lean toward him. His aftershave is pleasant, a hint of pine and musk. ¡°Which one are you waiting for?¡± He¡¯s close enough that I can follow the raised arch of his eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m going to get you your china, of course.¡± I grin at the obvious joke. His gaze drops to my lips for a second before returning toward the stage. ¡°Now time for item number fourteen¡­¡± the auctioneer says. ¡°A twenty-four-karat diamond watch from Cartier in the ssic Panth¨¦re design.¡± Anthony raises his hand. I look at him, but he keeps his eyes on the rapidly speaking auctioneer. Two others bid as well, but Anthony¡¯s arm rises another time. Then a third.Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. By the fourth time, he¡¯s the only one still with his arm up. The price is north of a hundred thousand dors. ¡°Sold to Mr. Anthony Winter!¡± the auctioneer calls to the sound of apuse. I just stare at him. Anthony turns to me. ¡°Well, you rmended it.¡± I just blink at him. ¡°It¡¯s a woman¡¯s watch.¡± ¡°So it¡¯ll make an excellent gift,¡± he says, lowering his voice. ¡°Think about the monkeys, Summer.¡± ¡°Right. You¡¯re very generous.¡± Saved by the Boss 18 ¡°That¡¯s exactly it,¡± he says. ¡°And now they¡¯ll all remember it.¡± We stroll around the room after the auction, and he supplies me with another ss of champagne. I finally get my hands on some canap¨¦s, even if they¡¯re no bigger than a bite. Several guests approach Anthony, and he speaks to them in low, authoritative tones. No small talk and no jokes of the sort he¡¯d exchanged with his business partners. I drink my champagne and nod and smile to each of them. Toast to rainforest conservation. Drink. Toast to a lovely event. Drink. Toast to the summer weather. Drink. Anthony¡¯s voice is dry when he finally steers us back toward the bar. ¡°I¡¯m done.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t want towork some more?¡± ¡°I never want towork again.¡± That makes me chuckle. My heel catches in an uneven patch of carpeting and I sway slightly in response. Anthony¡¯s hand locks around my elbow. ¡°You okay?¡± ¡°Yes. That was the carpet.¡±Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. ¡°I believe you.¡± ¡°But just in case, I don¡¯t think I should have any more champagne.¡± ¡°A wise decision.¡± We make our way to the exit, his hand on my low back, as he calls his driver to bring the car around. My head swims in the most delicious way. I¡¯m just the perfect amount of tipsy. I¡¯m also hungry. As soon as we get into the car, I inform Anthony. He gives a half-amused sigh. He does that a lot, I¡¯ve realized. Rare are theughs. ¡°You should have had more canap¨¦s.¡± ¡°Well, I would have, if there were more to go around,¡± I say. ¡°Disappointed with them?¡± ¡°Yes. Don¡¯t get me wrong, they were tasty. vors well-bnced, and I liked the presentation-¡± ¡°The caterer is not here to overhear you,¡± he says. ¡°-but they were too small. I can¡¯t survive on that alone.¡± ¡°What are you getting to eat, then?¡± ¡°There¡¯s a ce down my street that sells pizza by the slice, or by the¡­ whole? By the pizza? I don¡¯t know what you call an entire pizza. A wheel of pizza?¡± The corners of his lips tug in earnest now. ¡°A pie. It¡¯s called a pie of pizza.¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a New York expression.¡± ¡°Yes, I believe so.¡± ¡°That makes sense. You¡¯re smart.¡± ¡°So I¡¯ve been told on asion.¡± The Town Car pulls up to a smooth stop outside my building and I can just make out the neon sign of a single slice of pepperoni further down the street. My body has an itch only melted cheese can fix. Anthony clears his throat. Straightens his shoulders as if he¡¯s retreating inwards. ¡°Don¡¯t you want pizza too?¡± I ask him. ¡°You can have a slice or a pie. My treat. As thanks for the evening, not to mention the dresses. You like pizza, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He¡¯s silent for a moment. Then he puts a hand on the front seat and leans forward. ¡°Todd, feel free to take off for the night.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Buying a pepperoni pizza wasn¡¯t part of the n for tonight. Neither was following Summer Davis up the stairs to her Soho condo. My body is wired tight, needles beneath my skin from the pointlessworking I¡¯d been forced to engage in. But my feet take me forward. Following the gold of her hair up the dimly lit stairwell. Fuck, this is such a dumb idea. Like putting my hand to the me or walking out on a tightrope. Challenging the demons to a duel in front of an employee¡­ and it¡¯s Summer, nheless. ¡°This is my ce.¡± Her voice is just as cheerful as usual, made softer around the edges by the champagne. Her hair has slipped over her shoulder, revealing silky skin. ¡°Do you have the pizzas?¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t dropped them yet.¡± Sheughs and pushes open her apartment door. I step in after her into the darkness and stub my toe against a step. Bite down my lip to hide the curse. ¡°God, they smell good. Let me get the lights¡­ here we go. Oh, hello, buddy.¡± I blink at the infusion of warm, beautiful light. Her ce is small and cluttered, a frayed oriental rug thrown over hardwood floors. Tworge couches take up most of the space, relegating a tiny kitchte to the corner. An old chandelier hangs from the ceiling. ¡°Yes, we have a visitor,¡± Summer is telling her dog. ¡°And he¡¯s in a really nice, really well-fitted tux. So no jumping.¡± I nce down at my clothes. Well-fitted? ¡°Where do you want the pizzas?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll grab them. Have a seat, why don¡¯t you? I¡¯ll get us something to drink¡­¡± Summer tosses her clutch on the tiny kitchen counter and opens her minifridge. ¡°Do you want¡­ water? Or juice?¡± I run the back of my hand over my mouth to hide my smile. ¡°Water, thanks.¡± ¡°Yes, I suppose that wasn¡¯t much of a decision, was it?¡± Her voice drops to a soft muttering. ¡°Here I am offering you juice, like we¡¯re twelve and having a sleepover.¡± A cold nose bumps against my hand. Two baleful, serious eyes look up at me, a tail wagging softly. I know, I think. No sleepovers. You don¡¯t have to remind me. Her dog sinks down onto his haunches and abandons me in favor of his owner. She hands me one of the pizza boxes and curls up on one of her sofas, kicking off her heels. Stretches out her bare legs on the linen. ¡°There¡¯s nothing like a bit of post-champagne pizza,¡± she deres and opens the lid. The scent of mozzare and pepperoni fills the small room. I shouldn¡¯t be here, surrounded by all of her things, her warmth, her life. Basking in her casual ease. Galling her optimism. ¡°Are you going to eat standing up?¡± she asks. ¡°You never let me off the hook, do you?¡± Saved by the Boss 19 ¡°I just want you to feel at home.¡± The words are effortless, spoken around a bite of pizza. This is a woman with friends, with a life, and to her there¡¯s nothing unusual about what we¡¯re doing. I sink down onto the couch opposite her. Pop open my own pizza box. As I chew, my gaze travels around her living room. I make out an elephantmp in the corner. A heap of books un-organized on a shelf. A homemade throw in varying colors. ¡°You¡¯re inspecting,¡± she tells me. ¡°I can see it.¡± ¡°Inspecting?¡± ¡°Oh, yes. Making judgements, too, I¡¯m guessing.¡± I raise a pizza slice her way. ¡°It¡¯s not like you to be suspicious.¡± Sheughs. ¡°I¡¯m just realistic.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry. I¡¯m not an interior designer.¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re a venture capitalist. Which means you¡¯re a little of everything, aren¡¯t you? You wear a lot of hats.¡± Summer props up a pillow behind her head and leans back. She looks like a mischievous goddess, a model divine, in her silk dress and gleaming eyes. The blonde hair is a tumble of curls around her shoulders. ¡°Actually, have you ever worn a hat? I think you¡¯d look good in one.¡± I shake my head. ¡°You¡¯ve had a lot more champagne than I realized.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not drunk.¡± ¡°Sure you¡¯re not.¡± ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ elevated by the juice of the grape.¡± I raise my eyebrows and sheughs. ¡°I read that in an article once. Isn¡¯t it a great way to say drunk?¡± ¡°Sure. It¡¯s also six words too long.¡± Summerughs. ¡°You have a lot more humor than I thought the first time I met you.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m d I can surprise you.¡± She smiles and grabs another slice of pizza. I take a bite of my own and breathe in thefortable silence. It¡¯s been a long time since I sat like this with anyone. Despite the charity auction, despite the meaningless fucking small talk I¡¯d had to engage in, the pressure behind my eyes is absent. A good day, in the middle of a bad year. ¡°So,¡± Summer says.All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. I raise an eyebrow. ¡°So?¡± ¡°This wasn¡¯t your official third date or anything. The bet is still on. But if it were, how did I do?¡± ¡°You want a performance review?¡± Her smile shes again. ¡°Yes. A debrief, like we¡¯ve done before. What did you think of the client I fixed you up with tonight?¡± I turn my face to the windows and the darkness beyond. The pathway to effortless conversation feels rusty. ¡°She was serious when she needed to be. Silly when she could.¡± ¡°A good mix of the two?¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯d say so.¡± Summer gives a low whoop of victory, startling Ace, lying beside her on the couch. I roll my eyes at her. ¡°I¡¯m not that difficult to please.¡± ¡°Sure you¡¯re not,¡± she says, but she¡¯s smiling. ¡°What else?¡± ¡°Is this a debrief, or are you fishing forpliments?¡± ¡°A debrief. I only have one date left to convince you that Opate Match, a business you believed in enough to buy, by the way, is based on a sound business idea.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I say, ¡°I know your business idea is sound. I just don¡¯t think it¡¯s the same one as you do.¡± ¡°Right, because I think it¡¯s to help people find love, and you think it¡¯s¡­ remind me again?¡± She stretches her legs out on the couch, long and elegant. ¡°Arranged marriages for the elite?¡± I snort. ¡°I know that¡¯s what it¡¯s for. People who want to find a partner for status or prestige, rather than an actual rtionship. Can you honestly tell me you don¡¯t have clients like that? Ones who¡¯d decline to go on a date with anyone who earned less than a six-figure ie?¡± Summer takes another bite and looks at her dog, burying her fingers in his fur. ¡°They exist, sure. But on the whole¡­ I don¡¯t see it that way at all. These peoplee with their own set of difficulties. Some can¡¯t even date in public-we¡¯ve had a few famous people as clients, actually. Others are older and wealthy and want to meet an equal, but it¡¯s harder to trust when moneyes in the way. It¡¯s true that somee to us with a shopping list of criteria. But¡­¡± Summer¡¯s face softens, her voice growing warm. ¡°All that melts away when two clients like each other, when we¡¯ve found a good match. Those are the best debriefs. I¡¯ll talk to both of them after their first couple of dates and it¡¯s there in their voice. The excitement, the nerves, and suddenly the preferences they thought were important don¡¯t matter anymore. The only thing they can see is the person in front of them. It¡¯s beautiful.¡± Her gaze returns to mine, and the joy in her eyes is real. ¡°Anyway, I love my job. You¡¯re free to consider me a hopeless romantic.¡± ¡°I do,¡± I say, looking away from her. The old rancor burns in my chest. It¡¯s been a long time since I believed in anything like that. I doubt I ever truly have. ¡°I have a question for you,¡± she says. I force my voice to lighten. ¡°I¡¯m not answering any more of those prompts.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not a prompt, I swear.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡± ¡°It¡¯s somethingpletely different.¡± I lean back on the couch and drink her in with my gaze. The teasing smile. The warm eyes. ¡°Fine. What is it?¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you believe in true love?¡± I groan, staring up at the ceiling. ¡°It wasn¡¯t a prompt!¡± ¡°It might as well be.¡± Saved by the Boss 20 ¡°I don¡¯t mean to pry.¡± ¡°Sure you don¡¯t,¡± I say, but there¡¯s a smile in my voice. Even I can hear it. A secondter and I¡¯m hit squarely in the chest by one of the colorful throw pillows. I look over at Summer. She¡¯s staring back at me with a gaze that¡¯s half shocked, half challenging. ¡°Sorry,¡± she says. ¡°That didn¡¯t hurt, did it?¡± Hah. My hand curls around the pillow, hurling it back at her. She dodges it easily and breaks intoughter. Ace gives a single, low bark of surprise beside her. ¡°Is this how you treat your clients when they won¡¯t respond to your questions?¡± I ask. ¡°No wonder Opate Match is in dire straits.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have pillows in my office,¡± she says. Crosses one smooth leg over the other and shoots me a triumphant look. ¡°You¡¯re avoiding the question, which is fine.¡± I push away my half-eaten pizza and lean forward. ¡°How can you believe so strongly in it?¡± ¡°In true love?¡± I nod. It¡¯s almost like we¡¯re in her office, talking about something rational and not here, in her home at midnight, discussing love over pizzas. I should leave. I don¡¯t. Summer sighs, and it sounds like music. ¡°My parents have the perfect rtionship,¡± she says. ¡°They work together, yet they never argue. Or rather, when they do, it ends inughter because they both realize how ridiculous they are.¡± Her hand traces the curve of Ace¡¯s head beside her on the couch. The dog looks like he¡¯s in bliss. ¡°They¡¯ve gone through a lot, too. They had problems having children, and I was always destined to be an only child, but that only knitted them closer together. My dad bought my mom her dream house a few years back and they spend their weekends renovating. It¡¯s like they¡¯re a newlywed couple.¡± ¡°You miss them,¡± I murmur.Text ? owned by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Yes. I love living in the city, but it¡¯s far away from them,¡± she says with a smile. Shakes her head. ¡°Anyway, that¡¯s why I believe in true love. I¡¯ve seen it with my own eyes.¡± Such honesty, it makes my chest tight. She¡¯d answered my question without censure or artifice. Like I¡¯m an actual friend. ¡°Your tactic worked. You avoided the question yourself.¡± ¡°That,¡± I say, raising a hand, ¡°is because I know the way you work, Summer. You¡¯ll use my answers to win the bet.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not that clever,¡± she says. ¡°How was your pizza?¡± ¡°Delicious.¡± ¡°You got the pepperoni, right?¡± She throws her legs off the couch. ¡°Do you still have any left?¡± ¡°Several slices.¡± Summer pads across the oriental rug on bare feet and sinks down beside me on the couch. She pushes thick, blonde hair back and opens the pizza carton. ¡°It¡¯s not that I¡¯m unhappy with my choice of only buying two slices,¡± she says. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°But these just look so good.¡± ¡°Have one.¡± ¡°If I do, will you tell me I should have gotten more than just two myself?¡± ¡°I would never,¡± I say gravely. She smiles as she pulls out a slice of pepperoni and takes a big bite. The smooth skin of her shoulder looks golden beneath the lights, her legs are only inches from mine. ¡°That¡¯s deeeelicious.¡± There¡¯s a roaring in my head, one that rises to a deafening level when she turns her head toward me. ¡°How did you describe me to your personal shopper?¡± she asks. ¡°All three of the dresses fit perfectly.¡± The true answer has no business being spoken aloud. That I¡¯d picked them out myself, held the fabric up and pictured her form in them. ¡°Anthony?¡± she asks. I push up from the couch and turn away, looking at the obvious coziness of her apartment. Sitting next to her on a couch is more temptation than I can bear. Two pieces of paper pinned to one of her walls give me a convenient excuse. I step closer, like I¡¯m examining them. Waiting for the pounding in my blood to abate. ¡°Oh, that,¡± Summer says with a sigh. ¡°You¡¯re seeing my whole life¡¯s n right there. Promise me you won¡¯t judge?¡± I can barely make out what the list says in the dim lighting. ¡°I won¡¯t judge.¡± ¡°I wrote it about a year ago. I had¡­ well. I¡¯d just gone through a really bad break-up, and it struck me that I had to go after what I wanted, or it wouldn¡¯t happen. Life is short.¡± The scent of her perfume washes over me and she¡¯s standing right beside me. Soft and warm and light. ¡°So I made a bucket list.¡± Fuck my worthless eyes in this lighting, because I can¡¯t make out more than a few letters, it¡¯s printed with such small font. There¡¯s nothing standing in the way of me learning more about Summer, other than my own inadequacy. Oh, the irony. ¡°They¡¯re not very big things,¡± she admits, sounding almost shy. ¡°Try windsurfing. Learn how to horseback ride. But some are, I guess. I¡¯d like to travel to all fifty states.¡± I nod, taking a step toward the front door. ¡°It¡¯s good to have goals.¡± ¡°It is.¡± Summer rocks back on her heels, looking up at me. ¡°Hearing some of your bucket list goals would help me, you know. To get to know you better.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a much better prompt than asking if I¡¯m a cat or dog person.¡± ¡°It¡¯s on the list, too,¡± she says with a smile. ¡°Won¡¯t you at least give me one teeny, tiny goal?¡± ¡°You never give up, do you?¡± ¡°Getting to know you better is my life¡¯s mission.¡± It¡¯s an exaggeration, a joke at best. So it doesn¡¯t make me panic. If anything, it makes me¡­ Saved by the Boss 21 No. It¡¯s time for me to go now. ¡°Thank you for tonight,¡± I tell her. ¡°For apanying me to the auction.¡± ¡°It was my pleasure,¡± she says, and the softness of her voice makes it seem like she genuinely means it. Like I hadn¡¯t coerced her through the bet. I reach for the doorknob and speak with my back to her. There¡¯s no reason to say anything more, and I don¡¯t know where I find the words. ¡°Whitewater rafting,¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s one of my goals.¡± The enormity of what we¡¯d done doesn¡¯t hit me until the next day, when the pleasant buzz of champagne has gone and left an aching head in its stead. Anthony hade up to my ce, on my insistence. He¡¯d seen where I lived. The mess, the trinkets, my open bedroom door and unmade bed. That stupid bucket list. He¡¯d seen it, read all of the things I¡¯d put down on paper as a way to convince myself to think big. My ex-boyfriend¡¯s voice hasn¡¯t rung in my head for months, but it does again this morning. His subtle put-downs, reminding me I shouldn¡¯t be too much, too forward, that it would be better if I let him do the talking. I try to shove Robin back down, just like I¡¯d finally, eventually, shoved him out of my life.Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. Anthony is a world apart from Robin, the two as different as two men could be. One quiet where the other couldn¡¯t stop talking; one stoic where the other was smarmy. While Anthony can be intimidating, I can¡¯t imagine him saying the sort of things Robin sometimes did. Insults wrapped in words of sweetness. No, Anthony wouldn¡¯t do that. I hadn¡¯t gotten a smile out of him yesterday, but it had been close. Next time, then. My own thoughts give me a start. I should be focused on saving Opate, and not intrigued by the mystery that is Anthony Winter. Not even if he gets more interesting by the day. He isn¡¯t set toe to the office until Wednesday, to go over the proposed creation of an Opate mobile app. I find myself counting the days until he does. Looking at the couch where he¡¯d sat, toorge in my too small apartment, a dark eyebrow raised at me. Like he couldn¡¯t quite believe he was there, himself. Like he was as intrigued by me as I was by him. When Wednesday rolls around, nervous energy dances through my veins all morning. It rises to a crescendo when the clock finally strikes eleven. I hear his voice before I see him. Deep and cool and just faintly hoarse, reaching me through the door. Suzy responds. ¡°She¡¯s in her office.¡± My spine straightens, gaze flying to my half-open door. But he doesn¡¯t enter. Vivienne, then. Of course he¡¯s going to my aunt first. I grab my notebook and head across the office to join them. Vivienne waves me into her office. Her camel wrap dress fits her like a glove and she gives me a warm smile. ¡°Mr. Winter has brought a host of suggestions for how we can transform thepany. Come, I want to hear what you think, too.¡± I close the door behind me and meet Anthony¡¯s gaze. Across the room, in his suit, it¡¯s like the other night never happened. Like I never stole pizza from him because I¡¯d ordered too few slices for myself. His fingers drum against the table. Dark stubble traces the sharp line of his jaw, and I wonder what it would feel like beneath my fingers. ¡°Our changes are outlined in the document. We¡¯ve taken your request for personalization into ount.¡± Vivienne pushes a copy over to me and starts humming as she reads through it. I try to focus on the paper in front of me. ¡°A dating app,¡± I murmur, reading. ¡°Singles parties in cities around the world?¡± ¡°You¡¯re skeptical,¡± Anthony says. ¡°No, she¡¯s not,¡± Vivienne interjects. ¡°My niece is protective of the business, and to tell you the truth, so am I.¡± ¡°As you have every right to be,¡± Anthony says. ¡°You¡¯ve built this on your own, and you know it best.¡± She nods. ¡°Yes, and I understand the need for growth and expansion. But what makes us work is that we put clients together based on what they want, not what they think they want.¡± I smile down at the table. I¡¯d told Anthony the exact same thing. ¡°Givenplete free choice, most people will be far more selective on dating apps than they would be if they met the same person in real life. They don¡¯t like her hair? It¡¯s a no. His eyes aren¡¯t the blue you¡¯d always envisioned? It¡¯s a no.¡± Vivienne gives an elegant sigh and crosses her legs. I¡¯ve never looked up to her more than I do right then, as she pushes the paper with suggestions across the table to Anthony. It¡¯s a clear rejection to the man who owns a fifty-one percent stake. ¡°I¡¯m not against digitalization or expansion, but we need to ensure there¡¯s still an element of exclusivity and control. One where we might pair you up with someone. If not, our sess rates will drop, and with them, our profits.¡± Anthony¡¯s jaw works as he flips the paper over. Jots down a few notes. ¡°I understand,¡± he says. ¡°You have a lot of experience in this field. How do you think we could digitalize while keeping the personal touch?¡± It¡¯s over thirty minutester when our brainstorming session ends. I¡¯ve caught Anthony rubbing his temples twice, resting his chin in his hand. There are rings beneath his eyes that speak of sleepless nights. ¡°I¡¯ll take this back to our development team,¡± he finally says. ¡°Thank you for your input, Vivienne.¡± With the meeting finished, Vivienne thanks Anthony for his time and then turns back to herputer in a clear dismissal. I catch the wry twist of his lips at that. She might only own forty-nine percent of the business, but she won¡¯t let anyone forget who started it. Suzy isn¡¯t in the reception when wee back out. I cross the space to my office and push my door open. ¡°Want toe in?¡± Anthony nods. I leave the door ajar, with another nce to where my aunt has shut hers. I clear my throat. ¡°I wanted to say thank you for the other night.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the one who did me a favor,¡± he says. Sinks into the chair opposite my desk, a hand at his temple. Ace rises from his usual sprawl to say hello and leans his head against Anthony¡¯s knee. ¡°You mean I stepped in as a recement,¡± I say. ¡°Anyway, the dresses, the car, the pizza¡­ Thanks. I had a great time.¡± ¡°All for the rainforest,¡± he says. ¡°That¡¯s right. Your business partners seemed nice.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Nice, yes. The two you met are nice.¡± ¡°The fourth isn¡¯t?¡± ¡°Not particrly, no.¡± Anthony shifts his gaze back to mine. ¡°Summer, I wanted to say-¡± Suzy sticks her head into my office and announces in a sing-songy voice, ¡°the delivery guy will be here soon!¡± Then she notices Anthony and gives us both a chagrined look. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry, Mr. Winter. Didn¡¯t mean to interrupt your meeting.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not a problem.¡± She ducks out, leaving the door ajar. Anthony looks down at his hand, curled around the armrest. ¡°The delivery guy?¡± ¡°Oh. That¡¯s nothing, really. She¡¯s just¡­ well. The delivery guy whoes each week asked me out a few days ago. I said no, of course. It wouldn¡¯t be appropriate.¡± ¡°It wouldn¡¯t? The two of you don¡¯t work together.¡± Saved by the Boss 22 ¡°No, I suppose we don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Then why not give love a chance? Don¡¯t tell me you don¡¯t believe in it anymore, Summer.¡± His gaze is daring, but there¡¯s a tiredness beneath it. Like he¡¯s forcing himself to banter. ¡°I do believe in love,¡± I say. ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°But what? Is a man working as a delivery guy below your usual standards?¡± ¡°No, not at all.¡± ¡°So?¡± He¡¯s taunting me now, an edge in his voice. ¡°Fine,¡± I say. ¡°Fine?¡± ¡°Yes, fine. I¡¯ll ask him out for coffee when he drops by. You¡¯re right.¡± Anthony¡¯s gaze widens, but then it crystallizes into his usual aloof hardness. ¡°Great.¡± ¡°What of my third and final date?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll find you someone for this weekend.¡± Anthony leans back in his chair, fingers drumming along the armrest. ¡°Well, look at that. You¡¯ll go out with the delivery guy, and I¡¯ll have my third date, and we¡¯ll see who has the most luck.¡± ¡°Sounds perfect.¡± He stands. Buttons his suit jacket. ¡°I¡¯m looking forward to the end of our bet.¡± ¡°Looking forward to shooting down my third candidate, you mean.¡± His eyes sh. ¡°I¡¯ll give her a chance, Summer. I told you I would.¡± I don¡¯t for a second think he will. It¡¯s there in his eyes, in his demeanor, so much more abrasive today than it had beenst weekend. Had I imagined the friendship between us? Or had hee to the conclusion that it was just as inappropriate as I had? But it¡¯s no excuse for rudeness. My voice turns to icy professionalism. ¡°I¡¯ll text you with the details, Mr. Winter.¡± ¡°Thank you, Miss Davis.¡± Ace¡¯s ears are pulled back as he watches Anthony leave my office. I can only imagine that mine would do the same, if they could. I don¡¯t know why I pick up the phone that Friday, seeing who¡¯s on the caller ID. Not when the headache pounds behind my eyes and bitterness tastes like ash on my tongue. ¡°Anthony,¡± my mother says on the other line. I close my eyes at the censure in her tone. ¡°Hello,¡± I say. The obligatory small talk we¡¯re forced to exchange is bothersome, but nothing like the irritation that res up inside me when she starts on the one subject my family can¡¯t help but discuss. ¡°Did you receive a Save the Date for Isaac and Cordelia?¡± ¡°Yes, I did.¡± ¡°It was very well put together, I think. They could have made their names slightlyrger, but overall, it was a good card.¡± ¡°It was,¡± I say. She hears the reluctance in my voice, of course. I haven¡¯t kept my dislike of my brother¡¯s fianc¨¦e particrly well hidden, but then again, my moods have lived right beneath my skin ever since the diagnosis. ¡°You areing to the wedding, Anthony,¡± my mother says. It¡¯s not a question. ¡°I know Isaac hasn¡¯t spoken to you about the best man position, but I-¡± ¡°He¡¯ll give it to one of his friends. I¡¯m aware.¡± A pause. ¡°Well, I know he thinks¡­ as do we all, Anthony, that we¡¯re not quite sure where you are at the moment.¡± It¡¯s a delicate way of phrasing my mood swings. My hand tightens around my coffee cup like a drowning man¡¯s around a rope. I know I¡¯m not treating any of them the way they deserve. Not my brother, not my parents. Perhaps not even myself. ¡°You know I¡¯ll be there, Mom.¡± ¡°At the wedding?¡± Her voice lightens. ¡°Oh, I never doubted you would.¡± The well-meaning lie almost makes me smile. As if that isn¡¯t the reason both she and my brother have been contacting me about the wedding. ¡°That reminds me, Anthony. I saw the Winthorpe girl the other day. Shelby.¡± My hand spasms around the coffee cup. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°She¡¯s engaged now, I heard. To one of Farnham¡¯s boys.¡± Ah, yes. It doesn¡¯t surprise me. Theck of pain in my chest at the words does, however. Good for her. She deserves someone who is whole and has a full life ahead of him. ¡°Wasn¡¯t she lovely? I¡¯m not sure I understand why you let her go.¡± She¡¯d been the one to break it off, a month after we learned about my eyesight. And this, right here, is why elite matchmaking is all about prestige. People like my parents, or Shelby¡¯s parents or Cordelia¡¯s or the Farnhams, expect a certain caliber in their children¡¯s partners. The ns are dynastic, the breeding stock carefully vetted. ¡°We weren¡¯t right for each other,¡± I say. ¡°Look, I have to go, Mom.¡± ¡°Okay. Whatever you need.¡± She pauses, like she¡¯s not sure she should say whates next. ¡°We¡¯re having dinner with Isaac and Cordelia tonight at the Montauk house. Would you like toe? You can make it if you drive up now.¡± So I¡¯d stopped being invited, too. Once, I¡¯d been included in that sort of thing in the family text group. They probably have a new text group now. One without me. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. ¡°But I have ns tonight.¡±? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. For once, it¡¯s not a lie. ¡°All right, Anthony. Take care.¡± ¡°You too. Say hello to Dad for me.¡± Saved by the Boss 23 The brief pause betrays her surprise. ¡°Okay, I will.¡± We click off and I push the phone away from me on the table, just like I push away the confusing guilt and anger I feel about distancing myself from my family. It¡¯s be second nature these days. The guilt grows into frustration as I shower and dress, putting on the suit for tonight¡¯s date. Summer¡¯s text had been cordial and curt. Informed me who I was to meet and where. The good luck she¡¯d added hadcked an exmation point, and by now, I¡¯m familiar enough with Summer¡¯s way of speaking to know that it really wascking. It¡¯s a Friday afternoon. Is she getting ready for her own date with the delivery guy? Despite my own words in her office, of course he¡¯s not good enough for her. Not with her optimism and humor. Not with the rosy-colored way she sees the world. Nobody could be. The needles crawling beneath my skin intensify when my driver drops me off outside the restaurant for the evening. I¡¯m there first, like I always am. Lean against the building and cross my arm across my chest. Soon enough, a smooth voice speaks from my left. ¡°Anthony Winter?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I extend a hand to a diminutive brte, her eyes clear and curious. ¡°La Garcia?¡± ¡°Yes, that¡¯s me. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you.¡± She waves a hand toward the restaurant. ¡°Shall we?¡± The restaurant is poorly lit, with candles sending flickering light up the walls. No overhead lighting. I bump into a waiter on our way to the table, and damn it, my peripheral vision is shit in situations like this. La¡¯s voice is pleasant enough and had I been another man, or in another time in my life, she might have charmed me. But all I can focus on is the tiny fucking print on the menu that might as well be Greek for the sense I can make of it. I¡¯d need a shlight to see in here. ¡°What are you having?¡± she asks. ¡°I can¡¯t decide.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure yet,¡± I say, and likely never will be. When the waiteres, I tell him to give me tonight¡¯s special. La¡¯s eyebrows rise. ¡°You¡¯re adventurous,¡± she says. Fuck. Have I ordered frog legs or snails or something? Should¡¯ve asked, but no, I just had to take my chances. Sometimes I¡¯m not sure what I hate more. My failing eyesight or my pride. La¡¯s a psychologist with a degree from an Ivy League school and parents who summer in the Hamptons. She asks the right questions. Doesn¡¯tment on the fact that I apparently ordered couscous sd with candied goat cheese. For each passing minute, I feel worse. For wasting her time. For not engaging in the conversation she¡¯s trying to draw me into. And for my mind¡¯s constant path back to Summer and her potential date. ¡°You¡¯re a psychologist,¡± I say. La smiles, pushing her te away. ¡°Oh no.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to diagnose me.¡± ¡°Good,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m not allowed to outside of hours.¡± ¡°But would you tell me why you find it interesting? Isn¡¯t it depressing to listen to people¡¯s problems all day?¡± The look she gives me is one far too knowing for my liking. She cocks her head and reaches for her ss of wine. ¡°It can be,¡± she admits. ¡°But most of the time, it¡¯s very rewarding. Most often, people just need to speak their thoughts aloud and know that someone is listening. What I say matters only half as much as letting them hear themselves speak out loud. People are beautiful and problematic and if I can be a part, in however small a way, in someone turning their life around¡­ well. That¡¯s worth listening to difficult things once in a while.¡± ¡°It¡¯s admirable,¡± I say, and I mean it. But so is skydiving, and I have about as much of an inclination to do either, which is zero. By dessert, the headache behind my eyes has erupted into a blinding pain. She notices too, which means I have to exin myself. I ask for the check. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, La. This has been great-¡± ¡°No, you don¡¯t think it has,¡± she says. ¡°You can be honest.¡± Is that the tone she takes with one of her patients? Fuck me, but I find myself sighing. ¡°I¡¯m not in the best state right now. I thought I was, thought I could do this, but I don¡¯t think I can.¡± She¡¯s not angry with me. Instead, she reaches out and puts her hand on mine with professional courtesy. ¡°I understand. It¡¯s good that you tried, though. Thank you for tonight.¡± The grace humbles me. I leave the restaurant on foot, walking the streets of New York aimlessly, thinking of her words. My mother¡¯s words. Summer¡¯s. A couple in love walks past me, their hands intertwined and their step quick. Laughter hangs in the air behind them. With a sigh, I pull my phone out of my pocket. La will call Summer soon and give a report, and I know the conclusions Summer will draw. That I sabotaged this night. That I would never admit she¡¯d done a good job. Better to get there first. I dial her number and hold the phone up to my ear. Cross the street and re at a cab that brakes toote. ¡°Anthony?¡± Her voice is high. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do. God, I don¡¯t know what to do.¡± ¡°Are you all right? Summer, are you hurt?¡± ¡°No, no, I¡¯m at home. Ace just ate an entire box of chocte.¡± Her voice goes into hyperdrive again. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do!¡± I turn on my heel and nearly crash into a middle-aged couple, heading in the direction of her apartment. ¡°You need to get him to a vet.¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve found one, but I don¡¯t¡­ Can I take a dog in a taxi? He¡¯s fine now but at any moment.. Oh God.¡± ¡°I can be at your ce soon. I have a car. Until then, you call the veterinarian and warn them that we¡¯reing in, okay?¡± ¡°Yes, I can do that. I¡¯ll do that. When will you be here?¡± ¡°In ten, maybe twelve minutes. I¡¯ll text when I¡¯m downstairs with the car and you¡¯lle down with Ace. Okay?¡± ¡°Okay,¡± she whispers. When I arrive, Summer is already downstairs. She has a bag slung over her shoulder and Ace in a tight leash at her side. The golden looks no worse for wear, sitting on his haunches and keeping an eye out on the street, like he¡¯s determined to keep her safe. I approve. ¡°My driver is on the way,¡± I tell her.Content (C) N?v/elDra/ma.Org. She nods, the panic in her eyes leashed. Determined. ¡°I¡¯ve spent thest ten minutes on the inte. As long as he gets there in time, he should be fine.¡± Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail, dark smudges under her eyes from the panicked tears I¡¯d heard on the phone. But now she¡¯s all business. I don¡¯t ask about the hows or the whys. There will be time for thatter. My driver doesn¡¯tment on the dog in the backseat, or the destination. He just floors it. I hold the door open for Summer when we arrive at the emergency clinic, and thanks to having called ahead, they¡¯re waiting for us. I have a seat in the waiting room while Summer follows a bespectacled veterinarian into a treatment room. Ace trots by her side, his tail tucked between his legs like he knows what¡¯sing. Saved by the Boss 24 I feel for the guy. I lean my head against the wall and let my eyes wander over the framed images of pets along the wall. The fluorescent lighting is a godsendpared to the dimly lit restaurant, even if the only thing here for me to study are pictures of hamsters and cats. It¡¯s a long while before the door opens and Summeres back out. She looks like an angel with her blonde hair beneath the fluorescent light, her eyes shimmering with relief. ¡°He¡¯ll be fine,¡± she says. ¡°He will?¡± ¡°Yes. They¡¯ll keep him overnight for observation and I will pick him up tomorrow afternoon. They¡¯ve given him medication, and active charcoal that¡¯s meant to counteract the chocte, and¡­¡± she buries her face in her hands. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I was so careless!¡± I step closer and throw caution to the wind, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. It takes me several long moments to find the words. ¡°Well,¡± I say. ¡°You did the right thing by getting him here so quickly.¡± Summer nods into her hands and leans into me, like she¡¯s grateful for the support. Like I¡¯m actuallyforting her. ¡°Thank you. I don¡¯t know what I would have done if you hadn¡¯t called right then.¡± ¡°You would have figured it out.¡± She takes a deep breath and lifts her head, shimmering eyes meeting mine. ¡°Oh God, you were on your date. Did I interrupt you?¡± ¡°I called you,¡± I remind her, ¡°and no, it was no problem. Let me take you home.¡± She nods and puts her hand on my arm, fingers curving, and lets me guide her to the door. ¡°Thank you, Anthony. Truly.¡± For the second time in a week, I find myself in Summer Davis¡¯s living room near midnight. It¡¯s a dangerous habit. She¡¯s kicked off her shoes and taken her hair down and is now lying on the couch across from me, turning a ruined box of choctes over in her hands. ¡°Dave brought them when he came by to pick me up,¡± she says. ¡°I put them on the hallway table. Ace must have knocked them off somehow, but he¡¯s never done anything like that before.¡± ¡°Hard to resist if chocte truffles are scattered all over the floor.¡± She pushes up from the couch and throws the remnants in the trash with firm movements. ¡°Never again,¡± she says. ¡°From here on out, my household will be one hundred percent chocte free. I¡¯ll never own a piece again in my life.¡± ¡°Drastic,¡± I say. ¡°You couldn¡¯t have it in, like, a sealed Tupperware container?¡± Summer pours us a ss of water each before sitting down on the couch opposite me again, pulling her legs up beneath her. ¡°You¡¯re good at thinking rationally, you know.¡± She drains half of her ss and pushes back a tendril of hair. ¡°Today was far too much excitement for me.¡± ¡°Do you want to talk about him?¡± ¡°Ace?¡± ¡°Yes. Why do you bring him into the office most days? Actually, why do you have a golden retriever in central New York?¡± She sighs and looks down at her hands. ¡°He might be happier upstate. But he does alternate between living with me and with my parents, so I think he gets the best of both worlds, but¡­ well. It¡¯s kind of a funny story. He was supposed to be a guide dog.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Yes, a guide dog for the blind.¡± My jaw tightens. ¡°Is that supposed to be a joke?¡± ¡°No,¡± she says, eyes intent on me. ¡°I mean, unless you find it funny? But no. My parents have raised retrievers for as long as I can remember. There are always one or two puppies in each litter that my mother earmarks as guide dogs. She¡¯ll foster them, too, before they go to the Foundation for the Blind for advanced training. Anyway, Ace failed halfway through his.¡± She turns her ss around, voice growing warm. ¡°He was seventeen months when they withdrew him from training. Too easily distracted, you see. But he has the biggest heart, and he had so much training still in him¡­ So my parents adopted him right back home.¡± The tight, suspicious fear in my chest softens at her words. A coincidence, then, that her dog was once destined to help guide the blind. Yet the reminder of blindness is unwee. It doesn¡¯t belong in this warm space. Not around her. ¡°Your parents sound idyllic,¡± I say. ¡°You think?¡± ¡°Perfect marriage, perfect kid, raising dogs¡­ yes, I do.¡± Her smile widens. ¡°Perfect kid?¡± ¡°You can¡¯t have been difficult to raise.¡± ¡°You¡¯re making assumptions.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, ¡°but tell me I¡¯m wrong?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not,¡± she admits. ¡°And they are pretty great. Over thest year, I¡¯ve really wanted Ace with me here, too, and they¡¯ve understood. He¡¯s helped.¡± ¡°Helped?¡± ¡°Yes, with¡­ well. I told you I had a pretty bad break-up a year ago.¡± ¡°You did.¡± ¡°Having Ace here has been lovely.¡± She looks down at the ss of water in her hands, twisting it around. And just like that, I have to know more. ¡°Sorry to hear about the break-up.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Don¡¯t be. It was good, that it happened. I shouldn¡¯t have been with him.¡± ¡°Then I¡¯m happy to hear it.¡± ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m happier now, too.¡± She puts her ss down and takes a deep breath. Gives me a look that makes it clear we¡¯re changing the subject, my insatiable curiosity be damned. ¡°So, how was your third and final date? I understand that you might be trying to spare my feelings because of Ace¡­ but put me out of my misery, will you?¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. There¡¯s a smile waiting in the corners of her lips. Whatever acidic words I¡¯d once longed to spew at the end of the bet are gone. They¡¯ve withered in the presence of her light. ¡°She was lovely,¡± I admit. ¡°Wow,¡± she says, eyes on mine. They¡¯re impossible to read. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect such a rave review. Was that why you called me? To admit defeat?¡± I just look at her. Saved by the Boss 25 ¡°Oh. There¡¯s a but here, right?¡± I spread my hands wide, and I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s the weight of the day or the memory of her panicked voice in my ear, but more words spill through my cracks than I¡¯d nned for. ¡°It¡¯s me, Summer. I¡¯m not fit for a rtionship. I¡¯m not fit for dating. You could find me the goddess of love herself and I wouldn¡¯t ask for a second date.¡± ¡°Why?¡± she asks. I shake my head. Offer a piece of the truth, but like so often these days, it¡¯s the tip of an iceberg. ¡°Myst break-up wasn¡¯t the best either.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Summer says. She leans back on the couch, the cut-off jeans she¡¯s wearing revealing a sliver of smooth skin at the ankle. ¡°Look at us, then. You own a matchmakingpany and I work at one, and neither of us seems capable of dating.¡± ¡°Neither of us? What happened with the delivery boy?¡± ¡°Dave,¡± she says. ¡°His name is Dave.¡± ¡°Dave,¡± I repeat. She looks down at her hands, twisting them over to y with one of her nails. ¡°It was good. He was nice and funny. We went to a Korean barbecue down the street. But I just couldn¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t know. I couldn¡¯t get into it.¡± My gaze zeroes in on her face. Is she blushing, or is the light ying tricks on me again? ¡°But you liked him?¡± She shrugs. ¡°Well enough, I suppose. But I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll go out with him again. It doesn¡¯t seem fair, really. To be honest, I haven¡¯t thought about him once since I came home and saw that Ace had eaten all of his chocte.¡± ¡°Poor guy,¡± I say. By no fault of his own, he¡¯d be associated with poisoning her dog. Perhaps I¡¯m a bastard for it, but I can¡¯t find it in me to feel sorry for him. She pushes off the couch with a yawn, and damn, I should go. She wants some peace and quiet, and not her boss hanging around, overstaying his wee. But she beats me to it, walking barefoot across the oriental rug to the kitchte. ¡°I¡¯m about to make some tea. Would you like some?¡± she asks. ¡°You don¡¯t strike me as a tea-drinking kind of man, but you know, I don¡¯t want to assume.¡± My hand rxes on my thigh. ¡°I¡¯ll have whatever you¡¯re having.¡± ¡°That means chamomile tea with a drop of honey.¡± ¡°Great.¡± I can¡¯t remember thest time I drank tea, or had someone make me¡­ things. My gaze snags on the bucket list still pinned to her wall. With her back to me, I cross to it and turn on the shlight on my phone. Bathed in artificial light, I can make out a number of items. Learn how to windsurf. Swim naked in the ocean. Learn to speak Spanish. Visit all fifty states. Record a demo in a studio.? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. I put my phone down just in time. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re back at the list,¡± she says. ¡°I should take that thing down.¡± ¡°No you shouldn¡¯t. I didn¡¯t know you sang?¡± Summer puts my mug on the coffee table and curls up on her couch, legs crossed beneath her. A sheath of blonde hair falls forward as she stares into her mug as if she¡¯s trying to read her fortune. ¡°I used to.¡± ¡°You used to sing.¡± ¡°Yes. I majored in business in college, but with a minor in music. I can¡¯t y an instrument to save my life, but¡­ I¡¯ve been singing for as long as I can remember.¡± I raise an eyebrow, but Summer holds up a hand. ¡°I know exactly what you¡¯re going to say. Don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Do you?¡± ¡°Yes, you were going to ask me to sing something.¡± ¡°Maybe, but maybe not. And even if I were, would it be so terrible?¡± She gives a mock shiver, but there¡¯s real censure in her eyes. ¡°Yes. I won¡¯t sing onmand.¡± ¡°All right, little canary,¡± I say, taking a sip of the tea she¡¯s prepared for me. It¡¯s not half bad. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised, you know.¡± ¡°That I sing?¡± ¡°You seem like the type.¡± Golden, glorious, smiling. She should be a cartoon princess, walking through the forest with woond creatures trailing behind. Hell, I feel like one, sitting here in her apartment for no apparent reason for the second time in a week. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to make of that,¡± she says. ¡°It was apliment, I think.¡± ¡°Then thank you,¡± she says, smiling. ¡°I think.¡± We look at each other for a long moment, her smiling, me lost. I¡¯m acutely aware of the fact that it¡¯s past midnight and she¡¯s in a pair of tight jeans and a tank top. But then she sits up pin straight. ¡°Do you hear that?¡± ¡°Hear what?¡± ¡°It¡¯s raining! Damn.¡± I watch in astonished silence as she flies up from the couch, grabbing towels that had been stuffed behind the couch. She rolls them up tightly and fits them against the windowsills. ¡°They leak?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes. The caulking is bad, I think. Anyway, every time it rains, without fail, I have wet windowsills.¡± ¡°Summer,¡± I ask, ¡°how long has that been the case?¡± ¡°Oh, a few months, at least.¡± ¡°You haven¡¯t told yourndlord?¡± ¡°I have, but she¡¯s busy.¡± I narrow my eyes at her, but she gives me a serene smile, sinking down on the couch again. ¡°You¡¯re renting from your aunt?¡± I guess. She nods. ¡°Vivi will fix them.¡± ¡°You should remind her.¡± Saved by the Boss 26 ¡°I will,¡± she says, stretching her legs out. I¡¯m about to insist when she gives a soft sigh and leans her head against the back of the couch, closing her eyes. ¡°This is nice.¡± My gaze returns to my mug. Surprised to find that I actually agree with her on that. ¡°You know,¡± she says, ¡°I have a few great friends in the city, but most of them are from college, and they have their own lives. I don¡¯t spend as much time with them as I¡¯d like.¡± This is when I should leave. I know it in my bones, but my body is glued to the couch. Perhaps she¡¯s a siren. Capturing men, soul after soul. ¡°I don¡¯t with mine, either,¡± I admit. Somehow, it doesn¡¯t sound quite as pathetic spoken out loud in her warm apartment. ¡°You have your business partners,¡± she points out. ¡°I do, although we mostly work together.¡± Not to mention all my friendships have an expiration date.? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. ¡°You grew up in the city?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± She makes a soft humming sound, and I crack open one of my lids to see her regarding me thoughtfully. I can only imagine I look a sight, sprawled in my suit on her couch, holding a tea mug with peonies painted on it. ¡°You¡¯re thinking about something,¡± I tell her. ¡°Yes,¡± she admits. ¡°Just that you¡¯re very fascinating, Anthony.¡± I close my eyes again. ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°I mean it, though. You¡¯re full of contradictions. You never say or do what I expect you to. You don¡¯t react to the women I set you up with the way I¡¯d nned. You buy a matchmakingpany you despise.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t despise Opate.¡± She chuckles. ¡°Right. You like my dog, despite pretending you don¡¯t.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never pretended not to like your dog.¡± ¡°Mmhm, sure.¡± Now there¡¯sughter in her voice. But I don¡¯t mind being the object of her fascination, or herughter. ¡°And now I¡¯m here in your apartment after midnight,¡± Iplete for her. ¡°Drinking tea.¡± ¡°Yes. You¡¯re fascinating, that¡¯s all.¡± ¡°Happy to entertain.¡± I give a half-bow from the couch and she chuckles again, turning back to her tea. This time, I¡¯m fairly certain she¡¯s blushing. No trick of the lights here. ¡°You¡¯re part of one of the city¡¯s most illustrious families,¡± she continues, ¡°but you didn¡¯t mind eating pepperoni pizza out of a box with me. Right after, mind you, spending more money than most people earn in a year on a watch you can¡¯t wear.¡± ¡°Hey,¡± I tell her, something in me drawing tight at her words. ¡°I would look great in a woman¡¯s diamond watch.¡± Her answering smile is too blinding, so I close my eyes again. ¡°And you¡¯re funny, too. But I don¡¯t think you joke too often, and I think yourugh is rarer still.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not one of your clients,¡± I say, meeting her gaze. ¡°No need to keep trying to figure me out.¡± Summer¡¯s mouth opens on a soft exhale. ¡°Perhaps I just want to learn more about a friend.¡± ¡°A friend,¡± I repeat, running my thumb around the rim of the mug. Looking at her and knowing I¡¯ll never be satisfied with just that, but unable to ever offer her more. ¡°Want to see him again?¡± I ask my parents. I don¡¯t wait for the reply, turning my camera around to show Ace on the video call. He¡¯s sprawled on the rug, a chew toy between his front paws. He lifts his head to look at me. Yes? it says. What do you want me to do? ¡°Oh, he really does look great,¡± my mother says. ¡°I¡¯m so happy your friend could help get you to the veterinarian so quickly.¡± ¡°Was it Posie?¡± my dad asks. ¡°Someone from college?¡± ¡°A new friend, actually. Through work.¡± ¡°That¡¯s great, honey. You need friends in the city.¡± ¡°You sure do. Hey, don¡¯t forget to give him nice, gentle food tonight and tomorrow, okay? His stomach has been through a lot. White rice, oatmeal, chicken.¡± ¡°I will, Mom.¡± Ace returns to his chew toy, healthy and hale again. It¡¯s the sweetest relief. Never again, I think. ¡°Have you spoken to that vocal coach again? The one you contacted for singing lessons?¡± I shake my head, and my mother sighs. ¡°You used to sing all the time, honey. You sang before you could talk!¡± ¡°That was a long time ago.¡± ¡°Not that long,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯ll look into it,¡± I promise, not knowing if I will. Singing has been¡­ difficult since Robin. During his time, too. The littlements about my pitch and my breathing. The smirk as he listened for something toment on. He¡¯d sucked all the fun out of it. He¡¯d done that with most things. ¡°That¡¯s good. Your cousin Frida is getting married in a few months, you know. I¡¯m sure she¡¯d love it if you sang there.¡± I groan. ¡°Mom.¡± ¡°Okay, okay. I¡¯lly off.¡± My dad peeks over her shoulder. ¡°How¡¯s the new boss? The one Viv sold thepany to?¡± ¡°He¡¯s okay,¡± I say, shrugging. The picture of casualness. ¡°He¡¯s a venture capitalist. He wants us to make more money, and that¡¯s pretty much it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure Viv is taking too kindly to that,¡± my dad says. His gaze locks on something over my shoulder. The towels, still rolled and pressed against my windowsills. ¡°What¡¯s behind you, sweetie?¡± ¡°Oh, the windows leak when it rains.¡± ¡°They do what?¡± Saved by the Boss 27 ¡°It¡¯s an old building.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not an excuse. You need to tell your aunt. She¡¯s yourndlord,¡± my dad says. ¡°Typical of my sister to not schedule inspections. How long has it been like that?¡± ¡°A few months, I think. Maybe more.¡± ¡°Have you mentioned it to her?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, but I¡¯m smiling. ¡°You know how she is, though. Razor sharp but as distracted as theye.¡± Not to mention she¡¯s been gone a lot,tely. Taking long lunches and three-day weekends. ¡°I¡¯ll talk to her if you like,¡± my dad offers. ¡°Thanks, but I¡¯ll bring it up again thising week.¡± ¡°You do that, sweetie. Remember, you¡¯re paying her rent, not getting to live there out of charity. So you demand what you need to. Vivienne will remedy it in a heartbeat if she actually listens to the problem.¡± ¡°Yes, Dad.¡± He smiles. ¡°That¡¯s my girl.¡± When we finally hang up, right after Mom gives me a virtual tour of the new kitchen garden she¡¯s nted and let me say hi to the dogs, homesickness is a tight knot in my throat. The ce is most beautiful in the summer, and it¡¯s already halfway through June. I clean up the remnants of my Sunday-breakfast-turned-brunch-turned-lunch and grab the two tea mugs still left out on the coffee table from Friday night. His, with peonies, and mine, with a cartoon dog. I look down to watch Ace lyingfortably on the floor, alive and pain-free. Grabbing my phone, I write him a quick text. Summer: Thank you so much for your help the other night and for staying a while after. I owe you. I stare at the text and fight against the quick beating of my heart. It¡¯s absurd to care this much-that him reading my words, looking down at his phone, matters this much. But it does. He¡¯d been calm and steady on Friday¡­ and the way he¡¯d sat on my couch that night? With his dark hair tousled and long legs stretched out in front of him, he¡¯d looked like azy god. One constantly passing judgement on those around him. One withyers andyers of secrets.All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. His responsees ten minutester, sending me vaulting over the couch to where I¡¯d thrown my phone. Anthony: You¡¯re wee. How¡¯s Ace doing? I sink down onto my couch and let my fingers fly over the phone. Picture him staring down at his, waiting for my response. Summer: He was tired when I picked him up yesterday and has been sleeping a lot. But today his mood is up and he¡¯s been ying a bit with his toys. Almost back to normal! Anthony: That¡¯s great. Have you told the delivery guy what happened because of his choctes? Summer: No, of course not! He might feel terrible, when he did nothing wrong. He doesn¡¯t answer that. I look at my phone for an embarrassingly long time. Not ready to let this be the end. My heart in my throat, I cast out for anything to say. Anything that might keep this going. When I¡¯d walked back home with Ace yesterday, a woman had handed out flyers for a beer tasting. Would that be overstepping my boundaries? But he hadn¡¯t objected the other night when I called us friends. Spending time with him is fun. Challenging. Taunting the cynic from his shell, his presence steady and his humor surprisingly dark. My phone chimes again. He¡¯s sent me an image. A packet of chamomile tea sits on the dark wood of a kitchen counter. Anthony: I got a new toy to y with, too. It was all right when you made it. I¡¯m smiling as I respond. Summer: Happy I converted someone to tea! It¡¯s great for helping you sleep, too. Anthony: So I¡¯ve gathered. Throwing caution to the wind, I type an invite. Prepare myself for his immediate refusal, or worse, silence. Summer: If you¡¯re in the mood for something stronger, though, the bar on my street has a beer tasting tonight. Want to join? It takes a few minutes for the response toe, and when it does, it¡¯s only two words. Anthony: Just us? Summer: Yes. This time, his reply is instant. Anthony: Text me the address. ¡°I had no idea it would be so crowded here,¡± I say, pushing my way past a group of students. One of them is wearing a home-knit beanie, the other a crop top. Not exactly Anthony Winter clientele. He mutters behind me. ¡°Really poor lighting in here.¡± I suppose that¡¯s true, but it gives the ce some charm. Cozy, instead of seedy. I stop at one of the few empty tables. ¡°Is here all right?¡± He nods and we have a seat on rickety chairs. A single, fake flower dangles precariously on its equally fake stem in a beer ss on the table. ¡°How¡¯d you find this ce?¡± he asks. ¡°They were handing out flyers on the street when I walked past and I took one.¡± Anthony shakes his head. ¡°Only you would actually stop to ept one.¡± ¡°Hmm. You wouldn¡¯t?¡± ¡°Definitely not. I doubt anyone raised in New York would.¡± ¡°Imagine all the things you miss,¡± I say. ¡°Beer tastings in college bars? Invitations to dodgy underground clubs?¡± Saved by the Boss 28 ¡°The horror.¡± His eyes glitter with dry amusement, but they turn sharp as a waiter approaches us. He has a towel slung over a shoulder and a stack of menus in hand. ¡°Here for the tasting?¡± ¡°We sure are,¡± I say. ¡°Great, wee guys. Here¡¯s the list ofgers, ales and IPAs we¡¯ll be serving tonight.¡± He hands us a menu each, slightly sticky to the touch. ¡°There¡¯s a scorecard tucked in there somewhere, too. We¡¯ll be serving them in twenty-minute intervals.¡± ¡°Okay, awesome,¡± I say. ¡°How about¡­ oh.¡± He¡¯s already retreating, weaving through the crowd to attend to other neers. ¡°Excellent customer service,¡± Anthony says dryly. He¡¯s wearing his usual scowl, but for the first time, I¡¯m seeing him in something other than a suit. A grey sweater stretches across his shoulders, clinging to muscles previously hidden. A thick watch rests on his wrist, no diamonds on it. He runs a hand through his thick, dark hair absently and stares down at the beer menu. I want to reach over and trace his bearded jawline. See if it would tickle against my hand. He closes the menu. ¡°Read about the first beer, Summer.¡± ¡°Read aloud?¡± ¡°Yes. I enjoy your voice.¡± ¡°Okay. Yes,¡± I say, smiling. I tell him about the nutty character of the first pale ale, ncing up at him every so often. He notices, of course. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± ¡°Nothing. I¡¯m just¡­¡± I put the menu down. ¡°I want to say thank you again. This beer tasting is on me, by the way. All of it.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°No.¡± ¡°I insist, Anthony. Please. You helped me with Ace, and without your car¡­ thank you.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wee,¡± he says, dark gaze softening. ¡°But under no circumstances are you paying for this, Summer.¡± I sweep a hand out at our surroundings. ¡°Please? Look, I know this isn¡¯t your usual scene, and I had no idea it would be this crowded. Please let me.¡± ¡°Not my usual scene?¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°Yes. It¡¯s not exactly a ce we¡¯d set up an Opate date at, you know.¡± Anthony crosses his arms over his chest, but the look in his eyes is anything but agitated. ¡°Who do you think I am, exactly? I¡¯m not like one of your customers.¡± I smile down at the menu. He catches it, of course. ¡°You think I am?¡± ¡°Maybe, yes.¡± He shakes his head, but there¡¯s a smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. ¡°You once told me you were an excellent judge of character. I¡¯m strongly doubting that.¡± ¡°Perhaps I let a few things I¡¯d heard about you influence my thinking,¡± I admit. ¡°But in my defense, you bought a Cartier watch on auction that you can¡¯t wear. Does it even fit you?¡± ¡°See? You¡¯ve had a hand in creating your own reputation.¡± ¡°You said you¡¯d heard a few things about me.¡± ¡°Yes, well, I¡¯m not allowed to talk about what clients tell me after dates.¡± His eyebrows lower. ¡°But?¡± ¡°But, hypothetically, I might have been informed about certain connections your¡­ well, your family has.¡± ¡°My surname,¡± he says. ¡°Surely you made the connection before either of my dates pointed it out to you?¡± I give an apologetic shrug. ¡°I didn¡¯t. I¡¯m sorry?¡± Anthony shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling. ¡°My grandfather would be rolling in his grave if he heard that.¡± ¡°He would? Oh, I¡¯m sorry.¡± But then his gaze returns to mine and it¡¯s bursting with silentughter. ¡°Honestly, how do you work at a ce like Opate and not know this? Not care about it?¡± ¡°You know why,¡± I tell him archly, but I¡¯m smiling. ¡°I¡¯m in it for the right reasons.¡± ¡°Ah, yes. True love.¡± ¡°You know, I thought you were just feeding me a line the first time I met you.¡± ¡°And now?¡± ¡°Now I know you actually believe it. I don¡¯t know if that makes you honorable or naive.¡± Iugh, crossing my legs beneath the table. The movement settles my leg next to his. Neither of us shifts away. ¡°Can¡¯t I be both?¡± The waiter arrives with our first two beers, one each, and gives us pens for our scorecards. I gaze over the rim of my beer at Anthony. Hemits fully, taking a deep drag of his ale andmenting on its vor. Even adds little x¡¯s to the scorecard. We drink and talk, and it¡¯s surprisingly pleasant, drowning out the sounds of students singing along to an indie rock song at the table next to us. One of them ambles past us someway through the third beer, aiming for a stool. He gets on it with a wobble. ¡°I was just dared!¡± he yells, ¡°by my lovely girlfriend, that I had to tell you all¡­ no, just wait a moment. Just give me a moment!¡± He¡¯s escorted out by our waiter, another burly man on the other side, his beanie askew. ¡°Christ,¡± Anthony mutters when they¡¯re gone. I lean back in my chair andugh. Laugh at the idea of him, sitting here in this ce, going through the motions. Saved by the Boss 29 He raises the third beer to me. I raise mine in response, feeling the pleasant buzz of alcohol in my head. ¡°To friends,¡± he says. ¡°To friends,¡± I agree. Keep my eyes on his as we both drink. My stomach flips once, twice. ¡°That reminds me, actually. Is it odd to be friends with your boss?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not technically your boss,¡± he says, voice deepening. ¡°Your aunt is.¡± ¡°That¡¯s true. I haven¡¯t told her, by the way. Not about our initial bet and not that I was your date. Perhaps we shouldn¡¯t be spending time together like this, but¡­¡± I shrug and look up at him. Give him a smile. ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about me, Summer.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t?¡± ¡°No. I¡¯m not out to ruin your aunt¡¯s business. I won¡¯t say a word to her about the bet, or that we apparently go to beer tastings together. And I will only give you chocte in hermetically sealed bags.¡± Iugh at that, and his mouth softens. Curls up into a half-smile. ¡°Will you tell me something?¡± I ask. ¡°I know better than to indulge you.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t ask you about your first kiss or where you¡¯d like to get married. No prompts this time.¡± ¡°Thank God.¡± ¡°But I am curious. Why do you want to be friends with me?¡± I hold up a hand. ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong, I¡¯m absolutely terrific. But it does seem like someone with your connections could walk into any room and be wee.¡± ¡°I could say the same of you,¡± he says. ¡°You smile at absolutely everyone, Summer. Have you noticed that?¡± My fingers tighten around the pint ofger in front of me. ¡°I hadn¡¯t, no.¡± ¡°I gave you no reason to, but you still wanted to get to know me.¡± Anthony looks from me to the crowded bar, watching the waiter weave between parties. His jaw works once. ¡°So I¡¯m the one who should ask you that question. Why you want to be friends with me.¡± ¡°You¡¯re funny,¡± I tell him. ¡°Perhaps you don¡¯t think you are, but that¡¯s the truth. You¡¯re very difficult to predict, too.¡± His gaze returns to me. Eyes narrowed, but not in anger. In thought. I¡¯ve learned to recognize the signs now. ¡°You have no expectations of me,¡± he says. ¡°Very few, if so. Or if you do, they¡¯re different. All those people in the hypothetical room you mentioned? They would expect me to be one thing or the other. They all did, when we were at the charity auction.¡± ¡°And I don¡¯t.¡± Slowly, a smile stretches across my face. ¡°And you don¡¯t,¡± he says. Tugs at the cor of his sweater. ¡°No need to look smug about it.¡± My grin widens. ¡°Drink your beer,¡± he mutters, but he¡¯s smiling down at the table. ¡°We¡¯ll be getting ourst one soon.¡± ¡°Mmm. You know, it¡¯s dangerous to have a beer tasting without offering us any food. Nothing, not even a little bowl of pretzels or a tray of olives.¡± ¡°A tray of olives?¡± ¡°A pitcher, then.¡± ¡°You¡¯re losing it,¡± he says. ¡°A trough,¡± I suggest.? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. ¡°A cylinder,¡± he adds, but then shakes his head. ¡°We¡¯ve lost it.¡± I feel like I¡¯m breaking inside, but in the best possible way, like ayer of ice shattering and thawing. ¡°That¡¯s why we should have had food with this. We would have been so much better with words if we had.¡± ¡°You¡¯re tipsy again.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not?¡± I ask, looking at him over the rim of my beer ss. ¡°I get that you have a higher tolerance than me, bute on.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not tipsy,¡± he says. ¡°I have at least a foot of height on you, not to mention I drink more often.¡± ¡°Hey, you don¡¯t know what I do in my spare time.¡± ¡°I know enough to be sure it¡¯s not downing beers like there¡¯s no tomorrow. Careful there, shorty. I¡¯ll finish thest of your final beer.¡± ¡°How self-sacrificing,¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s me. Noble to the core.¡± Anthony, the sneaky bastard, pays while I¡¯m in thedies¡¯ room. He listens to my protests with half a smile, shoving his wallet into the pocket of his dark cks. ¡°You have to be quicker around me, Summer.¡± ¡°Next time,¡± I warn him. ¡°I¡¯ll be on alert.¡± He opens the front door and I step into the mid-summer warmth. The air is humid, but the heat of the day has softened, pleasant now. ¡°We forgot our scorecards!¡± He chuckles. ¡°How will we be possibly go on in life?¡± ¡°But I liked that second beer. The one from the little brewery in Montana. What was it called?¡± ¡°Green Eagle Ale.¡± ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± I say, snapping my fingers. ¡°I¡¯m going to have to get a keg of that.¡± ¡°A keg? Summer, how much beer do you usually drink?¡± ¡°Honestly?¡± ¡°I¡¯d prefer it, yes.¡± Iugh and he slips a hand down my back, steering me around a streemp that suddenly, and quite rudely, appears in my way. ¡°I don¡¯t drink a lot of beer at all. It¡¯s not really my favorite.¡± He¡¯s silent for what feels like forever as we walk down the street to my apartment. Saved by the Boss 30 ¡°But you suggested a beer tasting,¡± he says. ¡°Yes, well, I thought it would be fun. It seemed like something friends do in the city.¡± He snorts, but there¡¯s something soft in the tone. The cynic is gone for tonight. ¡°Next time, suggest something you actually enjoy, Summer.¡± The two beautiful words spread like warm honey through my veins. Next time. ¡°Okay, I will. Next time. But I had fun tonight.¡± ¡°So did I,¡± he says. We reach the door to my apartment building far too soon. It had felt smart to choose a bar on my street, but now, it strikes me as a grave error. The walk was too short. I look up at him. ¡°Anthony.¡± ¡°Summer,¡± he says. I run a hand over the back of my neck, where tendrils of hair stick to my damp skin. ¡°Let¡¯s y around with a hypothetical.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Okay.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°Hypothetically, if you weren¡¯t my boss, and we weren¡¯t just friends, do you think we¡¯d ever¡­? Well?¡± Something swirls in his eyes before they drop to my lips. They linger there for so long I feel lightheaded with anticipation. ¡°Don¡¯t go there,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Because we¡¯re friends. Because I¡¯m not a romantic, Summer. You know I don¡¯t believe in love or rtionships. I¡¯m not¡­ like you. And I don¡¯t want to hurt you.¡± The soft denial feels rote, and sopletely at odds with the way his body curves toward me. Like it knows what it wants despite his words. ¡°Okay,¡± I whisper. Not a surrender, but a strategic withdrawal. ¡°Okay?¡± ¡°Yeah, okay.¡± Our eyes hold for an eternity-long second. A strand of dark hair has fallen over his square brow, like it believes in his stoic facade just as little as I do. I sway closer. ¡°Yes?¡± He bends down and my eyes flutter closed as he presses the briefest of kisses to my cheek. The soft scratch of his beard against my skin sends goose bumps racing along my arms. ¡°Don¡¯t think I haven¡¯t thought about it,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Oh,¡± I breathe. When I open my eyes again he¡¯s smiling to himself. He gives me a nod and walks away, hands in his pockets. I watch him until he disappears into the New York crowd, a man amongst many, before I finally open the front door to my building. It takes my heart far longer than that to calm down. I don¡¯t meet my own gaze in the mirror as I give my suit onest look. Tug the cor into ce. Ignore the reason I¡¯m really going out today. I could ask my assistant to drop off the papers to Opate. I could post them. I could even wait until the meeting in two weeks with the app developers, when Vivienne Davis will be there too. But the sky outside my windows is a vivid blue, and perhaps a walk wouldn¡¯t be the worst thing in the world. Neither would seeing Summer again. I don¡¯t call my driver or hail a taxi. The streets beckon and the city¡¯s pulse feels in tune with my own. The sweet smell of candied almonds mingles with exhaust and subway wafting up from the grates beneath my feet. A cabbie yells to a pedestrian across the street. It¡¯s a testament to everything I will one day lose. New York, the city I love down to my bones, will be a deadly obstacle course for me when I can no longer see. It will evict me, brutally and with force, if I don¡¯t leave it first. And all the fucking things the doctor pesters me about won¡¯t do a thing to help me, even if I¡¯d consider them. Have you looked into learning Braille? A guide dog? A cane? But doing that meant giving in. Surrendering. epting my fate, relinquishing, submitting, dying. Will I forget what the city looks like one day? The knowledge is like a sharp, angry weight in my chest. One that reminds me all too well why I¡¯d told Summer what I had outside of her door the other night. I can never tell her. And yet, dating her without her knowing would be unforgivable, too. Friendship, then. It¡¯s been a very long time since I tried to tread that line. The receptionist looks startled when I arrive, hands fumbling with the lip gloss she¡¯d been applying. ¡°Mr. Winter?¡± ¡°Just here to drop off some documents for Ms. Davis.¡± She looks from Summer¡¯s half-closed door to Vivienne¡¯s open one. ¡°Vivienne Davis,¡± I rify. Suzy nods. ¡°She¡¯s out for lunch, but I¡¯ll be happy to put them on her desk and let her know you came by.¡± I hand her the envelope and keep from ncing at Summer¡¯s door. She¡¯d been right to be concerned about our interactions making their way back to this office. As much as I hate it, I know how it would look, too. But then her door creaks as it¡¯s nudged open, nails clicking against hardwood floor. Ace winds his way around my legs, a cold nose pressed against my hand. I rub my hand over his silky ears and his tail wags softly, dark eyes looking up at me. Reminding me that I might one day need someone like him. ¡°Hello.¡± Summer is standing in the open doorway to her office, her golden hair braided into a rope down the side of her neck. ¡°My aunt is out at the moment.¡± ¡°So I gathered, yes.¡± I nod to her office. ¡°Have you had a chance to look over the suggestions the app development team sent over?¡± ¡°Yes. I actually have a few thoughts on it, if you have a moment, Mr. Winter.¡± ¡°I do, in fact.¡± Saved by the Boss 31 ¡°Excellent.¡± She beckons and I join her in her office, the door shutting behind us. Summer gives me a slow smile. ¡°Hello.¡± ¡°Hi,¡± I say. nce from her to the sad, half-eaten sd on her desk and the summer weather outside her window. ¡°Come out and have lunch with me.¡± ¡°Yes, really.¡± Her smile widens until it bes a physical thing aching in my chest. ¡°All right. You leave first and then I¡¯ll join you downstairs?¡± I bend and give Ace a pat to hide my smile. ¡°Yes.¡± Fifteen minutester we¡¯re walking into the park next to her office building. Summer steers us right to the lone bench unupied by office workers and sinks down on it with a thankful sigh. Like a sunflower, she turns her face up to the sky. ¡°This was exactly what I needed,¡± she says. My hands tighten on the sandwich I¡¯d bought on the way, the flimsy excuse to spend more time with her. I look away from her beauty before I¡¯m tempted to forget it¡¯s not for me. ¡°You often eat lunch at your desk?¡± ¡°Sometimes,¡± she admits. ¡°We hadn¡¯t been doing so well before you guys bought us. I mean, you know that.¡± ¡°I do.¡± ¡°One of our problems is that we don¡¯t get repeat customers. If we¡¯ve done our job well, they¡¯re settled into a rtionship and will never need our services again.¡± ¡°Kind of a wed business model.¡± ¡°My aunt should have thought about that before she started,¡± she says. ¡°Or perhaps we should just do a poorer job.¡± ¡°That¡¯s always an option. Embrace mediocrity, Summer.¡± That earns me augh, one that sets off a tightening in my chest. ¡°This ising from you, right? The embodiment of sess?¡± I turn my head. ¡°I¡¯m the embodiment of sess?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s see,¡± she says, counting on her fingers. ¡°Co-founder of a wildly sessful venture capitalist firm, rich beyond measure, part of the Winter family¡­ do you want to add anything?¡± ¡°The epitome of male beauty,¡± I deadpan. Sheughs again, reaching up to brush a tendril of blonde hair from her forehead. ¡°I forgot about that one, of course. How could I embrace mediocrity when you haven¡¯t?¡± I shake my head and lean back against the bench, closing my eyes against the sunshine. It¡¯s warm against my skin. ¡°Don¡¯tpare yourself to me at all.¡± ¡°That¡¯s an option, I suppose.¡± I hear the tear of stic as she opens the rest of her sd. ¡°I bought a few of thegers we drank the other night.¡± ¡°Yep. They were in my local supermarket.¡± She crosses her legs, the summer dress she¡¯s wearing sliding up over tanned knees. I re-focus on my sandwich. ¡°Your windows? Have you spoken to your aunt about them?¡± ¡°Yes, I have. She was horrified.¡± ¡°Rightly so.¡± ¡°They¡¯re getting fixed next weekend. I don¡¯t know how she got a hold of carpenters so quickly. I think she helped set up the meeting of the head of a construction firm with his wife, and that¡¯s why?¡± Summer chuckles. ¡°My aunt knows more people than the Yellow Pages.¡± I¡¯d gathered something simr from my time interacting with Vivienne Davis. Getting her on board with the changes to thepany will be necessary if we¡¯re to seed with it at all. She¡¯ll make for an excellent ally or a terrible enemy. ¡°I¡¯ll have to be out of the apartment for a day or two,¡± Summer continues. She slides one foot out of her wedge sandal and buries her foot in the sun-warmed grass. ¡°They¡¯ll mostly have to re-caulk the windows, but apparently some of the products aren¡¯t the best to breathe in.¡± ¡°Where will you stay?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I could go up to my parents¡¯ ce, but it¡¯s quite far. My aunt would probably take me in if I asked.¡± ¡°When is this?¡± ¡°Next week. Thursday to Friday.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°I have a ce in Montauk, and I¡¯m going next weekend,¡± I say, making the decision to as I say it. ¡°You¡¯re wee toe along.¡± Her blue eyes hold genuine surprise. ¡°Anthony, are you sure?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Not at all. ¡°It¡¯s got more than enough space. Ace could run on the beach. Besides,¡± I say, adding the pi¨¨ce de resistance, ¡°there are always windsurfers out there. I¡¯m sure we could find you an instructor.¡± ¡°Wow¡­ are you serious?¡± I shrug. ¡°Yes. Unless you¡¯d rather not, of course.¡± Her face splits into a smile that could rival the sun. ¡°Oh, of course I want to! That¡¯s incredibly kind of you, Anthony. I don¡¯t know what to say.¡± ¡°You can bring those beers,¡± I say. ¡°Print out a few scorecards.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been dared by my girlfriend,¡± she deres, ¡°to tell you all that-¡± I groan. ¡°Please don¡¯t.¡± But she¡¯sughing and shifting on the bench, her thighing to rest against mine. I can¡¯t believe I¡¯ve agreed to this, let alone suggested it. Navigating the house at dark with her there to watch. The headaches have been good for the past week, but a migraine with her there and no way to exin¡­ ¡°So you have a house in Montauk,¡± she says, and the soft lilt of her voice brings me back. ¡°Howe?¡± Oh. The house is a test and a surrender. It¡¯s the one inch of ground I¡¯ve given to the diagnosis, and having purchased a ce for my future self, I¡¯ve barely spent any time there. No one knows about the house who isn¡¯t mywyer, ountant or assistant. They¡¯ll all ask why I bought it. And the answer isn¡¯t one I can speak out loud. I need a ce to live when the music ends, when the curtain falls, and the only thing remaining is darkness. The ce is gorgeous, with a view of the ocean that mocks me every single time I see it. Beautiful. And one daypletely pointless. I could be living in a cave and not know it. ¡°As the embodiment of sess,¡± I tell her, ¡°of course I have a house in the Hamptons.¡± Saved by the Boss 32 Summerughs, the sound sweeping away some of my fears. But I know they¡¯re only waiting in the wings for their cue. This show is one I can¡¯t stop watching, no matter how much I might want to.Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. My weekend bag slides through my fingers and hits the hardwood floor with a soft thud. ¡°Wow,¡± I breathe. ¡°This ce must have cost you a fortune!¡± Anthony gives a snort, turning from me to the windows that line the far wall. They open up to a patio, and beyond it, the beach beckons. Ace pads forward and does a sweep of the room, his head low and nose to the ground. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say. ¡°I know it¡¯s not polite toment on finances like that, but¡­ wow. This house is stunning.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mind. To tell you the truth, it was expensive.¡± ¡°How are you not here all the time?¡± I run my hand over the marble kitchen counter, made with soft, rounded corners. Two giant cloud couches line the back of the room. ¡°Well, I have work in the city,¡± he says. I hear the sound of running water, a ss being filled. ¡°So?¡± he finally says. ¡°Do you like it?¡± ¡°Like it? Anthony, this house is gorgeous. Can I?¡± ¡°Go ahead.¡± I open the doors to the patio. The midday sunlight is hot against my skin and a gust of wind tugs at my linen dress. ¡°Oh my God.¡± ¡°It is nice,¡± he agrees, almost reluctantly. I nudge his shoulder with mine. Well, I try to, but he¡¯s so much taller than me that it¡¯s his upper arm I get. ¡°It¡¯s gorgeous. The beach is so empty, too.¡± ¡°This part of Montauk is more secluded. People who don¡¯t live here don¡¯t generallye here.¡± I nce through the trees to my right, but I can¡¯t see the next property over. These oceanside vis are like entire ecosystems, existing on their own. ¡°You really like it here,¡± Anthony says. Bends down to put a hand on Ace¡¯s nk, my dog leaning against his leg. ¡°Oh, yes. Who wouldn¡¯t? Were you doubting I¡¯d be anything but impressed?¡± His lip curls into that small half-smile. ¡°Look to the left.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say immediately. ¡°You can¡¯t have that too! It¡¯s not allowed.¡± ¡°It was included in the purchase.¡± The clean lines of an infinity pool are nestled against the side of the house. It¡¯s the perfect size,plimenting the house rather than detracting from it. Emphasizing the ocean rather thanpeting with it. ¡°I don¡¯t know where to swim first,¡± I breathe. Anthony chuckles and heads back inside, like all this grandeur and beckoning glory is nothing at all. I suppose it¡¯s not, when you¡¯re used to it. He picks up my weekend bag. ¡°Your bedroom is down here,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you won¡¯t mind an ocean view?¡± ¡°Okay, now you¡¯re just being s¨¦ to annoy me.¡± The look he shoots me over his shoulder confirms it. ¡°Is it working?¡± ¡°No, because while I¡¯m here, I¡¯m unannoyable. Nothing can take me down off this high.¡± ¡°A fancy house, huh? That¡¯s all it takes to wow you.¡± But there¡¯s genuine warmth in his voice, and as he pushes open the door to a bedroom, I forget my response entirely. It looks like a luxurious hotel room at an expensive resort. Beige wallpaper, a four-poster bed with fluffy white linens, and windows that overlook the deep blue ocean. It¡¯s like I¡¯ve gone on vacation. Ace nudges my legs to get a peek, too, and I step aside to let him explore. ¡°You¡¯re quiet,¡± Anthony says. ¡°Good quiet?¡± ¡°Very good quiet,¡± I confirm. ¡°Did you do the decorating yourself?¡± ¡°Very much not.¡± ¡°Did you buy it furnished?¡± ¡°Well, whoever you hired really knew their job.¡± A thought strikes me and I turn, hisrge form silhouetted in the doorframe. ¡°Where¡¯s your bedroom?¡± Anthony nods to the right. ¡°The next door down the hall.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± My skin feels flush beneath the thin fabric of my dress. Anthony reaches for the cor of his shirt and gives it a tug. ¡°Yeah. Well¡­ make yourself at home, Summer.¡± ¡°Thank you again for letting me stay here.¡± ¡°Of course. The fridge should be stocked and the wi-fi password is out in the hall.¡± ¡°Perfect. I¡¯m thinking of going swimming and walking Ace along the beach. Do you want to join?¡± I ask, lifting my bag up on the bed. ¡°I have work to do.¡± ¡°Always hard at work,¡± I say. I dig through my bag and before I let myself overthink it, I pull my bikini out. Toss it onto the bed. Anthony tracks the movement. ¡°Like I said, make yourself at home. I¡¯ll be in the office down the hall if you need anything.¡± But he¡¯s gone before I¡¯ve finished the sentence. I¡¯m sundrunk, sandy and happy when I return to the houseter that day. Ace is skipping along my side like he, too, has left all of his troubles behind in the city. What a ce this is! The only downside, the only thorn beneath my skin, has been the idea of Anthony spending the day working indoors. ¡°Stay here,¡± I tell Ace. He sinks down onto his haunches and looks up at me like he knows what¡¯sing and he¡¯s not pleased with it. Reaching for the nozzle attached to the outdoor shower, I rinse him down, including paws and ears. He handles it with as much grace as he can and only whines softly once. ¡°There we go,¡± I say finally. ¡°You¡¯re salt water and sand free. But very, very wet.¡± I make it two steps away before Ace takes care of the problem himself. He shakes it off like he¡¯s dancing to a Taylor Swift song, water droplets flying every which way. Iugh at his poofed-up fur. ¡°You look like a marshmallow.¡± Saved by the Boss 33 He looks up at me, tongue lolling out. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s time for my shower too. Come on, buddy.¡± I spend too long in the giant en-suite bathroom, but with each minute beneath the warm water it feels like another worry melts away. My voice echoes against the tiles as I sing, massaging shampoo into my scalp. My hair is still wet when I walk barefoot to the kitchen. He¡¯d said there was a fully stocked fridge, hadn¡¯t he? I¡¯ve just sized up its contents when Ace¡¯s tail starts wagging against the floor. Anthony¡¯s changed into a linen button-down, but the ck cks are still in ce. The scowl isn¡¯t. He puts his hands in his pockets and looks at the food I¡¯ve lined up on the kitchen counter. ¡°Filming a cooking show?¡± he asks. I give him a wide smile. ¡°I¡¯m trying to think of what we want for dinner. I also realized I don¡¯t know what you like to eat. I know you¡¯re not a vegetarian, but that¡¯s pretty much it.¡± I lift a packet of fresh fettini. ¡°Do you like pasta? I make a great pasta carbonara.¡±C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. Anthony¡¯s gaze drifts from mine to the packet in my hand. He¡¯s quiet, and I immediately realize my mistake. I reach out and put a hand on his forearm. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry. Do you not want to eat dinner together? Perhaps you meant for us to live more like roommates, you know. You do you, and I¡¯ll do me.¡± ¡°Summer,¡± he interrupts, ¡°I¡¯d love to have dinner with you.¡± Something about the way he says it sends shivers down my spine. ¡°Okay,¡± I breathe. ¡°Okay,¡± he says. I let my hand drop from his arm. Look through the drawers in search of a knife. I find it and clear my throat, fighting against the pounding of my heart. ¡°Do you have a cutting board?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not here often, and when I am I rarely cook.¡± But he helps me look, strong hands opening cab doors and exploring. To my surprise, there are no winesses. Nothing but water sses. Everything stacked neatly. ¡°Wow,¡± I say. ¡°Your interior designer really is a neat freak! She would hate to see my cabs.¡± ¡°Yes, she¡¯s something like that.¡± There are differently shaped knobs on each cab, too, which seems at odd with the streamlined decor. He helps me find what I need and then stands there, by the kitchen counter, hands in his pockets. Like he¡¯s torn between staying or retreating to the office, lost, unsure of what to do and to say. So I grab two of thegers we¡¯d both liked from the beer tasting and nod to the kitchen chair. ¡°Keep mepany?¡± ¡°Okay.¡± He cracks open both of our beers and has a seat. Takes a long swig of his. ¡°You know, you were singing while you took your shower earlier.¡± I nearly drop the spat. ¡°I was?¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Blushing, I turn back to the stove. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t know you could hear me.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t apologize,¡± he says. ¡°Your voice is lovely.¡± The bacon and cream in front of me turns hazy as I absorb thepliment, as it reaches inside and warms something I didn¡¯t know was cold. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Tell me about the singing.¡± With my back to him, it¡¯s easier. ¡°I always sang as a child. My mother likes to say I sang before I spoke.¡± ¡°Recording a demo is on your bucket list.¡± ¡°Yes. I used to sing a lot. Even had a YouTube channel, actually.¡± I shake my head. ¡°But that¡¯s over now.¡± ¡°You posted your singing online?¡± ¡°Yes. Just for fun, you know. Not because I thought of myself as having a voice worthy to share or anything.¡± ¡°It is, though,¡± he says. ¡°Are the videos still up?¡± I shake my head. ¡°I took them down a few years ago.¡± ¡°Howe?¡± Shrugging, I turn up the heat for the pasta water to boil. Edging closer to a truth I don¡¯t know if I want to reveal. ¡°Do you remember the ex-boyfriend I mentioned? The one I broke up with a year ago?¡± ¡°Yes. You said the break-up was a good thing.¡± ¡°Well, he was a musician. And a sociopath, probably.¡± I add augh. But it¡¯s not really funny. ¡°Well, he had a lot of opinions, and he was great at expressing them in very convincing ways.¡± I¡¯m dancing around the truth here, but admitting to being manipted in front of this man¡­ He¡¯s so sure and stable and radiates the kind of fuck-off energy that tells people to not even try. He would have seen Robin for what he was a mile away. I add the fettini to the now-boiling water. ¡°Anyway, he didn¡¯t like me putting singing videos online. Didn¡¯t like my vocal coach, either. It went from telling me I should practice more, to how it would be better if I focused my energy elsewhere. He implied people were just indulging me when they said nice things. That he was the only one doing me a favor by telling the truth.¡± Anthony¡¯s voice is cial. ¡°He said those things.¡± ¡°Yes. I don¡¯t like to call people names, but he was sort of an asshole.¡± ¡°He sounds like a lot more than just an asshole.¡± I force nonchnce into my tone and turn to where he¡¯s sitting, straight on the kitchen chair, his dark gaze on me. It¡¯s serious. ¡°It¡¯s on me for listening to him, in the end,¡± I admit. ¡°For not realizing what he was doing until it had already happened. He was very convincing.¡± ¡°He was wrong,¡± Anthony says, fury beneath his words. ¡°Both about your singing and about whatever else he might have told you. You know that, right?¡± ¡°I know. Even if it¡¯s sometimes hard to remember.¡± His frown deepens. ¡°You will, in time, and so much the better for the rest of us. You sing beautifully.¡± Saved by the Boss 34 ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. ¡°He did say I was wasting my time at Opate Match, and working for my aunt.¡± Anthony gives a low snort of derision. ¡°Of course you¡¯re not. It¡¯s a well-paying job and thepany is well-regarded. Give it a year and it¡¯ll be a muchrger operation, too. Not to mention you¡¯re great at what you do.¡± Every single one of his words lights up something in me. Tugs at my lips until I have to grin. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d see the day,¡± I say, ¡°when Anthony Winter defends Opate.¡± There¡¯s a low scraping across the floor as he pushes the chair back and joins me by the counter. He holds the bowl as I drain the pasta into it, and we both watch as I add the sauce,bining the two into a mouthwatering dish. ¡°I don¡¯t have to believe in love,¡± he says, ¡°to respect the fact that you do.¡± Something lodges in my throat and I nod, keeping my eyes on his strong, tanned hands. Wanting to reach out and slide my fingers through his. We grab tes and the food and head out onto the patio. Ace joins us and Anthony uncorks a wine bottle, pouring us a ss each. ¡°Thanks for not gloating,¡± I say. ¡°About what?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t get you love by the end of three dates. I know, I technically lost the bet.¡± He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. ¡°I never expected you to.¡± ¡°Ouch.¡± Anthony rolls his eyes. ¡°Not like that. Like I told you, dating just isn¡¯t for me.¡± ¡°I know. But anyway, thanks for not rubbing it in my face. My one and biggest failure.¡± He snorts and takes another bite of his pasta, his hair nearly ink-ck beneath the evening sun. A sliver of tanned skin and dark chest hair peeks out from the V of his button-down. ¡°Like I said, Summer, you should embrace mediocrity.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°Not when you¡¯ve invited me to a house that¡¯s practically the Garden of Edene to life. How will I ever be able to settle for anything less?¡± ¡°Your apartment doesn¡¯t have a lot of room for an infinity pool,¡± he points out.C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. ¡°No, nor does it have an ocean view.¡± He clears his throat. ¡°I called the windsurfingpany earlier.¡± ¡°You did?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°They can give you a private two-hour session tomorrow. Would you like that?¡± My fork and knife drop to the te with a tter. ¡°You¡¯re serious.¡± ¡°Dead serious, if you¡¯d like to.¡± But judging from the way he leans back in his chair with that half-smile on his face, he can already read the excitement on mine. ¡°Of course I want to! Where is it? Are you trying it too?¡± He shakes his head. ¡°No, this one is all yours. It¡¯s a beach close to here. We¡¯ll drive there.¡± ¡°Windsurfing,¡± I murmur, looking down at my te. It had been an impulsive addition to the bucket list. The one I¡¯d written two weeks after I cut Robin out of my life. A way to reim myself and my goals and interests. To promise myself to push the boundaries. Windsurfing had been a crazy, wild, totally unlike me suggestion. I was raised ind. But here it was,ing true. ¡°You¡¯re quiet,¡± he says. ¡°Yes, because I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m actually going to do this. I might be awful at it.¡± ¡°If you¡¯ve never tried before, you probably will be,¡± he says. ¡°All beginners are.¡± ¡°That¡¯s true. Nothing to worry about then.¡± ¡°The instructors are professionals. They¡¯ve seen hundreds of beginners before.¡± I eat in stunned silence, contemting my luck. The man in front of me. The weekend ns I have to look forward to. Anthony looks at me every now and then, like he knows exactly what I¡¯m thinking. At this point, I¡¯m not surprised if he does. The night is warm, but the breezeing in from the ocean has more than a little freshness to it. Goose bumps rise across the bare skin of my arms. Anthony notices. He reaches into a woven basket behind the patio door, pulling out a bundled nket. ¡°The decorator put them here for this very purpose.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± I sweep it around my shoulders. ¡°I suppose we have an early morning tomorrow, then. Windsurfing and all.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t strike me as someone who usually sleeps in, regardless.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Not usually, no.¡± He sighs and rises to his feet. I follow suit, running a hand through my hair. It¡¯s dried in a mess of disobedient curls, impossible to tame. He reaches out, catching a blonde lock between two fingers. ¡°Summer,¡± he says. ¡°Sing in the shower every day you¡¯re here.¡± My hands curl around the edge of the nket and I sway on my feet. Reach up on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his lips. He doesn¡¯t respond. I fall back on my feet and take a step toward the open patio door. Embarrassment makes my cheeks burn. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean¡­ sorry.¡± He catches my wrist and tugs me against him, tipping my head back and nting his mouth over mine. Anthony doesn¡¯t kiss me like it¡¯s our first time. He kisses me like he already knows how I taste and is addicted to it. Like I might disappear at any moment. It takes my breath away. Saved by the Boss 35 The nket slips through my fingers as I reach out and steady myself against him. His shoulders are firm beneath my grip, a steady pir amidst the roil of sensations inside. His hand weaves into my hair and gives the softest of tugs. He¡¯s everywhere and I never want him to leave. Never want this kiss to end. I slide my hands up the skin of his neck and find purchase in the thick, dark hair. It¡¯s sleek through my fingers, a softness I hadn¡¯t expected. He kisses me once, twice. Slow and soft before he lifts his head. My breath ising hard and fast, and his isn¡¯t much better. Dark, wondering eyes gaze back at me. His thumb smoothes over my hip in the smallest of caresses before he releases me. Takes a step back, chest rising as he gets himself under control. ¡°Goodnight, Summer,¡± he murmurs. I run a finger over my lips. ¡°Goodnight, Anthony.¡± Summer has been knocked down by the waves more times than I can count. Sitting on a lounge chair on the half-empty beach, I have a front-row seat. Even if I should be focusing on the emails in front of me instead of the brave girl out at sea. It¡¯s difficult, as it always is these days, when thetter draws my gaze so easily. She¡¯d been bang on the money yesterday when she¡¯d marveled at the house and the money I¡¯d dropped on it. It had been outrageously expensive. Even more expensive if one factors in just how little time I¡¯ve spent in it. After I¡¯d hired an expert from the Foundation for the Blind to go through the ce and blind-proof it, I¡¯ve avoided it. It¡¯s impossible to forget it¡¯ll one day be my prison, the one concession I¡¯ve made to the doctor¡¯s diagnosis. There had been awe in Summer¡¯s voice as she¡¯d looked at the ce, the pool, the beach. She takes pleasure in everything around her, even making dinner in a ce where I¡¯ve only ever had takeout. Enjoying a pool I¡¯d never swum in. Filling the contours of my life with color everywhere she goes, and rarely staying within the lines. My hand tightens into a fist at my side. It¡¯s not fair. None of it. Not my fucking eyesight and not her, not finding her when I¡¯m like this, when I have nothing to offer her. Finding the one woman you want when you have nothing to give. If the universe has a sense of humor, I imagine it¡¯sughing at me now. ¡°What a world,¡± I mutter to the dog by my feet. Ace hasn¡¯t left my side since we arrived at the beach, despite watching the seagulls wading along the water¡¯s edge with a hunter¡¯s intensity. ¡°You failed at being a seeing eye dog, and I¡¯m failing at being sighted. We¡¯re a solid pair.¡± His head turns up at my voice and dark dog eyes meet mine. So what, he seems to be saying. We¡¯re on the beach. Enjoy it. Perhaps he¡¯s right about that, or perhaps I¡¯ve lost my mind to be considering what a dog might be thinking. His mind is probably focused on belly rubs and meaty bones. I shade my eyes and look out across the waves. Summer¡¯s wading in the shallows. She¡¯s in a wet-suit despite the warmth in the air, an instructor on either side of her. All three areughing at thetest tumble she¡¯d taken off the surfboard, their wet suits like second skins. Not for the first time today, I¡¯m wondering how the hell I was so stupid as to not book myself in for the session as well. Have I be such a fun-hating curmudgeon? Already? She¡¯d kissed mest night. The tentative hope in her eyes as she did it, stretching up, taking the leap, had stunned me. Apart from the tipsy question she¡¯d asked me after that beer tasting, my thoughts hadn¡¯t allowed me to consider the fact that she might genuinely want something.? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. Want me. Or want who she thought I was, at any rate. I should have let her run back inside, to safety, nursing nothing more than faint embarrassment. But after that first, tantalizing taste¡­ And now I can¡¯t concentrate for shit. I close myptop and surrender to the joy of watching her out in the water. She¡¯s grinning when she walks up the beach to meter. Tendrils of wet blonde hair snake over her neck and hang in a braid down her back. ¡°That,¡± she says, ¡°was awesome.¡± ¡°It looked like it.¡± ¡°Were you watching the whole time? You must have seen me fall off a bajillion times.¡± I shake my head. ¡°You did great by the end. Even the instructors thought so.¡± She snorts and looks over her shoulder to where they¡¯re disassembling the windsurfing board. ¡°Brody has surfed since he could walk, and Luke haspeted for the state. Twice. How did you manage to get them to instruct me?¡± ¡°Just made the right phone call,¡± I say. Her smile makes it all worth it. ¡°That must have taken several phone calls. God, Anthony, I¡¯m so full of adrenaline I feel like I could run along this beach or scale a skyscraper.¡± ¡°There are none of those here.¡± She turns around, offering me her back, and lifts her braid out of the way. ¡°Help me with the zipper?¡± I grasp the metal between my fingers and tug the wet fabric down. It splits in a straight line down the curve of her spine, all the way to her red bikini bottoms. Two small dimples rest on either side of her spine, right there, at the low of her back. ¡°There you go.¡± She struggles out of the arms of the wet suit andughs when it gets stuck. ¡°These are great when they¡¯re on and awful pretty much all the time when they¡¯re not.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve surfed too?¡± ¡°Yes, but it was a long time ago.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t be that long,¡± she says, still grinning. ¡°I¡¯ve figured you out.¡± ¡°You have?¡± ¡°Yes. You¡¯re only six years older than me, but you can¡¯t have spent all these years business-building. You told me you used to climb. What else did you do?¡± ¡°A lot of things.¡± ¡°So descriptive,¡± she says, and there¡¯s teasing in her voice. ¡°A bit of hiking. Kayaking. Skydived once.¡± ¡°Whoa. That¡¯s intense.¡± She sits down on one of the lounge chairs and peels her wet suit down long, tan legs. I look out onto the ocean. ¡°Did you like it?¡± ¡°Yes. But I have no desire to do it again.¡± She chuckles. ¡°I feel the same way, and I haven¡¯t even done it.¡± ¡°How about windsurfing?¡± I ask. ¡°Think it¡¯s something you¡¯ll do again?¡± Saved by the Boss 36 ¡°Honestly, yes. I wasn¡¯t expecting to feel that way. It was something I added to my bucket list because it felt like a challenge, somethingpletely unlike me, but it was fun.¡± I look back to her shaking off sand from the wet suit. Water droplets across her skin shimmer like diamonds under the sun. ¡°Want to walk back?¡± She tosses the wet suit over an arm. ¡°Sure. Along the beach?¡± ¡°Let me just return this to Brody.¡± Because I¡¯m shameless, I watch as she jogs across the beach to where the two instructors are working. If I¡¯d had trouble being around her before, it¡¯s nothing to what seeing her in a bikini does. She has the body to match her wide, beautiful smile, and before I met her, I¡¯d never thought of describing someone like that. Now I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever want anyone else. Summer shrugs into a sundress when she returns and takes Ace¡¯s leash from me. ¡°Thanks for watching him,¡± she says. ¡°I didn¡¯t mind.¡± She puts on a pair of sunsses and sweeps her wet hair to the side. ¡°Did you get some work done, at least?¡± ¡°Some, yes.¡± ¡°I feel kind of guilty for not working.¡± ¡°But your aunt gave you these days off, didn¡¯t she?¡± ¡°Yes, but thepany is in such a delicate state, I can¡¯t¡­ No, Ace, don¡¯t touch that.¡± She tugs softly on the leash and the golden trots away from a jellyfish resting on the shore. Her phone dings and she digs it out of her bag. ¡°Oh, look at this,¡± she says, showing it to me. I have to shield my eyes from the sunlight to make out what¡¯s on the screen. ¡°They¡¯re fixing the windows?¡± ¡°Yes, Vivienne stopped by to check on the progress.¡± ¡°Where did you tell her you were this weekend?¡± Summer smiles. ¡°Well, I said I was with a friend by the beach.¡± ¡°So, not a lie.¡± ¡°No,¡± I agree. ¡°Not a lie.¡± She pushes a tendril of hair back and turns to the shoreline. Slips off her sandals and carries them in her free hand. ¡°I¡¯m going to walk along the water¡¯s edge.¡± It¡¯s a moment¡¯s hesitation, but then I toe off my loafers and join her. The sand is wet and warm beneath my feet, the water reaching me cool and refreshing. ¡°Do you walk here often?¡± I shake my head. The true reason we¡¯re walking back is practical. I¡¯d given my driver the day off after he dropped us off here. If she questions my use of drivers, Summer has never mentioned it. I don¡¯t know what to say if she does. That I¡¯m no longer allowed to drive. ¡°My family has a house not far from here,¡± I say. ¡°So I know these beaches pretty well, even if it¡¯s been a long time since I spent a weekend here.¡± ¡°They do? Did you spend your summers there?¡± ¡°Yes, most of them.¡± ¡°Together with your brother,¡± she says. ¡°With my brother,¡± I confirm. ¡°That must be lovely. You know, having a sibling and all. You know I¡¯m an only child.¡± She kicks up water, and we both watch as Ace nces sharply that way. She does it again and he lunges after the wave, only to have it recede beneath his closing jaws. ¡°We were close growing up,¡± I say. ¡°Not so much anymore.¡± Because I¡¯m not pleasant to be around anymore , I think, and I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m different around you. Why I like myself more when you¡¯re next to me. ¡°We¡¯ve grown apart.¡± ¡°People do that sometimes,¡± she says. ¡°So, does that mean your brother is the one who works in the family business?¡± ¡°The family business,¡± I repeat.Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. ¡°Yes,¡± she says, eyes sliding to mine with mirth. ¡°You know, the one bearing yourst name.¡± ¡°Right, that one. Remind me, how long did it take for you to connect those dots?¡± This time, the water she kicks is in my direction. I step away, raise my leg. Preparing to strike. ¡°No,¡± she says. ¡°Mercy!¡± The ssh I send her way barely reaches the hem of her dress, but sheughs regardless, the sound like the school bell ringing out for summer break. It¡¯s still softening my nerves when she sidles up to me again. ¡°Why don¡¯t you work in the hotel industry, actually? Unless it¡¯s a sore subject.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not.¡± I put my hands in my pockets and turn my face up against the sun. That¡¯s something I¡¯ll still have,ter. Not the light itself. But the warmth. ¡°Do you know thatpany I worked on before Opate?¡± ¡°It was a small tech start-up. They were three college grads working out of a studio apartment in Brooklyn when we bought theirpany and gave them the financial and human capital to expand.¡± ¡°They must have been so grateful.¡± ¡°Grateful now, perhaps. Desperate back then. But¡­ have you ever used Ryder, Summer? The app?¡± ¡°Yeah, of course. My friends and I sometimes use it to order food after a night out. Why?¡± She looks up at me, her eyes widening. ¡°No, don¡¯t tell me.¡± ¡°The three college grads were the ones who started Ryder?¡± ¡°They were. And while I was doing that, I was helping my business partners work on a medicalpany, a start-up within the finance industry, a consulting firm¡­ My brother has spent the same years managing an already mature business. Sometimes, he¡¯ll scout locations for new hotels. Sometimes.¡± ¡°You like the new,¡± she says. ¡°The untested.¡± ¡°I like there to be stakes, and there are very few in managing the Winter corporation.¡± Saved by the Boss 37 I¡¯m standing with my back to the kitchen, hands in pockets, when Ace¡¯s ws against the hardwood floors signal Summer¡¯s arrival. He¡¯s rarely far from where she is. I keep my gaze on the sunset outside the window. Ignoring the kiss between us had been difficult enough during the day. Spending the evening with her without demanding another will be torture. But the idea of leaving feels far worse. ¡°You¡¯re done with work?¡± she asks. ¡°How did it go?¡± ¡°It went well.¡± ¡°Did you get something to eat?¡± There¡¯s a soft rustle of fabric behind me. It¡¯s not difficult to imagine her snuggling up on the couch, bare legs pulled up beneath her. One vulnerable ankle peeking out. ¡°Thank you for today,¡± she says. ¡°Truly, Anthony, I don¡¯t know how to thank you for this entire weekend. Letting me stay here, the windsurfing, I don¡¯t¡­ well. Thank you.¡± ¡°You shouldn¡¯t thank me.¡± ¡°I shouldn¡¯t?¡± ¡°No.¡± A low ache at my temples signal another migraine, an unwee reminder of what I¡¯ll never forget. ¡°I¡¯ve never enjoyed being in this house. But I have this weekend.¡± ¡°Anthony¡­¡± I turn toward her, unable to resist any longer. ¡°Yes?¡± She rises from the couch and covers the distance between us, bare-footed and with her blonde curls tumbling around her shoulders. Freckles dance across her nose and uncertainty is bright in her eyes. ¡°Should I apologize forst night?¡± ¡°No, Summer.¡± ¡°Are you sure? You shut yourself into your office as soon as we got back from the beach.¡± She moves closer, and every nerve in my body lights up. ¡°Anthony, I don¡¯t understand quite what-¡± I kiss her. Her soft gasp ricochets through me and a rubber band of want pulls taut and snaps inside me. My mouth moves over hers, again and again, teasing her full lips open. Her hands lock around my neck and fit there like they were meant to be. Like she¡¯s always been made for my arms. Her lips are too soft to tear myself away, but I do it, raising my head to meet her eyes. Needing to know how she feels. She gives a dazedugh. ¡°Wow. So you do find me attractive.¡± ¡°Of course I do.¡± I shift my mouth to her cheek, wanting her soft skin beneath my lips. ¡°It wasn¡¯t about that. Never about that.¡± ¡°Then why¡­ oh.¡± Her breath turns shaky when I move my lips down her neck. Her hair is still damp from the shower earlier, and the scent of shampoo and Summer mixed together is the headiest of perfumes. Knowing I shouldn¡¯t and unable to stop, I circle her waist with my hands and ze a path to her corbone. Surrendering to her feels like putting down a weight I didn¡¯t know I¡¯d carried. Warm fingers slip beneath the cor of my shirt. They burn against my skin. ¡°Kiss me again,¡± she murmurs.C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. And God help me, but I do. I kiss her until I know her lips better than my own, until the intimacy between us sings like a melody and the heat beneath my skin is a wildfire. I want her like I¡¯ve never wanted before. Summer smiles against me. I didn¡¯t think there was anything better than seeing that smile, but feeling it against my own lips tops it. Her hands undo a button on my shirt, and then another. They sweep in soft, tantalizing strokes over my chest. We make it to the couch, falling onto it like we¡¯ve never done anything else. Like the time we spent lying on opposite couches was just practice for this. Summer lifts a hand and runs it over my cheek, trailing over my stubble down to my neck. ¡°I want you,¡± she says. I kiss her again and she falls back onto the cushions. The flimsy dress she¡¯s wearing molds to the curves of her body, and with me on top, I feel every single one. She shifts beneath me and spreads her legs to cradle my body. The simple, weing gesture makes me groan. ¡°Anthony,¡± she murmurs again, arching up against me. Need hums in my blood. The urge, the one I haven¡¯t been able to shake for weeks around her, is at fever pitch. I find the swell of her breast and smooth my thumb over a peaked nipple. Her soft exhale is like music to my ears, all of her a symphony I can¡¯t wait to listen to. Can¡¯t wait to touch. I undo the flimsy straps to her summer dress, tied around her neck. Ites undone and Summer smiles at me, eyes trusting, as she pulls down her dress. She¡¯s not wearing a bra. It¡¯s like a collision in my mind, the two images. The heartbreakingly trusting way she¡¯s gazing up at me and the pink hardness of her nipples. Every part of my body screams at me to throw myself into this, into her. To ignore the gnawing guilt that I¡¯m not doing right by her. It¡¯s the painful twist in my heart that lets me get the words out. ¡°Summer¡­ You know I¡­¡± ¡°I know,¡± she murmurs. ¡°I know you don¡¯t do rtionships.¡± ¡°You deserve someone who does.¡± The stark truth of those words is a sledgehammer against my skull. ¡°Perhaps. But I want you.¡± Her hands are soft in my hair, pulling me down, and I can¡¯t resist. Not when she¡¯s warm and luscious beneath me and her breasts beckon. The graceful lines of her feel like a sucker punch I¡¯ll never recover from. So I bend and take a nipple in my mouth. Summer gives a soft moan of pleasure and arches her back. Tending to her this way is enough, I think, flicking my tongue. It has to be enough. I switch over to the other side and relish the moment, focusing on the softness of her body beneath me. Ignoring the painful, aching need it¡¯s inspired in mine. Even when she raises her hips. ¡°Anthony,¡± she murmurs. I press down, giving us both pressure but no dangerous, dangerous friction. The contact alone is enough to make my vision dance. ¡°Not tonight.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Her hands slide beneath my shirt and over the skin of my back, fingernails raking softly. My head swims at the sensation. ¡°Not tonight,¡± I repeat, but I kiss her to soften the blow. It¡¯s one against both of us, with my body strung so taut it feels like the wrong touch will shatter me. But I can¡¯t stomach the idea of taking Summer to bed, sweet, trusting, fierce, funny and true-love-believing Summer, while she doesn¡¯t know about what a wreck I¡¯ll be¡­ the wreck I already am on the inside. So I kiss her until both of us are breathless, until the fire in my blood is a painfulpanion and her gasps aremitted to memory. Saved by the Boss 38 ¡°I suppose we¡¯re not in a rush,¡± she murmurs, smiling at me where we lie sprawled on the couch. Her hair is golden and glorious around her head. Eyes liquid blue. ¡°We¡¯re not,¡± I say. Though it feels like parting with a limb, I push myself off the couch. ¡°Which means it¡¯s time for me to say good night.¡± ¡°Do we have to?¡± ¡°My self-restraint onlysts so long.¡± The smile she gives me is so hopeful it¡¯s like shards of ss through my heart. ¡°You have too much of it,¡± she murmurs. ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t have nearly enough.¡± She re-ties her dress and kisses me onest time, on her tiptoes. ¡°I¡¯m already looking forward to tomorrow,¡± she says. I sleep in the next morning, waking up to the summer sun announcing another beautiful day through the window. Sit up, check my phone, down a ss of water. Run a brush through my hair and try to calm my feverish cheeks. Anthony and I made outst night. And he¡¯s right on the other side of the wall, in his own bedroom, only a few feet away. In the bathroom mirror, my reflection looks back at me with the same level of excitement I feel inside. He¡¯s no less intriguing now than he was the first time I met him. I don¡¯t understand the reason he¡¯s holding back, but whatever it is, I¡¯m confident it¡¯s not rted to me. Not with the way he¡¯d kissed mest night. Like it was an art, rather than a sport. I¡¯d felt like something to be savored. Ace nudges my ensuite bathroom door open and presses a cold nose to my hand. ¡°Sorry,¡± I say. ¡°Let¡¯s go for our morning walk.¡± He dances away on light paws with a doggish grin, and perhaps he can sense my mood, because I feel like dancing too. Or running. Which is what we do, the two of us on the beach, under the morning sun. I¡¯m whistling when we finally return to Anthony¡¯s house. Scale the steps two at a time and wipe sweat from my brow. The patio chairs are empty, as are the lounge chairs by the pool. He¡¯s not in the kitchen, either, when I¡¯ve showered. The door to his bedroom is still closed. A quick nce at the clock puts it at eleven. I wouldn¡¯t have pegged Anthony Winter as ate sleeper. It¡¯s another piece filling in the puzzle of his character, added to the tableau already in ce. The man whose humor is dry and ck, who is hard-working and reserved. Cynical but kind. I¡¯m still humming to myself as I look through his kitchen cabs. If he¡¯s sleeping, I might as well make us some breakfast. Everybody likes pancakes, right? Ace keeps mepany as I cook. I sing old tunes as I find the butter, eggs, flour and milk.? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. Anthony must have called ahead and asked some anonymous staff member to stock the house for us. It¡¯s a small reminder of just how different a life he lives from me. But, I tell myself, he¡¯d sat opposite me at the beer tasting. He¡¯d helped when I needed him that night, with Ace¡¯s chocte poisoning. When the batter runs out, I¡¯ve got a high stack of pancakes ready. I set the kitchen table and find an unopened bottle of maple syrup. But still no Anthony. It¡¯s almost midday. I send him a quick text. Is everything all right? I¡¯ve made pancakes for brunch. The minutes pass by in slow agony as I wait for a reply that neveres. Worry gnaws at my insides, warring with hunger. I pad down the corridor and stop outside his shut bedroom door. There are no sounds from within. He doesn¡¯t strike me as the kind of man who stays in bed till midday. I knock. ¡°Anthony? Are you okay?¡± A faint rustle on the other side, and then his voice. It¡¯s hoarse. ¡°Yes!¡± ¡°Are you hungry?¡± ¡°No,¡± he says. There¡¯s a long pause. ¡°Coffee might help.¡± ¡°I can get you coffee.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± I make a cup in record time and return to his bedroom door. ¡°Can Ie in?¡± It takes him longer than it should to answer. ¡°Yeah.¡± I push open the door just as he props himself up in bed. The drapes are half-drawn and the sunlight that filters in sends uneven patterns across his king-size bed. ¡°Summer?¡± he asks. He¡¯s shirtless, dark hair dusting across his chest. The sheet pools around his waist. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me. I¡¯ve got your coffee. Here. Be careful, it¡¯s hot.¡± ¡°Mmm.¡± He closes his eyes as soon as he has the cup in hand and leans against the headrest. Raises it to his lips and takes a sip. ¡°Are you okay?¡± He lowers the cup with a sigh. ¡°Yes. It¡¯ll pass.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Migraine.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I take the cup from him and put it on his bedside table, beside an ebook reader and a pair of sses. I¡¯d never seen him wear them. ¡°Do you want me to pull the drapes?¡± ¡°No. Thanks.¡± He sinks back down on the pillow, eyes closed. The lines of his face are drawn. My mother used to have migraines. Not this bad, perhaps, but I remember what she used to do. Saved by the Boss 39 ¡°I¡¯ll be right back,¡± I say. Anthony doesn¡¯t reply. But when I return and ce a cold towel across his brow, he lets out a low groan. ¡°Is that nice?¡± ¡°It¡¯s very cold,¡± he breathes. ¡°Christ, I think I can taste blood.¡± Shit. I sit down beside him on the bed and he cracks open one eye. ¡°Summer?¡± ¡°I¡¯m here. Do you get them often?¡± ¡°Sometimes.¡± Had he been lying like this all night? A quick nce across the bed confirms what I already know. There¡¯s more than enough space. ¡°You don¡¯t have to stay.¡± Anthony presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, teeth gritting together. ¡°Shit.¡± I climb onto the bed beside him, sitting cross-legged. Grab one of his spare pillows and put it in myp. ¡°I can rub your temples, if you think it¡¯ll help?¡± He peels his hands away from his eyes, but doesn¡¯t open them. ¡°Fuck, Summer, you should be lying on the beach or something.¡± ¡°I want to be here. Will you let me?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand why,¡± he mutters, but shifts on the bed, lifting his head up. I scoot closer and he puts it back down in myp with a soft groan.? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. I tug the coldpress into ce and start rubbing his temples in light circles. It¡¯s been a long time since I did this for my mother, but I remember the motions. He lets out a soft breath as I run my fingers through his hair, so I do it again. Dig my fingers into the muscles of his neck and shoulders. His skin is hot to the touch. I don¡¯t know how long we sit there for, him in pain, and me trying to take what I can away. Ace joins us. He¡¯s rarely allowed on beds, but he jumps straight up this time. Curls up beside Anthony and rests his head right next to Anthony¡¯s hand. The next time I look up, Anthony¡¯s fingers are buried in Ace¡¯s fur. ¡°You¡¯re good at that,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Massaging?¡± ¡°Mmm.¡± ¡°Is it helping?¡± ¡°A bit, yeah.¡± I slide my thumbs over his cheekbones and down along the strong muscles of his neck. ¡°Do you want a painkiller?¡± ¡°They don¡¯t work.¡± ¡°Should be over¡­ soon.¡± Despite his words, it¡¯s nearly an hour before his handes up to rest on mine. ¡°Thanks.¡± ¡°You¡¯re feeling better?¡± Ace lifts his head as we re-arrange, Anthony lifting his head and me scooting back. He removes thepress from his head with a groan. ¡°I¡¯ve never thought about doing that before.¡± ¡°Did it help?¡± I smile at him. ¡°I¡¯m d.¡± He looks back, eyes dark, before turning them down on himself. The sheet is tangled around his legs and nts across his hips. A happy trail wanders across strong stomach muscles, disappearing beneath the sheet. The outline pressed against it makes it evident he¡¯s not wearing underwear. Anthony cocks one knee. ¡°Did you say you¡¯d made breakfast?¡± ¡°Pancakes, yes. They¡¯re in the kitchen.¡± I push off the bed, edging closer to the door. My cheeks feel hot. ¡°Do you want some?¡± ¡°Yes,ter. I think I¡¯ll try sleeping some.¡± ¡°Okay. You¡¯ll let me know if you need anything, right? I¡¯m here if you want more coffee or head rubs.¡± For a second, I worry he¡¯ll bite my head off. But then his mouth softens. ¡°Thanks.¡± ¡°Absolutely.¡± I open his bedroom door and motion for Ace. ¡°Are you in or are you out?¡± Dark doggy eyes meet mine and he tilts his head, like the answer is obvious. ¡°Right. Are you okay with him staying?¡± Anthony¡¯s hand finds it¡¯s way back into Ace¡¯s fur. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Then he¡¯s all yours.¡± It¡¯ste afternoon by the time I hear footsteps from inside the house. I put my book down and get up from the lounge chair, double-checking my bikini is still in ce. ¡°Anthony?¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m here.¡± He steps out onto the patio and raises a hand, shading his eyes from the harsh sunlight. ¡°Damn. I¡¯ve practically missed the entire day.¡± ¡°Not all of it,¡± I say. ¡°Are you hungry?¡± ¡°I just had some of your pancakes.¡± ¡°You reheated them?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says dryly, ¡°I reheated them.¡± I sit back down on the lounge chair and give a tail-wagging Ace a weing pat on the head. ¡°Do you want to join me?¡± Saved by the Boss 40 He looks from me to the calm, blue waters of his infinity pool. I wonder how many times he¡¯s been in it. I wonder if he¡¯s ever been in it. ¡°Yes,¡± he says. Once we¡¯re both settled, my eyes drift from the pages of my book to him. He¡¯s almost too tall for the lounge chair and his feet hang off the edge. Dark waves of his hair fall over his brow, matted and disheveled. He opens his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re staring.¡± I bite my lower lip to keep from smiling. ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± ¡°Yes, you are.¡± I put down my book. ¡°Well, you¡¯re nice to look at. Are you feeling better?¡± ¡°I am.¡± Anthony looks down at my hands, a frown marring his face. ¡°You¡¯re too kind to me.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no such thing.¡± ¡°Yes, there is. Summer¡­ I shouldn¡¯t have kissed youst night. Or the night before.¡± ¡°It was a mistake, and I¡¯m sorry.¡± The words don¡¯t hurt by themselves. No, it¡¯s the absolute sincerity in his voice that slides like needles beneath my nails. ¡°A mistake?¡± I murmur. ¡°That¡¯s really what you think?¡± I can¡¯t sit here or the burning behind my eyes will give me away. I push off the lounge chair and turn toward the door, but arge hand around my wrist stops me. ¡°No, Summer¡­ don¡¯t you see? I couldn¡¯t bear it if I hurt you. And I can¡¯t bear having you just to lose you, either. Do you understand?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand anything.¡± The pain in his eyes is more than I¡¯d seen this morning. ¡°Your friendship means a lot to me. More than I¡¯d expected.¡± ¡°So does yours,¡± I whisper. ¡°I don¡¯t want to lose it, but God help me, I want you too much.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t want to jeopardize our friendship? Help me understand, Anthony.¡± He pulls his hand away from mine with aching slowness. ¡°I¡¯m going blind, Summer.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± The words make no sense. ¡°I mean just that. I¡¯m losing my eyesight.¡± ¡°Your¡­ oh. Is it connected to your migraines?¡± He nods, jaw working. ¡°It¡¯s one of the symptoms, yes.¡± I search his eyes for any indication that this is some twisted joke, but there¡¯s nothing but fierce focus in them. He¡¯s reading my expression as intently as I¡¯m trying to read his. ¡°Anthony, I¡¯m so sorry.¡± He closes his eyes. ¡°Right. Yeah.¡± ¡°When did you find out?¡± ¡°About two years ago. Iined about the font being too small on a menu, and my friend looked at me like I was joking. So I booked an appointment with an optician and figured I¡¯d get sses,¡± he says with a snort. ¡°I wish.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the diagnosis? I mean, can the doctors do anything? Treatments or some kind of¡­ what?¡± He¡¯sughing, but there¡¯s no humor in it. ¡°This is one area where your optimism can¡¯t help, Summer.¡± His words sink in with a kind of nauseating finality, and I bite my tongue to stop the well-meaning, well-intentioned sentences that hover. My gaze falls to his hand, resting on his knee. I grip it tight. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine how you feel, Anthony, or how difficult it must be to reveal this news. Thanks for sharing it with me. If you want to talk about it, I¡¯m a good listener. And if you don¡¯t¡­ then that¡¯s fine too.¡± He nods once and looks down at our interwoven hands. Neither of us speaks for a long time. When we do, it¡¯s Anthony¡¯s voice that breaks the silence. It¡¯s rough around the edges. ¡°Should we walk along the beach again?¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure you¡¯re up for it?¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. He stands, hand sliding away from mine. ¡°I¡¯m not blind yet.¡± ¡°Right. Yeah, that¡¯s not what I meant.¡± ¡°Rx, Summer. I know it wasn¡¯t,¡± he says. Aims a crooked smile my way. But he¡¯s wound tight by my side as he locks the patio door and takes the steps down to the beach. Ace trails behind us, his tail-wagging muted. He¡¯s run on the beach enough this weekend tost him the summer. We walk for a long time before I dare break the silence between us. He¡¯s staring straight ahead, jaw tense. ¡°Are there treatments?¡± I ask. ¡°Ways of living with it? I think I¡¯ve heard of technologies that might help. Voice-to-text, and devices you speak to and they turn on¡­ Braille, too, right?¡± Anthony¡¯s voice drips with bitterness. ¡°Yes. All those things exist. My doctor keeps sending me documents about them. He likes to tell me I should familiarize myself with it while I still have most of my sight.¡± The venom in his voice is a warning, but I know down to my bones that it¡¯s not directed at me this time. ¡°But you don¡¯t want to?¡± ¡°Of course I don¡¯t want to,¡± he says. ¡°If I do, it means I¡¯ve epted this fate. If I start doing that, I surrender.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± ¡°I know it doesn¡¯t make any sense.¡± Saved by the Boss 41 ¡°Some, I suppose.¡± ¡°The house was the biggest concession,¡± he says. ¡°The house? The beach house?¡± ¡°Yes. Haven¡¯t you noticed?¡± I frown. ¡°No. What?¡± ¡°The interior designer worked with a specialist on blindness. There are no sharp corners on tables or kitchen counters, no high thresholds. No high-stemmed winesses. Each knob on the cabs is shaped differently.¡± The tone of his voice drips with self-hatred. ¡°Figured I might as well get a ce ready for when it happens.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°When it happens,¡± I repeat softly. ¡°Do you know when that might be?¡± ¡°The million-dor question. I don¡¯t, and neither does the doctor. Retinitis pigmentosa rarely shows up at my age, but when it does, it progresses fast. Most people have it diagnosed in childhood. It¡¯s gic. Nothing I can do to change it. Nothing I did caused it.¡± My heart aches for him, and against it all, my eyes burn. I keep my eyes trained on the beach and fight against the instinct. If there¡¯s one thing he¡¯d hate, it¡¯s being cried over. ¡°What¡¯s it like now?¡± I ask. ¡°My vision?¡± ¡°Tolerable, I suppose. Night vision was among the first things to go,¡± he says. Memories click into ce, of Anthony asking me to read menus. ¡°Second is peripheral vision. I don¡¯t drive anymore, which you might have noticed.¡± His gaze shifts to the horizon and the setting sun. The rays dance across the waves, setting the world aze in color. ¡°I thought you preferred drivers,¡± I whisper. He shakes his head. ¡°Some days, I¡¯d give anything to be allowed behind the wheel again.¡± I swallow at the knot in my throat. He clears his, breaks eye contact with me. We walk slowly, in silence, along the beach and the setting sun. None of the questions that hover on the tip of my tongue feel right. Not when he looks away from me more than he looks at me. Blindness. The weight of what he¡¯s just told me hasn¡¯t settled yet, but I can feel it. And if I can, it must be crushing him, strong as he is. ¡°Don¡¯t think differently of me,¡± he tells me. ¡°I don¡¯t. If anything, I feel-¡± ¡°If you¡¯re going to say anything with the wordpassion, sorry, or pity in it, don¡¯t. Summer, I can¡¯t bear it.¡± He¡¯s walking a knife¡¯s edge with despair, I realize. And each day is a new struggle to keep his bnce. ¡°I wasn¡¯t,¡± I lie. The edge feels close enough to cut me, too. ¡°I feel grateful you told me.¡± Anthony doesn¡¯t reply. He turns his face back to the golden sliver of sun kissing the horizon. ¡°We should start to head back.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± I whistle for Ace and he bounds toward us, as happy to walk back to the house as he was to walk away from it. Neither of us speaks until we¡¯re almost at his house, and then only of practical matters. He goes to lie down again, and I order dinner for us. My eyes lock on the knobs in the kitchen when I¡¯ve clicked off the call to the restaurant. The quirky design choice is to ensure Anthony will be able to tell the difference between the cabs by touch, one day. Tears slip down my face and I¡¯m grateful he¡¯s not there to see them. I have the distinct feeling that Anthony gave me a gift tonight, by telling me. Life is unfair and ephemeral and yet so heartbreakingly beautiful, and I hope he¡¯ll see that one day, eyesight or no. Anthony¡¯s mood is difficult to read at dinner. His eyes contain a challenge, as if he¡¯s daring me to regard him differently. Daring me to treat him with anything that resembles pity. ¡°So windsurfing is done,¡± he says, looking at me over the rim of his ss. ¡°But there¡¯s one thing on your bucket list you can do here that you haven¡¯t. Not yet.¡± ¡°There is?¡± ¡°Skinny-dipping in the ocean.¡± Keeping his gaze, I put my napkin on the table. Put down the chopsticks and push up from the chair. His eyes track every movement and I let that steady me, despite the pounding of my heart. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I say. He watches as I walk the short distance to the patio doors. As I push them open. The beach is covered in darkness, but that does nothing to stop the sound of wavespping against the shore in invitation. Behind me, there¡¯s the sound of another chair being pushed back. I lose my nerve halfway down his patio steps. Anthony¡¯s deep voice rings out behind me, and not for the first time, I wonder if he¡¯s capable of reading my mind. ¡°It¡¯s pitch dark out here,¡± he says. ¡°If there¡¯s moonlight to see by, it¡¯s not enough for me. I won¡¯t be able to see you.¡± My feet sink down into the still-warm sand and I pull off my dress in one smooth motion, letting it drop onto the beach. The wind feels soft against my skin. ¡°All right,¡± I murmur. ¡°Let¡¯s do this, then.¡± The rustle of clothing makes me turn my head. Anthony¡¯s hands are moving over the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one. Fire shoots through my veins. ¡°You¡¯re going swimming too?¡± His hands pause. ¡°If I may.¡± ¡°Yes. Yes, of course.¡± I don¡¯t need to add that my eyes are good enough in the moonlight that I¡¯ll be able to make out his form. We both know that. I look at him as I reach up to undo the sp of my bra. He doesn¡¯t look back at me. He can¡¯t see at all, I realize. The light out here is enough for me to make out the shapes and contours of things, but what had he told me? Night vision was the first to go. ¡°I¡¯m almost done,¡± I tell him. He nods and reaches for his pants, and if he can be out here, if he can tell me about his diagnosis¡­ then I can damn well do this. My heart pounds as I drop my panties and stand naked as the day I was born on Anthony¡¯s beach in Montauk. The ocean ispletely dark, ready to swallow us whole. ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± I say. ¡°Let¡¯s, then.¡± We walk side by side out to the water, and I keep sneaking nces at him, but he doesn¡¯t seem to need any assistance. Maybe he¡¯d bite my head off if I offered. The water feels like ice around my ankles. ¡°Wow. That¡¯s cold.¡± Saved by the Boss 42 ¡°Hesitating makes it worse.¡± ¡°True. But maybe this is something we should do in, like, the Cayman Inds?¡± Anthony snorts. ¡°It¡¯ll feel better in a bit.¡± ¡°You¡¯re saying we have to be in the water for a while?¡± ¡°Long enough to really merit checking this off on your bucket list.¡± I cross my arms over my chest as we wade deeper. No bikini top there, no, only my skin, reminding me just how naked I am. A quick nce down confirms what I already know. My nipples are hard from the chill of the water. I don¡¯t dare look his way until we¡¯re waist deep. Anthony groans. ¡°Fuck, you¡¯re right. Cayman Inds it is.¡± ¡°Toote. We¡¯re going to be swimming for a while.¡± I brace my feet against the sandy ocean floor and in a smooth motion, I dive clear through the icy surface. The water is dark and salty around me as I kick forward, a cold rush against my senses. I surface with a gasp. ¡°Holy shit!¡± ¡°You¡¯remitted,¡± Anthony calls. Iugh, kicking water. The ocean is soft against my skin. Unhindered by a swimsuit, I feelpletely submerged, one with the water. ¡°It¡¯s nice when you get used to it!¡± He mutters something and steps further into the water. Moonlight outlines the strong lines of his shoulders rising from the water¡¯s surface. ¡°Have you done this before?¡± I ask. ¡°Swum naked?¡± ¡°Sure, but it was a long time ago,¡± he says. I turn onto my back and float, taking in the stars in the sky above. Tiny pinpricks of light that stretch as far as the eye can see. ¡°You can¡¯t see me?¡± I ask. Adrenaline runs through my body, making my veins burn. ¡°No.¡± Anthony¡¯s deep voice carries across the water. I cross the ocean floor to where he¡¯s standing. A soft current ys with my legs, too weak to do anything but tease.? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. ¡°But you can touch me,¡± I say. ¡°Summer?¡± I find his hand, resting on the water¡¯s surface. It flips over and grips mine. ¡°Summer¡­¡± ¡°Yes?¡± My toes bury themselves in the sand as I reach up and press my lips to his. Anthony kisses me back, lips opening mine, his free hand slicing through the water to find the curve of my waist. He pulls me close. The length of his bare body against mine feels electric, a shot straight to my nervous system. His fingers dig into the skin of my waist, as if they¡¯re struggling to stay there. Mine know no such restraints as I explore his chest, shoulders, the nape of his neck. A groan escapes him as I rake my nails through his hair. ¡°Summer, we¡­¡± ¡°I want you.¡± He kisses me again, the force of it bending me backwards through the water. His hands lose their restraint and slide down to grip my ass, pulling me up tight against him. My awareness drops to the hard length of him trapped between our bodies. It feels hot against my skin, despite the chill of the water. One of his hands trails up the side of my body and cups my breast, a thumb flicking over my nipple. I hold on to his shoulders and jump up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He supports me, strong arms beneath my thighs. d in nothing but seawater and moonlight, pressed so tightly together I can feel the beating of his heart, our bodies learn one another. ¡°Summer,¡± he murmurs. Bends his head to mine and kisses me with reverence. I don¡¯t know when I first register the chilly wind on my lower back, or when the cold water on my thighs is reced by night air. I only know that when he raises his head from mine we¡¯re no longer in the water. He¡¯s carried me onto the shore. ¡°Let¡¯s go inside,¡± Anthony murmurs. I slide down his body and find my footing on the sand. He groans at the friction, his hardness clear to my night-adjusted eyes. My mouth feels dry and my heart full. ¡°Yes,¡± I whisper. ¡°Please.¡± I bend to scoop up our clothing and walk toward the house. I¡¯m halfway up the steps before I turn and see him, standing by the base of the stairs. Turned too much to the left. My own idiocy leaves me shamed. In the darkness, he can¡¯t make out the first step. ¡°Here,¡± I murmur and take his hand. His jaw works but he says nothing, finding his footing. Letting me draw him toward the patio doors and the living room. My heart aches, then, with want and tenderness for him. I reach for the living room lights and turn them on. Anthony shuts the patio door behind us and turns to look at me. I feel electrified beneath his burning gaze, taking all of me in. He looks like an ancient general, a conquering hero returned from sea, a man who needs with every breath he takes. His body is the tall, strong form of a man who uses it for work. Chest hair. Strong thighs. Rugged features that I¡¯d once considered in. How had I been so blind? ¡°You still want me,¡± he says. It¡¯s a statement and a question, evident in the lines of his body and the way he¡¯s holding himself back. Had he thought I wouldn¡¯t, after he¡¯d told me about his vision? Had he thought I would turn him away? ¡°Yes. So much.¡± He reaches out and takes a strand of my wet hair between his fingers. ¡°You¡¯ll catch a cold.¡± ¡°No, I won¡¯t,¡± I whisper. ¡°I go to bed with wet hair all the time.¡± Anthony¡¯s lips curve. ¡°In that case¡­¡± Saved by the Boss 43 My gasp of surprise turns into a breathlessugh as he lifts me up. Carries me through the living room and into his bedroom, shutting the door in the face of an all-too-curious golden retriever. I slide down his body, feet touching the floor, but I keep my arms around his neck. His hands are reverent and soft over my naked skin. They sweep in arcs over my bare back and down my hips, like he¡¯s mapping my body. I touch him the same way. Trace the strong, wide curve of his shoulders and the groove down his stomach. Grasp the hard length of him in my hand. He groans against my lips, breath quickening when I start to stroke. ¡°So it wasn¡¯t that cold in the water,¡± I tease. His answering chuckle is hoarse. He rests his forehead against mine, chest rising and falling with the force of his breathing. I smooth my thumb over the blunt head and he groans. It¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve touched a man like this, and he¡¯s deliciously soft and hard and silky at the same time. He tips my head back and kisses me, tongue slipping between my lips, mimicking the movement of his hips against my hand. I¡¯m so full of him my head is swimming and he¡¯s not even inside of me yet. Anthony walks me back to his bed and lifts me again. Effortless for him, it seems. Heys me down on the soft linen. I cradle him between my legs as he moves down my body, mouth tracing corbones, across my breasts, finding the hard peak of a nipple. He bites down. I gasp, legs widening in a plea.C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. Anthony hears it. His hand slides up my inner thigh, closer, and closer still, until his fingers finally brush over my most sensitive skin. He gives a low groan of approval and switches nipples, fingers moving. My breath hitches in my throat as his thumb brushes over the right spot. He hears that, too, fingers returning without mercy to the swollen nub. Taking it between two knuckles and rubbing until I have to hold on to his shoulders for support. He presses his lips against my neck and whispers how hard he is for me, how good I feel, how much he longs to be inside of me. I break apart with an ease I didn¡¯t know I could, cheeks flushing with the force of my orgasm. Anthony kisses me and knots a hand in my wet hair. Reaches for a pillow and props it up beneath my hips, hands spreading my inner thighs, looking down at me. He doesn¡¯t say a thing, but it¡¯s there in his touch, the reverence. I¡¯ve never felt more wanted. I reach between my legs and grasp his erection again. Pull him forward, pressed against me. ¡°Condom,¡± he says. I hadn¡¯t even thought of that. And I always think about that. ¡°Do you have one?¡± Anthony nods and reaches for his bedside drawer. The crackle of foil follows and we both watch as he rolls it on in a smooth motion. Nerves and a throbbing ache mingle inside of me, watching as he presses my legs apart with his knees and reaches down to guide himself inside. I sigh with pleasure at the first entry. It¡¯s like I¡¯m weing him home, and as I wrap my legs around his hips and run my hands over his broad back, I realize it¡¯s never felt like that with anyone before. Anthony braces himself above me, burying himself to the hilt with a groan. I sp his face between my hands and kiss him as he starts to move. Tears blur behind my eyes with the force of it all, my own pleasure heightening my emotions. Anthony drives an arm beneath my neck and bends his head to my corbone. Wet, salty hair falls against my cheek, but his breath is hot. I hold him as his body surges with power, his hips speeding up. One of his arms locks beneath my knee and pulls my leg up, the fit growing deeper. The new angle sends waves of pleasure through my body with each quick thrust, until I¡¯m hovering at the edge. It¡¯s Anthony¡¯s own pleasure that sends me over it. He loses control as he crests, thrusts growing erratic. He groans against my neck with the force of his release and I grip him tightly through my own, my world beginning and ending with us, as close as two people can be. ¡°The round knob is for the te cab,¡± Anthony says, voice dry. ¡°The triangle is for the ss cab.¡± I open both and take in the neatly organized te-ware. Small beads are attached to the wooden cab dividers. I run my fingers along them. Two beads for water sses. Three for bowls. Four for tes. ¡°Did they give you instructions for this?¡± ¡°There¡¯s a manual somewhere. I can¡¯t remember where I put it.¡± He takes another bite of the omelet on his te. ¡°Come eat your breakfast, Summer.¡± ¡°This is interesting.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fucking depressing.¡± I don¡¯t let that stop me, though, not as I open the fridge. It had struck me as supremely well-organized before. Drawers withrgebels and stic bins. Now I see it for what it is. A support system. ¡°You already took out the orange juice,¡± hements. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± I close it and sit down beside him at the kitchen counter, my bare legs against the leather seat. I fold up the shirtsleeves of his button-down and cut into my own omelet. ¡°We have one day left here,¡± he says, reaching for his orange juice. ¡°When is your drivering to pick us up?¡± ¡°Four.¡± ¡°Hmm. What do you want to do?¡± Anthony gives me a look that sends blood flooding to my cheeks. ¡°I know exactly what I want to do,¡± he says. ¡°But I¡¯ll understand if you want to take in the scenery.¡± I reach for my ss of OJ and take a deep sip. We¡¯d fallen asleep together in his bedst night. Woken upte, and gotten upter still after our decision to indulge in one another again. Anthony had entered me from the side, one of his hands on my breast and the other between my legs, until both of us were fully awake. The memory makes me blush. ¡°Let¡¯s stay in,¡± I say. His lips curl. ¡°Let¡¯s.¡± ¡°But we have to walk along the beach again, and we definitely have to swim in the pool.¡± ¡°I¡¯m starting to think you have an addiction.¡± ¡°To pools?¡± Saved by the Boss 44 ¡°To swimming.¡± I hit him with my elbow. ¡°Or I¡¯m just trying to get you to swim. I still can¡¯t believe you¡¯ve had this house for a year and never taken a dip in your pool.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m rarely here.¡± He cuts into a piece of toast, the swell of his bicep flexing with the movement. ¡°I think this is the fourth time I¡¯ve been in the house since I bought it.¡± I put my fork and knife down. ¡°The fourth time?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°I told you how much I hate this ce.¡± ¡°No, you said it was your biggest concession. It¡¯s a beautiful ce. The beach, the pool¡­¡± He makes a dismissive sound and polishes off thest of his breakfast. Reaches for his coffee. ¡°All of which I won¡¯t be able to see one day. This ocean view is aplete waste, and it probably ounts for more than half the value of this ce.¡± ¡°The view, perhaps, but you¡¯ll still be able to enjoy the beach when you can¡¯t see it.¡± I almost stumble over the words, but they make it out in one piece. ¡°You don¡¯t need your eyes to swim, and listening to the waves is lovely.¡± ¡°I suppose so.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°How did your family and friends respond? Are they supportive?¡± He pushes his te away and turns on the chair, an eyebrow raised at me. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry. Was that an insensitive question? I¡¯m really sorry.¡± Anthony shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯m not hurt,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m just wondering how you¡¯ll fit in all your swimming if you¡¯re nning on spending the day asking me every blind question under the sun.¡± ¡°Every blind question under the sun?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He picks up thest piece of toast from my te and feeds it to me, his thumb grazing my bottom lip. ¡°If I can choose between swimming, fucking you and talking about my vision, I know which one I¡¯ll rankst.¡± ¡°Well, when you put it that way¡­¡± ¡°Can I just ask you onest question before we head out into the sun?¡± Anthony sighs, but doesn¡¯t object, turning my chair to face him. Skilled hands move over the two buttons on my shirt I¡¯d managed to close. ¡°I¡¯ll endure it,¡± he says. ¡°Do you have a bucket list of your own? With things you want to see before it happens?¡± He opens his own old button-down I¡¯m wearing. Smooths his fingers over one of my breasts, his gaze on the nipple he¡¯s teasing into hardness between his fingers. ¡°No,¡± he says, and the tone of his voice makes it clear the conversation is over. ¡°Until I do, though, I intend to enjoy myself.¡± I slide off the stool and slip the shirt from my shoulders, intent on helping him do just that. I cut through the warm, smooth water of the infinity pool to where he¡¯s lounging on the steps. His arms are on the edge of the pool, eyes closed, tilted up to the sun. ¡°You look like a lizard,¡± I tell him. ¡°Soaking up the rays.¡± ¡°And you look like a siren,¡± he responds, not opening his eyes. ¡°Sing for me as well and I¡¯ll be lost here forever.¡± I grin. Shoot a nce to where my discarded bikini top rests on the lounge chair. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I want you to drown yet. I¡¯m not done with you.¡± ¡°Thank God,¡± he says, ¡°because I¡¯m sure as hell not done with you.¡± I turn onto my back and float, the clouds dancing above us across the azure sky. This ce is a private, privileged paradise, and as much as I love my apartment in the city, not a single part of me looks forward to leaving. ¡°Have you given those singing lessons of yours any more thought?¡± he asks. I close my eyes. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Will you sing for me now?¡± ¡°Probably not.¡± ¡°So I¡¯ll have to camp outside your shower. Good to know.¡± Laughing, I turn over and swim toward him, my strokes splitting the water. ¡°You really liked it that much?¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯ve never known anyone who could sing. Can¡¯t remember thest time I went to a concert, either.¡± He runs a hand through his wet hair. The sun has begun to darken his olive skin, hinting at the deep tan he¡¯d have after a week of this. ¡°Well, who knows,¡± I say. ¡°If we put on some good music in the car on the way back home¡­¡± He reaches for me and I settle on hisp, the water divine and temperate around us. Itps in soft waves over my exposed breasts and Anthony looks down, a soft half-smile on his face. ¡°Good thing you advised me to take my top off,¡± I say. ¡°Thanks for reminding me of the dangers of tan lines.¡± ¡°I¡¯m nothing if not altruistic.¡± His hand cups my left breast, nearly covering it whole. ¡°Of course you are.¡± ¡°I¡¯m so generous, in fact, that I might just book you in for an open mic night without telling you.¡± ¡°No, Anthony, you wouldn¡¯t dare.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t I?¡± He raises a dark eyebrow and meets my gaze. ¡°You know, I¡¯d very much like to have a word with that idiot ex of yours.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not worth it.¡± ¡°You¡¯re absolutely right he isn¡¯t,¡± Anthony says, pulling me closer. I rest my cheek against his sun-warmed shoulder, his hand moving in soft sweeps over my bare back. I close my eyes and bask in the closeness. It¡¯s a long time before he speaks again. I can feel the rumble of his voice through his chest and into mine. ¡°I hated Ace when I first met him.¡± I turn my head to where my dog is resting in the shade, his tongue half-out and eyes closed. ¡°I noticed,¡± I murmur. ¡°And then you told me he¡¯d originally been trained as a guide dog,¡± he says. ¡°What are the fucking odds?¡± I link my hands behind his neck and lean back. Meet his gaze. ¡°Is that something you¡¯ve ever-?¡± Saved by the Boss 45 ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± he says. ¡°I can¡¯t. None of those things. I don¡¯t want to consider them.¡± ¡°All right. We won¡¯t, then. But does this mean you hate Ace less now? Because I hate to break it to you, but he really likes you.¡± ¡°He does?¡± ¡°Are you kidding me? Every time youe into my office his wagging tail gives him away. He¡¯s followed you everywhere this weekend.¡± Anthony¡¯s scowl softens, disappears, as he nces to Ace. He¡¯s flipped over onto his back, all four paws up in the air. ¡°He¡¯s a good dog.¡± I grin at him. ¡°Praise? From Anthony Winter?¡± ¡°I¡¯m capable of it, in small doses.¡± His hands slide down and grip my ass. ¡°When something really impresses me.¡± ¡°Yes. Like you, for example. And this. Not to mention these two. Or here, where I-¡± I cut him off with a kiss. His hands return to my waist and tug me close as I lose myself in him and he in me, in the beautiful ce where time stops altogether. We¡¯re both breathing hard when I lean back. Brace my legs against the edge of the pool and push away from him, back out into the deep. ¡°Running away?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. Look up into the sky with thergest, goofiest smile on my face. My heart feels like it might explode. ¡°You¡¯re wee to try to catch me.¡± ¡°Mmm. I quite like the view from here.¡± I swim the length of the pool once, twice. Think about his words and his situation, my mind finds its way back to what he¡¯d shared with me over the weekend. ¡°Why¡¯d you choose Montauk for this house?¡± I ask him. ¡°Was it because your family has a summer house nearby?¡± He leans back on his forearms and tilts his head back to the sun. Eyes closed again. ¡°It¡¯s close enough to the city. I know the ce well. It came onto the market at the right time.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± I push away from the wall and start on a thirdp. ¡°Must be nice to be close to them, too.¡± He doesn¡¯tment on that. Takes a long time to say anything, actually. But when he does, it stops me mid-stroke in the pool. ¡°I haven¡¯t told them.¡± ¡°About the diagnosis?¡± ¡°No, and I¡¯m not nning to until I absolutely have to.¡± The sudden tautness in his form is enough to set me on edge. I swim toward him. ¡°I imagine it¡¯s difficult news to share.¡± ¡°I suppose,¡± he says with a shrug. ¡°I¡¯ve only really told you.¡± The shock that ripples through me doesn¡¯t reach my face. I¡¯m very careful about that. ¡°Thanks for sharing it with me.¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± He reaches for me when I¡¯m close enough and I find myself once again in hisp. Despite his rxed features, the body beneath mine is rigid. We¡¯re in deep water again. ¡°Your business partners and friends don¡¯t know either, then?¡± I ask. I walk my hands up his chest and wrap them around his neck. The knife¡¯s edge he¡¯s treading feels closer than it has for hours, within sighting distance. So I swallow my questions. ¡°I¡¯m grateful you trusted me with it, Anthony.¡± He reaches up and cups my cheek, eyes inscrutable. It¡¯s not the first time I can¡¯t read him. I doubt it will be thest. ¡°Thanks for listening,¡± he murmurs. Kisses me again, and like so many times before, it derails my thoughts entirely. I¡¯m breathing hard when I lift my head. ¡°So?¡± I ask. ¡°What happens when we get back to New York?¡± He groans. ¡°Is it crazy that I wish we could just stay here? For the first time ever, I quite like the privacy of this house.¡± I push a lock of half-dried hair from his forehead. ¡°I have couples to set up. Matches to make. Love to create and sparks to fly.¡± ¡°Right. You have to shoot Cupid¡¯s bow.¡± ¡°Exactly. Hey, does this, you and me, mean I technically won the bet? Because you did go on a date with me too, you know. I remember.¡± ¡°Mmm, so do I. We saved some rainforest together.¡± ¡°You saved it. Well, contributed to saving it.¡± ¡°You were valuable moral support,¡± he says.C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. ¡°I ept,¡± I say. ¡°Now, does it or does it not mean that I was right? About Opate Match?¡± Anthony grins, and it¡¯s a full-fledged smile, wide and true and dazzling. It takes my breath away. ¡°Don¡¯t gloat, Summer,¡± he says, but the way he kisses me is a clear yes. Summer¡¯s small bed is wedged in the corner of her too-small bedroom, and the linens are always rumpled. They smell like her, though. Of shampoo and perfume and warm woman. The cups in her kitchen are mismatched. Her bowls are handmade, courtesy of a course in ceramics she took with her mother one summer. And, as I¡¯ve learned over the week since we got back from Montauk, she isn¡¯t all sunshine. No, she¡¯s not human until she has her first cup of coffee in the morning. Discovering that had been a balm to my own inadequacies, despite the mountain they represent next to her speedbump. We¡¯re lying on her couch, her back pressed to my front, a discarded pizza box on the floor from her favorite restaurant. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of her hair. I¡¯ve never thought I had an addictive personality, but clearly, I¡¯d just never tried the right drug. Because Summer is all I crave. Here, in this small, eclectic apartment, the rest of the world doesn¡¯t exist. All the shit I don¡¯t like to deal with-the shit I ignore-can¡¯t touch us here. Here, I have fun. I¡¯m alive. The bitter contrast to my own dark and empty townhouse was enough to drive me straight to bed yesterday, curtains drawn. ¡°Oh, listen to this,¡± Summer says. She¡¯s reading the paper and has been entertaining me over the past half an hour by reading things aloud that she finds interesting. Saved by the Boss 46 She finds a lot of things interesting.? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. I find critiquing her findings interesting. It¡¯s a solidbo. ¡°The city is hiring street artists to paint murals of famous birds in five different subway stations,¡± she says. ¡°Isn¡¯t that nice?¡± ¡°Birds? Did you say famous birds ?¡± ¡°Yeah. You can vote online for which ones will be featured. Oh, should we do it? Let me find the website.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the stupidest thing I¡¯ve ever heard.¡± She nudges me with her elbow, but I lift my leg over hers, trapping her deliciously close to my body. ¡°It¡¯s harmless and fun,¡± she says. ¡°There are people with serious bird phobias. Anyone with half a brain who watched Hitchcock will have developed one. This will give people panic attacks on the subway.¡± ¡°People aren¡¯t that afraid of birds.¡± ¡°Oh, yes they are. Who came up with this idea?¡± ¡°The mayor¡¯s office. Apparently it¡¯s in honor of Small Birds Awareness Week. It says here domestic cats have decimated a lot of our small bird poptions and ornithologists are trying to get their numbers back up.¡± I close my eyes and slip my hand under her shirt, finding a bare hip. ¡°Right. Well, I¡¯m sure the Coalition for Worms and Bugs will have something to say about that. Their numbers have skyrocketed thanks to bird loss.¡± Summerughs, her tummy shaking beneath my hand, and I wonder how it¡¯s possible to be so perfectly happy as I am in this moment. Not a twinge of a migraine, the darkness kept at bay by her sunshine. I never want to leave this couch. There¡¯s a rustle as she turns the pages. Re-arranges her head cement on my arm. ¡°Oh, Page Six!¡± ¡°It¡¯s all garbage.¡± ¡°Yes, but it¡¯s fun garbage.¡± I snort. My mother and Summer could have a field day over that. What was said and what wasn¡¯t was often the most important topic of discussion in the Winter household when I grew up. ¡°It¡¯s pretty tame today. Oliver Langston publicly apologized for his affair.¡± ¡°Ridiculous,¡± I say. ¡°Why?¡± I snort. ¡°He should be apologizing to his wife, not to the people of New York. He didn¡¯t wrong any of us.¡± ¡°Well, we don¡¯t know how many other women he had affairs with,¡± Summer says. ¡°Perhaps this was the most convenient way to apologize to them all. You know, saved on his phone bill.¡± Iugh at that, brushing her hair away from my nose. ¡°Imagine that.¡± She reads on. But then she sighs, a soft, surprised ¡°oh.¡± ¡°Another hypocritical politician?¡± ¡°It¡¯s about your family.¡± ¡°So close enough,¡± I say. ¡°Read it to me.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s a public announcement of the uing nuptials between Isaac Winter and Cordelia Jacobs. There¡¯s a bit of spection here, too.¡± ¡°Read it to me,¡± I repeat. She clears her throat. ¡°One can¡¯t help but wonder if the joining of the Winters and Jacobs families is a dynastic move of premeditated proportions. Not unlike, in fact, the Winter Corporation¡¯s recent expansion to the Caribbean, where Robert Jacobs has built his famous golf courses. What came first, the chicken or the egg? The love or the business deal?¡± I snort. ¡°Clever.¡± A rustle and soft thud as Summer puts the paper down. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Well, about them talking about your family like that. I mean, I don¡¯t know if I¡¯d like it if my marriage was put in the paper with a heavy insinuation that it¡¯s arranged.¡± ¡°You¡¯d mind, because it wouldn¡¯t be true.¡± She shifts in my arms, turns over on her back. ¡°It¡¯s true?¡± ¡°True enough.¡± My brother had known Delia his whole life. So had I, for that matter, and my opinion hasn¡¯t changed much since I¡¯d met her at sixteen. ¡°But how my brother chooses to live his life isn¡¯t any of my business.¡± ¡°Are you close?¡± ¡°Isaac and I?¡± I ask, as if there¡¯s a third brother she might be referring to. Buying me some time. I look down at my hand, smoothing over her t stomach, circling her navel. ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°We used to be close when we were younger. It was us against our parents. Now we live pretty different lives.¡± Not to mention I¡¯ve been an ass around everyone who isn¡¯t Summer for the past two years. It¡¯s pitiful how unused I am to having these conversations. Any conversation, really, that requires me to respond in more than monosybles. ¡°Are you going to the wedding?¡± She nods, looking down at my hand. Covering it with her own and slipping her fingers through mine. ¡°Families can be tricky. Friendships, too.¡± Does she have a sixth sense for when I need her to drop a subject? Because she manages every damn time. ¡°Yes. Well, not if you¡¯re Summer Davis, and your parents are the ideal representation of true love, raising puppies for a living.¡± She bursts outughing and I prop myself up on my elbow, enjoying the show. Freckles decorate her nose, courtesy of the summer sun. ¡°You make me sound like I have little birds helping me dress in the morning.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you?¡± I ask. ¡°No, don¡¯t tell me. You would¡¯ve, if domestic cats hadn¡¯t decimated their poptions.¡± She bursts outughing and I move my hand up across her ribs, tickling. Summer doubles up, shrieking. Saved by the Boss 47 Ace looks up from his sprawl on the couch opposite ours. Cocks his head. ¡°I¡¯m just teasing your owner,¡± I tell him, trying to keep a grip on a squirming Summer. ¡°No, he¡¯s not,¡± she shrieks. ¡°He¡¯s torturing me. Help, Ace!¡± The golden puts his head down with a sigh. He¡¯s over our antics. ¡°No help ising.¡± Summer pleads for mercy, finding my lips with her own. My hand smooths out on her skin. ¡°Peace,¡± she murmurs. ¡°Peace,¡± I agree. But then she slips out of my grasp and bounces away across her living room, a triumphant smile on her face. ¡°Sess!¡± ¡°Damn your wiles, woman.¡± Sheughs and takes the few steps toward the kitchen. Opens her fridge. ¡°Do you want a refill?¡± ¡°Sure. Thanks.¡±? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. ¡°I was actually thinking,¡± she says, opening the half-drunk bottle of wine, ¡°about this weekend.¡± ¡°Were you?¡± ¡°Yeah. Should we go on a proper date?¡± I turn onto my back and prop my hands behind my head, watching her pour the red. ¡°Do you mean sleeping together in your apartment all week doesn¡¯t constitute a date? Shocking.¡± She sticks out her tongue at me. Her blonde curls are tousled around her face, and in her rumpled summer dress, she¡¯s the most beautiful thing I¡¯ve ever seen. ¡°I was thinking we could go back to Montauk,¡± I say. Summer raises her eyebrows. ¡°Really? I thought you hated that house.¡± ¡°Yes, well, it grew on mest weekend. There¡¯s something about seeing you swim naked through my pool that¡¯s really made ite alive to me. You were the missing furniture piece.¡± Sheughs again, setting out winesses on the table. ¡°You make apelling argument.¡± ¡°Well, I was in debate club in high school.¡± ¡°You were?¡± ¡°Why do you sound so shocked?¡± She shrugs, sinking down on the plush oriental carpet with crossed legs. Much too far away for my taste. ¡°I don¡¯t know, really. You seem the quiet type.¡± ¡°I was, but it looked good for college. Besides, I usually ended debates, not started them.¡± ¡°Hmm. I can see that.¡± She looks down at her winess, spinning it around on the long stem. ¡°There¡¯s actually a thing happening this weekend.¡± ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s one of my best friend¡¯s birthday parties. She¡¯s invited a bunch of her friends to a bar in Midtown Saturday night.¡± ¡°Sounds nice.¡± ¡°Yes, I think it could be fun, actually. I haven¡¯t seen Posie in a while. The thing is¡­¡± I know what¡¯sing before she says it. Still, I ask. ¡°What?¡± ¡°My ex-boyfriend will likely be there.¡± My muscles lock in anger, like she¡¯s flipped a switch. The fact that she dated someone who was so maniptive, who belittled and mocked and broke her down brick by brick¡­ Her, this woman who deserves so much. Who deserves everything. ¡°I want to go for my friend. I don¡¯t want to go because of Robin.¡± She shrugs, looking at me with an apologetic smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t want to hear about this.¡± I sit up and brace my arms against my knees. ¡°I¡¯lle with you, if you want.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°Oh, Anthony, I¡¯d really like that.¡± The thread of unease inside me lessens at her smile. It¡¯ll be crowded and dimly lit. My worst nightmare. But perhaps it won¡¯t be quite as bad if she¡¯s there. ¡°We don¡¯t have to stay long.¡± ¡°We can stay for as long as you want,¡± I say and wonder who I¡¯ve be to be promising this. More than likely, I¡¯ll be miserable and in a bad mood from the darkness and the constant chatter of her friends. It¡¯ll be a headache-inducing experience. ¡°Thank you, Anthony,¡± she says, smiling. It¡¯s filled with trust and hope and tenderness. No pity, either. So far, I haven¡¯t gotten the crushing sense of it from her. Even if her optimism about my eyesight feels delusional at times. I envy her for it. And I like her for it. She reaches up and pulls her hair back in a ponytail. ¡°Do you want to sleep here tonight too?¡± I gesture down to my rumpled clothing. The half-eaten pizza. The ss of wine. Sheughs. ¡°So that¡¯s a yes, thank God. You¡¯re so much nicer to have in bed than Ace.¡± ¡°Spare me thepliments, will you? You¡¯re making me ufortable over here.¡± Summer puts her ss down on the coffee table. ¡°That reminds me! I have to show you something.¡± ¡°You do?¡± ¡°Yes, I saw this article in yesterday¡¯s paper¡­ you¡¯re going to love this.¡± ¡°You mean I¡¯m going to trash it.¡± Saved by the Boss 48 ¡°Exactly,¡± she says, smiling. ¡°I think I put it in my purse¡­¡± She disappears into her bedroom. Ace gives a soft whine and flips over on his couch. The two of us, both obsessed with her. Both following her everywhere. I shake my head and rise from the couch, stretching. nce at the printed bucket list with her goals still proudly pinned to her wall. With the lights on, it¡¯s easy enough for me to read it this time. She¡¯s ticked off windsurfing. Skinny-dipping, too. But so many of the goals remain unfinished. My eyes scan down the list, at the ns for a full, rich life, one with travel and experiences. A few years from now, and most of these things won¡¯t be possible for me anymore. I stop at goal twenty-seven. Be a mother. Something I can¡¯t be a part of, either. Just like my fucking vision, Summer¡¯s presence in my life has an expiration date. She might not realize it yet, but she will. The life she¡¯s dreaming of can¡¯t include me. ¡°You really love looking at that list, don¡¯t you?¡± she says, yesterday¡¯s paper tucked under her arm. I reach out and wrap mine around her shoulders, giving the list a final nce over the top of her head. ¡°Just looking for more things I can help make happen,¡± I say. Before I have to leave you. Anthony is waiting for me outside the bar. He¡¯s leaning against the building, ncing left and right, hands in the pockets of his gray cks. I can make out his clenched jaw, even from this distance. It mirrors the butterflies in my own stomach. I pull my handbag up higher on my shoulder and step straight into his arms. ¡°Hi.¡± His hands settle on the low of my back. ¡°Hi.¡± ¡°Did you have to wait long?¡± ¡°You worked from home today?¡± He nods, tipping my head back. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Will I ever get to see your ce?¡± ¡°One day, perhaps. If you behave.¡± ¡°What if I misbehave in the way you like?¡± ¡°Then we¡¯ll go there first thing tomorrow.¡± He bends his head and kisses me, a greeting and a promise. ¡°How was work?¡± ¡°It was great. I met with two new clients all day, and I¡¯m really excited about these two. They¡¯d probably work well together.¡± His lip curls. ¡°Romantic.¡±Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. ¡°Oh, yes. Definitely. Should we go inside?¡± ¡°We won¡¯t stay long,¡± I promise again. ¡°We can stay for as long as you want,¡± he reminds me. I don¡¯t doubt he means it, but I also suspect he won¡¯t enjoy himself very much. But he¡¯s here. For me. The warmth in my chest as I slide my hand into his threatens to consume me. I want to be back in my apartment, have him lying beside me in bed or on my couch, and run my fingers through his hair. Or kiss him until he groans beneath me and begs, in that raspy voice, to touch me. I¡¯m so head-over-heels with this man. He presses a kiss to my temple. ¡°You look unbelievable in this dress, by the way.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I murmur. A waitress leads us to the table Posie¡¯s booked. Or more urately, tables. Raucousughter rises from the group of people crowded around them. My gaze snags on Posie¡¯s willowy shape. Her red hair is up in a messy bun, the same shade she¡¯s dyed it since college, the one that wouldn¡¯t look good on anyone else. ¡°Summer,¡± she says, eyes lighting up. ¡°You made it.¡± ¡°Of course I did. Happy birthday!¡± I pull her in for a hug. ¡°Oh, thank you. I¡¯m half-tempted to stop counting, really, but it might be too early. Is that when we hit thirty?¡± ¡°Yes, we¡¯re not quite there yet.¡± Her arm drops to my waist, effortlessly, the way it¡¯s always been with her. ¡°And who¡¯s this?¡± she asks. ¡°This is Anthony.¡± He extends a hand. ¡°A pleasure.¡± ¡°A friend of Summer¡¯s is a friend of mine,¡± Posie says, with a not-so-subtle nce in my direction. It says tell me everything! I give a little shrug. It¡¯s new, but yeah¡­ he¡¯s amazing. Anthony sees it too. There¡¯s a curl to his lips as he tells us he¡¯s getting us something to drink. ¡°ss of white?¡± he asks me. I nod, and watch him disappear toward the bar. Posie wiggles her eyebrows. ¡°Who is this, Summer? I didn¡¯t know you¡¯d met someone!¡± ¡°It¡¯s new. Really new, actually. But it¡¯s going great.¡± She nces toward the bar. ¡°He looks intense.¡± I chuckle. ¡°Yeah, he can be intense. In a good way, though.¡± ¡°How¡¯d you meet him?¡± ¡°At work.¡± I shake my head before she can finish the thought. ¡°He wasn¡¯t one of my clients. He¡¯s more on the business side of things.¡± Which is certainly true. He owns the business. Saved by the Boss 49 ¡°You look happy,¡± Posie says, her hands sliding down to sp mine. ¡°That¡¯s the most important part.¡± ¡°I¡¯m really happy. He¡¯s¡­ well. I¡¯m head-over-heels, really.¡± Iugh. ¡°But how are you? How¡¯s Ben? Is he here?¡± ¡°Yes, yes, he¡¯s over there,¡± Posie says with a nod to where her long-term boyfriend is mingling. Her voice drops, tugging me closer. ¡°I didn¡¯t invite Robin, Summer, but someone dragged him along anyway. You know how it is.¡± I nod. ¡°Yeah. I figured.¡± Anthony chooses that moment to return and my hands slide out of Posie¡¯s to ept the ss he hands me. ¡°Happy birthday,¡± he says to Posie. ¡°I heard you went to college with Summer?¡± ¡°I did, yes. We had a lot of music theory sses together.¡± ¡°Posie¡¯s a virtuoso,¡± I say. ¡°Think Mozart or Bach, but better.¡± Sheughs. ¡°God no. Don¡¯t listen to Summer. I y a few instruments, that¡¯s all.¡± ¡°Five, right?¡± ¡°Well, I added cello recently. I¡¯m notpetent yet.¡± ¡°Your version of ¡®notpetent¡¯ is another person¡¯s mastery,¡± I protest. ¡°So six instruments.¡± ¡°I¡¯m impressed,¡± Anthony says. ¡°She ys at the New York Philharmonic.¡± ¡°All right, now I¡¯m even more impressed.¡± Posieughs. ¡°Summer, you¡¯ve always been better at selling me than I do myself.¡± Anthony lowers his ss, ncing from me to Posie. ¡°How was she in college?¡± Posie shoots me a wide grin. ¡°Oh, she was popr. Great at managing her dual subjects of business and music. Charmed everyone with that voice of hers.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Now you¡¯re overselling me here.¡± ¡°Not in the least.¡± Posie leans closer to Anthony, lowering her voice. ¡°This girl right here used to sell out the student caf¨¦ when she was performing. She¡¯d write mash-ups of the most popr songs on the radio and sing them, harmonies and all.¡± ¡°Oh yes. I¡¯d y guitar and she¡¯d sing, sitting on a barstool with a single microphone, and bring down the house.¡± ¡°That was a long time ago,¡± I say. ¡°Yes, it was,¡± Posie agrees. ¡°Far too long. We should do it again, Summer. Find an open mic in the city and bring the ce down for old time¡¯s sake. This time I canp you on cello.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll help,¡± Anthony adds, voice serious. ¡°I¡¯m passable at ying the triangle.¡±? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. We bothugh at that, and Anthony smiles, even if the look he gives me is full of spection. He only knows me as the non-singing, post-Robin Summer. Posie is soon swept along on the tide of more friendse to celebrate her, so Anthony and I chat with some of my other college friends. Well, I chat. Anthony chimes in on asion, but he¡¯s mainly a quiet, stable presence beside me. It¡¯s at least twenty minutes until I see Robin for the first time. His hair is pushed back, disheveled nnel shirt front-tucked into a pair of jeans. I know they both cost more than they look. My fingers tighten around my ss of wine. Anthony shifts, bending down so his mouth rests against my ear. ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡± he murmurs. ¡°My ex is here.¡± His hand slides to my low back. ¡°The asshole.¡± The heartfelt epitaph falls naturally from his lips and Iugh, looking away from Robin to meet Anthony¡¯s dark gaze. ¡°Yeah, that very one.¡± ¡°How do you feel?¡± ¡°Happy.¡± His eyebrows knit. ¡°Happy?¡± ¡°Yes. Happy I¡¯m not with him anymore. Happy I¡¯m with you.¡± Anthony¡¯s thumb rubs a small caress through my dress. ¡°Ah,¡± he says. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± His lip curls, but as he bends and brushes my hair back, the heat in his voice is unmistakable. ¡°Yes, Summer. That¡¯s it. Unless you want me to show you how happy I am in front of all your college friends.¡± I sway a little on my wedge heels. ¡°Let¡¯s go home,¡± I tell him. His eyes dance as he lifts his head. ¡°Anything you want, but we can stay, if you¡¯d like.¡± I nce to where Posie is sitting, Ben¡¯s arm around her waist and a colleague from the Philharmonic beside her. There are more than enough people here to celebrate her and we have a dinner scheduled in a few days, just the two of us. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I repeat, standing on my tiptoes to get closer to him. ¡°Besides, Ace can¡¯t be alone for too long.¡± ¡°Oh yes,¡± he agrees. ¡°Let¡¯s go home for Ace¡¯s sake.¡± I kiss him, loving the pleased surprise in his eyes. ¡°Come on then, Winter.¡± We don¡¯t make it far before Robin intercepts us. He¡¯s holding a Whiskey Sour in one hand. I remember once drinking them reluctantly with him, because he so often ordered for me. How had I ever been with someone like that? The me I¡¯d been with him feels like the memory of a dream, and not a good one at that. ¡°Summer,¡± he says. His gaze slides to Anthony, and the calcting gleam in it is obvious to me now. Saved by the Boss 50 ¡°Hi, Robin,¡± I say. ¡°You weren¡¯t nning on leaving without saying hello to me, were you?¡± His smile doesn¡¯t show in his eyes. ¡°I was, actually.¡± He blinks. Looks back at me from his perusal of Anthony, and for the first time I remember, it actually seems like he¡¯s seeing me. ¡°Ah,¡± he says. ¡°Well, that¡¯s sneaky of you, Sum.¡±Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. Anthony clears his throat and extends a hand to Robin. ¡°Anthony Winter.¡± Well, that¡¯s not fair. He¡¯s breaking out his full name, knowing exactly what that thing does. I cheer him on silently. Robin¡¯s eyes narrow. ¡°Robin Whitlock,¡± he replies. ¡°A pleasure,¡± Anthony says in a bored drawl. ¡°Now, we were leaving, so if you¡¯ll please¡­¡± The hint of a flush rises in Robin¡¯s cheeks. Oh, I haven¡¯t forgotten how quick he is to anger when he feels shamed. I give him a brilliant smile. ¡°Take care of yourself, Robin.¡± We step past him toward the exit. If he responds, it¡¯s not something I hear. It¡¯s not something I want to either. Anthony doesn¡¯t put his arm around my shoulders or tug me against his side. He just brushes the back of his hand against mine in a subtle invitation, and I know him well enough to know it¡¯s not idental. I curl my fingers around his in answer. We walk hand-in-hand through the crowded bar, like we walk this way all the time. Like we¡¯re a confirmed item. My heart beats fast, and it¡¯s not only from the confrontation with Robin. Anthony stops a few feet from the door. It¡¯s such an abrupt stop that I startle, looking up at him. He¡¯s watching a couple in the opposite corner. There¡¯s nothing special about them. A dark-haired woman is sitting in the crook of a tall man¡¯s arm. They look a bit mismatched, perhaps. He has a leather jacket on and she wears a tweed zer. As we watch, the man turns her face up to his and kisses her. ¡°Anthony?¡± I ask. The look on his face sets my heart into overdrive. He looks¡­ outraged. Betrayed. Confused. ¡°My fucking eyes,¡± he mutters. ¡°I can¡¯t be sure¡­ I have to be sure, Summer.¡± ¡°Sure about what?¡± Barely taking his eyes off the couple, he pulls out his phone. A few secondster and there¡¯s an image of a pristine young brte on the screen. ¡°Is this her? Sitting over there?¡± I look from the image of a smiling woman with pearl earrings to the couple across the bar. ¡°Yes,¡± I whisper. ¡°It¡¯s her. Who is she, Anthony?¡± ¡°Cordelia Jacobs,¡± he says. ¡°My brother¡¯s fianc¨¦e.¡± I walk through the lobby of the Winter Hotel with quick strides. It won¡¯t be long until one or more of the concierges recognizes me, and once they do, there will be no end to the hello-ing and hi-ing I¡¯ll have to endure. Worse, because they¡¯re people I¡¯d once spent a lot of time with. Marcel at reception had looked after Isaac and me when we were children, letting us ride the luggage trolleys down the corridor sometimes when we visited. The plush carpet gives way under my feet as I walk up the marble staircases. The railing is polished to gleaming. The way it¡¯s always been, and if my brother has a say in it, the way it¡¯ll always be. The Winter Hotel is an institution. It¡¯s my family¡¯s greatest aplishment. It¡¯s also my family¡¯s ball-and-chain. Isaac¡¯s office is on the second floor. He¡¯ll be here, because he¡¯s always here on Thursday afternoons, and my older brother is as regr as clockwork. My mother likes to joke that it started with his birth, with him arriving at noon on the expected date. An attendant stares at me open-mouthed when I swipe my keycard to ess the staff corridor. Perhaps I¡¯m a ghost around here. A tale passed down to new employees, a name whispered. The lost son. I give a nod and shut the door behind me. Knock twice on Isaac¡¯s office door. ¡°Enter,¡± he calls. Ah, yes. Come on in is doubtless too many words. Not efficient enough. Isaac¡¯s eyes widen when he sees me and he pushes back from his desk. ¡°Anthony?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know you wereing in today.¡± ¡°It¡¯s an impromptu sort of thing.¡± He nods. nces to the chair opposite his desk. ¡°Well, I¡¯m d. It¡¯s been a long time.¡± ¡°It has.¡± ¡°You¡¯re answering my email in person,¡± he says, smiling. ¡°Does this mean you ept?¡± ¡°ept?¡± ¡°Being my best man.¡± My stomach sinks, and I do something I haven¡¯t done since this office belonged to our dad. I sit down in the chair opposite him. Wish I was anywhere but here. ¡°Isaac, about that¡­ I saw Cordelia yesterday. And she wasn¡¯t alone.¡± The taxi pulls up outside of Summer¡¯s Soho apartment. I pay him more than I should and wave away the change. My steps feel heavy and my head thick as I call her on the inte. ¡°Come in!¡± she sing-songs. Saved by the Boss 51 But when she opens the door for me and sees my expression, the smile on her face is wiped clean. ¡°It didn¡¯t go well?¡± ¡°Not particrly.¡± I wrap my arms around her waist and kick the door shut behind me. Nestle my head against the crook of her neck. God, I adore the way she smells. She runs a hand over my hair. ¡°That bad, huh?¡± ¡°That bad.¡± ¡°Well, I suppose there¡¯s no good way to tell anyone they¡¯re being cheated on.¡± ¡°It was worse.¡± ¡°Worse?¡± I lift my head with a sigh and finally say hello to Ace, who is eager and bouncing around my legs. His ears are silky beneath my hands. ¡°My brother didn¡¯t believe me.¡±C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. For once, it seems like I¡¯ve struck Summer speechless. She just stares at me. ¡°He didn¡¯t¡­ what?¡± I sigh. ¡°He didn¡¯t believe me. Something smells amazing. Are you cooking dinner?¡± ¡°Yes, there¡¯ssagna in the oven. You like that, right?¡± Turning toward the kitchen, I have to fight a sudden burning behind my eyes. There¡¯s no way she¡¯d understand how much this normalcy means. How rare it is in my life. How much I¡¯ll miss it when it¡¯s gone. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°I likesagna.¡± Summer says nothing, just runs a hand over my arm. Touching me casually. Easily. I bend to give Ace a final pat to get myself under control. ¡°Did he say why he didn¡¯t believe you?¡± she asks, opening the fridge. ¡°Wine?¡± ¡°Yes, thanks.¡± I sit down on one of her small kitchen chairs, stretching out my legs. She¡¯ll have to step over them as she moves around, that¡¯s how small this ce is. I ept the winess she hands me. ¡°I¡¯ve burned a lot of bridges with my family.¡± ¡°Yeah. More than¡­ yeah.¡± ¡°Howe?¡± She arranges vegetables on a cutting board as we speak, searching for a knife. Making a sd. Asking me without looking at me. I run a hand over my face and feel a century old. ¡°I haven¡¯t been particrly nice since I got my¡­ well. Since I found out about my eyes.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve been nice to me.¡± I¡¯m quiet for a beat. ¡°Yes. Well, you¡¯re an exception.¡± ¡°You¡¯re nice to your business partners.¡± ¡°I work with them.¡± ¡°Still, nice. You were really nice to my friends the other night too.¡± My lip lifts. Yes, I¡¯d made semi-pleasant small talk for forty-five minutes. It had been a small price to pay to be alongside her for the night. ¡°I¡¯m capable, I suppose. But not always.¡± ¡°And you haven¡¯t been nice to your family,¡± she says. ¡°A year ago,¡± I say carefully, ¡°I was at a family dinner with my parents, my brother, and Cordelia. Mom asked me about the future. My dating life, specifically. And I nearly bit my mother¡¯s head off at the dinner table.¡± I close my eyes, because the shame and self-loathing that floats inside of me can¡¯t handle Summer¡¯s gaze. ¡°I didn¡¯t trust myself around them for a long time. Not sure if I do, still.¡± Summer¡¯s voice is soft. ¡°It¡¯s okay to be angry about your vision, Anthony. To feel cheated or bitter.¡± ¡°Yeah. Well, they don¡¯t know any of that. They only know I¡¯ve be an unsociable asshole.¡± ¡°Do you think they¡¯d understand if you told them?¡± I open my eyes to see her leaning against her miniature kitchen counter. She has a small tomato stain on her lc dress and an expression so soft it slices through me. ¡°Yes,¡± I murmur. ¡°They would. But they¡¯ll also snap into fix-it mode. Start looking for ways to solve this problem or to adapt.¡± ¡°And you don¡¯t want that,¡± shepletes. ¡°Because adapting is surrendering.¡± ¡°I know it makes no sense.¡± ¡°It does, in a way. Even if it doesn¡¯t serve you.¡± She brushes her hands down her thighs, a thoughtful tone to her voice. ¡°Do you also want to protect them from it?¡± ¡°Hmm. I figured you might.¡± ¡°It¡¯ll crush my parents. My mother, in particr. How could it not?¡± She gives a slow nod. ¡°As long as they don¡¯t know, they don¡¯t hurt. And as long as they don¡¯t know, it¡¯s not real.¡± I shift on the chair, feeling too hot. Too seen. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Again, it makes sense, in a way,¡± she says. ¡°But I think they might appreciate you letting them in, and who knows? They might be helpful.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± The idea of being helped stings, though. So does the idea of bing reliant on others. It¡¯s what I can¡¯t bear to let happen to myself. Exercising that sneaky sixth sense of hers, she turns back to the sd. Hums a little melody in perfect pitch and sways her hips in tune. I lean back against the wall and watch her, drinking my wine. Pushing away the words my brother had said. The usations. It¡¯s not enough that you ignore your family. You¡¯re trying to sabotage us now, too? None of that exists here. Not to mention Summer is infinitely more interesting than me and my miserable future. ¡°How did it feel the other night?¡± I ask. ¡°Seeing him?¡± Saved by the Boss 52 Her humming stops, but not her swaying, as if she¡¯s still singing in her head. ¡°It felt great,¡± she says. ¡°Honestly. I didn¡¯t expect it to, but it did.¡± I cross my legs at the ankles and she jumps over them to reach the sink. ¡°When I think of him and me, and of who I was when I was with him, it feels so long ago.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± It¡¯s hard to see her shining goodness, her smiles andughter and jokes, and imagine her with someone who told her she couldn¡¯t sing. It makes my blood boil. ¡°Why were you together with him?¡± ¡°You¡¯re going tough,¡± she says, but doesn¡¯t sound the least bit concerned that I might. ¡°But I think I was more in love with the idea of us being in love, than actually with him. I was so in love with the idea of being in a rtionship¡­ that I didn¡¯t care about the red gs. Figured I could change him. Or he¡¯d change because of me.¡± She shakes her head, reaching up on her tiptoes to reach a bowl. ¡°It was stupid.¡± I¡¯m silent, absorbing that. Reminded of her love of love. Of true love. ¡°You know what, I really like that about you,¡± she says. This time there¡¯s a clear smile in her voice. ¡°Like what? I haven¡¯t said anything.¡± ¡°Yes, exactly.¡± The look she throws me over her shoulder is warm. ¡°You didn¡¯t rush in to tell me it wasn¡¯t stupid. Because I know you think it was. And that¡¯s okay.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have called it stupid. Hopeful, maybe. Even beautiful in a way. But no, I don¡¯t think believing love will change someone¡¯s shitty behavior is a solid strategy.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t either. Not anymore. So I suppose I should say thank you to him, really.¡± ¡°Maybe that¡¯s taking it a step too far. He¡¯s still an asshole.¡± Sheughs, looking down at the chopping board. I can see the curve of her lips from where I¡¯m sitting. ¡°You still believe in true love,¡± I said. ¡°He didn¡¯t¡­ ruin that?¡± ¡°For a while, maybe,¡± she says. She looks across the room to Ace, who¡¯s lying down and watching her move in the kitchen with attentive self-interest. ¡°But I see it too much to ever doubt its existence.¡± ¡°Your parents.¡± ¡°My parents,¡± she agrees. ¡°But also in my friends, in stories I read, in the world. In every call I receive from one of Opate¡¯s clients gushing about the match we set up. It¡¯s everywhere, if you look hard enough.¡± ¡°I wish I could see the world the way you do.¡± She puts down the knife and turns, eyes meeting mine. ¡°You mean that?¡± I run a hand over my face. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°I see it the way you do, I suppose. But in reverse.¡± ¡°You see evidence that love doesn¡¯t exist everywhere?¡± I shift in the seat, rearrange my legs. Run a hand through my hair. ¡°Not everywhere.¡± Summer doesn¡¯t push. She finishes the sd instead. Puts two tes on the table and bends to check the oven. ¡°Two minutes.¡± ¡°My ex,¡± I say. ¡°It didn¡¯t end¡­ well. I found out about the diagnosis and a monthter, she told me it wasn¡¯t working anymore.¡± ¡°Oh. I¡¯m sorry, Anthony.¡± ¡°Yeah. Well, I was pretty foolish, I suppose, to think she¡¯d stay. Who¡¯d want to shackle themselves to a man who¡¯ll need help for theing decades?¡± I shake my head. ¡°She did the right thing.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t believe that,¡± Summer says. ¡°Not really, or it wouldn¡¯t have hurt.¡± I look down at the te in front of me. Fiddle with the fork. ¡°Yeah. I suppose.¡± ¡°You talk as if you¡¯ll be paralyzed. You won¡¯t. There are ways to live-¡± My raised hand stops her. ¡°Please, Summer. I¡­ please.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t, then. Just don¡¯t talk disparagingly about yourself to me, okay? I happen to really like you, and no one talks bad to you in front of me. Not even you.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°My savior.¡± ¡°That¡¯s me. Now, do you want extra parmesan with yoursagna?¡± ¡°If the question is between cheese and more cheese, there¡¯s only one answer.¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. Her smile lights up her face, a difficult topic dispelled. It must be effortless for her. ¡°See, I know there¡¯s a reason I keep you around.¡± ¡°My infinite wisdom, yes. Happy to oblige.¡± Our knees touch under the table as we eat, and talk, about everything and nothing. It¡¯s cramped. The table is tiny. But the wine is drinkable and her food delicious, impressive, homemade. Cooked for us. For me. I insist on doing the dishes afterwards and endure herughter. ¡°You¡¯ve never done this before?¡± she says, reaching past me for the dish soap. ¡°Of course I have.¡± ¡°You fill the sink up first.¡± ¡± I just hadn¡¯t gotten to that part.¡± ¡°Mhm. You¡¯ve clearly never lived in a ce without a dishwasher,¡± she says. ¡°It shows.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t cook either.¡± ¡°What do you live off of? When you¡¯re not at mine?¡± Our elbows rub together as we inefficiently wash a dish. My fingers graze over hers beneath the soapy surface. ¡°I order in, mostly.¡± ¡°All the time? Like, for every meal?¡± I shrug. ¡°I suppose, yes.¡± ¡°Wow,¡± she breathes. Her hip bumps into mine, and I keep mine there, our bodies side-to-side. I¡¯ll never tire of hers. ¡°I haven¡¯t thought about it muchtely, but¡­ there¡¯s such a difference between us.¡± I nce down. ¡°We¡¯re different in some areas, yeah.¡± ¡°I meant financially,¡± she says, shaking her head. ¡°Sorry. Perhaps I shouldn¡¯t have used the F-word.¡± Saved by the Boss 53 ¡°F-word stands for finance? Man, I¡¯ve always wondered.¡± Sheughs, reaching for the plug. Drains the sink. ¡°I just mean, when it¡¯s only the two of us here, I usually forget that you technically own my aunt¡¯s business. That yourst name is on hotels all over the country or that you can afford to order takeout nonstop.¡± I lean against the counter and watch her flit around the kitchte. She needs to step past me every time she passes, and on one such pass, I catch her. Wrap my hands around her waist. ¡°I think I prefer it when it¡¯s just the two of us here.¡± She runs her hands up my shoulders. ¡°I think I do too.¡± ¡°Does it bother you?¡± I ask. ¡°The difference?¡± Her hand smooths my hair back from my forehead, and this close, with the kitchen light, I can make out the flecks of gold in her blue eyes. ¡°No. Although¡­ no.¡±C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. ¡°Although what?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know how to tell my aunt. About us. I mean, technically, I don¡¯t really know if there¡¯s anything to tell yet? You said you didn¡¯t do rtionships.¡± Her eyes are on the lock of my hair she¡¯s smoothing back. The tentative hope in her voice feels like a stab, the sweetest poison. In the end, I give her apromise. ¡°Are you happy, Summer? With me?¡± She nods and her eyes meet mine. ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m d,¡± I say, tilting her head up to meet mine. ¡°I¡¯m happy with you too.¡± I wake up to a warm bed, a warm man, and a door being softly nudged open. Ace¡¯s nose bumps against my hand a few secondster. I turn my fingers into his fur. One hand on each of my boys, I think, tracing Anthony¡¯s arm around my waist with my other. He¡¯s stayed the night, as he¡¯s often done. Carried me from the couch to the bed. Despite my cracked bedroom window, the summer air is stifling. Our bodies stick together in the heat. Neither of us has moved away. He grumbles behind me as I shift, arm flexing around my waist. ¡°Just checking the time.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t need the time,¡± he says, voice raspy. ¡°It¡¯s Saturday.¡± ¡°Saturdays are worth seizing.¡± ¡°Christ. Have you ever just spent half the day in bed? Doing nothing?¡± I turn onto my back, and his hand slips beneath my camisole,rge hand syed on my stomach. There¡¯s a thud as Ace lies down beside the bed. ¡°Of course I have.¡± ¡°Really,¡± Anthony says. ¡°When?¡± ¡°Well¡­ do you want a specific date?¡± ¡°Specificity would help.¡± I turn and look at him. Disheveled hair, soft eyes. To think I¡¯d sized him up as not for me. Unguarded and newly awake, he¡¯s glorious. A secret only I get to know. ¡°See?¡± he says. ¡°You can¡¯t think of any. You¡¯re a seize-the-day kind of girl.¡± ¡°Guilty,¡± I admit. ¡°Take me away to the dungeons-I surrender!¡± ¡°About that. Where are your dungeons around here?¡± ¡°We haven¡¯t installed any yet. Working on it.¡± ¡°Just what this ce needs.¡± ¡°Mmm. That reminds me. I still haven¡¯t seen how you live.¡± ¡°Oh, I have plenty of dungeons.¡± ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s why I haven¡¯t taken you there.¡± ¡°Scared I¡¯ll run if I see them?¡± He shakes his head. A lock of dark hair falls over his forehead and I smooth it back. ¡°They¡¯re only something I show to true connoisseurs.¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t passed the test yet, then.¡± ¡°No. Doubt you¡¯d like them either.¡± He turns over, lifts himself onto his free arm. His right hand makeszy circles on my stomach. ¡°You¡¯re hopeless in the doom and gloom department.¡± ¡°I could try. Dress in all ck and start scowling. You could teach me that.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t wear all ck.¡± I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Not all the time I don¡¯t.¡± ¡°At the office you always do.¡± ¡°That¡¯s because I¡¯m wearing a suit there.¡± ¡°Suitse in other colors than ck.¡± He looks up at the ceiling, like he¡¯s beseeching a higher power to give him strength, but he¡¯s smiling. I can tell. ¡°It¡¯s too early to argue with you.¡± ¡°Now, how would you know it¡¯s early? You didn¡¯t let me look at a watch.¡± Saved by the Boss 54 ¡°Outsmarted,¡± he says morosely. Bends his head to kiss my neck. ¡°Are you as warm as me?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, and hook my leg over his hip. It does nothing to keep either of us cool. ¡°I hate the city on days like this,¡± he murmurs against my skin. ¡°Do you have any ns this weekend?¡± ¡°No, not really.¡± ¡°Montauk,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Montauk,¡± I whisper back. It should feel strange packing my things with him in the apartment, or getting into the car with a driver he summons with a few clicks on his phone. But it doesn¡¯t. Not as he makes dryments about what I pack that make meugh, or when he¡¯s the one to leash Ace and give an approving click of his tongue when my dog heels. Not as we arrive at the beach house paradise, the ce he loathed for what it represented. ¡°Home sweet home,¡± he says dryly. I step past him into the kitchen. Set down the bag of groceries we¡¯d stopped for on the kitchen counter. ¡°Don¡¯t you think there¡¯s a way to still live in New York? After?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t imagine a more deadly situation than walking blind through the city,¡± he says. I watch his back as he strides to the double-doors and opens them up to the patio and the white sand beyond. The ocean is a glittering blue in the distance. Ace weaves around his legs, tail wagging faster than I¡¯ve seen it before, and Anthony bends down. He¡¯s too far away, but I think I make out the words you like it here, don¡¯t you, boy? That¡¯s a good dog. I smile down at the chicken filets we¡¯d bought. My heart feels like it¡¯s doubling in size and constricting at the same time. ¡°I¡¯ve seen people who were blind in the city before,¡± I say instead. ¡°On the subway.¡± ¡°With a cane,¡± he responds. Tugs off his jacket and throws it over the back of the sofa. The tone of his voice makes it clear that¡¯s not an option for him. ¡°Come on. I want us to take a walk on the beach.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°What?¡± ¡°No, nothing. I¡¯m down. I¡¯m just surprised you¡¯re the one suggesting it.¡± He looks at me for a long moment, but then his lip curls. ¡°Yeah. Well, I guess some of your seize-the-day nonsense has rubbed off on me.¡± I shut the fridge door with my foot. ¡°Then let¡¯s squeeze all the juice out of this one.¡± The day doesn¡¯tin, despite my brutal phrasing. We¡¯re both sweaty when we return with a sandy dog in tow. ¡°Pool,¡± I say, reaching for the hem of my T-shirt. ¡°Now.¡± Anthony grins and reaches for his own. Here, beneath the sun, it¡¯s like he¡¯s a different person. The man I¡¯d once seen sitting opposite me in the darkness feels a million miles away. But I know he¡¯s not. He¡¯s here too, when he thinks I don¡¯t see him. The darkened eyes and scowl. Or, sometimes, the long looks when he¡¯s sure I won¡¯t notice. I wish he¡¯d share what he¡¯s feeling with me. To have a diagnosis like that, hanging like the sword of Damocles over one¡¯s future. My heart aches. I wish he would let me tell him that, too. That he¡¯s worth staying with. Fighting for. But most of all, I wish he¡¯d believe that himself. Anthony looks at me with those inscrutable eyes from the pool, his head slicked along his skull. I won¡¯t be surprised if he knows where my mind¡¯s gone. My parents still tease me about myck of a poker face. ¡°Coming in?¡± he asks. I nod, stepping out of my shorts, and dive into his arms. It¡¯ste that night when I pull out the pi¨¨ce de resistance, the thing I¡¯d seen in the grocery store and been unable to resist. Somehow Anthony hadn¡¯t seen it in the checkout line. ¡°Marshmallows?¡± he asks. ¡°And¡­ graham crackers. Are you making some sort of dessert?¡± ¡°S¡¯mores,¡± I say. ¡°We¡¯re making s¡¯mores. How could you not have guessed that?¡± He turns a chocte bar over in his hands. ¡°Right. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever had it.¡± ¡°Please tell me you¡¯re joking.¡± ¡°Okay. I¡¯m joking.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not very convincing.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°If it¡¯s so important to you, you should have asked me about it when you created my dating profile. It should make for a good prompt.¡± ¡°I would¡¯ve,¡± I grumble, ¡°if I knew I was nning on dating you myself.¡± Anthonyughs and reaches for one of the marshmallows. He pops it into his mouth and chews. ¡°These are really not that good,¡± he says. Ites out half-mangled. Iugh, pushing at him. ¡°They¡¯re much better half-melted and gooey.¡± ¡°Mhm. You sure about that?¡± ¡°One hundred percent. How have you never had these?¡± He shrugs. ¡°I¡¯ve never been camping. But I trust you. You¡¯re a great cook.¡±C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. The earnestness in his voice is what makes me blush. I make simple pasta dishes and know the incrediblyplicated recipe for s¡¯mores. But he¡¯s entirely genuine. ¡°Thank you,¡± I murmur. ¡°But it must be easy to impress a guy who mostly eats takeout.¡± His crooked smile is back. He reaches past me for the tray and we make it out to the patio. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he says. ¡°My mother used to cook a lot.¡± ¡°Used to?¡± I ask. ¡°Still does, I suppose. But I haven¡¯t been there for a while,¡± he says, pulling out my chair for me. It¡¯s such a quaint, old-school movement that I smile, but Anthony looks lost in thought. I light the candles. Wrap a nket around my shoulders and pull my legs up beneath me. The sun is setting, and it won¡¯t be long until the sky is star-filled and luminous. ¡°My parents have a family dinner every Sunday, without fail,¡± he continues. ¡°They¡¯ll invite people over. Aunts, uncles. Family friends.¡± Saved by the Boss 55 ¡°That sounds nice.¡± ¡°Yeah. It can be.¡± ¡°When was thest time you went?¡± Anthony looks out to the ocean. ¡°I think it was around Christmas.¡± It¡¯s July now. I swallow, looking down at the lit candles. My parents would be heartbroken if I didn¡¯t want to remain in close contact with them. So would I, for that matter. ¡°Anyway,¡± he says, reaching for one of the skewers and turning it over in hisrge hands. ¡°I imagine our childhoods were pretty different.¡± ¡°You mean mine wasn¡¯t s¡¯mores-deprived?¡± His lip quirks. ¡°Right. You probably sat at the campfire every summer evening with your loving parents, surrounded by a pack of well-trained dogs, and grilled s¡¯mores.¡± ¡°You make it sound so idyllic.¡± ¡°Wasn¡¯t it?¡± he challenges. I skewer a marshmallow. ¡°Sometimes it was like that. There were certainly always dogs around.¡± ¡°And your friends,¡± he adds, ¡°who your parents treated like their own kids. You were popr in school. But not in the cliquey kind of way, no, everyone just wanted to be your friend, and you found everyone interesting. ¡± I look at him, and he looks back at me, an eyebrow raised. ¡°Am I wrong?¡±Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. ¡°Not really, I suppose. I don¡¯t know if everyone wanted to be my friend, but I was friendly with most.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a yes, then.¡± ¡°Think you have me all figured out?¡± ¡°I had you all figured out the first day I met you.¡± Iugh. ¡°d to be such a mystery.¡± Anthony doesn¡¯tugh. He lowers his skewer instead. ¡°You are, though. The mystery is how you do it.¡± ¡°How I do what?¡± ¡°How you manage to stay happy, and optimistic, and willing to see the best in everyone.¡± ¡°Right,¡± I murmur, looking down. ¡°And birds help me dress in the morning.¡± He knocks my marshmallow with his own. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m not mocking you. I know I¡¯ve teased you about it before, but Summer¡­ your optimism is genuine. That¡¯s the way you see the world. It¡¯s impressive. It¡¯s aplete fucking mystery to me how you do it, but it¡¯s breathtaking.¡± I meet his gaze, dark and earnest. I don¡¯t think a man has ever looked at me the way he does. Like he¡¯s trying to memorize my every feature. ¡°I¡¯m not always happy.¡± ¡°I know,¡± he says. ¡°But you¡¯re always genuine.¡± ¡°An open book, or so I¡¯ve been told.¡± ¡°You let people see you, Summer. That¡¯s strength.¡± This time, I reach out and take his hand. He flips his over and long fingers tighten around mine. ¡°You should let people see you too,¡± I murmur. ¡°Because you¡¯re amazing.¡± Anthony looks down at our intertwined hands. His thumb makes a slow, sweeping arc over my palm. When he speaks, his voice has dropped. ¡°The more time passes, the more difficult it feels to¡­ well. I know I have to tell people in my life about my vision. Fuck, of course I know that, Summer. But that will make it real. As long as I¡¯m the only one who knows, I can pretend it¡¯s not happening.¡± My heart aches with the need to reach out and hug him. To say that everything will be okay. I sit still instead, listening. Bearing witness to his pain. I think he needs to be listened to. We talk as we eat s¡¯mores, slow and haltingly. Anthony swears when molten chocte escapes down his fingers and I can¡¯t keep fromughing. ¡°They¡¯re good,¡± he admits. ¡°Messy, and simple, but good.¡± ¡°They¡¯re a summer thing, like watermelon and mosquito bites. You have to have them at least once.¡± He grimaces and pushes away the half-empty bag of marshmallows. ¡°I can live without the mosquito bites. Come here, join me on this side.¡± I shift over to his side of the patio and sit next to him. There¡¯s a soft sweep of fur against my bare leg and I nce down. Ace is syed over Anthony¡¯s feet, his face tucked against Anthony¡¯s ankle. Thick as thieves. ¡°He loves you,¡± I murmur. Anthony looks down at my dog. A smile ys around his lips. ¡°He¡¯s a good dog.¡± ¡°They really are man¡¯s best friend.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± he says, and I wonder if he¡¯s thinking the same thing I am. About guide dogs. ¡°They are.¡± I nestle against his side and he snorts, lifting his arm and draping it over my shoulders. The night is beautiful, warm and calm, the ocean a soft sigh against the nearby shore. ¡°I love this ce,¡± I say. Anthony¡¯s hand moves over my shoulder. ¡°Then I¡¯m d I got it.¡± My heart feels full of love for more than just his house, but I don¡¯t say it. Not yet. The knowledge settles like warm honey in my stomach. I rest my head against his shoulder and look up. The moon is a barely-there slice in the sky, surrounded by friends, their faraway light shining down on us in tiny pinpricks. ¡°Do you know any constetions?¡± I ask. ¡°I¡¯ve never been able to pick out anything apart from the Little and Big Dipper.¡± Anthony doesn¡¯t answer right away. When he does, his voice is thoughtful. ¡°I can¡¯t remember thest time I saw the stars.¡± ¡°You mean¡­¡± Saved by the Boss 56 ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°One night, the stars went out for me, and they¡¯ll never return. The night sky has gone dark.¡± I¡¯m d for the darkness now, hiding the emotion on my face. My heart feels like it¡¯s breaking for him. ¡°I¡¯m thankful I saw you, at any rate,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Before it all goes ck.¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. My eyes overfill. I don¡¯t know how he knows, but he does, his free hand smoothing the tears away from my cheeks. ¡°Don¡¯t cry, Summer,¡± he whispers. ¡°Not for me.¡± I do anyway. ¡°How can you bear it? How do you keep from despairing?¡± He kisses my temple and pulls me close. ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± he says, the sound like a confession against my hair. ¡°You just haven¡¯t seen it yet.¡± I reach for the ss of scotch on my coffee table and nearly knock it over. The slippery thing has moved since I put it downst. It¡¯s safer to keep it clutched tight in hand. It burns going down my throat as I drain it. It¡¯s been a while since Ist sat here, in this chair, in my own living room, downing booze. Racking my brain through the splitting headache is hard, but not impossible. It was a few weeks before I met Summer. Not terribly surprising, that. She¡¯d been bright enough to drown out the darkness. Concentrating on anything else, including my own misery, was difficult with her around. But she¡¯s not around now. No elephantmp in the corner of her apartment, no thick oriental rugs or the chamomile tea she makes. Tea. I¡¯d bought that for myself. I look toward the kitchen, but making it feels like too much effort. It would help me sleep, but so will the scotch, and it¡¯s closer at hand. Perhaps it¡¯ll also help me forget. elerating. That was Dr. Johnson¡¯s word this morning. elerating. I prefer it when it¡¯s used in rtion to fast cars and not mentioned in the same sentence as retinitis pigmentosa, vision degradation, blindness. It¡¯s like I¡¯m in a fight, and I¡¯m swinging, but my arms are getting tired. And I¡¯m losing. And I know I¡¯m losing, know failure is the only oue, but I can¡¯t for the life of me give up the fight. Not yet. I pour myself two more knuckles¡¯ worth of scotch and lean back in the chair. Close my eyes. ckness behind my lids. Will I see that, then, one day? The doctor doesn¡¯t know. There¡¯s a ton he doesn¡¯t know, as it so happens. Not how quickly I¡¯ll lose my eyesight. Not how much of it I¡¯ll lose. If I¡¯ll retain the ability to differentiate between light or darkness. If I¡¯ll maintain tunnel vision. Or if I¡¯ll be blind as a bat before the year is out. But he does know that it¡¯s elerating, oh yes. He was very sure of that. You¡¯ve noticed the deterioration in your night vision? Yes. How is reading for you these days? It works if I increase the size of text. And have a very bright light. Up the contrast. And printed text? I¡¯d shifted in my seat. If it¡¯s big enough, I¡¯d said. Dr. Johnson had done what he always did. Looked into my worthless eyes, taken notes on hisputer, returned to my eyes. Gone through a series of tests, all of them already confirming what we both know. I¡¯d made a joke to the good old doctor. You know, I¡¯d told him, as he peered at an erged photograph of my eye. All of my worst memories include you. He¡¯dughed, because he meets people like me daily, sorry fuckers who are losing life one day at a time. I drain half of my ss. Going too fast, too fast, both the drink and my eyes. Too fast. I¡¯m supposed to have more time. More time with Summer. More time to tell people. To fucking adjust, as Dr. Johnson keeps telling me. Adjust. As if anyone could. Summer¡¯s out with friends tonight and I¡¯m d she is. Mostly. Jealous, too, if I¡¯m being honest. I push up from the armchair and make my way to the en-suite by my bedroom in search of a little white bottle with pills. Painkillers. Blessed relief-bearers. They help with the migraines. I get the twist cap open and pour out two into my empty hand. Look at the ss of scotch in my right. I know this is a bad idea. But the part of my brain that cares is locked away. I can see it, but I can¡¯t feel it, and it sure can¡¯t reach me. So I swallow the pills and drain them with alcohol. Set the ss down on the marble. Make my way to my bed and stretch out on the linens. They don¡¯t smell like Summer, because she has never been here. They smell likeundry. The cleaningdy must have been here recently. It¡¯s off, the smell. Like I¡¯m in a hotel or a rental. I twist over on my back and close my eyes. Decide to see how long I¡¯llst in the ckness before the crushing sense in my chest gets too much. It¡¯s not a fun game, but it is preparation. And wasn¡¯t that what Dr. Johnson wanted me to do? Adjust. Look at me trying, Doc. I wake up to a room cast in sharp, painful light. The curtains. I hadn¡¯t drawn the curtainsst night. The pressure grip around the crown of my head feels like a steel vise. The alcohol, probably. Its wondrous effects are always short-term. The sound of a doorbell being insistently pressed rings through the house. Was that what woke me up? Summer. I¡¯d invited Summer here today. It¡¯s Saturday. I¡¯m supposed to show her my ce. Walk around the neighborhood. Fuck. I push myself out of bed and run a hand through my hair. Stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth. Close the door to my bedroom on the way out. I hadn¡¯t forgotten. But it had been pushed to the back, too painful to touch, along with the realization that I have less time with her left than I thought. elerating, elerating, fucking elerating. I reach the front door. Try, and fail, to take a deep breath before I open it. ¡°Good morning,¡± Summer says. Her wheat-colored hair falls in waves around her face, bouncing as she holds up a paper bag. ¡°I brought us bagels.¡± ¡°Right. Nice.¡± Saved by the Boss 57 Her smile shrinks, eyes zeroing in on mine. Seeing too much by far. ¡°Are you okay, Anthony?¡± ¡°Yeah. You want toe in?¡± ¡°Um, yes. If that¡¯s okay?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± I push open the door to illustrate just how okay it is. Ace is a tail-wagging, excited storm of a dog at my feet, pushing his nose against my leg. I bend down and give him a solid pat hello. ¡°Good dog,¡± I murmur and shut the door behind them. Summer stands in the middle of my living room and takes it all in. I feel my stomach sink as I look at the ce through her eyes. I distinctly remember nning to tidy up yesterday. Dr. Johnson had derailed all those ns. His words had lured me back to a dark ce with no way out. I shove my hands into the pockets of my crumpled cks and watch as she walks around the living room. The old marble mantlepiece. The leather sofas. The box of takeout on my coffee table and the half-empty bottle of scotch. It¡¯s clean, at least, thanks to the house cleaners. But evidence of my life is everywhere. ¡°This townhouse is old,¡± she says. Not what I expected. I clear my throat. ¡°Yeah. Late neenth century, I think.¡± ¡°Have you lived here long?¡± ¡°Yes. My grandparents lived here for a time when I was a child. We visited a lot. They moved to a different property a while back and neither my parents nor my brother wanted this ce.¡± I shrug. My mouth is running. With the headache and the darkness hanging over me like a cloud, the filter is gone. ¡°I¡¯ve always liked this street.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a lovely area of New York. Very quiet.¡± ¡°It is.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got three stories for yourself?¡± She turns, smiling at me from across the room. The sunlight through the windows gilds her, the tan of her skin a beautiful contrast against her yellow sundress. ¡°Doesn¡¯t that get lonely?¡± I clear my throat. ¡°Sometimes, I suppose. But I like my privacy.¡± ¡°You sure do.¡± She crosses the space and reaches for me, her arms wrapping around my waist. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re okay?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t I look it?¡± I ask. Take a tendril of her hair between my fingers. ¡°No,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m here to listen if you want to talk.¡± I step out of her arms and head toward the kitchen. Turning my back on her hurts, but spilling out the truth hurts more. It feels like a flood inside me and the gates are already weak. ¡°Want something to drink?¡± ¡°Yes, sure.¡± I open the fridge. Close it again, and hope she didn¡¯t see. It¡¯s pitiful. I can¡¯t remember thest time I ate anything in this ce that wasn¡¯t takeout, and for the past two weeks, I¡¯ve spent more time at hers than mine. Her ce. I wish we were there now. Pizza and that stupid elephantmp and Ace watching us from his sprawl on the opposite couch. ¡°Water¡¯s okay?¡± I ask. Stupid, Anthony. ¡°Of course.¡± There¡¯s a rustling sound as she sits down by my kitchen table. ¡°The weather is beautiful outside. It¡¯s ridiculously warm, really. We could go to the parkter?¡± ¡°Good idea.¡± I hand her the ss of water. Retreat to the kitchen counter and lean against it. To think there¡¯ll be a time when I won¡¯t be able to see her, sitting right there in front of me, so beautiful it feels like my heart is being torn out of my body. The world creates beauty like this, and then takes my eyes away from me. The cruelty of it is ripping me apart. She puts her ss down. ¡°Anthony?¡± ¡°My eyes are getting worse.¡± ¡°Oh. It¡¯s progressing?¡± ¡°Quicker than the doctor had thought.¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. It¡¯s there, then. The look of pity and sorrow in her eyes. I can see it and it hurts like a freight train. That I¡¯m the one causing her this. That I¡¯m someone to be pitied. Both and neither, all wrapped up in one. ¡°Do they have a timeline?¡± she asks. I shake my head and look past her to the beckoning sunlight beyond. ¡°Nothing concrete, but he said a couple of years, most likely. Could be two. Could be eight. But it¡¯s not decades, at least.¡± ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Anthony.¡± The soft-spoken words grate. I don¡¯t want to be someone she¡¯s sorry for. I want to be someone she can trust, someone she can turn to. A man she can see a future with. Fuck, I haven¡¯t let myself think of the future in a long time. But I want it now, with her. I want it so bad it¡¯s like acid on my tongue. And I can¡¯t have it. ¡°It might be easier for you if we end this now.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asks. ¡°It might be easier for you if you don¡¯t get too invested in this before I¡¯m out of the picture. Ending it now as opposed to in a year or two.¡± ¡°Anthony,¡± she says, with infuriating calm, ¡°you¡¯re not dying.¡± I have to smile at that. It¡¯s humorless, like me, like the pathetic existence I have to look forward to. ¡°I might as well be. My way of life is dying. My career. My interests.¡± ¡°You bought the house in Montauk as a getaway,¡± she whispers. ¡°Yes, well, I suppose I should start learning where everything is. It¡¯ll be a prison soon enough.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Is this why you told me once you had no interest in rtionships? In love?¡± The words slip through my teeth like nails beneath a tire. Puncturing something on their way out. ¡°I¡¯m not going to be a burden on anyone, Summer. I refuse.¡± Saved by the Boss 58 She pushes her chair back and stands. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be a burden. Anthony, you can¡¯t possibly think that.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t possibly think that? So you¡¯ll never get tired of me not being able to navigate the house we live in? Never resentful that I can¡¯t take you ces? That I¡¯ll slow you down, hinder your trips, stand in the way of all those dreams of yours. Your bucket list, Summer. I won¡¯t be able to tell you if your haircut looks good, let alone hike with you to Machu Phu.¡± There¡¯s a stunned look on her face. She hasn¡¯t considered this, then. Good. I¡¯ve had enough time to consider it for the both of us. ¡°There are ways,¡± she murmurs. ¡°Ways to learn to live with it. Guide dogs, white canes, braille¡­ I know this won¡¯t defeat you.¡± ¡°How do you know that?¡± ¡°Because you¡¯re stronger than this, Anthony. You¡¯re the strongest person I¡¯ve met.¡± I shake my head at her. ¡°You don¡¯t understand.¡± She buries her hand in Ace¡¯s fur. He¡¯s pressed against her leg, looking between us. ¡°I don¡¯t. You¡¯re right. But that doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t want to be here, because I do, Anthony.¡± ¡°You want children,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s on your bucket list.¡± The look she gives me is wide-eyed. She¡¯s not following, but she nods. I tap a finger against my temple. ¡°What kind of husband would I make? What kind of father?¡± ¡°A good one.¡± A tear rolls down her cheek, and in the king of all ironies, I can see it with shattering rity. ¡°A useless one,¡± I correct her. ¡°I refuse to be someone you have to take care of. Summer, I would rather die than be anything less than a true partner to you.¡± The small shake of her head is one of denial as her illusions shatter. Because the truth is I¡¯ll never be the man she wants me to be. Never able to live up to her fantasies of true love and two-point-five children. ¡°You should find someone else,¡± I tell her. Nod to the door. ¡°Use your own matchmaking service, Summer. Find a man who can take you on trips and give you children. Who doesn¡¯t spend the night passed out on painkillers and alcohol. You want a rtionship like your parents have.¡± ¡°It¡¯s my choice too,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s my choice who I want in my life. And I want you.¡± ¡°Now, maybe. But you won¡¯t in the future.¡± She takes a step closer. Her eyes are wet, but the set of her mouth is sharp. ¡°Stop telling me what I want! Damn it, Anthony. Would you rather your pride kept youpany at night than me?¡± ¡°This has nothing to do with my pride.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t it? Because I think it starts and ends with that.¡± She shakes her head again, blowing out a breath. ¡°I don¡¯t agree with you, Anthony. I don¡¯t agree with how you see yourself or your future.¡± ¡°You will, in time.¡± ¡°No, I won¡¯t.¡± She reaches up and puts a hand on my cheek. I can¡¯t handle the emotion shining in her eyes, so I do what I usually hate. I shut my eyes. ¡°I disagree with a lot of the things you¡¯ve said today,¡± she says shakily. ¡°Your life isn¡¯t over, and I won¡¯t let you throw the rest of it away. And as for me? Don¡¯t you dare make decisions for me about what I can and can¡¯t handle, or decide what I do or do not want.¡± Her hand slides off my cheek, and when I open my eyes again, she¡¯s back by the kitchen table. A flush is stark on her cheeks. ¡°I think it¡¯s best if I left for today,¡± she says. I nod. She should leave and nevere back, if she knows what¡¯s good for her. Her eyes fill again, like I¡¯ve given the wrong response. But the vulnerability is gone as she turns on her heel and heads toward my front door. Ace stays seated in the kitchen, a soft whine escaping his throat. ¡°Come on, Ace!¡± she calls out. I¡¯ve never heard her use steel in her voice before when speaking to him. He gives me onest long, brown-eyed look. ¡°Go on, boy,¡± I tell him. He turns, shoulders down and tail between his legs, trotting to where Summer has already left. I sink back onto my chair with a sigh. That was the longest meeting with a client I¡¯ve ever had. He¡¯d been meticulous about the details, and the fast prompts I¡¯d given him had be opportunities for soliloquies. But between the shyness in his expression and the depth of intellect his responses betrayed, finding a match for him won¡¯t be difficult.? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. I already have a few ideas, but I¡¯ll have to look through our client database to be sure. A tentative knock on the door to my office and Suzy sticks her head in. We share a look. ¡°I was so close toing up with a fake meeting for you, just to get you out of that one,¡± she says. ¡°Thanks. We should have some sort of signal for that.¡± ¡°We should. Like, if you call out to reception twice in quick session.¡± ¡°Or I can email you.¡± ¡°Or you can email me,¡± she says, grinning. ¡°Did it go okay?¡± ¡°Absolutely. I think he¡¯s just anxious to get his responses right, and well¡­ not everyone isfortable with the idea of using a dating service.¡± ¡°Very true.¡± She steps into my office, leaving the door open behind her, and looks at herself in the gilded mirror. Runs a finger below her eyes to catch any falling mascara. ¡°You look great,¡± I tell her. ¡°I love this green dress on you.¡± She beams. ¡°Thank you. It was a thrift-store find. Vintage Herm¨¨s.¡± ¡°Yes. Had to get it dry-cleaned, but it was worth it.¡± ¡°You should tell Vivienne about that store, if you haven¡¯t already. She might give you a raise on that alone.¡± We bothugh. My aunt¡¯s eclectic taste in everything expensive and historic is evident in the decor of our office, not to mention her own wless outfits. ¡°I will,¡± Suzy says. ¡°She hasn¡¯te into the office yet today, though.¡± ¡°Not even while I had my meeting?¡± Saved by the Boss 59 She shakes her head. ¡°Do you know what¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, frowning. We haven¡¯t had one of our usual lunches in weeks. When I see her, she¡¯s usually leaving, or so am I, like ships passing in the night. ¡°Maybe she¡¯s just conducting more business outside of the office,¡± I suggest. It¡¯s not unusual for Vivienne to meet with high-profile clients at restaurants or caf¨¦s. Hers has always been a casual touch. ¡°Yes,¡± Suzy agrees. ¡°At any rate, she¡¯ll be in this afternoon. Ryan ising by to show us thetest prototypes for the app.¡± ¡°Oh, he is?¡± ¡°Mmm.¡± She pulls out a tube of lipstick and applies it carefully in the mirror. I raise my eyebrows. ¡°Suzy¡­¡± ¡°Yes?¡± she asks, all innocence. But then she breaks into a wide smile. ¡°Okay, fine. He¡¯s absolutely delicious.¡± Iugh. ¡°Of course he is.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve met him. Don¡¯t you agree? Oh, Summer, is itpletely unprofessional if I ask him out? I know he¡¯s working for Acture and all, and they technically own us now.¡± I smile at her. There is nothing I can say to that, not when I¡¯ve spent nearly all of my free time over the past month with Anthony. Suzy dating his employee pales inparison. I¡¯ve been meaning to tell Vivienne that, too, but¡­ ¡°Summer? You really don¡¯t think I should, do you?¡± ¡°No, I think you should go right ahead. You¡¯re brave, Suzy.¡± She beams at me again. ¡°Thank you. What¡¯s the worst thing that can happen? That he says no.¡± So simple, and so true. After she¡¯s left, I take her ce in front of therge mirror. Smooth a hand over my dress and repeat her process of double-checking that my mascara hasn¡¯t smudged. Anthony mighte by together with his app developer. Not that he¡¯s texted or called since we¡¯dst spoken, that day at his townhouse. The argument has felt like a lead weight in my stomach ever since. There had been such bitterness in his voice, the force of it sliding between my ribs like a steel de. And truth, too. There had been truth in his words, in the way he looked at himself. But it¡¯s not a truth I can ept. Not when I¡¯ve seen him at his best, at his truest, his freest. When he forgets to mourn what he hasn¡¯t yet lost. When he lives in the moment. I sit back down in my chair and call Ace over with a soft whistle. His tail wags low and he burrows his head between my knees, letting me wrap my arms around him. Bury my hands in his soft fur. ¡°What do you do,¡± I whisper to him, ¡°when the person you love refuses to love himself?¡± A single, tentative lick to my neck. I close my eyes and fight against the sudden rush of tears. He¡¯s losing his eyesight. The man I love, the one who isplex andyered and sarcastic, who makes me feel safe and cherished and understood, is fighting against the weight of that diagnosis. And there¡¯s nothing I can do to take it away. To solve it. Nothing he can do, either. Doesn¡¯t mean life isn¡¯t worth living. Doesn¡¯t mean he should give up. But I cry nheless, for what he¡¯s losing, and miss him with a fierceness that takes my breath away. I¡¯m still sniffling when I hear the sound of voices in the reception. Two voices. Suzy¡¯s and Ryan¡¯s. Anthony¡¯s noting to the office, then. I¡¯m reaching for a tissue when my phone chimes. It¡¯s him, and my eyes soak up the words, greedy for every piece. Anthony: I¡¯m sorry about the other day, Summer. Can Ie to yours tonight to talk? Yes , I think. Yes yes yes. Doesn¡¯t matter if the word ¡°talk¡± is intimidating. If I have him in front of me, I have a shot, at least. A chance to convince him that we¡¯re worth betting on.? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. That I¡¯m worth betting on. I don¡¯t know why his ex didn¡¯t choose to stay when she learned about his eyesight, but I know I won¡¯t make the same decision. Summer: Yes, please. I¡¯ve missed you. Thest three words are impulsive, but true. He knows I¡¯m an open book. Read me, I think. The response is instant. Anthony: So have I, Summer. I buzz him up from downstairs, nerves dancing through my stomach. Ace greets him before I do. He greets my dog before me, too. Both of us wary to look at each other. ¡°Hi, buddy,¡± Anthony murmurs and runs arge, tan hand through Ace¡¯s white-blonde fur. His tail is whipping so fast it¡¯s a blur. Anthony straightens to his full height and gives me that close-mouthed, half-smile of his. ¡°Hey.¡± ¡°Hi,¡± I say, and head straight to him. He opens his arms and I surrender into them. Bury my face against his chest and breathe in the scent of him, the fabric of his sweater soft beneath my cheek. ¡°It¡¯s only been two days,¡± Anthony says, ¡°but it feels like forever.¡± ¡°It does,¡± I agree. ¡°I barely made it through my days without someone narrating the newspaper for me.¡± Saved by the Boss 60 ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I neglected my duties.¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I say, taking a step back and finding his hand with mine. ¡°You¡¯re here now.¡± His eyes soften, but he doesn¡¯t smile. ¡°I am.¡± He kisses me for a long time after that. Lips moving over mine in insistent, familiar patterns. I lock my hands behind his neck and hold on through it all. His eyes are zed when he lifts his head and smooths a thumb over my lips. They feel swollen. ¡°Let¡¯s sit down.¡± The simple words cut through my haze of lust with the sharp sting of reality. I follow him to my couches and we take the right one, the one we¡¯veid entangled on so many times. He sits down, but if he wants us to sit properly, I won¡¯t let him. I prop myself up against the pillows and throw my legs over his. Anthony half-smiles, his free hand settling around my bare ankle. ¡°You¡¯ve been good?¡± I nod. ¡°You?¡± ¡°Two days,¡± I murmur. He snorts. ¡°Two days. Ridiculous.¡± ¡°And yet,¡± I say. ¡°And yet,¡± he agrees. ¡°Summer¡­ I want to apologize for Saturday.¡±? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. It takes me a moment to find the courage to say the next words out loud. But I do. ¡°Do you feel bad for saying things you don¡¯t believe? Or bad because you didn¡¯t want me to hear them?¡± He keeps his eyes on me for a long time, but I don¡¯t look away. Watch me stay, I think. Watch me not shrink from this. ¡°I still believe in everything I said,¡± he finally says. ¡°I can¡¯t see how it could be otherwise.¡± My eyes close on their own, like I can¡¯t stand to let him see the expression in them. ¡°Summer, while I don¡¯t see how it could be otherwise, I want to. Very, very badly. I was standing in line at the dry cleaners yesterday and out of nowhere I heard your voice. I don¡¯t even think it¡¯s something you¡¯ve said to me, but I heard it so clearly you might as well have been standing beside me. Why the fuck are you wasting your time on this? That¡¯s what you asked me.¡± He chuckles. ¡°That¡¯s why I knew it wasn¡¯t actually you, by the way. You¡¯d never curse.¡± ¡°I do,¡± I whisper. ¡°Sometimes.¡± His fingers tighten around my ankle. ¡°But you wouldn¡¯t in that situation. And I realized you were right. I¡¯ve wasted so much time of however long I have left being pissed off. At the universe, at my eyes, at injustice. When I should have been living. Preparing. Seizing the fucking day, as you do.¡± My mouth feels dry, but I nod, watching as an animated flush creeps up on Anthony¡¯s olive cheeks. There are dark circles under his eyes, but his gaze is fierce. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he says, ¡°if I can be the man you deserve. If I can fight this the way you think I can. It¡¯s very likely that I won¡¯t be as good of a¡­ a boyfriend to you as someone else would. Someone who won¡¯t have my limitations. But by God, Summer, I¡¯m going to try.¡± I reach over and cup his face between my palms. ¡°I know you can. I know you will. Anthony, I-¡± He kisses me, swallowing my words, and I fall onto the sofa. Pull him over me. His lips move with quiet urgency, pressing against my mouth like he¡¯s memorizing its shape. Like he¡¯s saying goodbye. I knot my fingers into his shirt, but he breaks the hold easily, lifting both of us up again. This time, I slide onto hisp. Any space between us is too much. ¡°Summer,¡± he murmurs. ¡°I have to straighten myself out first, though.¡± His answering smile is wry. ¡°I have to go away for a little while. Summer, what you saw on Saturday¡­ you haven¡¯t seen it all. How bad it can get. There have been days where I¡¯ve¡­¡± He shakes his head. ¡°I have to face it.¡± My fingers slip into the cor of his sweater and grip tight. ¡°I want to face it with you.¡± ¡°I know, baby.¡± ¡°And I won¡¯t leave you because you¡¯ll one day lose your eyesight,¡± I vow. ¡°I know now, and I¡¯m not about to run for the hills.¡± ¡°I know,¡± he murmurs. Runs a thumb over my cheek. ¡°I have to fight this, Summer. You deserve someone who fights.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t we do it together?¡± ¡°Not yet.¡± He looks past me toward the windows, like he¡¯s embarrassed, the sharp cut of his jaw working. ¡°It¡¯s like I have this darkness inside of me, this bottomless abyss, and sometimes it swallows me whole. I¡¯ll be having a normal conversation with someone and want to scream until my voice gives out. I can¡¯t fucking stand listening to someonein. About anything. You lost your keys? Great. I¡¯m going blind. It¡¯s self-pitying. And I can¡¯t stop it.¡± He shakes his head in a quick motion. ¡°I don¡¯t like myself like this. It¡¯s not about the diagnosis, and you helped me see that. It¡¯s still the worst thing that¡¯s ever happened to me. It still a fucking tragedy. But this darkness inside of me¡­ that¡¯s what¡¯s choking me, Summer. I don¡¯t like who I am when it¡¯s in charge. And it¡¯s in charge too often.¡± My fingers tighten around his neck. I feel like crying, and I try not to, but he sees it. He gives me a soft smile. ¡°You¡¯ve helped so much, Summer.¡± ¡°I have?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He rests his forehead against mine, and I hold on, thinking about the bleak look in his eyes on Saturday. The half-drunk bottle of scotch and scent of despair in the stuffy townhouse. ¡°There¡¯s something worth fighting for now.¡± ¡°What are you nning?¡± ¡°Everything,¡± he murmurs. ¡°And nothing. One step at a time. I¡¯m going to tell my business partners, I think. Maybe call my doctor back and tell him I¡¯m ready to start investigating¡­ aids.¡± ¡°Aids?¡± ¡°Canes,¡± he says. ¡°Dogs. Braille.¡± The words tear at him. I can see it, and yet he says them, eyes locked with mine. ¡°And you want to do it alone,¡± I whisper. ¡°I need to, Summer. Until I know I have control of myself. I know that Ish out when I¡¯m¡­¡± ¡°Hurting,¡± I fill in. ¡°Will you keep me updated? Come back to me when you¡¯re ready?¡± ¡°God, yes,¡± he says, hands tightening around my waist. ¡°Summer, this isn¡¯t a goodbye. It¡¯s not me walking away.¡± ¡°It¡¯s me saying I have to sort my life out. I can¡¯t hide in this apartment with you forever, however much I might want to.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll miss you every day,¡± he murmurs. Touches my lips with his, and this time, the kisses are filled with words neither of us have spoken yet. Saved by the Boss 61 He stands, my legs locked around his waist, and walks us to the bedroom. I close the door and watch him through hooded eyes. He watches me back, the want and love stark in his gaze. I lift my dress over my head and revel in it. Shake my hair out, undo my bra, tossing it away. He drinks me in, taking off his own clothes with fast movements. I run my hand through his chest hair and he shudders. How many times have we done this before? And still, today feels different. Every touchden with meaning. He runs featherlight fingers up my bare arms. ¡°I¡¯m so grateful,¡± he says, ¡°that I¡¯ll have the memory of your beauty, for however long I get to keep it.¡± That¡¯s when my tears fall. He kisses them away, and I kiss him back, pouring everything I feel into the touch. We¡¯re gentle with each other, each touch slow, like we¡¯re drawing it out. Like we don¡¯t want it to end. When he reaches for a condom from my bedside table, I run my hand over his broad back. ¡°I¡¯ve booked an appointment with my ob-gyn next week.¡± He pauses, chest rising with his heavy breathing. ¡°You did?¡± ¡°For birth control,¡± I say. We haven¡¯t spoken about a rtionship. About making us official. But that had been where we¡¯d been heading, at least for me, and so¡­ I¡¯d made the call. Anthony shudders, eyes zing over. He runs a hand down the inside of my thigh. ¡°Very good thinking,¡± he murmurs. I watch him put the condom on with practiced hands, and then he¡¯s pushing into me with delicious slowness, both of us exhaling at the pleasure. In the weeks since we first did this, Anthony and I have explored plenty. There have been fast times. Hard times. Ones where we bothughed afterwards at how loud it had gotten, or where my skin smarted from the force. This isn¡¯t one of those times. He holds himself above me as he moves, and I rise to meet him. Burying my hands in his hair and wondering if this is how it feels to fall in love with someone. To lose your footing, and plummet to that final depth, where you know you¡¯ll never be the same person again for having had them in your life. Tears leak out of my eyes again, sliding down my temples and dampening my hair. Anthony feels them. Lifts himself up on an elbow to look at me. The concern and emotion on his face undoes me. I tighten my grip on him. ¡°Anthony,¡± I murmur. ¡°I love-¡± He halt my words with a kiss and shudders in my arms. ¡°Don¡¯t, Summer. Please. I won¡¯t be able¡­ please.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± I murmur. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± He smooths my hair back with his free hand, still buried deep inside me. ¡°Not until I¡¯m back with you. Not until I¡¯m better.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± I whisper. Lock my legs behind his back. ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t-¡± This time, I¡¯m the one who stops his words with my lips. They aren¡¯t needed. Not as we cling to each other in my small bed, chasing away the future one touch at a time. My grand dedication to change starts small. Minuscule, in the grand scheme of things. It doesn¡¯t involve a cane, or braille, or any of the things I¡¯ve avoided in the dark, curtain-drawn cave of my townhouse. It starts with taking out old take-away boxes. They pile up in the weeks between the cleaners, for no other reason than I don¡¯t care about this ce. Or about myself, really, when I¡¯m¡­ well. But I¡¯m going to have to start. Summer gave me permission to leave my baggage and failing eyesight at the door. To forget about the amodations and timelines entirely, for five minutes, for an hour, for an evening. She was brilliant escapism, a reminder of the goodness all around us, and a few of those raysnded on me. But I want more than evenings in her apartment. More than her having to sneak about, worrying about what her aunt will say. I want her to do all the things on her bucket list, and I want to be there for some of them. Most of them. All of them, damn it. So I take out the trash. The futility of it inparison to what I have left to do almost undoes me. Takes the wind out of my sails and leads me back to myputer or my bed, to the oblivion of work or sleep. But I resist.? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. I throw the curtains open in the old townhouse instead, this ce that had once been filled with life. I used to have friends over. Friends I¡¯d neglected. Family. I¡¯d neglected them, too. My walk around the grocery store is pathetic, but I do it. Buy some of the things I¡¯ve seen Summer use. Stock my fridge. And then I stare at my phone, at that scary, silent ss object resting on my kitchen counter. Call Dr. Johnson is the one point on this little to-do-list of mine that I don¡¯t want to do. Correction-one of the many. But it¡¯s at the very top. I can¡¯t see myself walking with a cane. A fumbling idiot on the street, that¡¯ll be me. Having to rely on the world atrge for my safety. What do I do if I¡¯m lost? Hold up my hand and wear a cid,e-help-me smile? Dear God, I¡¯ll be at theplete mercy of voice activation on my phone. Siri already misunderstands me half of the time. The floor sways beneath my feet, threatens to give out. This can¡¯t be happening. But it is, I remind myself, fighting with the bottomless pit inside me. It is, and running from it won¡¯t make my eyes stop worsening. Won¡¯t do a damn thing. So I reach for my phone. Three hourster, I¡¯m walking with Tristan in Central Park. He¡¯s staring down at his phone, sorting through email. He¡¯s not Dr. Johnson. He¡¯s also confused as to why I showed up at the Acture Capital and asked if he wanted to take a walking meeting. Hell, he¡¯s probably confused as to why I haven¡¯t said a word in the past five minutes, despite asking him out here. I hardly know why myself. ¡°How¡¯s Freddie?¡± I ask. He smiles, sliding his phone into his pocket. ¡°Good. Great, actually. I¡¯ve almost convinced her to move in with Joshua and me.¡± ¡°Damn. That¡¯s great.¡± ¡°Yeah, it is.¡± He shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. ¡°You know, I always thought the idea of sharing my life with someone would be difficult. Impossible, even. With her, though, it¡¯s been seamless. Sure, we¡¯ve had topromise on things, but on the whole¡­ Seamless.¡± ¡°I¡¯m happy for you,¡± I say. Saved by the Boss 62 ¡°Thanks, man.¡± He looks over and gives a chagrined shrug. ¡°I was at a jewelry store the other day.¡± It takes me a moment. ¡°A ring,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re thinking of proposing?¡± ¡°Yes. It¡¯s too soon, I know that, and she does too. Hell, she¡¯ll tell me off for proposing to her if I do it now. But I will. Sooner rather thanter.¡± I put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s fantastic. Truly. You know she¡¯ll say yes.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Tristan says, smiling. ¡°I do know that.¡± I¡¯ve never once thought about engagement rings, but now I wonder what Summer would like. What¡¯s her style? Understated, I think. Perhaps an original design. Something she can be a part of herself. I can already see her chatting up an attendant, the two of them bing fast pals as they bond over precious gems. ¡°Anthony?¡± Tristan asks. ¡°Was there something in particr you wanted to talk to me about? Is everything okay with Opate?¡± ¡°Yes. The app is almost ready tounch. We¡¯ll run a trial period of three months, iron out any bugs, and by then it should be ready tounch nationwide.¡± ¡°Excellent,¡± he says. ¡°Keep us in the loop.¡± ¡°Will do.¡± I don¡¯t know how to say the rest. The words sit in my throat, choking me. With Summer it was¡­ easier. But there¡¯s no way to start this conversation. I find it, though. It¡¯s not surprising which path my mind takes. ¡°There is something, actually.¡± ¡°About Opate Match?¡± ¡°In a way, I suppose,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m dating Summer Davis. The owner¡¯s niece.¡±? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. Tristan¡¯s look is one of bafflement. Then heughs, smile widening. ¡°Anthony!¡± he says. ¡°I did not expect that at all.¡± ¡°Honestly, neither did I.¡± ¡°How did this happen?¡± I rub a hand over the back of my neck. ¡°It¡¯s unprofessional.¡± ¡°I dated an intern at thepany I was CEO of,¡± Tristan replies. ¡°I¡¯m not about to judge.¡± ¡°Turned out great for you, though.¡± ¡°Best mistake I ever made,¡± he agrees. ¡°So? Is this serious?¡± ¡°It could be, yes. I think it will be.¡± ¡°But you¡¯re not sure,¡± he guesses. I look at the pond in the distance, the tall, summer-green trees that line it. It¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve simply walked in the park for the joy of it. It¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve done anything simply for the joy of it. Long before Summer. ¡°There¡¯s something I haven¡¯t told you,¡± I say. ¡°Two years ago, I had to go the doctor¡¯s. For my eyes.¡± ¡°Yes. As it turned out, I¡¯m losing my eyesight. It¡¯s been deteriorating ever since.¡± He¡¯s quiet for a long moment, but so am I, both of us staring at the park teeming with life. A group of children run shrieking down a hill, one being chased, the others following suit. When Tristan finally speaks, it¡¯s with such startling sincerity that it makes meugh. ¡°Well, fuck.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I agree. ¡°That was my immediate reaction too.¡± ¡°There¡¯s nothing to be done to stop it?¡± I shake my head. ¡°Just monitoring it regrly. They don¡¯t know how long it¡¯ll take, but in all likelihood, I¡¯ll bepletely blind sooner orter.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I wish there was something else I could say, but that¡¯s just¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I say. ¡°Thanks. Anyway, it¡¯ll have some consequences for thepany.¡± ¡°Thepany,¡± he repeats. ¡°Acture Capital. I won¡¯t be able to continue, when¡­ well. When it gets to that stage.¡± He¡¯s quiet for a beat. Then Tristan does something we haven¡¯t done in forever. He pulls me in for a one-armed hug. I return it, thumping against his back and swallowing thickly. ¡°You¡¯re part of thepany,¡± he tells me. ¡°Hell, you and I were the ones who started it. Of course you¡¯ll still be a part of it, if you want to. Perhaps your role will have to change, but there¡¯s technology for that, right? I don¡¯t know shit about what it¡¯s like to live blind.¡± ¡°Neither do I,¡± I say. He returns my grin, and we stand there, a hand on each other¡¯s shoulders, smiling fiercely. ¡°Two years,¡± he says. ¡°Two years,¡± I confirm. ¡°You should have told me.¡± ¡°It took me a long time before I could bear to hear the words spoken out loud.¡± He nods, once, and lets his hand fall from my shoulder. ¡°Well,¡± he says. ¡°I know now. Do you want to talk about it?¡± I find, to my surprise, that I do. His advice has steered me right on countless business decisions before, just as mine has done for him. I remember sitting next to him, devastated, when he told me about the news of his sister¡¯s death. Of his decision to adopt Joshua. I hadn¡¯t run away then. He won¡¯t now. I crawl into bed that night, exhaustion like a thick fog around me. The headache is back. I¡¯d sumbed to takeout for dinner. But I fall asleep without a ss of scotch, without a painkiller, and without Summer beside me in bed. Small signs of progress. It gives me false confidence. After working for a few hours the next day, I surf the web for resources on how to live blind. Saved by the Boss 63 It¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve voluntarily sought out the information. The first time I haven¡¯t run from my fate. It starts good. Confidence-building, even. Ways to color-coordinate your clothes. Testimonials from people who lost their visionter in life and learned topensate, to prosper. To evolve. There¡¯s a quote about how blindness can be a gift that makes meugh. Yeah, no matter how you try to make lemonade from these lemons, it¡¯ll always taste bitter. There¡¯s a link to a documentary about a man who lost his visionter in life. Wentpletely blind, without the bright pinpricks of light I might expect, to use Dr. Johnson¡¯s optimistic view of things. My finger hovers over the y button for the trailer, but I hit y. It¡¯s a mistake. The trailer is beautifully shot. But as his raspy voice starts to speak, and as he narrates his descent into depression upon waking up blind¡­ my blood turns cold. He describes forgetting what people look like. Visual memories started to fade, until they became memories of photographs, memories of having once had visual memories. And as the years passed, he could no longer remember what his wife looked like. His parents. His children. Himself. I barely make it to my bed before the floor gives out beneath me and despair washes in, the taste of fear like ash in my mouth. I reach for my bedside table, not sure what I¡¯m looking for. My phone to call Summer. My painkillers for the headache. I choose neither, but I don¡¯t get out of bed for the rest of the day, either. My self-imposed exile from Summersts for three more days. I call her after an hour of deliberation. Lie back on my bed and close my eyes, ready for the wonder of her voice on the other end. ¡°Hey,¡± she says. ¡°Hi,¡± I murmur. ¡°How are you?¡± ¡°Good. Working.¡± ¡°On Acture?¡± she asks. ¡°Opate?¡± ¡°On myself,¡± I say. ¡°And a bit on Acture.¡± We¡¯re quiet for a beat, both of us breathing. It feels like the first rxing moment I¡¯ve had all week. ¡°I saw the prototype for the app, for Opate,¡± she says. There¡¯s a rustle in the background and I picture her lying on one of her sofas. ¡°What did you think?¡± ¡°It¡¯s good, Anthony. You¡­ you created an app where Vivienne and I are still needed. Where we chat with new sign-ups and vet the candidates.¡± ¡°Of course I did.¡± She¡¯d convinced me, after all. The human touch is necessary for Opate¡¯s magic to work. Candidates need to be vetted. Interviewed. Nudged. ¡°If this works, you¡¯ll need to hire more personnel.¡± ¡°Expanding,¡± she murmurs. ¡°Vivienne will be¡­ I¡­ well. Thank you, Anthony.¡± ¡°I should thank you. You¡¯re the one who showed me how Opate truly works.¡± ¡°Mmm. By setting you up on dates that didn¡¯t work.¡± ¡°I¡¯m very d none of them worked.¡± ¡°So am I,¡± she says and sighs. ¡°I miss not seeing you.¡± ¡°I know, baby. Me too.¡± ¡°Are you sure this is necessary?¡± The bleakness of thest few days hangs over me like a cloak, still visible despite the warmth in her voice. I still haven¡¯t called Dr. Johnson. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°But things are getting better.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good, Anthony. I¡¯m here if you need me.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m doing this in the first ce, Summer. To get back to you.¡± We hang up shortly after, and I carry her voice with me into sleep, waking refreshed for the first time since I¡¯d made the decision to adjust. Dr. Johnson¡¯s silence is incredulous on the other end. It has taken me another week to make the call, but now that I¡¯m on the phone, he doesn¡¯t seem inclined to believe me. ¡°You¡¯d like me to put you in contact with the Foundation for the Blind,¡± he repeats. ¡°Is that correct, Mr. Winter?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. My skin feels sticky with sweat, and it¡¯s not just from the sweltering July heat. ¡°You told me you could rmend a specialist who can help walk me through what I might expect.¡± ¡°I did, yes. I¡¯ve emailed you his contact details. Twice, in fact.¡± ¡°Right. Well, I deleted both emails.¡± His silence is incredulous again, but then he chuckles. ¡°Of course you did. Well, I¡¯m happy to send his information over again. He¡¯ll set up meetings with people who¡¯ve gone through the same thing as you¡¯re currently experiencing. Many of them are happy to share how they managed.¡± ¡°Yes. Good.¡± ¡°You¡¯re too early for cane training, but a guide dog might be a good idea. It takes a while getting used to, and the bond is a great thing to establish.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the first time you¡¯ve said I¡¯m too early for something. Usually, you like to say I¡¯m advancing rapidly.¡± Dr. Johnsonughs again. ¡°You¡¯ve got time yet, Mr. Winter. But most importantly, you¡¯ve got plenty of time after as well.¡±Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m starting to realize that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m really d we could do this,¡± Vivienne says. ¡°It feels like it was forever ago west had lunch.¡± A pair of oversized, vintage sunsses sits on her nose, at odds with the wide smile beneath them. I nod and reach for one of the breadsticks. Olive¡¯s next to the office has been our standard lunch spot for years. ¡°It does,¡± I agree. ¡°I think it was back in May, actually.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t have been that long ago, can it, Summer?¡± She shakes her head. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ve been in and out of the office a lot this summer.¡± I nod and make my voice casual. ¡°Ever since Acture Capital bought us, actually. Perhaps a bit earlier than that.¡± Saved by the Boss 64 My aunt reaches across the table and puts her hand on top of mine. Her thick gold rings rest against my thin ones, an interest I¡¯d gotten from her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that, dear. It¡¯s been a stressful time for Opate and I know you¡¯ve been the one to step up. Thank you, Summer. Truly.¡± Smiling, I squeeze her hand. ¡°I love Opate. I¡¯m only happy to see it seed.¡± ¡°I¡¯m d. You¡¯re the¡­ well.¡± Vivienne¡¯s smile turns chagrined. ¡°You¡¯re the daughter I would have wanted, you know, if I¡¯d ever wanted children. If I¡¯d ever had any.¡± ¡°Wow. Thank you.¡± ¡°My dear brother is good at many things, but he¡¯s the best at raising kids. You¡¯re a gem,¡± she finishes, taking her hand back. I don¡¯t know how to respond to that. Luckily, I don¡¯t have to, because Vivienne isn¡¯t done. She pushes her sunsses up on her head. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t keep this to myself any longer. I¡¯ve met someone.¡± ¡°Yes. In April. It¡¯s been a whirlwind, Summer, all of it. His name is Jerome.¡± ¡°Jerome,¡± I repeat. ¡°Yes. He¡¯s French. A widower. He didn¡¯t understand Opate at all in the beginning, let me tell you. Apparently he thought I worked in the escort industry when we first spoke. I told him that was apliment, at my age!¡± Sheughs, an excited blush coloring the apples of her cheeks. ¡°He¡¯s retired. Retired himself, actually, and now mostly works in phnthropy. Oh, Summer, I don¡¯t recognize myself!¡± ¡°You¡¯re in love.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she says, pressing her hands to her cheeks. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s it. It¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve felt like this after Patrick, to tell you the truth.¡± I smile, my throat closing up. My aunt is the most stylish, hopeless romantic I know. That¡¯s what makes her so good at her job. Like me, she genuinely believes in love. But her own divorce had left scars. ¡°I¡¯m so happy for you,¡± I say. ¡°Is that why you¡¯ve been out of the office, then?¡± ¡°Yes. Jerome keeps telling me to work less. To enjoy the time we have together. Me, working less. Can you picture it?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°I think I can, actually.¡± ¡°I¡¯d be climbing the walls after a month. Or painting them, perhaps. Do you think I could learn how to paint?¡± ¡°I think you can do anything you want,¡± I say, and it¡¯s the truth. Vivienne gives me another broad smile. ¡°The best niece ever,¡± she repeats. ¡°What about you?¡± ¡°What about me?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t think I haven¡¯t noticed, Summer, just because I haven¡¯t been in the office as often. You look happy.¡± ¡°Well,¡± I say. Grab another breadstick and flip it over in my hands, as if it can tell me the right thing to say. ¡°I have met someone.¡± ¡°I knew it.¡± ¡°He¡¯s¡­ amazing. Unexpected. Not the type I thought I¡¯d be attracted to.¡± Vivienne nods, eyes burning. ¡°That¡¯s often the case, darling. Opposites attract and all that.¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯ve seen it a hundred times with our own clients, but I still didn¡¯t believe it myself. But I really like him.¡± ¡°How¡¯d you meet him?¡± She reaches for her ss of white wine, eyes curious over the rim. ¡°Well, that¡¯s the thing. One of the things, at any rate. I¡¯m not sure you¡¯d approve. I think you will. But I¡¯m not sure.¡± She smiles. ¡°Oh, Summer. To be twenty-seven again and dating. Is he in a rtionship with someone else?¡± ¡°Definitely not,¡± I say. ¡°All right. Is he more than twenty years your senior?¡± I snort. ¡°No.¡± ¡°And not underage.¡± She leans back in her chair and crosses one leg over the other in a pose as nonchnt as it is elegant. ¡°Then there¡¯s absolutely no reason why I wouldn¡¯t approve. Not if he genuinely makes you happy, and not like the weasel you dated before.¡± ¡°They¡¯re nothing alike. And he does, you know. Make me happy.¡± Even if the time he¡¯s taking for himself feels like it¡¯s stretching into an eternity. One phone call and a couple of texts hasn¡¯t been enough. But he¡¯d asked for time, and if it means hees back to me ready to fight, I¡¯m time¡¯s biggest fan. ¡°Then I¡¯m happy for you,¡± Vivienne says. ¡°Look at us, both in love.¡± ¡°To love,¡± I say, raising my ss. ¡°To love,¡± she agrees, and we toast our sses together. ¡°And to beautiful, brilliant nieces who will soon be offered a promotion.¡± I put my ss down. ¡°Seriously?¡± Sheughs. ¡°Yes. I spoke to Anthony Winter just yesterday about the new app they¡¯ve designed for Opate. You¡¯ve seen it, right? Suzy spoke about a meeting with Ryan.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve seen it.¡± She¡¯d spoken to Anthony? ¡°Once we move into the beta-phase, we¡¯ll need to expand. I¡¯ll be hands-on for a long while, but I¡¯m thinking of cutting down on my hours a bit. Spend more time with Jerome.¡± She nods my way. ¡°Are you interested in taking on more responsibility, Summer?¡± ¡°Yes. Absolutely, yes. I¡¯m ready.¡± ¡°I know you are, dear,¡± she says, eyes sparkling. ¡°I trained you, after all.¡± Vivienne tells me to go home after lunch, and after two sses of wine, I¡¯m more than happy with that arrangement. Opate usually closes early on Fridays, anyway. That¡¯s when most of our clients go on the dates we¡¯ve set up. More work for them, less work for us.All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. Ace keeps close to my side as I walk the familiar path home. New York is unusually cool today, the temperaturefortable rather than sweltering. I¡¯m going running tomorrow with Suzy. On Sunday evening there¡¯s another get-together at Posie and Ben¡¯s, and it¡¯ll be Robin-free, she assures me. A fun weekend. But Anthony won¡¯t be here toment on my newspaper reading, to drink thest orange juice, or to heat me up to a toasty hundred-and-four degrees during the already warm nights. Saved by the Boss 65 I contemte calling him again just to hear the rasp of his voice tell me something, anything. I¡¯m so deep in thought that I nearly knock into a person handing out flyers on the sidewalk. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say. ¡°Really sorry.¡± The woman chuckles and hands me a flyer. ¡°Not a problem. Caught your attention that way!¡± I look down at the piece of paper in my hand. The erged microphone. The borate font on top that spells out three innocuous words. Open mic night. ¡°Huh,¡± I say. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Come on by,¡± she says. ¡°Either to listen or to perform.¡± ¡°Yeah. I¡­ yeah. Thank you.¡± I make it another block before I find my phone. Call Posie¡¯s number. She answers immediately, surprise in her voice. ¡°Hey, Summer. You¡¯re not cancelling Sunday, are you?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°Tell me, do you want to y guitar with me next weekend? Like we used to?¡± I run a hand through my hair and re at the tiny, folded stic thing on my kitchen counter. So small. Harmless. But since I took it out of the packaging, I haven¡¯t been able to touch it. It¡¯s too early for cane training, Dr. Johnson had said. But the specialist I¡¯d talked to had told me to order one anyway. Get used to it, he said. It can be a great mobility tool. It¡¯s freedom. You¡¯ll see.All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. So here I am, staring at the thing like it might attack me, and wondering how the hell it¡¯ll give me freedom. All we need to do is get acquainted, I think. Shake hands, so to speak. Perhaps I¡¯m pushing this. In the afternoon, I have a meeting with a man who has the same diagnosis as me, but ten years down the line. I¡¯d started writing a list of questions for him yesterday, and by starting, I mean I¡¯d stared at a nk notepad, a pen in hand, and felt like dying. So yeah. No questions prepared. But I¡¯m going. That¡¯s the goal for today. Touch a cane and talk to a blind man. I wonder if I¡¯m simr to the guide dogs for the blind Summer¡¯s mother fosters. You sat down? Here¡¯s a treat! Oh, you can shake paw? Here¡¯s a treat! There¡¯s only one treat I want for doing all of this, and though she might be too big to eat in one bite, she¡¯s delicious. I reach out and grip the folded cane. Nothing happens. It¡¯s cold, hard stic. It¡¯s almost as if all of mybined fears aren¡¯t imbued in this one inanimate object. Who would have thought. The doorbell rings and I drop the cane like it might burn me. But halfway to the door, I change my mind, and toss it into a cupboard. Just in case she¡¯s here. I don¡¯t want her to see it. But it¡¯s not Summer on my doorstep. It¡¯s my brother, and the scowl on his face mirrors my own. We haven¡¯t spoken since the harsh words in his office. ¡°You were right,¡± he says in greeting and steps past me into the house. I shut the door. ¡°Ah.¡± ¡°You were fucking right,¡± he repeats and strides into the living room, only to stop dead. ¡°You don¡¯t keep your booze in the same ce Granddad did.¡± ¡°The cab to the left. Top shelf.¡± He finds my scotch and pours himself a ss. Tugs at his cor again. It¡¯s sweltering outside, but Isaac is in a three-piece suit. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth,¡± I say, ¡°I wish I wasn¡¯t.¡± His lip curls in wry non-humor as he drains the ss, pouring himself another. ¡°I just found out. Came here straight after.¡± ¡°You confronted her?¡± He looks at me like I¡¯m an idiot. ¡°I asked Cordelia about it right after you told me. She denied it.¡± ¡°But once I knew enough to suspect it, it was easy to look for the signs. I pushed her on it just now. Right after she dragged me to a meeting with a bakery to taste cakes. Why is it so warm in here? Anthony, do you still have the heat on? It¡¯s July.¡± ¡°It¡¯s August first,¡± I say, ¡°and the heat is off.¡± ¡°You know what really gets me? I thought she loved me. Not in the exuberant, infatuated kind of way. We¡¯ve never been like that. But I thought she loved the life we weremitting to enough to stay faithful. I¡¯ve made the same sacrifice.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, by the way,¡± Isaac says. Gets up from the couch and pours me a ss of scotch, handing it to me. Even distressed, his manners are impable. ¡°You came to me and you told it to me straight, and I didn¡¯t believe you.¡± ¡°Well, I can see why you might not. I haven¡¯t been the best brother for the past two years.¡± His eyes meet mine. ¡°No, not really.¡± ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± I say. ¡°Take off your jacket, Isaac. You look like you¡¯re melting.¡± ¡°Yes, because I couldn¡¯t get a cab from the damn bakery and walked all the way here.¡± But he does what I¡¯ve told him and tosses it over the back of the couch. ¡°You never liked us together.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°I never did.¡± ¡°I thought you were an asshole because of it.¡± ¡°I know you did.¡± ¡°Now I wonder if you were the smartest of us all,¡± he says, running a hand through his hair. ¡°I wonder if old Rupert Jacobs will still want us to partner with his golf courses. Is that sad? That the first thing I thought when she confessed to cheating on me was to get angry that she might have screwed up our business deal, too?¡± ¡°I think,¡± I say carefully, ¡°that it tells you everything you need to know about that rtionship.¡± He looks at me for a long while. ¡°You¡¯ve changed.¡± It¡¯s easy to shake my head, to find the words. ¡°Isaac, I¡¯ve withdrawn from you, from the family, for too long. Of course I¡¯ve changed.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says, eyes turning wary. Saved by the Boss 66 ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that.¡± The same eyes narrow. ¡°If you¡¯re saying this just because you pity me now¡­¡± Iugh, unable to help myself, because it¡¯s just what I would have thought in his shoes. The pride running through me is just as strong in his veins, bred into us by parents who saved I love you¡¯s for special asions and told stories about the family legacy for bedtime. ¡°Anthony,¡± heins, putting his ss down. ¡°No, no,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t pity you. Sorry.¡± ¡°Then why are youughing?¡± ¡°Because we¡¯re so simr. Christ, Isaac. That¡¯s why I¡¯ve stayed away!¡± Confusion is stark on his features. I gesture to the armchair again, raising my ss of scotch. He has a seat, still staring at me. ¡°Look, two years ago I went to an optician because it was getting harder to read. Instead of being prescribed sses, he sent me to a doctor. Turned out I¡¯m losing my vision.¡± He stares at me. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I¡¯m losing my eyesight. It¡¯s deteriorating rapidly, or so they tell me.¡± There¡¯s no pity in his gaze, and that fortifies me. Isaac¡¯s reaction is a benchmark for my parents. If he can take it, so can they. ¡°You¡¯re not serious,¡± he says. ¡°Serious as death,¡± I reply, smiling wryly. ¡°Wish I wasn¡¯t, though.¡± Isaac looks down into his ss. Turns it around in his hands, once, twice. A memory strikes me, of him doing just that after we got into Grandfather¡¯s liquor cab. He¡¯d been twelve. Sitting just like that with his contraband in hand, and I¡¯d thought he was the coolest, taking charge and knowing what to do. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯ve stayed away,¡± he says. I nod. ¡°Couldn¡¯t bring myself to tell you until now. Couldn¡¯t say it, really. Out loud.¡± He lifts his gaze to mine. ¡°I hope you take this the right way, Anthony,¡± he says. ¡°But I wish your fianc¨¦e had cheated on you instead.¡± Iugh at that. Here we are, both of our lives in shambles. ¡°Yeah. So do I, to tell you the truth.¡± Isaaces over for dinner the next day. He¡¯s the one who makes the call, showing up thirty minutester. I open my fridge for his perusal and he shakes his head. ¡°Nothing in here goes together. Did you use a delivery service?¡± ¡°Picked it out myself,¡± I say. ¡°Well, it sucks. Let¡¯s order something.¡± One night won¡¯t fix everything between us. I know the things I¡¯ve said in the past, the anger and irrationality, hanging up on the phone¡­ it won¡¯t be undone by sharing what¡¯s been going on. But it¡¯s a start. After he leaves, I take out the trash and wipe down the kitchen counter. Fetch the cane from its hiding ce and put it back on the kitchen counter. Isaac knows. Tristan knows. Only our two remaining business partners and my parents left. My phone rings, and seeing the name on it, my heart does a double-take. It¡¯s been three weeks. Three weeks, and it feels like I¡¯m cutting out my own heart with this self-imposed exile. I¡¯ve questioned the necessity of it more than once. But yesterday, after talking to Ivan about his journey with blindness, I¡¯d been so drained I hadn¡¯t made it out of bed for twelve hours. I answer it. ¡°Hi, baby.¡± ¡°Hello,¡± she says. One small word. I close my eyes, listening to the warm silence across the line. ¡°How are you doing?¡± ¡°Good,¡± I say. ¡°Can you tell me about what you¡¯ve been doing?¡± I push away from the kitchen counter. Stretch out on my couch instead and imagine she¡¯s lying beside me, tucked beneath my arm. ¡°I want to,¡± I admit. ¡°I want to tell you everything. But I¡¯m afraid that if I do, I won¡¯t continue.¡± ¡°Continue making the changes?¡± I close my eyes again. It¡¯s Summer on the other line. Summer, who¡¯s never run from me and my problems. Whoughs and loves freely. ¡°Because it¡¯s so fucking hard. As soon as I¡¯ve¡­ I¡¯ve done one of these things, I want to get in a cab and go to you. I want to disappear into your apartment. Watch you organize your mismatched mugs on the shelf you have above the sink.¡± ¡°They¡¯re collectibles,¡± she murmurs. ¡°But if I¡¯m there, Summer, I¡¯ll never leave. I know that now. I¡¯ll sit on your tiny kitchen chair and ask you to exin the story behind every single one of those mugs because you¡¯re irresistible when you light up because of something you¡¯re passionate about. I won¡¯t walk out the door and fix myself.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t need fixing,¡± she says. ¡°I do. You showed me that, too.¡± ¡°I did? Anthony, I like you the way you are.¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. ¡°I like who I am with you too,¡± I murmur. ¡°But I want to be that man all the time. I¡¯m working toward being him, baby.¡± She hadn¡¯t seen it all. Hadn¡¯t seen me snap at my family. At my business partners. At random waiters in restaurants. I hope she never has to. And I can¡¯t risk letting myself snap at her. There¡¯s faint sniffling on the other line. ¡°I¡¯ll be here,¡± she promises. ¡°When you¡¯re ready.¡± ¡°It won¡¯t be long,¡± I vow. I wouldn¡¯t survive this if it was long. ¡°I miss you,¡± she says. ¡°So much more than I anticipated. Just sleeping at night feels difficult without you in my bed.¡± ¡°Fuck, baby, I know. Just hearing you mention a bed makes me excited.¡± Herugh tightens my chest. I need that sound in my life like I need air. Like that stic cane, it shows me the way forward. ¡°I miss that too,¡± she says. ¡°A lot.¡± Saved by the Boss 67 ¡°Soon.¡± ¡°Good, because I¡¯m not the only one who misses you. Ace does too.¡± ¡°Oh yes. He¡¯s lying by my side now, and I swear, his ears perk up whenever you say something.¡± ¡°Hi buddy.¡± ¡°Yep, his ears perked up.¡± Iugh, and she joins in, the sound everything to me. Everthing. ¡°Guess what?¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯ve decided to do something.¡± ¡°Yes. On Saturday, I¡¯m going to an open mic night with Posie. To perform.¡± ¡°You are?¡± ¡°Yeah. It feels like my stomach might give out, though, and it¡¯s only Monday.¡± I push up into sitting. ¡°You¡¯ve got this. I¡¯ve heard you sing. Your friends have heard you sing. Summer, you¡¯re amazing.¡± ¡°Mhm. Yeah.¡± ¡°Do you know how rare it is to sing well? Not a single person in that crowd will be thinking oh, I could do that better.¡± ¡°There might be other performers there.¡± ¡°Then they¡¯ll be thinking how much they want to be up there on stage with you.¡± ¡°You¡¯re great, you know,¡± she says, sighing. ¡°I never used to be like this. I loved to perform. I want to find that love again.¡± ¡°You will,¡± I say. ¡°I have no doubt you will. And Summer?¡± ¡°The people who care about you won¡¯t judge, and the people who do? You don¡¯t care about them.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right about that.¡± ¡°Of course I am. Where is it?¡± ¡°The open mic night?¡± ¡°At a ce called Bare, on Saturday.¡± A tentative note of hope creeps into her voice. ¡°I¡¯ve invited a few friends, but there¡¯s still space?¡± I want to say the words as badly as she wants to hear them. Promise to be there, to listen, to support. The chance to be there for someone is a responsibility, but it¡¯s not heavy. It¡¯s liberating. Knowing you¡¯re needed and wanted, needing and wanting someone in return. But I can¡¯t do that for her until I know I¡¯m in control of myself. ¡°I¡¯ll be there if I can,¡± I tell her. ¡°If I¡¯m ready.¡± ¡°That¡¯s okay. I know you¡­ have to figure things out.¡± ¡°I am, though. Day by day.¡± ¡°Good,¡± she murmurs.All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. My gaze settles on the newspaper I¡¯ve tossed onto my living room table. I reach for it. ¡°Do you have your copy of the Times ?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°I stuffed it into my bag from work. Let me get it¡­¡± I open it up in the meantime. Scan the pages. ¡°Open page twelve,¡± I say. ¡°Let me make the world bleak for you.¡± Sheughs again. ¡°You don¡¯t make the world bleak. You make it fun.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m happy you can see it that way.¡± ¡°I can. Oh, there was something I read that made me think of you right away¡­¡± ¡°Large Bird Awareness Week?¡± ¡°Very funny,¡± she says, voice light. ¡°No, it was about Bergdorf Goodman. Made me think of the dresses you sent me.¡± ¡°Anthony, do you really do that a lot with dates? You made it seem somonce.¡± I run a hand over the back of my neck. ¡°I¡¯ve done it before, yes. But not with many women.¡± ¡°So you don¡¯t have a personal shopper there, ready to whip out thetest styles for your dates on short notice,¡± she says. She¡¯s teasing, effortless warmth in her voice. It softens my own. ¡°Summer, I picked them out myself.¡± ¡°You¡­ you didn¡¯t ask someone to do it for you?¡± ¡°No, I went there myself. It should have been the first warning g, really.¡± ¡°Warning g?¡± ¡°That I was falling for you,¡± I say. ¡°Instead, I told myself it was a good use of an afternoon, standing there, imagining a woman I¡¯d just met in cocktail dresses.¡± Sheughs. ¡°Oh, Anthony, if only I¡¯d known.¡± ¡°Perhaps it was better that you didn¡¯t. You weren¡¯t interested in me at the time.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know about that,¡± she says. ¡°I was intrigued by you from day one.¡± ¡°Intrigued, huh?¡± ¡°Yes. I just had to figure you out.¡± ¡°And have you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m getting there,¡± she murmurs. ¡°But I think I¡¯ll need to spend a lot more time with you in order to do that.¡± ¡°Then I¡¯d better make sure you never figure me out,¡± I say. Saved by the Boss 68 When we hang up, I¡¯m tempted to call it a day. To go to bed with the memory of her words and voice in my ear. To let it soothe me like it has so many times before. But there¡¯s one more thing to do. I don¡¯t let myself consider what I¡¯m doing as I make the call. The woman¡¯s voice is surprised on the other side. ¡°Anthony Winter?¡± La asks. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me. Hello,¡± I say. ¡°I understand if you¡¯re surprised to hear from me.¡± ¡°I am,¡± she admits. ¡°Not to mention curious. Something tells me you¡¯re not calling about our date from two months ago.¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m actually calling about something you said. Something you¡­ well.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°Do you have the time to take on a new patient?¡± Her silence is stunned. But then a professional note bleeds through her voice. ¡°You want to see me as a therapist.¡± ¡°I do, yes. If you¡¯d befortable with that.¡± ¡°I would,¡± she says. ¡°I have space.¡± Thest thing I do that night surprises even myself. But as I dig out the discarded notepad and find a pen, I sit down by my kitchen table and think of Summer. Of her words and her view on life, on the infectious optimism that colors her world. I stare at the nk piece of paper and let it all wash over me. And then I write the heading. Bucket list.All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. My mind is absolutely nk, and beneath my blouse, cold sweat coats my skin. It¡¯s a wonder if I¡¯ll remember any of the lyrics. Posie leans against my shoulder. ¡°He¡¯s really good,¡± she whispers. He is, I think, though I haven¡¯t paid much attention to the singer on the makeshift stage. He¡¯s ying an acoustic guitar, and while his voice sounds like he¡¯s had four whiskeys too many, it gives more gravitas to his words. The entire bar is rocking along. ¡°Your voices would sound great together,¡± Posie murmurs. I nod and force out a thoughtful hmm. On my other side, Brittany is whispering to E, and if I had to guess, they¡¯re wondering if the singer is single. It¡¯s all normal. This is a situation Posie and I put ourselves in often, once. Sometimes on a weekly basis. We couldn¡¯t get enough of performing. The voice of doubt in my head isn¡¯t my own. It¡¯s Robin¡¯s maniptive, derisivements. And they need to be drowned out. Posie must sense my nerves, because the next I know, there¡¯s a giant ss of water in front of me. I drain half of it and clear my throat. We¡¯d spent an evening practicing, the two of us in her apartment like old times. Only, once upon a time I would have been in flip-flops, the couch would¡¯ve been secondhand, and her guitar case had been covered in band stickers. We¡¯ve grown up since then. Whiskey-Voice finishes to an apuse that brings down the house. He looks stunned by the response, but bows his head, half-smiling, and steps off the stage. This is it. Nerves feel like a ball in my throat, choking me. I won¡¯t get a single sound out. ¡°This is us,¡± Posie whispers. My muscles move without conscious thought from me, disconnected, taking me up the stage amidst scattered, encouraging apuse. I have to lower the mic from Whiskey-Voice, and focusing on that instead of the crowd is good. So is clearing my throat and looking at Posie. I don¡¯t need to sing to all of these people. I just need to sing to her and the tune of her guitar. But as I scan the crowd, looking for that one face I hope is here, I know they¡¯re waiting for more. They want an introduction. ¡°Hi,¡± I croak. The silence stretches on andughs spread, as if I¡¯m doing this on purpose. I crack a smile and theughs increase. They fortify me. ¡°Come on, guys. I¡¯m not here to do stand-up.¡± The lights are dimmed, and as the terror inside me locks itself into a tiny ball, memories take over. I¡¯ve done this before. This is my thing. ¡°Well, we¡¯ve got a tough act to follow,¡± I say, looking at Whiskey-Voice. ¡°Thanks for that, by the way.¡± He pretends to take a bow amidst chuckles. I smile, finding my footing. ¡°But we¡¯ll give it our best shot. My name is Summer, and this is Posie.¡± She gives a little wave. ¡°What¡¯s better than the radio hits of today?¡± I ask. ¡°The answer? All of them. yed at the same time. Why don¡¯t you see how many you can recognize?¡± I nod to Posie, and she starts to y, her hand moving over the strings of her guitar. Familiar notes drift out. I open my mouth and close my eyes, and the wordse. They sneak their way past the fear, and they don¡¯t sound any worse for it. I sing, watching the reactions of the crowd, until we¡¯re one. Me singing, them listening, all of us in the moment together. They take notice when I shift into another song, picking out the chorus of a dancehall hit. A sharp chord change and we shift again, drifting effortlessly into a popr bad. Laughs ring out when we include two sentences from a well-known rap song. The harmonies from that drift into the chorus of the summer¡¯s hottest hit, and I sing, my heel tapping along to the beat. I¡¯m made up of energy, so much of it, seeing the delight in their eyes and bing one with the song. That¡¯s when I spot him. He¡¯s in the back, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are on me. I look at his dear face and feel my voice take on a life of its own, the words effortless, and it¡¯s him I¡¯m singing to now. He smiles, like he hears it too. The performance ends sooner than I¡¯m prepared for. Thest note rings out and people erupt into apuse, some scatteredughs and a high-pitched bravo! tossed our way. Posie and I give identical, theatrical bows. Grin at each other as we step off the stage on giddy legs. She pulls me in for a hug, and I grip her back. ¡°That was so much fun!¡± Her nod against my shoulder is vigorous, and she¡¯s grinning when she leans back. ¡°They loved it.¡± They did, it seems. Two guys give us a great job on the way back to our seats and the bartender is already there, setting down aplimentary tray of shots for us and our friends. My friends stand for hugs. I reciprocate, but my eyes are on the tall shadow in the back. ¡°Summer?¡± Posie asks. ¡°Do you want your shot?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be right back,¡± I say, already moving through the throngs of people. Someone murmurs that I have a great voice, and I beam at them in thanks. Finally, there¡¯s no one between us. Saved by the Boss 69 I walk into his arms. He pulls me in for a hug just shy of bone-crushing and I bury my face against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him. His hand curves around the nape of my neck, the two of us trying to be one person. ¡°You were fantastic,¡± Anthony murmurs into my hair. ¡°Absolutely breathtaking.¡± I fight against the happy tears burning beneath my lids. ¡°You came.¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t stay away, not when you were singing. And not when I missed you this much.¡± ¡°I was counting days,¡± I admit. ¡°I was counting hours.¡± He releases me slowly, but doesn¡¯t let me go. His dark eyes are warm with emotion. An open face, even here, amongst all these people. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°For what?¡± ¡°For being you, Summer. For waiting on me to figure myself out.¡± ¡°I would have waited even longer.¡± His lip curls, and his gaze travels over my face. I know he¡¯s trying to memorize it again. He does that a lot, soaking up the details. ¡°How have you been?¡± I ask. ¡°Honestly?¡± ¡°Honestly,¡± he repeats, ¡°it¡¯s been awful. The most difficult thing I¡¯ve ever done.¡± I want to hear about it. The ces he¡¯s gone to, the people he¡¯s told. The doctors he¡¯s spoken to. But not now, not here, not when he¡¯s looking at me with such happiness. Not when my heart feels like it¡¯s soaring. ¡°You¡¯re here now,¡± I whisper. ¡°Yes, and I¡¯m never leaving again. Not as long as you want me.¡± ¡°Forever,¡± I say. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, pressing it into my hand. ¡°You told me to write a list of my own,¡± he says. ¡°Things I want to do in life.¡± My eyes swim as I look down at the neatly folded paper, unable to say a single thing. Anthony¡¯s voice softens. ¡°You reminded me of who I used to be, and of who I want to be again in the future. Vision or no vision.¡± I unfold the paper. In his sharp-edged handwriting is a short list. The first line is already struck. Tell the woman I love how I feel. ¡°I got ahead of myself with crossing the first one off,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Haven¡¯t done it quite yet.¡± I can¡¯t breathe as he cups my cheek, running a thumb over my lower lip. ¡°I love you, Summer. For so many reasons. For who you are. For your goodness and sweetness and smiles. For your optimism. But also for your bad days, and your insecurities, and when you lost your temper at that delivery guy one time.¡± I frown at the memory, and he smiles wider. ¡°Yes, especially that. I love that you find a silver lining everywhere, even when it¡¯s infuriating as hell. I love that you don¡¯t need me. You want me. There¡¯s a difference. ¡°I can¡¯t promise I¡¯ll be the man you deserve every day, all the time. One day I won¡¯t see anymore, and that terrifies me, Summer. I won¡¯t always handle that well. But I¡¯m going to try. I¡¯m going to live this life to the best of my ability. You were the one to tell me I¡¯m not dying, that I need to stop acting like I am. You were right. Because even blind, I¡¯ll have two hands to hold you with, and a mouth to kiss you with, and fingers to touch you, and that¡¯s enough. It¡¯ll always be enough.¡± My eyes blur, until I can¡¯t make out his features. It doesn¡¯t stop me from seeking his mouth. ¡°I love you too.¡± He kisses me with a low, harsh sound in his throat, arms tightening around me. The rest of his list crumples in my hand, and Iugh, kissing him, trying to push back at the same time. He shakes his head and kisses me again, and again. Public disys of affection weren¡¯t his thing, but here we are. ¡°I have to read the rest of this list,¡± I say. His hands dig into my hips, his mouth at my ear. ¡°You can read itter tonight,¡± he murmurs, and there¡¯s a promise in those words. ¡°For now, do you want to introduce me to your friends?¡± ¡°As¡­?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says, eyes bright. ¡°As your boyfriend.¡± I find his hand with my own, and I lead him through the bar, feeling like I¡¯m floating. I hang up the phone with my aunt, my heart pounding. Even during her vacation, she can¡¯t stop working. I can¡¯t me her. Not when things are going this well. ¡°Anthony?¡± I call. ¡°Out here!¡± I leave my phone on his kitchen counter and pad barefoot out onto the patio. He¡¯s lying on a lounge chair by the pool, his reading tablet in hand. Ace is a furry, golden snake beside him on the shaded terrace. The sun has darkened Anthony¡¯s skin to a deep brown tan, and his hair is mussed with salt water and wind. There¡¯s a tiny furrow in the center of his brow. I love it. It always appears when he¡¯s concentrating, working, or reading. ¡°How did it go?¡± he asks. ¡°Amazing,¡± I say. ¡°Fantastic. Perfect!¡± He puts the tablet down. ¡°Okay, now I¡¯m curious.¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. ¡°She might have asked me to be in charge of training the new people we¡¯re hiring ahead of the appunch.¡± Anthony sits up and motions for me. I step closer, his strong arms catching me around the waist. ¡°Of course you were asked. You¡¯re going to be a great instructor.¡± ¡°Absolutely.¡± ¡°I think it could be really fun. I could create manuals. Maybe a team-building exercise, too. That¡¯s important, right?¡± He smiles. ¡°Very.¡± I run a hand through his salt-roughened hair. ¡°She asked me to say hi to you, by the way. Jerome did too.¡± The skeptical look on his face makes meugh. ¡°Okay, I admit, I don¡¯t think Jerome actually said that. But Vivienne ims he did, so I rolled with it.¡± ¡°Hmph,¡± he says, tugging me down onto hisp. I settle a leg on either side of him and the lounge chair squeaks under ourbined weight. ¡°You¡¯re sure she¡¯s okay with us?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± I say, pressing a teasing kiss to his cheek. ¡°Most definitely.¡± Saved by the Boss 70 ¡°She didn¡¯t mind at all.¡± ¡°She didn¡¯t mind at all. Didn¡¯t she tell you that herself?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he admits. He¡¯d spoken to my aunt about us at the office a few weeks ago. Dressed in a suit. Very professional, because, as he said, he didn¡¯t want her to think he was anything but serious in his intentions toward me. I¡¯d told him he wasn¡¯t asking my father for my hand. He¡¯d winked and said not yet, and I¡¯d beenpletely speechless. ¡°But,¡± Anthony continues, ¡°she might say one thing to me and another thing to you in private.¡± ¡°Well, as a matter of fact, she has said some things to me in private,¡± I say, locking my arms behind his neck. ¡°She said she¡¯s d I¡¯ve finally found a good man.¡± Anthony closes his eyes at that. He¡¯s still not good at eptingpliments. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°She did,¡± I insist. ¡°You know, this is the woman who started a matchmakingpany out of her Soho apartment in the nies. She¡¯s entric, elegant, free-spirited love personified.¡± ¡°So she really doesn¡¯t mind that I seduced her niece right under her nose.¡± ¡°You seduced me, did you?¡± ¡°Oh yes,¡± he says. ¡°Wasn¡¯t that obvious from our very first meeting? You were the one who insisted on setting me up with other women.¡± ¡°Hmm. I don¡¯t think you knew you were seducing me either.¡±C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. ¡°I was always very clear about that,¡± he says, grinning. But the soft caress of his hands on my hips tells me there¡¯s partial truth in the words. I kiss him, and he kisses me back, tasting like the sangria I¡¯d made us after lunch. But he¡¯s still distracted. It¡¯s there in the slow, careful use of his lips. ¡°What?¡± I ask. ¡°Are you okay with it, Summer? With me being your boss?¡± I smile. ¡°Vivienne is my boss.¡± He rolls his eyes, and Iugh, pressing my lips to his again. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m okay with it.¡± ¡°We¡¯d figure something out if you weren¡¯t,¡± he says. ¡°You know that.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I murmur. ¡°I know that. If you¡¯re okay with dating one of your employees?¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯re not my employee. You¡¯re Vivienne¡¯s.¡± ¡°Right. Besides,¡± I say, ¡°you¡¯re a very hands-off boss.¡± Anthony puts his hands on my bare waist, gripping me tight. ¡°Am I?¡± Iugh, closing the distance between us. He kisses me slowly and thoroughly, a warmth spreading through my limbs that has nothing to do with thete summer sunshine. Happiness feels like an ever-present drug these days, hits avable at all times. He gives a low groan of contentment and rests his head against my corbone. I trail my fingers over the breadth of his shoulders, the skin sun-warm beneath my touch. ¡°What were you reading?¡± ¡°Mmm. The same book.¡± ¡°The memoir?¡± ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s describing his journey with braille now.¡± ¡°Any good?¡± I ask. The adjustments he¡¯s making, the things he¡¯s learning, isn¡¯t a forbidden topic. But it¡¯s sometimes a sore one. ¡°Yes. Though it still seems like a damn nightmare to learn.¡± I run my nails softly down his back and he sighs with pleasure, gripping me tighter. ¡°You¡¯ve got time to learn,¡± I say. ¡°It could be years, still. The doctor said you might end up retaining partial sight for decades.¡± ¡°The doctor says a lot of things,¡± Anthonyments, in a tone that makes it clear what he thinks of Dr. Johnson¡¯s cheery remarks. ¡°But,¡± he says, voice stronger, ¡°I¡¯m not focusing on that. Preparing for the future but embracing the present.¡± ¡°You sound like a fortune cookie,¡± I tease, but my heart swells at the words. It¡¯s what I¡¯ve wanted him to believe all along. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s the nextpany I should buy.¡± ¡°Definitely,¡± I agree. ¡°Or an astrology firm?¡± ¡°A palm-reading business,¡± he suggests. ¡°Maybe a life-coaching consultancy?¡± ¡°You know, I think I could have a career writing self-help books after I lose my sight.¡± Iugh, and he joins in, eyes dark and warm on mine. Being here with me fully. In the house he bought as a prison, but if the week we¡¯ve spent here together is any indication, it¡¯s a sentence we¡¯d both suffer dly. His hand presses gently into the muscles between my shoulder des. ¡°Still sore?¡± I shake my head. ¡°Much better now.¡± ¡°Still as much fun?¡± ¡°A lot more,¡± I say, ¡°now that you¡¯re doing it with me.¡± Anthony chuckles. ¡°Neither of us is great.¡± That¡¯s certainly true. Windsurfing the second time had hardly been easier than the first, and I doubt it¡¯ll ever be something I¡¯m good at, but trying it with Anthony on board had been too good of an opportunity to pass up. ¡°What about you? Not sore?¡± I run my hand down his arms and the strong muscle beneath. I¡¯ve gone weight-lifting with him once, too. It¡¯s not something I¡¯m nning on doing again. The word sore is a kind description for the ache in my muscles the next day. Anthony presses a kiss to my temple. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Of course not. You¡¯re the athlete.¡± He chuckles. ¡°You¡¯re the runner.¡± ¡°Okay, fine. We¡¯re both athletic.¡± Saved by the Boss 71 ¡°We are. There is one sport, though, that we¡¯re particrly good at,¡± he says, eyes glittering. ¡°A team sport.¡± I grin at him. ¡°Oh, we¡¯re Olympic gold medalists.¡± ¡°They wouldn¡¯t even let uspete,¡± he says, nipping at my bottom lip. ¡°It would be unfair to all the other contestants.¡± ¡°Unsportsmanlike.¡± His hands slide down and grip my ass. ¡°Very,¡± he agrees. ¡°We can¡¯t have that.¡± ¡°d we¡¯re agreed,¡± I say. ¡°Now we don¡¯t have to train for the next Olympics anymore.¡± ¡°But training is so much fun!¡± Iugh and kiss him again, and this time, the heat that sparks between us settles deep in my stomach. It¡¯s never really stopped burning since I met him. Much as I want to, though, we have some ce to be tonight, and I know he¡¯s distracting himself from that very thing. So I lean back in his arms and lock my legs around his back. ¡°So,¡± I say. He sighs. ¡°So.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve done something for my bucket list yesterday. Now we¡¯re going to do something that¡¯s on yours.¡± He closes his eyes. ¡°I know. Two of them, actually.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure you want to do both at the same time? I¡¯m okay if you want to go alone.¡± His hands tighten on my hips. ¡°No, I want you there.¡± ¡°Then I¡¯m there,¡± I say. ¡°You know that.¡± ¡°Yeah. Christ, Summer, there¡¯s going to be crying. My mother¡¯s going to burst into tears.¡± I rest my head against his shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s not your fault, Anthony. You¡¯re not responsible for their reaction.¡± He gives a low humming sound that makes it clear he disagrees. ¡°You¡¯re not,¡± I say. ¡°You didn¡¯t choose this. They¡¯ll be sad for you because they love you and don¡¯t want to see you suffer, but you¡¯re not responsible for the cause of the suffering itself.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± he breathes. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± I know I am. But the one time I¡¯d met his brother, briefly and over drinks a week ago, I¡¯d seen just how deep the need not to disappoint their elders ran in the Winter family. It led one brother to work himself to ruin andmit to marrying a woman he didn¡¯t love. It had led Anthony to strike out on his own in an effort topete, and then to hurt his family rather than admit to being diagnosed with permanent vision loss. I think of my own parents, and their hope that I¡¯d one day move back home and marry a nice man. Perhaps the dentist¡¯s son, as my mom had hinted at a few months ago. But being happy was really their only wish for me.All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. ¡°If we¡¯re not going to be gone too long, we can leave Ace here,¡± I say. ¡°He¡¯s fine being on his own for a few hours.¡± Anthony shakes his head. ¡°Let¡¯s bring him. I¡¯m already introducing my parents to my girlfriend and telling them about my eyesight. They can handle an inquisitive golden and some fur on the rugs.¡± ¡°All right. Ace ising.¡± He nods again, a wealth of emotions in his eyes. Beneath it all is a fear I recognize now, remnants of what he¡¯d told me months ago. Once he tells people, it bes real. It bes immediate. ¡°I ran from this for a long time,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Running can be a lifesaver when things get difficult.¡± I nod. I think it had saved his life for the past two years. ¡°But it¡¯s not a long-term strategy.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s not,¡± he says. ¡°Isaac will be there too. He already knows.¡± ¡°Right. Didn¡¯t your business partners take it wellst week, too?¡± ¡°Carter told me how sorry he was three separate times. Then he said it would make no difference to thepany. Both he and Tristan seem to have caught on to the idea that I can somehow be a blind mastermind behind aputer.¡± ¡°If anyone could, it would be you.¡± Anthony snorts. ¡°You think too highly of me.¡± ¡°Impossible,¡± I say. ¡°What did St. ir say?¡± ¡°He was just silent. The whole time.¡± ¡°He didn¡¯t say a word?¡± The most aggressive business partner among the four was rarely quiet when he had an opinion to express, and when he did, it seemed it was always in the harshest of terms. ¡°Not until the end. Then he just shook my hand. Said he was sorry for my loss.¡± ¡°Your loss?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Anthony says with a shrug. ¡°Weird thing is, I think he actually meant it.¡± ¡°Huh,¡± I say. I¡¯ve only met St. ir twice, but he hadn¡¯t struck me as sympathetic. With some people, you can tell there¡¯s a human beneath the stressed, overworked facade. With Victor, the coldness in his gaze seemed bone-deep. ¡°Did it feel good afterwards? Telling them?¡± ¡°It felt nauseating,¡± Anthony admits. I don¡¯t think he would have just a few weeks ago. ¡°But it¡¯s done now. They know.¡± ¡°They know,¡± I agree. He shifts me in hisp, holds me with one arm, and looks down at his watch. ¡°We should shower.¡± There¡¯s a heaviness in his voice, despite the resolution. But what he¡¯s going to do is necessary. It¡¯s also the second thing on the bucket list he¡¯d written, right below telling me he loved me. Tell the people in my life about my diagnosis. Beneath that had been one that made my heart warm. Introduce Summer to my family. So we¡¯re doing that, and then he¡¯ll be free to move on to some of the lighter things on his list. Our shower is a long, drawn-out affair, sharing it as we do. The tautness in his shoulders abates with the pleasure of our joining, and his mouth is soft and gentle on mine. But it¡¯s back in a scowl as we get closer to his parents¡¯ summer house in Montauk. We stand side-by-side on the sidewalk. Him, looking at a house that contains some of his best memories. Me, awed by the three-story building and its shingle-d facade. Ace is wedged between our legs, the only one amongst us who is calm and collected. ¡°Well,¡± Anthony says and reaches for my hand. ¡°Let¡¯s do this.¡± Saved by the Boss 72 Epilogue One yearter ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°Stay.¡± The six golden retriever puppies squirming at my heels don¡¯t listen. Despite their floppy, oversized ears, they don¡¯t listen tomands. Not yet. One day, they¡¯ll be some of the best trained dogs, apanion to people who need their guidance. But right now, they¡¯re seven weeks old, and they¡¯re a riot. ¡°You¡¯re not allowed out here,¡± I tell them, one hand on the dog gate. ¡°Will you stop trying to sneak past me?¡± Their mother gives me a brown-eyed look from her sprawl on the dog bed. She¡¯s the picture of tired, maternal pride. You¡¯re on your own , the look tells me. I¡¯m just happy they¡¯re not ying with my tail anymore. I make it out of the dog gate, but I¡¯m not alone. A budding escape artist makes a mad dash for it, wiggles his way out and bounds on too-big puppy paws past my legs. ¡°Oh, no you don¡¯t!¡± I swoop down, but he rolls sideways out of my reach, the picture of yfulness. His tiny tongue hangs out of his mouth in a way that¡­ okay. I might have parents who¡¯ve raised infinitely more dogs than they¡¯ve raised kids, but I¡¯m not immune. When a puppy hits you with that look, you melt. So I melt. I scoop him up and he gives a content wriggle, pushing a tiny nose against my palm. I take him with me through the kitchen and out the door to the backyard. My parents are sitting on their usual chairs under the oak tree, their two adult dogs sprawled beneath their chairs. Anthony is in a third chair, sitting opposite them. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, evident in his shorts. It had taken me a long time to convince him he could in fact wear shorts with my parents-no formalwear required-and here he is, tan legs on disy. His hand is buried in Ace¡¯s fur. A pair of prescription-strength sunsses cover his eyes. While they do nothing to stop his fading vision, they make reading a bit easier. For all the dour predictions he spouts when he¡¯s in a bad mood, he¡¯s not blind yet. The doctor says the vision loss has teaued at the moment, but we don¡¯t know how long it¡¯llst. First time I¡¯m happy if a teausts forever, Anthony had said. He¡¯s getting along better with Dr. Johnson these days. My mother breaks into guffaws ofughter at something Anthony says. His lip curls into that half-smile, and beneath the sunsses, I know his eyes are bemused. My parents love him. I think he¡¯s quietly astonished by them. This house, with its dogs, scattered books and boisterous game nights, is miles away from the serene quiet at the Winter family¡¯s city townhouse or Montauk residence. One time at his parents¡¯ house, I¡¯d seen a housekeeperb the fringes of an oriental rug. Combing. The fringes. Of a rug. In my parents¡¯ house, you¡¯d be lucky if there are any fringes left or if they¡¯ve been gnawed off by puppy teeth. The puppy in my arms lets out a soft yowl and wriggles. All three dogs at the table lift their heads. Only Ace¡¯s tail starts to wag, the others over the antics of thetest litter. ¡°Everything okay in there?¡± my mom asks. ¡°They¡¯ve torn down the ce,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯ll fall any moment.¡± ¡°Ha-ha,¡± Dad says. He¡¯s got his construction shorts on, pockets heavy with gadgets he needs to fix the house. There¡¯s always a screw that needs tightening. ¡°You couldn¡¯t resist bringing someone out with you?¡± I run my fingers over the puppy¡¯s soft head, and he snuggles into the crook of my arm. ¡°Have you ever noticed how often I visit when you have a new litter?¡± ¡°Summer,¡± Mom says. ¡°Are you implying what I think you¡¯re implying?¡± I sink down on the chair next to Anthony and give her a wide smile. ¡°Maybe.¡± Sheughs. ¡°That¡¯s my girl.¡± ¡°Good thing you like dogs,¡± Dad tells Anthony. ¡°Would¡¯ve been difficult to fit in with Summer if you didn¡¯t.¡± Anthony leans over my arm and runs a single finger over the soft fur on the puppy¡¯s head. He receives a soft lick in return. ¡°I met Summer and Ace at the same time,¡± he says. ¡°I always knew it was a package deal.¡± ¡°Two for the price of one,¡± I say. ¡°Mhm. Both golden.¡± The puppy in my arms wriggles, legs pushing against my arm. He crawls over to Anthony. ¡°Abandoned,¡± I say. Anthony chuckles and watches the puppy settle against him, putting a hand over the dog¡¯s back. It¡¯s nearly the size of his curled-up body.Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. ¡°She likes you,¡± Mom says. ¡°It¡¯s a she?¡± Anthony asks. ¡°Mom can always tell,¡± I say. ¡°Don¡¯t ask me how she does it.¡± Sheughs. ¡°Comes with the territory, I think. Not to mention seeing the puppies so often during their first few weeks. They look the same, but only in the way siblings look the same. There are little quirks that make it easy to pick them apart.¡± Dad shakes his head. ¡°She¡¯s the only one who ever manages, by the way. To me, all goldens look alike until they¡¯re adults, and even then, they¡¯re simr.¡± ¡°How do you decide?¡± Anthony asks, still looking down at the puppy. ¡°Which ones get adopted to loving families, and which ones will be trained by the Foundation?¡± Mom¡¯s voice is matter-of-fact, even if she nces my way. ¡°Well, guide dogs need to have a particr temperament. Attentive, eager to learn, willing to work, and thriving on praise. After a few weeks with the pups, it¡¯s easy to spot the two or three who exhibit those traits the most.¡± ¡°Hmm,¡± Anthony says, looking up at Mom. ¡°How long do they go through training?¡± ¡°Well, we raise them as puppies, and when they¡¯re young adults, they enroll in training at the Foundation for half a year.¡± ¡°Then they¡¯re matched with their partners,¡± I say. ¡°They¡¯ll go through training together before they graduate.¡± ¡°They graduate together?¡± Anthony asks. His thumb moves in slow circles over the puppy¡¯s golden fur. ¡°Yes,¡± Mom says, and this time, her voice is warm. ¡°Clive and I have been there for every graduation the past eight years. Haven¡¯t we?¡± ¡°We sure have,¡± Dad says. ¡°Eleven of our dogs have be guide dogs.¡± There¡¯s obvious pride in their voices, and I know Mom cries every single time she sees the dogs they¡¯ve raised up on that stage, sitting by thepanions they¡¯vee to love, and who love them in return. ¡°Is it something you¡¯ve considered for the future?¡± Mom asks Anthony. ¡°If you do, it would be a pleasure to find you a suitable dog in our litters.¡± I hold my breath, but Anthony only nods. ¡°I¡¯ve thought about it,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m not there yet, in terms of vision loss, but I will do it when I am.¡± Saved by the Boss 73 ¡°You will?¡± I ask. He nods, turning to look at me. There¡¯s only warmth in his eyes. ¡°Yeah. We already have Ace. What¡¯s one more dog?¡± ¡°I¡¯m happy to hear that,¡± Mom says. She stands and brushes off her jeans. ¡°Anyone want some more lemonade? Clive?¡± My dad looks up at her. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll¡­ yes. Yes, I do. I¡¯lle with you. Anthony, another beer?¡± ¡°I¡¯m good, thank you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll get one for myself, then.¡± He puts a hand on my mother¡¯s back and they walk side by side to the house. Cooper and Hera rise from their sprawl and follow them, tails held low. ¡°Well,¡± Anthony says by my side. ¡°That was subtle.¡± I smile. ¡°A guide dog, huh?¡± He looks down at the puppy in hisp, extracting one arm to wrap it around my shoulders. ¡°They¡¯re nicer than a cane.¡± ¡°Cuter, at least.¡± ¡°Softer to pet.¡± I chuckle. ¡°A bit less well-behaved, but I think you¡¯ll survive.¡± ¡°So do I,¡± he says. His hand curves around my shoulder. ¡°When do you want to go?¡± I look down at my watch. It¡¯s a little past two. ¡°Soon. In fifteen?¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. ¡°Sounds good.¡± ¡°Do you know when Tristan and Freddie are driving up?¡± We¡¯ve rented adjacent cabins in the Catskills for the weekend and I can¡¯t wait to breathe the fresh mountain air. Neither can Ace, though he doesn¡¯t know it yet. Thest time he met Tristan¡¯s son, he received more cuddles and ytime than he knew what to do with. ¡°They¡¯ve already made it, I think. They wanted to take Joshua hiking this afternoon,¡± Anthony says. I bump his chest with my shoulder, softly, not to jostle the dozing puppy in hisp. ¡°See? Hiking is a perfectly eptable activity in the Catskills. No life-risking involved.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not risking our lives by going white-water rafting.¡± ¡°I can see the headline now. Two of New York¡¯s most sessful billionaires lost to the waters as grieving girlfriends watch helplessly from the shoreline. New York State mounts huge rescue effort.¡± ¡°That headline is too long,¡± Anthony says. ¡°If you were reading it to me from the Times I¡¯d say they need to hire a new editor.¡± ¡°Anthony,¡± I protest. Heughs, the sound deep and free. ¡°I¡¯ll be careful,¡± he says. ¡°Trust me, I don¡¯t have a death wish, and Tristan most definitely doesn¡¯t. Besides, I have a feeling both you and Freddie will join.¡± ¡°What? This is your bucket list wish, not mine.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says, grinning, ¡°but you¡¯ve never been one to back down from a challenge.¡± I settle against his side. ¡°You know just how to appeal to my pride.¡± ¡°Just as you know how to appeal to mine.¡± He presses a kiss to my head, his hand sliding down my arm. He lifts it up and I gaze down at the diamond Cartier watch on my wrist. ¡°I¡¯m d you finally epted wearing this, by the way.¡± ¡°Yes. Means you¡¯re getting used to outrageously expensive gifts. Besides, I bought it for you.¡± ¡°You did not buy it for me.¡± ¡°Yes, I did. It was the one thing you looked at in that brochure.¡± ¡°When we were saving the rainforest?¡± ¡°Yes. Think about it that way,¡± he says. ¡°You wearing that watch is making a real difference in the world.¡± Iugh, unable to help myself at the dryness in his tone. His lip curls and he looks back down at the watch. ¡°Besides,¡± he says, ¡°one day I¡¯ll give you something expensive for this finger, right here. The watch is good practice.¡± ¡°Summer,¡± he says. Turns my head up and presses a single kiss to my lips, one that spreads through my chest and warms my heart. ¡°But don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll involve you in the process.¡± ¡°Involve me in the process?¡± ¡°Yes. I think you¡¯d prefer a vintage ring, if I know you as well as I think you do.¡± ¡°You do know me very well,¡± I murmur, looking down at my bare ring finger. ¡°I¡¯d love to wear your ring.¡± He¡¯s hinted before, but here it is, spoken out loud. My throat feels thick with emotions. And Anthony knows, because he always does, and presses me closer against him. His lips brush my temple. I look down at the puppy in hisp and wonder how he can make us feel sofortable, just by being him. ¡°Summer,¡± he murmurs. I press a kiss to his jawline. ¡°It¡¯s funny. When you bought Opate, I wasn¡¯t too happy about it. I knew you were saving us, but I was afraid you¡¯d change things.¡± ¡°I did change things,¡± he says. ¡°Yes, but for the better.¡± He chuckles. ¡°I had to change it for the better. You gave me no choice.¡± ¡°For the record,¡± he says, brushing a tendril of my hair back, ¡°I wasn¡¯t too happy about it either.¡± ¡°You made that clear.¡± ¡°Have I ever told you how I ended up being the Acture partner who ran point on Opate?¡± ¡°No. Is there a story here?¡± The puppy in hisp yawns, and he looks down, smiling. ¡°There is, actually. We yed poker for it.¡± ¡°You¡­ yed poker? The winner got Opate?¡± He gives me a look. ¡°No,¡± I say, bumping his shoulder with mine. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare tell me it was the loser.¡± ¡°It was, and I lost. We were at Tristan¡¯s and the lighting wasn¡¯t very good. I mistook the suits.¡± ¡°I was bitter,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ll admit that. But the thing is, I might have lost that game, but I still won in the end. Opate is doing better than ever and here I am, sitting with a future guide dog in myp, and you beside me. I saved Opate, but you saved me.¡± I can¡¯t tear my eyes away. He¡¯s never been more handsome to me than he is right now. ¡°You saved yourself,¡± I murmur. ¡°By embracing the future.¡± ¡°Embracing the future,¡± he echoes. ¡°For however long we have, and whateveres our way.¡± Want more Summer and Anthony? Join my newsletter to read a 6000-word short story told from Summer¡¯s perspective. She¡¯s happily married to Anthony and they¡¯re expecting. Anthony is ecstatic, but he¡¯s also a tad overprotective¡­ *** The story continues In Say Yes to the Boss, Victor St. ir is forced to take extreme measures to secure his inheritance. Like marrying his assistant. But while Cecilia Myers agrees, it¡¯s not out of kindness. No, she has no love for her arrogant, surly, and downright cruel boss. It¡¯s a business deal masquerading as a marriage. Nothing less, and definitely nothing more. Right? Grab Say Yes to the Boss now Say Yes to the Boss 1 If there¡¯s a will, there¡¯s a way.C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. And there¡¯s most certainly a will. It¡¯s in the hands of attorney Robert Tirsch, sitting by my grandfather¡¯s oak desk. He ignores the pack of vultures watching him and keeps his eyes on the will. Searching for a way out of this, perhaps. I lean against the bookshelves, breathing in the familiar scent of leather-bound books and dust. It didn¡¯t matter how often the maids tried to clean this room. Grandfather always drove them out. My aunt shifts in her chair. ¡°I think we¡¯d all appreciate if we could get this done soon. Today, preferably.¡± Mr. Tirsch clears his throat. Looks from the document in his hand to her. To my cousins crammed onto the old Chesterfield sofa. And then, finally, his gazees to rest on me. That¡¯s when I know. Nothing as trivial as the grave will stop Grandfather from micro-managing St. ir affairs. Mr. Tirsch presses a handkerchief to his forehead. ¡°Let¡¯s begin, then. Thank you all for gathering here today for the reading of thest will and testament of Richard St. ir. As you¡¯re all aware, this is not how we usually inform beneficiaries of the contents of a will. But the testator left specific instructions, and hiswyers have decided to honor those wishes.¡± He clears his throat, eyes refocusing on the will in front of him. Must be easier to face than the room¡¯s eager anticipation. ¡°Richard St. ir leaves half of his assets, excluding real estate, to his daughter, Mrs. Charlotte Reece, as quantified in liquid cash, stocks and bonds.¡± My aunt draws a breath. It echoes in the crammed office. ¡°Did you say excluding real estate?¡± Mr. Tirsch blots his forehead again. ¡°Yes.¡± Dignified, fifty-eight-year-old Charlotte Reece doesn¡¯t turn around to re at me, but I know she wants to. There are only two main beneficiaries to this will. Her, and me. My grandfather only had two children. With my parents gone, I inherit my father¡¯s lot. ¡°The other half of his assets, including real estate, will be left to the child of Richard St. ir¡¯ste son, Victor St. ir.¡± So, he gave me the house. The old bastard gave me this ce, the house that was my prison and sce for years. Maybe I can finally get someone to dust this room. My aunt rises from her seat, but a nervous head shake from Mr. Tirsch stops her in her tracks. ¡°There is, however, a requirement ced upon Mr. St. ir. It¡¯s most unusual.¡± I cross my arms over my chest. ¡°What is it?¡± Mr. Tirsch¡¯s eyes lock with mine. He shrinks, fidgeting with the paper in his hand. ¡°The estate will be held in a trust by the bank until Victor St. ir is married, after which he will formally inherit the house. If he has not changed his civil status within two years, the trust will revert to Mrs. Charlotte Reece. As I said¡­ most unusual.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not serious,¡± my aunt says. ¡°Is that it? No exnation? Nothing?¡± One of my cousins shoots me an incredulous look. I keep my eyes locked on the attorney and my face nk. Grandfather is requiring me to marry to get the house. Did he really think it would have that strong of a hold on me? ¡°There¡¯s a line included in the will, yes. It was Richard St. ir¡¯s wish that his grandson Victor would carry on the family name.¡± Tirsch gives me a look that¡¯s half-fear, half-apology. Perhaps I should have been nicer to him on the phone when he called about this meeting. Carry on the family name. Marry. For a few seconds, no one in the office makes a sound. Then I startughing. It¡¯s the first time in forever I¡¯ve felt this lightheaded. Of course my grandfather is requiring this of me. He¡¯s not done making judgements about me and my life or using me as a pawn. He¡¯s thrown down the gauntlet, gambling that he knew just what this house means to me. Marry to keep it. Don¡¯t and watch it go. And I have two years to do it. ¡°The usual, for your boss?¡± ¡°Yes. Go light on the mayo this time, please.¡± ¡°He didn¡¯t like itst time?¡± Ryan asks. I give him an apologetic shrug. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, I thought it tasted amazing.¡± Ryan chuckles, hands a blur behind the counter. Smoked salmon, rocket, capers, cream cheese and a small amount of mayo on gluten-free bread. We chat the whole way through, about thetest addition to his family. A pug named Lucy. ¡°My wife loves the Beatles,¡± he says with a grin. ¡°So Lucy it was.¡± ¡°Does she have a diamond-encrusted cor?¡± ¡°Do you think I¡¯d still be making sandwiches if she did?¡± Iugh. ¡°You have a talent¡­ so yes!¡± ¡°Oh, you tter me.¡± He hands me the finished sandwich, wrapped in stic. ¡°Here you go. I hope he likes it.¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure he will.¡± I wave him a cheery goodbye, the footlong made to Victor St. ir¡¯s exact specifications tucked under my arm. I stop by the corner shop and get him his coffee. Dark roast, Colombian beans, no sugar, no cream. I make it back to Exciteur Consulting with four minutes to spare before Mr. St. ir¡¯s meeting ends. Stacey, the new security guard working the lobby, is on duty by the electronic gates. Awesome. I wave at her. ¡°Hi!¡± She smiles and motions me ahead of the line of employees waiting to pass through the electronic gates. ¡°Thank you. You¡¯re the best.¡± She winks. ¡°Only for the top floor.¡± The elevator I hurry into is only half-full. The chatter dies down as soon as I hit the button for the thirty-fourth. Yes , I think. I work for executive. The corridor on the thirty-fourth is quiet when I arrive, my heels against the stone floor the only sound as I walk past executive offices. Two are empty conference rooms. One is the CFO¡¯s office, the other the COO¡¯s. Two are in-house attorneys. And then, at the very end of the corridor, is the atrium I call my home. Mason is at his desk. His fingers still on the keyboard as he sees me. ¡°They¡¯re not back yet.¡± I breathe a sigh of relief. ¡°Awesome, thank you.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 2 My keycard unlocks the door with the gold-rimmed sign of CEO and it swings open on automatic hinges. I put his lunch and coffee on his desk. Keyboard to the left. Lunch to the right. His neat stack of papers to read for the day are well out of the way of any potential food stains. Perfect. Just like every other lunch I¡¯ve prepared for Victor St. ir over the past couple of months. I make it back to my desk in the knick of time. The elevator dings and I look up at Mason. ¡°Showtime,¡± I mouth. They sweep through the hallway a few secondster, side-by-side, two conquerors returning from the battlefield. Eleanor, the COO, nods a cordial hello to Mason before entering her office. My boss does no such thing. The sharp cut of St. ir¡¯s jaw is all I catch before he¡¯s gone, unlocking the door to his ptial office. It clicks closed behind him. The corridor is silent once again. I drop my shoulders and meet Mason¡¯s gaze again. This time, he¡¯s grinning and pretends to wipe sweat off his forehead. He¡¯s Eleanor¡¯s assistant and I¡¯m Victor St. ir¡¯s. I know Mason would never agree to switch jobs, despite the pay gap between us. And I understand. It¡¯s been a year since Tristan Conway left and Victor St. ir took over the position as CEO of Exciteur. As the major shareholders of thepany, Acture Capital can appoint leadership at will. But did it have to be St. ir? Working for Conway had been a breeze. A pleasure, even. He¡¯d throw an asional joke my way and I¡¯d done the same to him, always with a hum of courteousness running beneath the surface. I got stuff done. He appreciated that. Victor St. ir is nothing like that. He speaks as if there¡¯s ice in his throat, chilling the words on the way out. The cial blue of his eyes is devastating when they¡¯re turned on you in disapproval. I fear that above all else. I¡¯ve been his assistant for eleven months, three weeks, and two days. I know that because I have a timer on myputer counting the days. I¡¯d sat here, eleven months, three weeks and two days ago, and overheard a conversation between St. ir and Conway. Conway rmended me. St. ir doubted I¡¯dst the month, let alone a year, but he¡¯d give me a shot. He¡¯d made it sound like he was doing me a favor. Well, I¡¯dsted the month, and in eight days, I will havested an entire year. Take that, St. ir. When that year is done, when I¡¯ve won my one-sided bet with my devil boss, I¡¯m out of here. I¡¯ve been polishing my resume for weeks and I have thetest version right here on my desk. It needs more fine-tuning before I can send it out topanies across the city. Anything and anywhere away from St. ir¡¯s orders. A job with normal hours and free weekends, with enough time to spend on my own business. The one I¡¯ve wanted to start for years. Mason clears his throat across the hallway. He¡¯s gesturing toward the elevators, a smile on his lips. ¡°Oh!¡± I half-whisper. ¡°Thank you!¡± ¡°Go!¡± I put myputer to sleep and hurry down the corridor to the elevators. The staff kitchen a few floors down is busy, but most people give me space. ¡°Hey, Cecilia,¡± Barry calls out. ¡°How are things up at the ice pce?¡± ¡°Chilly,¡± I say. The othersugh, and I grin back, sticking my ffel wrap in the microwave. Do I have two minutes? I decrease the timer to one and a half. ¡°Do you have time to stay down here with us?¡± Amy asks. ¡°Susan brought in cookies for the sales department and we swiped a few.¡± ¡°You guys are the best, but I have to head back up.¡± ¡°He can¡¯t force you to eat at your desk.¡± ¡°Oh, he hasn¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°I doubt he thinks I eat at all.¡± The othersugh again and I look at the microwave. Twenty seconds. Neen. Eighteen¡­ I¡¯m walking so fast I¡¯m almost running toward the elevators with my half-heated wrap in hand. It¡¯s a risk, but St. ir should be busy with his lunch. He always takes at least ten minutes to finish¡­ My heart is pounding when the elevator doors finally open to the thirty-fourth floor.Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. The sight at the end of the corridor makes it stop dead. St. ir is not in his office. He¡¯s standing next to my empty desk, his face frozen in harsh lines, inspecting a piece of paper. I force myself to take the steps forward. My heels echo with each painful step, and it doesn¡¯t sound smart or fierce. It sounds ominous. When I reach the desk, St. ir looks over at me. His eyes are t blue. ¡°You weren¡¯t at your desk.¡± ¡°I was heating my lunch.¡± I raise my ffel wrap up as proof. Here, Judge. Exhibit A. His gaze drops to it and he frowns. ¡°Is there anything you need, sir?¡± I ask, because the best defense is a good offense. ¡°There is no lettuce on my sandwich.¡± He flips the paper he¡¯s holding over. A copy of my newly minted resume, swiped from my desk. ¡°What is this, Miss Myers?¡± The backs of my thighs hit the hard edge of my desk. ¡°My resume.¡± ¡°I can see that. Are you nning on leaving Exciteur?¡± It¡¯s been a while since I was on the receiving end of his gaze. That much intensity isn¡¯t meant to be directed at one person. Ever. ¡°I¡¯m considering it,¡± I murmur, and brace for the worst. It doesn¡¯te. St. ir¡¯s eyes narrow in thought and he sweeps his gaze over me, from head to toe, in a way he never has before. He puts my resume down on my desk and gives me a long, final look. It sends a shiver down my spine. ¡°Interesting,¡± he says. Say Yes to the Boss 3 He heads toward his office. The door shuts with finality and I release a shaky breath. Across the hallway, Mason is staring at me with wide eyes. What the hell do I do now? The other shoe doesn¡¯t drop the day after. Or the day after that. St. ir continues to send me emails with no content, only orders typed as efficiently as possible into the subject line. Push my four o¡¯clock meeting. Reschedule my Denver flights. Still, I can¡¯t believe my idiocy. To leave my resume out on my desk, amongst my other papers¡­ I almost deserve to be fired. But still, I hope he doesn¡¯t. Not only because I need this job and the money it provides, or that being fired will make it harder to find a new one. But because I still haven¡¯tsted a year, as the timer on my desktop likes to remind me, and beating that shiny, ticking little thing has be a life goal. Two weeks left, and then I¡¯ll have worked a full year for Victor St. ir. I suppose my life will feel empty afterwards, meaningless, even. What do I do when I¡¯m not fighting a war with my boss that he doesn¡¯t even know he¡¯s in?C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. Victor likes to work undisturbed for a few hours every afternoon. Any meetings I can delegate, I do. Any conference calls that are not strictly speaking necessary, I decline. So I¡¯m confused when he calls me into his office at five p. m. on Friday. I know he¡¯s not close to slowing down. A Friday afternoon means nothing to St. ir. I¡¯ve lost count of the weekends I¡¯ve spent working, helping St. ir with projects, booking obscure ne tickets, sorting out his calendar. I push back my chair and straighten my pencil skirt. nce at Mason¡¯s empty desk. He¡¯s left, because Eleanor didn¡¯t require him to stay longer. She cares about employee satisfaction. I wonder what that feels like. Victor is sitting at his desk, back straight, eyes on hisputer. ¡°Sir?¡± ¡°Have a seat, Myers.¡± Nerves dance in my stomach, but I do as he says, sitting down on the chair opposite his desk. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He looks at me from hisputer. ¡°What are you apologizing for?¡± ¡°My resume?¡± I ask. ¡°You saw it? I know I shouldn¡¯t have had it in the office.¡± ¡°No,¡± he says, ¡°you shouldn¡¯t have.¡± ¡°I recognize that, and I¡¯m sorry. Won¡¯t happen again.¡± I¡¯m about to start cold sweating beneath my silk blouse. Victor raises an eyebrow. ¡°Despite how unprofessional that might have been,¡± he says, ¡°I didn¡¯t call you in for that.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± He leans back in his chair and looks at me in that full, scrutinizing way he¡¯d done the other day. That¡¯s twice in a week. I bear the full brunt of Victor St. ir¡¯s intensity, unsure if I¡¯ll survive a third time. ¡°So you want to quit,¡± he says. ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°I mean, I might in the future. This has been a terrific job, truly. But I think I¡¯ve learned all I can in this position. So I¡¯m thinking of finding another job, one more challenging, so I can continue to grow. But that¡¯s in the future.¡± ¡°Right. Well, that¡¯s excellent.¡± I stare at him for a long moment, my heart pounding like I¡¯ve run a marathon. His words don¡¯t make sense. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ excellent, sir?¡± ¡°Yes. I have a new job proposal for you.¡± ¡°You do?¡± He has never expressed anything but disdain or apleteck of interest in me. Had I managed to impress him? I do everything he asks of me and a lot more he doesn¡¯t. ¡°Yes. It¡¯s unorthodox.¡± ¡°Unorthodox?¡± He braces his hands on the desk. ¡°You know that my grandfather passed a few months ago.¡± ¡°Yes, I do. I helped arrange his funeral.¡± ¡°Right. Well, he left a will.¡± ¡°A will with certain¡­ stiptions.¡± This I understand. ¡°You want me to coordinate with thewyers?¡± The lines of his face deepen. ¡°No. I¡¯ve already tried that for the past half year. They won¡¯t budge.¡± ¡°Oh. Well, I¡¯m sorry.¡± His jaw works. ¡°My grandfather¡¯s will stiptes that to gain ess to my inheritance, I must be married.¡± ¡°Married, sir? Is it legal to include that in a will?¡± ¡°I doubt it,¡± Victor mutters. His hands clench tight around the edge of his desk. ¡°But the old bastard got hiswyers to agree somehow. They filed every avable loophole to make sure my inheritance is contingent on my civil status.¡± ¡°Wow. I¡¯m sorry, sir. I imagine that¡¯s difficult.¡± St. ir is never going to marry. I know that from working a year with him. Hell, I¡¯d known it after working for him a week. He dated like a tomcat. Over the past couple of months I¡¯d set him up on dates nearly every week. Not to mention there wasn¡¯t a woman in this world who¡¯d tolerate the long hours he worked. The man had even spent Christmas Day in the office and forced me to answer his emails remotely. And then there¡¯s the issue of his personality, of course. ¡°It¡¯s ridiculous,¡± he says. ¡°But as it so happens, I¡¯ve decided to do it.¡± ¡°To get married, sir? To whom?¡± ¡°I¡¯m d you asked, Miss Myers,¡± he says. There¡¯s a hint of humor in the ice blue of his eyes. ¡°To you.¡± ¡°You want me to marry you?¡± Victor meets my gaze. I¡¯ve never looked at him for this long before. It¡¯s terrifying. ¡°You want a new job.¡± ¡°Not as your wife.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 4 ¡°Marrying me would get you out of this office.¡± ¡°Yes, but not away from you.¡± St. ir blinks once and then his usual scowl breaks, lips curving. Something glitters in his eyes and damned if it doesn¡¯t make me more afraid. ¡°I always knew you wouldn¡¯tst a year.¡± My hands curl into fists, nails digging into the meat of my palm. ¡°Six days from now,¡± I say, ¡°I will have worked for you for an entire year.¡± ¡°Well, then you have nothing to lose.¡± The man is serious. There are a billion reasons why this is a bad idea, but as I grope for them, I say the first one I can think of. ¡°But you¡¯re not the marrying type.¡± The same half curl to his lips. ¡°This would be a marriage in name only, Miss Myers. We would not actually be in a rtionship.¡± ¡°No. Right. I would never¡­ of course not.¡± ¡°You¡¯d bepensated handsomely for your time,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯re in quite the bargaining position here, Miss Myers. How much do you want for agreeing?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to marry you for money.¡± ¡°You worked for me for money,¡± he says, voice dropping. ¡°You already trade your time for money. I¡¯m asking for very little of your time for this contract. Only your name, signature, and one year of not being able to marry anyone else. It¡¯s a far better bargain than the job you¡¯re currently at.¡± Victor St. ir is infamous for driving a hard bargain, and he doesn¡¯t relent until the other party epts. I know. I¡¯ve listened in on more than one of his negotiations, when he pesters and coaxes and intimidates until the person across from him folds. And then he walks away, victory glittering in his eyes, having doubled his fortune. I just never expected to be the one on the other side. ¡°But¡­ it¡¯s marriage,¡± I say, in a brilliant stroke of verbal genius. ¡°It¡¯s not the same as a job.¡± ¡°We can decide it is. Come on, Miss Myers. What do you want?¡± He leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he studies me. ¡°An entirely new wardrobe? A year of traveling around the globe? There must be something you want, more than simply out of your current job.¡± ¡°You¡¯re really doing this. You¡¯re buying a wife.¡± He snorts. ¡°If I was trying to buy a wife, I¡¯d go online. Plenty of people in the market for a green card. No, I want a contract. I want someone I know, someone I can trust to follow orders, who is organized and reliable. Someone who understands exactly what this is.¡± ¡°So you thought of me.¡± ¡°Well, you submitted your resume.¡± ¡°Not intentionally.¡± ¡°Does it matter?¡± he says. ¡°You said you wanted away from me. Well, you won¡¯t have to work for me anymore.¡± I stare at him. ¡°But I¡¯d be married to you.¡± ¡°You¡¯d have your own bedroom, bathroom and space in my apartment. Your own set of keys. We¡¯d barely see one another.¡±? 2024 N?v/el/Dram/a.Org. ¡°I¡¯d have to live with you?¡± St. ir¡¯s jaw ticks. ¡°One of my grandfather¡¯s rules. I¡¯m aware of how¡­ unorthodox this is.¡± ¡°Who on earth was your grandfather?¡± I shake my head, his desk turning blurry. ¡°No, sir. I¡¯m not going to marry you. I can¡¯t. I won¡¯t.¡± ¡°You can,¡± he says, ¡°and you will.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not for you to decide.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s up to you,¡± he says, and I know not to trust him, but I look up anyway. He¡¯s braced his hands on the desk and ice-blue eyes lock with mine. ¡°This is the chance for a new life, Miss Myers. Leave Exciteur. Make enough money from this deal to do whatever you¡¯ve ever dreamed of. If you want no contact with me, I¡¯ll make sure it¡¯s minimal. You¡¯ll be married to me for a year and not a day longer. After all, you¡¯vested one year with me already. What¡¯s one more?¡± I stand on hollow legs. His words make no sense, and yet they do, and that¡¯s why I have to leave. Because I know Victor St. ir gets what he wants. And he¡¯s not getting me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir. But I¡¯m not interested.¡± ¡°Take the weekend to think on it. We¡¯ll discuss it further on Monday.¡± I force the next words out. ¡°No, we won¡¯t. I¡¯m not interested.¡± ¡°Of course, Miss Myers. We¡¯ll see where we stand next week.¡± I shake my head, more to myself than for him, and head for the door. The bleak, impersonal atrium that is my office has never seemed so weing before. ¡°One more thing.¡± I pause, fingers on the door handle. ¡°If you¡¯re asking me to be the mother of your children too, then the answer is no to that as well.¡± Silence stretches out between us, and I want to apologize for the words, but I don¡¯t. Because they¡¯re true. Because who is he to demand this of me? St. ir¡¯s gaze feels heavy. ¡°Not quite. I need you to sit in on the seven p. m. with Tokyo. I need notes taken on the suppliers.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I say. ¡°Well¡­ okay.¡± The next day is slow, as Saturdays in October can be, but in all the best ways. My best friendes over to my tiny studio apartment and I¡¯ve arranged an obscene amount of nail polish for us on the coffee table. I keep them in azy Susan made out of clear stic and arranged by color. The bottles form a perfect rainbow from pink to beige to red and then to ck. Just looking at it makes my heart happy. ¡°He did not say that,¡± Nadine says. ¡°He did. I can¡¯t believe he did, but I swear to God, it happened.¡± ¡°His wife ?¡± ¡°You know I wouldn¡¯t lie.¡± ¡°Only if it¡¯s about eating choctes I buy for myself.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve only done that twice. I was on my period.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m still salty.¡± Nadine throws a pillow my way and I catch it, clutching it to my chest. ¡°His wife? He really wants you to marry him?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 5 ¡°Yes.¡± She shakes her head, braids flying. ¡°All for an inheritance? That¡¯s the part I don¡¯t understand. You¡¯ve told me time and time again how rich this bosshole of yours is. Why would he go through all this trouble?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I don¡¯t understand either. If it wasn¡¯t St. ir, I¡¯d think all of this was a practical joke.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not just pulling your leg, then.¡± ¡°He looked dead serious.¡± Ipose my face into a poor imitation of his, staring at my best friend with eyes I¡¯m trying to make smolder. ¡°Nadine,¡± I say. ¡°You already trade your time for money, working as my assistant. Trading your name for a year should be an easy decision.¡± She blinks twice before breaking intoughter. ¡°The man is a sociopath. Or a psychopath. I can never remember the difference.¡± ¡°He defies allbeling,¡± I say. ¡°Perhaps he can get his own disorder.¡± ¡°No, that would probably please him too much. Having something named after him.¡± Nadine shakes her head and leans back on my couch, stretching out her leg so it rests against mine. ¡°Did he at least offer you anything in return?¡± ¡°All kinds of things. An apartment. Money. A year of travel. And, listen to this, a new wardrobe.¡± Nadine chuckles. ¡°Right, because if money or an apartment wouldn¡¯t sway you, some new designer dresses sure would.¡± ¡°Of course. I am but a simple woman, after all.¡± ¡°Men,¡± she sighs. ¡°Maybe you can milk this for a few days. Let him buy you an expensive purse before you turn him down. This is your chance to squeeze the bastard for all he¡¯s worth.¡± ¡°That¡¯s you,¡± I say. ¡°You can do that sort of thing. You know I can¡¯t.¡± She rolls her eyes. ¡°You can, Cece. Stand up for yourself. This man has been nothing but demanding for over a year. He¡¯s had you work overtime, on weekends, on holidays. He¡¯s specified and respecified his lunch order fourteen thousand times. He¡¯s made you cry! But when he had you nning the funeral for his grandfather? You didn¡¯t see him shed a single tear.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s capable of emotion.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it feel great to skim some money off the top? Leave him behind with lighter pockets?¡± I knock her knee with mine. ¡°You¡¯re the devil on my shoulder, huh?¡± She grins back. ¡°Always. But level with me. Are you considering it?¡± ¡°Of course not. No way.¡± She reaches for a bottle of bright blue nail polish. ¡°Did he say how much he was offering? I might be interested.¡± I groan. ¡°Be serious.¡± Sheughs, unscrewing the top, and starts tozily paint her pinky. ¡°I¡¯m a struggling artist. He could finance all of it. Imagine the kind of studios I¡¯d be able to show at! I¡¯d trade myst name for that.¡± ¡°You, the least traditional person I¡¯ve ever met.¡± Nadine winks at me. ¡°I have to keep you on your toes.¡± ¡°Well, mission aplished.¡± I reach for a pale pink nail polish. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d go for the blue.¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. She stretches out her hand and admires her nails. ¡°I¡¯m working on Charity right now, for my seven virtues series. It¡¯s turning into an abstract seascape. This is almost the exact color I¡¯m using.¡± ¡°How¡¯s it going?¡± I ask. She¡¯s been sending her portfolio to art galleries across the city. After a decade of slowly, painfully building a name for herself, Nadine¡¯s finally at the point where she could exhibit. But so are a lot of other artists. She sighs. ¡°It¡¯s going terribly. Most galleries don¡¯t respond. Some are interested, but not in this particr series. It¡¯s like trying to win the lottery.¡± I unscrew the top to my nail polish. ¡°At least you have your sses at the art center, right?¡± ¡°Yes, but teaching kids to coge is only just enough to pay the bills, and definitely not enough to host an exhibition.¡± She shakes her head, admiring the nails of her left hand. ¡°But one thing at a time. Hey, speaking of difficult topics. When are you finally quitting your job to start your ownpany?¡± I groan, leaning my head against the couch. ¡°Hit me where I¡¯m weakest!¡± Nadineughs. ¡°You need to be pushed here, though. How long have you worked on your business n? Perfecting names, logos? You even have paperwork filed you haven¡¯t sent in yet!¡± ¡°It¡¯s too big of a risk. I need to have a job at the same time, or I could lose everything, all the money I¡¯ve saved. You know most new business ventures fail.¡± ¡°But some don¡¯t, Cece. If anyone¡¯s going to make it work, it would be you.¡± ¡°You have too much faith in me.¡± ¡°No, you have too little. Now¡¯s the time. Besides, you¡¯d also be working for yourself, not Victor St. ir. How ironic is it that he has the word saint in his name?¡± I snort. ¡°Very.¡± She nudges me with her knee. ¡°So, you¡¯re not going to marry him. But take the opportunity to leave your job, at least. In six months¡¯ time, I want to see you as the CEO of your very own virtual assistant firm.¡± ¡°I have learned a lot, working for Exciteur,¡± I admit. ¡°I¡¯ve even learned a lot from Victor St. ir.¡± ¡°Great! Take that and run. You don¡¯t owe the man anything.¡± I smile, looking down at my nails. ¡°Will you help me design my graphics?¡± ¡°Of course I will! You know it¡¯ll be a sess. Your vision is too good not to be.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. Truth is, I have full faith in the idea itself. Apany where people can purchase tasks is brilliant. Need your ne tickets booked? Send the info to us and we¡¯ll do it for you. Need to research the best dog grooming business in Seattle? We¡¯ll send you an itemized list in an hour. Need to negotiate with your cablepany? We¡¯ll handle the phone call. Clients could have a subscription or pay one-off fees. It¡¯s convenient for them, and it¡¯s convenient for me and my imagined hires, who could be located all around the country. People like me who love organization and research. Clients who have too little time and too many tasks. The idea itself is sound. It¡¯s the execution I¡¯m afraid of messing up, because if I¡¯ve learned one thing from my time as an assistant, it¡¯s that business rarely runs smoothly. Nadine and I spend the rest of the afternoonzing about before we get ready for the evening. With her, there¡¯s no telling where a night out will end, so I¡¯ve given up nning. I put on a short ck skirt, tuck a silk blouse into it and run a brush through my brown curls. ¡°Winged eyeliner!¡± Nadine calls. She¡¯s doing her makeup in my living room, sprawled on the couch. Say Yes to the Boss 6 ¡°Yes, Mom!¡± I call back, but I do as she says, and the effect is striking. She¡¯d helped me perfect the technique a few months ago and since then it¡¯s been my go-to going out look, making my green eyes pop. ¡°Can you imagine?¡± I call. ¡°I received my first proposal today. I feel like a character in a Jane Austen novel. Turning down unwee proposals of marriage!¡± Nadine pops her head into my bathroom. ¡± Yes. And then, just like a Jane Austen protagonist, you¡¯re going out to down martinis at Temple.¡± ¡°Practically afternoon tea, my dear.¡± ¡°Think your suitor wille calling?¡± She bats long eyshes. ¡°Leave his calling card?¡± ¡°If that¡¯s his business card, I don¡¯t want it.¡± She disappears back toward my couch. Our dresses areid out on my single bed, wedged in the corner of my tiny apartment. I return to my makeup. We work in silence for a few minutes. ¡°Oh my God. Cecilia. Oh my God!¡± ¡°What?¡± I peek out of the bathroom, only to see her standing in her underwear by the bed, her phone in hand. ¡°I just got an email from the Francis Hunt Gallery. They¡¯re inviting me to exhibit with them!¡± ¡°Nadine, that¡¯s amazing! Are you serious?¡± ¡°Yes. This is¡­ yes. Oh goodness. I¡¯m going to have to find money, though. Artists pay half of the exhibition fees.¡± ¡°They do?¡± ¡°Yes. Oh, Jesus. It costs several thousand dors to exhibit there. But it¡¯s such a good opportunity.¡± I sink down onto the couch. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Yes. Most artists will make it back, based on sales. I might? But I don¡¯t have that money.¡± She puts a hand on her flushed cheek, breathing deep. ¡°But somehow I¡¯ll have to get it. Extra shifts, I suppose. Coge sses all night long!¡± I nod, feeling hollow inside. Because I already know the best way to make her professional dreamse true, and just maybe, go after my own in the process. ¡°We¡¯ll find a way,¡± I tell her. ¡°This is your dream.¡± My hands are shaking around the coffee cup. Dark roast, Colombian beans, no sugar, no cream. Just like he wants his coffee. Only this time, he¡¯ll get it with a side of victory. I nce in the elevator mirror. My usualposed appearance gazes back at me. Brown hair brushed back into a low bun. Pink blush, brown eyeliner, nude lipstick. A gray pencil skirt and a white blouse. I look like an assistant to a high-powered man. For years, that¡¯s been my job. Helping someone else be on top. Perhaps it¡¯s time I look like a business owner instead. Money for my own start-up, money for Nadine¡¯s art, and one more thing. The thing he¡¯s going to hate most of all. Mentorship. I don¡¯t like St. ir, but he¡¯s the best at what he does. He negotiates like it¡¯s his native tongue. He cuts costs and grows profit margins. I¡¯ve learned more from him over the past year than I did from Tristan Conway before him. It just hasn¡¯t been as easy.All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. Mason¡¯s desk is empty opposite mine. Eleanor doesn¡¯t require him in until seven thirty, so it¡¯s just me and my early bird devil in his office. I wonder what world-conquering moves he¡¯s already made. Fired an entire Exciteur department? Bought anotherpany? Invaded Portugal? Tristan did things tactfully, if a bit bluntly. St. ir is ruthless inparison. I knock on his office door and it swings open. He¡¯s seated behind his desk, legs crossed and a dossier of papers in hisp. The blue shirt he¡¯s wearing is the exact color of his eyes. He¡¯s impossible to look away from. My hand shakes harder and I flex my fingers, gripping the coffee cup tight. This is a transaction. I don¡¯t need to think about why he¡¯s doing this. All I need to focus on is what I¡¯ll gain. I¡¯ve been given a chance to change my life and that of my best friend. Nadine has been a brilliant, struggling artist for a decade. This is her big break. St. ir looks up from his dossier. ¡°Good morning, Cecilia.¡± I didn¡¯t think he knew my first name, and he never says good morning. This isn¡¯t a good sign. This means he¡¯s done his homework, like he always does before negotiations. Only this time I¡¯m not the one who¡¯d done the research for him. ¡°Good morning,¡± I say. Force my legs to move and put down his coffee. ¡°Excellent. Thank you.¡± I stare at him. He¡¯s never thanked me for anything. St. ir looks back at me with cool determination. ¡°Have a seat and let¡¯s continue our discussion fromst week.¡± If I let him, he¡¯ll take control of this conversation. I¡¯ve seen it happen too many times before. I grip the back of the chair and look him straight in the eyes. ¡°I have three conditions.¡± He sets his dossier down. ¡°Name them.¡± In my head, I hear the sneer of gold digger . But the ruthless businessman in front of me doesn¡¯t let the opinions of others bother him. I¡¯ve seen him squeeze his suppliers or customers for every dime they¡¯re worth. If he can do it, so can I. ¡°I want double my yearly sry, and half of it upfront.¡± The sharp cut of his jaw dips once in a nod. ¡°Agreed.¡± So I¡¯d asked for too little, but even this amount feels like a dizzying sum. For Nadine¡¯s art exhibit and my start-up. ¡°My second condition. There¡¯s an art gallery I want you to patron.¡± One eyebrow rises. ¡°To patron?¡± ¡°Yes. Go to the Francis Hunt Gallery a couple of times,¡± I say, clearing my throat. ¡°Attend an opening and buy a few paintings, invite some of your famous friends. Create some buzz, you know.¡± He gives another nod. ¡°Fine. Specify all of that in the contract and I¡¯ll look it over. Is that all?¡± ¡°One more thing,¡± I say. ¡°I want you to mentor me.¡± Victor St. ir stares at me. ¡°You want me to do what?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 7 ¡°Mentor me,¡± I repeat, hands tightening around the back of the chair. ¡°When you¡¯re not at Exciteur, you run a sessful venture capitalist firm. Well, I¡¯d like to start my ownpany, and I want your advice.¡± His lips turn down. ¡°You want me to be a silent partner?¡± ¡°No. I don¡¯t want you to invest.¡± Not when I know just how ruthless he can be. There¡¯s no way St. ir ising close to owning a piece of my new business. ¡°You want my time,¡± he says. This is going to be a hard sell. ¡°Yes. I want you avable once every week for the year we¡¯re married, to ask you any questions I have about my business. I want your unbiased, professional assessments.¡± ¡°You want to start a business.¡± His eyes narrow. ¡°Do you know anything about running a business? Anything at all?¡± ¡°I have a BA in business administration,¡± I say. ¡°I worked at several firms before Exciteur, and I¡¯ve seen how both you and Mr. Conway work up close. I¡¯m ready for my own start-up.¡± I have no idea if I¡¯m ready. But business is all about faking it till you make it.All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. St. ir reaches up to adjust his tie and the tone of his voice is arctic. ¡°You made it clear you wanted away from me, Miss Myers. Not to negotiate for more time with me. No. I¡¯ll double the amount instead. Two hundred thousand and patronage of an art gallery.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. Tasting blood and feeling ready to bolt. He raises an eyebrow. ¡°No?¡± ¡°No. We can make our question-and-answer sessions once every two weeks. But they¡¯re happening, or you can find yourself another bride-for-hire.¡± Our eyes lock, the ice-cold blue of his freezing. I want to run to the safety of the corridor outside his office, to my desk and my half-eaten breakfast sandwich and Mason¡¯s kind eyes. But I stay and I watch him the way he¡¯s watching me. The way he¡¯s taught me. ¡°One two-hour session a month,¡± he says, jaw tense. ¡°And two fifteen-minute shorts. You¡¯re to schedule them with my new assistant.¡± ¡°All right.¡± ¡°Is that it, then? Or do you want me to sponsor another one of your friend¡¯s businesses too?¡± There¡¯s a dryness in his tone I haven¡¯t heard before. But then, this might be the first conversation we¡¯ve ever had where he isn¡¯t speaking in monosybles. ¡°No, that¡¯s all.¡± ¡°Then that¡¯s it. Congrattions, Miss Myers. You¡¯re about to get married. I¡¯ll have mywyers send you documents to read. Pre-nup and standard uses.¡± He opens the dossier on hisp again, dismissing me. ¡°Make the arrangements. You know my schedule.¡± I let go of the chair. ¡°I do. Should I coordinate with yourwyers for the marriage license as well?¡± ¡°Irving or Hardmann?¡± ¡°Irving.¡± He closes the dossier with a smack and reaches for his coffee. ¡°Send my eight a. m. in directly when he arrives.¡± ¡°Yes, sir. Will do.¡± Just like that, I¡¯ve agreed to marry my boss. ¡°Courthouse?¡± He¡¯s returned to his work, eyes on his screen. ¡°Yes. Book a time midday, if you can. I want to avoid traffic.¡± My cheeks are still flushed when Mason arrives. He stops in front of my desk, and his smile fades as he sees my pinched expression. ¡°Hey, Cecilia. Everything okay? You didn¡¯t get fired, did you?¡± I give a halfugh. ¡°No. Not exactly.¡± No, I have a wedding to n. My own. My hand tightens around the phone. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m sure.¡± Irving takes a deep breath on the other line. ¡°Mr. St. ir,rge portions of this contract are unenforceable in court.¡± ¡°I realize that.¡± ¡°The deal you¡¯re making here is¡­ well, beyond the scope of thew.¡± That¡¯s a fine way to put it. Paying someone to marry you isn¡¯t illegal, but it¡¯s not covered by standard uses. ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± I say. ¡°But I want it written up. Make it look legal.¡± ¡°Sir, I-¡± ¡°I¡¯m not deceiving Miss Myers. She is well aware of what she¡¯s agreed to. The point of the contract is to ensure we both uphold our ends.¡± ¡°Right. Yes.¡± ¡°It¡¯s between two individuals,¡± I say. ¡°Phrase it like I¡¯m giving her a gift of one hundred thousand dors. Half at one date, the other half at the end of the year. Don¡¯t mention the marriage.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do as you say,¡± Irving says. Another pause on the phone, and I look up at the ceiling. He¡¯ll say something now, like he always does, that I¡¯ll have to dismiss. He¡¯s a good familywyer. One of the best in the city. He¡¯d been my father¡¯s once, as well as my grandfather¡¯s. No doubt he was one of thewyers consulted on the irond marriage requirement in the will. But he couldn¡¯t help sharing his opinions on things that had nothing to do with thew. ¡°I spoke to thedy in question,¡± he says, and there it is. The censure in his tone. ¡°She¡¯s a responsible, motivated young woman. I think you¡¯ve chosen well, St. ir.¡± ¡°But?¡± ¡°But it¡¯s clear she doesn¡¯t understand why you¡¯re doing this. I think sharing the reason behind it would help here to terms with the decision.¡± ¡°She¡¯s already agreed.¡± ¡°She¡¯s agreed verbally,¡± he says. ¡°But she hasn¡¯t said yes to you in front of an officiant yet.¡± I run a hand along the stubble on my jaw. He has a point. Until I have the deed to my grandfather¡¯s house in hand, I can¡¯t look away from this. From her. ¡°Noted,¡± I say. Say Yes to the Boss 8 ¡°Good. I¡¯ll draw up the contract and send it to you by the end of the day.¡±C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. We hang up and I stare at the inbox on my screen. Organized and sorted, and near empty. Miss Myers handles most of mymunication. My correspondence. My schedule. She has since the first day I stepped into Exciteur to take over for Tristan. The bleeding hearted fool stepped down, all because he was dating one of thepany interns. Wasn¡¯t even an HR vition. ¡°To make her morefortable,¡± he¡¯d told us partners. ¡°I want it all to be legitimate.¡± His loss. Exciteur was at a position of near global dominance in the consulting world and if he didn¡¯t want to be at the helm of that ship, there were plenty of people willing to fill it. Like me. Miss Myers hade with the position, just like the decor of his office. A mousy young woman who¡¯d never had her hair out of ce, who dressed like she wanted to be invisible, to blend in. And now my wife to be. I run a hand over my face. Sleeping had been hell for the past week, as it is when the memories are at their worst. Not to mention the ticking time bomb. Months had passed since the reading of my grandfather¡¯s will. I wish I could let it go. That I could buzz Miss Myers in and tell her she¡¯s off the hook, she doesn¡¯t have to marry me, go ahead and quit and live her life crocheting, reorganizing her bookshelves or whatever else she did for fun. But I can¡¯t. Because then the damn, fucking house will pass to Charlotte, with her garish colors and talk of flipping houses. She¡¯ll strip the ce. Tear down Grandfather¡¯s office and throw out all of his books. Install a pool in the rose garden. There¡¯d been a time I wanted to burn the ce to the ground. And now I¡¯m willing to marry my own assistant to get it. If Grandfather could see me now, I don¡¯t know if he¡¯dugh or curse me out for finding a loophole in his will. He¡¯d probably do both. My mind runs through the list of women I¡¯d been on dates with over the past six months. More than I¡¯d ever dated before. More than I ever wanted to date again. It had been moronic conversations about moronic subjects with women who barely knew me. Socialites and business-women and even a few models, all of whom agreed to dates after they heard my name. But pretending to be interested in anything long-term was beyond me. So. Miss Myers. Cecilia. With her prim blouses and her smart efficiency. Who had talked back when I made her the offer. Who hade into this office and negotiated with me, standing her ground, even if I suspected she¡¯d fold like a house of cards if I¡¯d pushed. She¡¯d found a backbone beneath all that pale silk. Far more annoying was the fact that I¡¯d need to hire a new assistant, one who¡¯d need training. Which meant I¡¯d be operating without a limb for a few months. A soft ding on myputer announces new events added to my schedule. Wedding. 1 p. m. Office of the City Clerk. Attendees: Cecilia Myers (confirmed), Victor St. ir (pending). I tick the box to confirm my attendance. RSVPing to my own nuptials. It almost makes me smile. Then my calendar pings again. Pre-wedding dinner. 7 pm. Salt. Attendees: Cecilia Myers (confirmed), Victor St. ir (pending). I lift my phone and press the single digit that connects me to my assistant. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Come in here,¡± I say. The office door opens momentster and Miss Myers walks in. Her hair is in a low ponytail today. Gray pants and matching zer. She looks like an assistant. My fianc¨¦e,dies and gentlemen. ¡°What do you need?¡± ¡°You scheduled a pre-wedding dinner,¡± I say. Her hands twist in front of her, but she meets my eyes. ¡°We need to talk.¡± ¡°About what? There¡¯s no agenda attached to this meeting.¡± ¡°Not about business. About us. We¡¯re practically strangers.¡± I frown. ¡°We¡¯re not.¡± ¡°What¡¯s my first name?¡± ¡°Cecilia,¡± I say. It feels odd on my tongue. ¡°Where do I live?¡± ¡°From the fifteenth onward, you¡¯ll be living on 5th Avenue. With me.¡± She shakes her head, and there¡¯s a fire in her eyes. It¡¯s the same one she¡¯d showed when she negotiated with me. ¡°I¡¯m not marrying you like this. We need to sit down. Talk about the year ahead. About expectations and, and¡­ rules. Limits. You can afford to take one night off work.¡± I lean back in my chair. Perhaps I can, if she¡¯ll show me more of this side of her. ¡°Fine.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± she echoes. ¡°There¡¯s nothing else?¡± ¡°No.¡± She nods and turns, and my eyes do something they¡¯ve never done before. They trace the lines of her body and imagine it beneath the fabric. Does she have dimples at the base of her spine? Her pants are loose, but they stretch over a firm ass as she walks. The door closes behind her and I stare at it for a few seconds. Miss Myers. I must be losing my mind. Salt is my standard restaurant for business meetings. The kind that are better had outside of office environments, where a ss of wine or four butters up clients, suppliers and everything in between. Say Yes to the Boss 9 I don¡¯t know whether it¡¯s funny or ironic that Cecilia booked Salt for our talk, but I¡¯m tiring of answering emails on my phone while I wait for her. ¡°Another gin and tonic, sir?¡± the hostess asks. She bats her eyshes and takes my empty ss away. I nce at my watch. She¡¯s seven minuteste. And Miss Myers is neverte. I¡¯m halfway through my second gin and tonic when she shows up, weaving her way through the tables with flushed cheeks. Her hair is down. For an entire year, I don¡¯t think it ever has been. It falls in curly sheets of mahogany around her face, framing pink cheeks and a soft mouth. She¡¯s wearing makeup, too. Has to be. Because she hadn¡¯t looked like this in the office. I would have noticed. ¡°Sorry I¡¯mte.¡± She misses the waiter hurrying to pull out her chair and has a seat. She notices him a secondter. ¡°Oh no, did I beat you to it? I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Not a problem, miss. Can I take your coat?¡± ¡°Yes, please, that would be lovely.¡± She shrugs out of it, revealing a dark blue silk blouse. Several buttons are undone and I glimpse a sliver of ace bra. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll be right back with the menu.¡± She beams at him like he¡¯s discovered a cure for cancer. The smile disappears when she turns her focus on me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. The subway stopped between two stations.¡± ¡°You took the subway here.¡± ¡°Yes, it¡¯s a quaint little invention.¡± But then she remembers herself, and her brief sh of humor fades. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever been to Salt. I¡¯ve just scheduled it for you. You know, I¡¯ve spoken to the ma?tre d¡¯ a hundred times and not once did I picture him having a moustache like that.¡± My lips turn down. ¡°Miss Myers, you said you wanted us to talk.¡± ¡°So I did,¡± she says, opening the menu. Her hands grip it tight. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to try the mushroom ravioli they have here. You wouldn¡¯t know how it is, of course. You don¡¯t like mushrooms.¡± I stare at her for a long moment before Irving¡¯s words ring back in my head. The wedding is in two days. I need her to say yes, which means I can¡¯t simply ask her why she wanted to meet tonight. I need to woo her. We¡¯re still negotiating. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ve never been able to get over the taste of earth.¡± Her eyes meet mine over the edge of her menu. ¡°Let me guess. You¡¯re going to have the beef wellington with a ss of the 2006 Merlot?¡± ¡°Yes. You know that, yet you use us of being strangers?¡± ¡°I know some of your likes and dislikes,¡± she says. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean we genuinely know each other.¡± ¡°Fair enough. Well, tonight I¡¯m an open book. What do you want to know?¡± She lowers her menu. ¡°You¡¯re an open book.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the furthest thing from an open book I¡¯ve ever seen.¡± I run a hand through my hair. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll make an attempt. If you need this to feel confident going forward, then I¡¯ll do it.¡± ¡°To feel confident?¡± ¡°Yes. With the marriage.¡± ¡°The marriage,¡± she murmurs. ¡°Well, I do have some questions. What about-oh. Hello.¡± The waiter gives us an apologetic smile and asks for our orders. I give him both of ours, asking for a bottle of the 2006 Merlot. We¡¯ll need more than just a ss for this. ¡°Your question,¡± I prompt her. Cecilia¡¯s cheeks heat up. They do that often, it seems. Another thing I hadn¡¯t noticed. ¡°You¡¯re very private, but now you want us to live together. How is that going to work?¡± I resist the urge to sigh. ¡°Like I said, you¡¯ll have your space and I¡¯ll have mine. The apartment is big enough for both of us. It¡¯ll be fine.¡± It¡¯ll have to be, because I don¡¯t have a choice. Besides, all we need is that she¡¯s officially registered at my address. I can always sleep at a hotel if it gets too much. Exiled from my own apartment. Christ.All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. ¡°Would I move my stuff in?¡± ¡°The things you need, yes. But the ce is fully furnished. I¡¯ll pay for warehousing the rest of your stuff for the year.¡± Cecilia nods. Her hands curve around the stem of her winess. Slender, pale fingers and sheer nail polish. No rings on any of her fingers. ¡°How will we exin this?¡± ¡°Exin?¡± ¡°Yes, to people around us.¡± I shrug. ¡°There¡¯s no one in my life who will ask questions. You can exin it however you like to yours.¡± Her gaze locks on mine, eyes widening. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Yes. The contract specifies nothing about secrecy. You can tell your friends it¡¯s a marriage of convenience, if you like. Doesn¡¯t bother me.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s not¡­ okay then. I guess I¡¯ll see when I get to that. It¡¯s not a simple thing to exin.¡± I nod, though it seems easy enough. Unorthodox, sure, but a business transaction after all. Say Yes to the Boss 10 ¡°People at thepany might gossip.¡± I shrug again. ¡°Only if they find out. Besides, none of them will say anything to me.¡± ¡°No. No, I suppose that¡¯s true.¡± A half-smile ys at her lips. It bothers me. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± ¡°Nothing,¡± she says, shaking her head. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ I didn¡¯t know you were aware of your reputation.¡± ¡°My reputation?¡± ¡°Well¡­ people are afraid of you.¡± I snort. ¡°Only because I can have them fired.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°Only because of that little detail.¡± When the food arrives, my beef looks as good as it always does. I¡¯m here often enough that they don¡¯t have to ask for my preferences anymore. ¡°Fresh parmesan?¡± the waiter asks. Cecilia nods and we both watch as he grates a fresh block over her te. They exchange smiles when he¡¯s done, like he¡¯s just climbed Mt Everest instead of doing his wellpensated job. ¡°Let me know if you need anything else,¡± he tells her. ¡°I will. Thanks again.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± His gaze slides to me. ¡°Enjoy your evening, sir.¡± I¡¯ve been to Salt more times than I can count, and I¡¯ve never seen this level of service from them. They¡¯re typically brisk. Businesslike. Not personable. ¡°He¡¯s nice,¡± Cecilia says. She bends closer to her food and takes a deep, appreciative breath. A tendril of dark hair falls from behind her ear and curls at her neck. ¡°You¡¯re missing out here, St. ir. Mushroom or no mushroom, this pasta smells amazing.¡± I frown. ¡°Sticking to what I enjoy is a solid strategy.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she murmurs, ¡°and God forbid you don¡¯t have a strategy when you eat.¡± There it is, the fire, and I stare at her while she cuts into her pasta. She¡¯d said that people are afraid of me. Is she? We eat in silence for a while, but then she straightens, eyes meeting mine. ¡°So¡­ what about other people?¡± ¡°Other people? The ones you wanted to tell?¡± She turns her winess around by the stem. ¡°No. I mean, I don¡¯t expect you to be celibate for a year. Are we both allowed to date? Yourwyer sent over the contract, but it didn¡¯t mention dating.¡± ¡°Dating is allowed, for both of us. But I¡¯d prefer it to happen outside of my apartment.¡± ¡°Right, and the same would go for you?¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. I have to agree to that. Fair is fair, after all. ¡°Yes.¡± She nods, skewering a ravioli and lifting it to her lips. They¡¯re glossy tonight, reflecting the single lit candle between us on the table. Does she date? A week ago I wouldn¡¯t have been able to answer that question. Now, with her in front of me in an half-buttoned blouse and glossed-up lips, I don¡¯t know. Not sure if I want to know, either. ¡°There¡¯s one thing I can¡¯t quite figure out.¡± I cut into my steak and swallow thement thates naturally. Only one? ¡°Why do you want your inheritance so badly? You¡¯re already wealthy,¡± she says. ¡°So why go through with this?¡± Her words betray an ignorance of my world that would make another man smile. They just make me annoyed. Because on the surface of things, she¡¯s right. There¡¯s being rich, and then there¡¯s wealth, and my grandfather had thetter. He¡¯d kept the St. ir family fortune intact over decades. The fortune my father had helped shepherd. The fortune I¡¯ve heard the story behind over and over and over again for my entire life. But I don¡¯t need it. I can live a life better than most with what I have, what I¡¯ve worked for. The fortune is hard to let go of, but not impossible. ¡°It¡¯s not just money,¡± I say. ¡°There¡¯s a house, too.¡± ¡°A house?¡± I reach for the cor of my shirt and undo the top button. ¡°Yes. It¡¯s on Long Ind.¡± Cecilia rests her chin in her hand, gaze on me. ¡°You won¡¯t get it if you¡¯re not married?¡± ¡°Exactly. My grandfather had certain¡­ ideas. I¡¯m sure this is his way of ensuring they¡¯re followed, even from the grave.¡± Her voice lowers. ¡°I¡¯m guessing our contract wasn¡¯t a part of his n.¡± ¡°Probably not.¡± I reach for my winess, watching the deep red swirl. ¡°How were the mushrooms?¡± ¡°Earthy,¡± she says, ¡°and delicious.¡± ¡°You dressed up for tonight.¡± My eyes drift down, to where the tight skirt curves around her form in a way the straight pencil skirts never do at work. She smoothes a hand down her blouse. ¡°Oh. I¡¯m going out after.¡± ¡°You¡¯re going out. Where?¡± ¡°To a bar.¡± Her cheeks are flushed with life again, eyes alight. ¡°My best friend insisted on a bachelorette party.¡± I stare back at her, at this woman I¡¯ve only ever seen as my assistant, with plump lips and long, wavy hair. She¡¯d used us of being strangers. Maybe we are. Say Yes to the Boss 11 One year after I started working for Victor St. ir, I hand in my official letter of resignation. I also marry him. So it doesn¡¯t feel quite like a victory when I reset the timer on myputer desktop to zero, starting the count for another year with him. ¡°You can still back out,¡± Nadine murmurs by my side. She¡¯s been a rock over the past week, steady with advice and jokes and zaniness. She thinks I¡¯ve lost my mind. She¡¯s also promised to be there with me every step of the way. ¡°I¡¯m not nning to,¡± I say. I¡¯m wearing a dove-gray dress. White had felt wrong. Jeans had felt wronger still. So I¡¯m in my gray office dress and my ck work pumps at City Hall. I¡¯d always wanted to get married outdoors. Close to where I grew up, in the park. Next to theke. When I was a child my mother and I often sat there and watched the swans, me reading and her meditating. Somehow the contrast to today steadies me. This isn¡¯t a wedding. It¡¯s a contract signing and a way to get what I need. Nadine will put on her art show. I¡¯ll start my ownpany. ¡°If it¡¯s what you want, then you can do this. I know you can.¡± Nadine stands on her tiptoes and rearranges my headband. ¡°He¡¯s just a man, and he can¡¯t fire you anymore. Remember, he¡¯s the one who needs you.¡± ¡°For a house,¡± I say, and we both smile. The idea of Victor St. ir subjecting himself to marriage to inherit a house feels ludicrous. And steadying. It means that beneath his sharp words, he¡¯s human. Surely a true sociopath wouldn¡¯t care about a house, right? Then again, I haven¡¯t seen it. Maybe it¡¯s the actual house F. Scott Fitzgerald lived in and he wants to convert it into a multi-million-dor museum. I shake my head. ¡°Let¡¯s get out there. He¡¯s waiting.¡± My hands are sweating as Nadine and I leave thedies¡¯ room. We walk down the empty and impersonal hallway to the room where they¡¯re waiting. St. ir turns at the sound of the door. He¡¯s in the same suit as always, and thick, dark-blond hair rises over his forehead. He frowns when he sees me. Had he been expecting white? Or that I¡¯d magically transformed into one of the models he regrly dated? Well, screw him. He needs something. I need something. This is a business deal, just like the ruthless ones he spent his entire life making. After two years doing the dirty work for Tristan Conway and Victor St. ir, I¡¯ve finally learned something. It doesn¡¯t matter if it¡¯s ugly. What matters is that it gets done. ¡°This is my friend and witness, Nadine Willows.¡± St. ir nods to Nadine and buttons his suit jacket. ¡°This is Steven. He¡¯ll be our second witness.¡± The man to his right gives me a curt wave before putting both of his hands behind his back again. They¡¯re standing over five feet apart. So, not a friend, then. A smiling, middle-aged man walks in, sses perched on his nose. ¡°The happy couple!¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m honored to be here today.¡± I look from him to St. ir¡¯s stoic face andughter bubbles up in my throat. It¡¯s nervous and panicked and probably more than a little hysterical. ¡°You must officiate a lot of these?¡± Nadine asks. ¡°Several a day?¡± Our officiantughs. ¡°Yes. But I¡¯m always honored. Ready to get started?¡± I turn to St. ir. His name is Victor, though I¡¯ve never called him that. The man I¡¯ve hated and cursed mentally for the past year. He¡¯s dictated my weeks and my weekends, my holidays and my vacation. Orck thereof.All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. He gazes back at me, blue eyes reflecting the lighting overhead. Beautiful features on an otherwise relentlessly masculine face. Sharp jaw and straight nose. There¡¯s steadiness in his eyes. Not encouragement. Not kindness. But steadiness, the kind I¡¯ve learned to read over the past year. The one that means he¡¯s reliable in all of his self-serving, business-oriented glory. Once given, he doesn¡¯t break his word. I¡¯ve seen him follow his agreements to the letter. ¡°Cecilia?¡± he asks. The sound of my first name rings out between us, stretching taut in the silence of the dusty City Hall room. I take a step forward. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°We¡¯re ready.¡± There are some moments you¡¯ll remember forever. Signing my name next to Victor St. ir¡¯s on the marriage license is one of them. It might not be a traditional wedding. There are no speeches or supportive parents, no ushers, no flower girls, no wedding party. But there is the same one sentence I¡¯ve heard over and over again. And it falls over us like a scythe. ¡°I now pronounce you husband and wife.¡± The words ring in my head in the awkward silence that follows. Spin on repeat as St. ir thanks the officiant, as Nadine makes small-talk with Steven. Victor gives me a professional nod and reaches up to readjust the cor of his fitted shirt. ¡°Well done.¡± ¡°Um, thanks. You too.¡± He motions for the door and I follow him, walking out of the room where my fate has just been sealed. My head feels dizzy. Topsy-turvy. The deep-green carpet beneath my feet has probably been walked by thousands of couples before us. Had the brides been happy? Laughing and crying? I wonder if any of the couples had known one another as little as Victor and I do. If any of them had liked each other less. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Nadine whispers. I give her a smile. It feels wobbly. Victor strides down the steps from City Hall with Steven beside him and I hurry to follow. Drizzle hangs in the air and New York is gray, the heavy clouds above multiplying in the ss panels of brutal skyscrapers. Say Yes to the Boss 12 It¡¯s the kind of day I long to be anywhere but here. Nadine and I catch up to Victor by the curb. Steven walks briskly down the sidewalk. ¡°He¡¯s going to get the car,¡± St. ir says. ¡°To get the car,¡± I murmur. ¡°Steven¡­ Oh. He¡¯s Steven Daugherty. Your driver.¡± St. ir nods, ncing up at the sky like he considers the rainy haze a personal affront. Nadine clears her throat. ¡°I¡¯ll give you two a minute. Congrattions, Victor.¡± He looks surprised, but then gives a single nod. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s in thanks or acknowledgement. We stand there in the drizzle. Husband and wife, after one of the shortest engagements in history. ¡°Well¡­¡± I say. ¡°What happens now?¡± ¡°I have interviews lined up for your recement.¡± I nod. That¡¯s a safe topic. ¡°You can send the shortlist over to me, and I¡¯ll look them over for you. I know what you need.¡± His eyes slide to mine. ¡°I will.¡± ¡°Good.¡± ¡°Steven will take you to my apartment to settle in. Have him drive any things you need from your old ce. You have the numbers to the movers I usedst. Fix everything and charge it to my ount.¡± ¡°Right. Thanks.¡± He nods again and just like that, I¡¯m dismissed, another thing checked off his schedule. Get married at one, investor meeting at two. He hails down a cab with a single raised arm. It stops in front of him and he looks at me over his shoulder. Neither of us has words, it seems. ¡°Thank you,¡± he says. Our eyes hold for another long moment before he nods, like he¡¯s confirmed something, and disappears into the cab. It drives off and leaves me on the curb, my best friend a few feet away, beneath a New York sky that wants to evict us. ¡°Are you okay on your own?¡± Nadine asks. Her voice sounds like it¡¯sing from far away, through a fog, but I nod. ¡°Sure. I¡¯ve got¡­ Steven.¡± ¡°I can help you move tomorrow, I think.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got work,¡± I say. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare take one of your precious vacation days for me.¡± ¡°I can call in sick,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯ve been working on my fake sniffle.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the worst actress in the world. No, go ahead. Thanks for being my witness.¡± She pulls me in for a hug and I wrap my arms around her tightly, with her deep-red peacoat and the scent of coconut from her hair. Normalcy in this sea of chaos.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°You¡¯re brave,¡± she whispers. ¡°Or foolish,¡± I whisper back. ¡°I haven¡¯t decided yet.¡± ¡°Both, Cece. You¡¯re both. Just like me.¡± I have to blink rapidly. ¡°At least this will make for a great story one day,¡± I say. She nods. ¡°We¡¯ll have to practice it a few times before we tell it around the dinner table with our real husbands.¡± ¡°Do a few trial runs.¡± ¡°Yes. We have to get the pitch just right.¡± I chuckle, and she gives me a broad, bright smile, the one that¡¯s Nadine to a T. All of her passionate, artistic self. ¡°I should have just married you,¡± I tell her. ¡°Still an option,¡± she says. ¡°Once you¡¯re divorced from St. ir here, I¡¯ll swoop right in.¡± ¡°I love you, you know.¡± Her eyes soften. ¡°I know. Love you too, Cece. Now get in this car before you give your new husband¡¯s driver an aneurism, and call meter.¡± ¡°I promise. Prepare yourself for fifteen pictures of his apartment.¡± ¡°You mean a FaceTime video tour, right?¡± ¡°Sorry. Yes.¡± I get into the dark, leather interior of St. ir¡¯s private car. Steven says something from the front, but I don¡¯t catch it, turning to wave to Nadine. She gives me a single wave back, her hair drawing up tight from the drizzle, as we¡¯re already halfway down the street. City Hall loomsrge behind her. Now it¡¯ll always be the ce I got married for the first time. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say to Steven. ¡°I didn¡¯t catch that. What did you say?¡± ¡°Please fasten your seat belt, Mrs. St. ir.¡± Mrs. St. ir. That¡¯s me now. I¡¯m Mrs. St. ir. My hands shake as I do what he says, so I lock them tight together on myp. He doesn¡¯t say another thing to me during the drive to Victor¡¯s apartment on the Upper East Side. It¡¯s good, because with my spiraling thoughts, I don¡¯t know if I¡¯d be able to respond. The address is familiar. I¡¯ve ordered a hundred airport pickups and taxi appointments for St. ir from his home. I¡¯ve sent home his dry-cleaning, I¡¯ve coordinated with his housekeeper. I¡¯ve calcted the time it would take him to walk to different restaurants to cut down on wasted time, as he liked to call it. Also known as any time he couldn¡¯t be productive. My new husband isn¡¯t human. But then, I¡¯d known that for a long time. Say Yes to the Boss 13 I¡¯d just never thought I¡¯d get to see it up-close and personal. Steven leads me past a stone-faced doorman and through a grand lobby. He hands me a keycard. ¡°Floor eighteen,¡± he says. ¡°The code is eight, five, five, eight, three.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be on standby for you all afternoon. Just call when you want me to drive you to your old apartment.¡± Steven inclines his head and heads off with brisk steps. ¡°Thank you!¡± I call. ¡°For everything!¡± He falters and then raises a gloved hand. ¡°Of course, ma¡¯am.¡± I manage to operate the fancy elevator. I even manage to walk down the single hallway on the eighteenth floor and stop in front of a ck door. No keyhole. Just a keycard reader, a fingerprint scanner, and a keypad. Eight. Five. Five. Eight. Three. The door unlocks with a soft click and I push it open, walking toward my fate. Victor St. ir¡¯s apartment is a testament to quality. The polished hardwood floors, the thick wool of the living-room rug, the giant cloud couch built around a sixty-five-inch TV. There are no exposed cables. No knickknacks spread on random surfaces. No fridge mas, no smudgy handprints on the mirrors, and definitely no nts on the windowsills. It¡¯s a space to look at. Not live in. I walk around the ce on tiptoes, as if he¡¯s waiting around a corner. He¡¯s not. I know he¡¯s not. But his presence is everywhere, lingering on the smooth surfaces and polished edges.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. It feels like walking through a museum. The only thing missing are the bored attendants, sitting on fold-up chairs in the corners, ready to tell you off for taking a photograph. I peek into a room that looks like a near replica of his office at work. Simr desk. Simr chair. I wonder if he has an assistant who looks like me hiding somewhere, ready to pop out and do his bidding. Maybe she did the smart thing and turned down his proposal. The interconnecting rooms span an apartment of at least two thousand square feet. Or so I think, until I see the staircase. I¡¯m afraid to snoop. I¡¯m also too curious not to. Besides, I have to find the guest bedroom that¡¯ll be my home for the next year. A year. I can¡¯t let myself dwell on that. A year is too long. I¡¯ll take this in months, instead. Weeks, perhaps. Days, most likely. The staircase leads to a second story with a long, elegant hallway. On one end is a half-open door. The other is closed. I inch toward the half-open one and peer inside. Bingo. The bedroom is big, but not master-bedroom big. A queen-sized bed in the center with a beige bedspread that looks ironed and pressed. I run my hand over a desk in the corner. It looks like a hotel room. Does he have a lot of guests over? Is this where the women he dates have to sleep? Booted out of his bedroom when he¡¯s finished, relegated down the corridor to this ce? The windows open up to a view of the park and I sit down on the bed, looking out at the fall foliage, the bright oranges, reds and yellows. It feels like taking a deep breath. Drinking a cool ss of water. I can live with this view. I can spend my time in this room, working at the desk that feels like it belongs in a hotel, sleeping in therge bed, showering in the giant adjoining bathroom. I can spend my weekends at Nadine¡¯s or party with our friends. And during the days, I¡¯ll work on my start-up. My very own firm, selling virtual assistant hours to entrepreneurs. A voice echoes below. I freeze, listening. Are those footsteps? Why is this ce so big? I walk softly over to the open door, and the voice rings out again. ¡°Miss Myers?¡± It¡¯s not Victor¡¯s. I head downstairs ande face-to-face with a woman in her mid-fifties. She¡¯s dressed smartly in all ck, her blonde hair in a short perm. She smiles when she sees me. ¡°There you are. I hope I didn¡¯t wake you from an afternoon nap?¡± ¡°No, not at all. Bonnie?¡± ¡°That¡¯s it. It¡¯s a pleasure to finally meet you, Cecilia.¡± I shake her hand. ¡°Likewise. From all of our emails, it feels like I know you already!¡± ¡°Well, you do! It¡¯s a good thing he¡¯s had the two of us to organize his life for him. You¡¯ve been one of his best assistants, you know.¡± ¡°Oh, thank you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry I wasn¡¯t here when you arrived,¡± Bonnie says. ¡°The ceremony was quicker than I expected. I trust it went well?¡± ¡°Uh, yes. It did.¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay if it was difficult,¡± she says. Her smile is professional, but there¡¯s genuine kindness in her eyes. ¡°I work for St. ir, and I¡¯m loyal to him, which means I¡¯m loyal to you too now. But that also means I won¡¯t inform on the two of you to each other.¡± I sink down on one of the kitchen chairs. My limbs feel heavy, too much adrenaline and excitement for one day. ¡°You know why we married, then. I wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d told you.¡± ¡°I do. Would you like some tea?¡± ¡°Yes, please.¡± ¡°Earl Grey, or herbal?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 14 ¡°Earl Grey, please.¡± She nods and I watch her move around the pristine kitchen, opening drawers without knobs. ¡°He informed both me and Steven,¡± she says. ¡°Right. And hiswyers.¡± She nods. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sure what you must think of me. I promise you I¡¯m not- ¡± Bonnie holds up a hand. ¡°I don¡¯t think anything, dear. I think you¡¯re a talented assistant, the best he¡¯s ever had. I think the both of you found yourself in a position to help one another. It¡¯s only fair that you getpensated for that. God knows he¡¯s not the easiest to work with, and now you¡¯re married to him! As far as I¡¯m concerned, you deserve every penny.¡± The frankness stops me dead, and then I burst outughing. Bonnie joins in. ¡°I can¡¯t tell that to him, though,¡± she stage-whispers, a fond smile on her face. I smile at her. ¡°What would he do without us, do you think?¡± ¡°Without us keeping his world in order?¡± ¡°His blood pressure would spike,¡± she says, pouring piping hot water into a mug. Steam curls in the air above it. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think he could survive without us.¡± I ept the warm mug from her. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been wanting to meet you for a long time,¡± she says. ¡°I never imagined it would be under these circumstances.¡± ¡°No, I didn¡¯t either. But I¡¯ve wanted to meet you too.¡± ¡°Thanks for emailing me about the switch from still to sparkling water the other month.¡± She moves to the refrigerator and opens it with a flourish. ¡°I make sure we¡¯re always fully stocked when he wants it.¡± The refrigerator is a piece of art. Everything is stacked,beled, organized. It belongs on a curated Instagram feed. It belongs in a frame. ¡°Bonnie,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re a magician.¡± Sheughs, shutting the stainless-steel door. ¡°No,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m the domestic version of you.¡± ¡°Well, I have to thank you, too, for emailing me about Reubens. I added that to his lunch rotation at work.¡± ¡°Did he like that?¡± ¡°Good. I¡¯ve been trying to get him to eat more variety for years. I cooked a dish with quinoa two weeks ago, and well¡­¡± Bonnie gives me a half-smile. ¡°I¡¯m not doing that again.¡±This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. Iugh, because it¡¯s all too easy to imagine. ¡°I don¡¯t think he has any idea how much we smooth his way.¡± ¡°I think he does, but he doesn¡¯t know how to acknowledge it.¡± Bonnie has a seat opposite me and reaches for the breast pocket of her ck shirt, pulling out a notepad and a pen. ¡°Now, I want to know what you¡¯d like to make the guest room on the second floor feel more like your home. Steven and I are here to help. Do you want us toe with you and pack?¡± Steven and Bonnie are in a league of their own. Bonnie chats. Steven is stone-faced. But between the three of us, we pack up most of my things in cardboard boxes that Steven had stocked inside the trunk of Victor¡¯s car. It¡¯s clear that he only hires the best, and with the two of them, he¡¯s found the cream of the crop. ¡°This is lovely china,¡± Bonnie says as she packs the vintage green set my mother had bought for me at an antique sale. It¡¯s going in the boxes for storage. Storage, because I won¡¯t need most of this for an entire year. I¡¯m trying to think of it as a gap year. A fun, experimental year, as I fold linens I won¡¯t need and decide which books I won¡¯t read for theing year. Like going to camp. A camp led by an asshole with a personality disorder, but a camp nheless. Business camp. I¡¯ll finally get my start-up off the ground. ¡°The men are here from the movingpany,¡± Steven says. He¡¯s rolled up his sleeves, but otherwise he looks as emotionless as usual. I wonder if Victor is his role model. ¡°Excellent,¡± Bonnie says. ¡°Should we start with the couch?¡± I nod. ¡°Yes, sure. Do you need help? Oh. No, okay then.¡± Steven bends and lifts at the same time as a mover walks in, bearded and with two other men to help him. It takes them fifteen minutes to have all my furniture out of the studio and inside a moving van. It takes Bonnie and me half an hour to pack the rest, the things I¡¯m bringing to Victor¡¯s apartment. And just like that, my old life is sealed up, all in one day. ¡°Please let me buy you guys pizza,¡± I tell both of them in the car. ¡°You took time out of your day to help me. Please.¡± Steven shakes his head and Bonnie¡¯s voice is firm. ¡°Absolutely not. We¡¯re working, dear.¡± ¡°Even so? I can¡¯t tempt you with a slice of pepperoni?¡± She chuckles. ¡°No. Not unless you¡¯d rather eat that for dinner instead of the food I¡¯ve prepared at home, in which case I¡¯ll dly order you pizza. Just let me know if there¡¯s a restaurant you prefer.¡± I sink down in my seat. There¡¯s so much here I haven¡¯t considered. That they¡¯re staff. That I¡¯m¡­ not, not anymore. I¡¯m their employer¡¯s wife. I can¡¯t even think that thought. ¡°We¡¯ll eat at St. ir¡¯s,¡± I say. Steven drops us off outside the apartment building that is now my home. He idles, turning around to look at me. ¡°I¡¯m heading to the storage facility to see that everything¡¯s gone all right with your delivery. Would you like me to take photos of the unit they¡¯ve assigned you to while I¡¯m there, Mrs. St. ir?¡± I blink at him. ¡°Um. Yes, please. I appreciate it. But I¡¯m not Mrs. St. ir. Please call me Cecilia.¡± He gives a hesitant nod that makes it clear he¡¯ll do no such thing. I spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking in my bedroom. Putting my toothbrush in the marble en-suite and hanging up my clothes in the giant closet. My eyes keep flickering to the view of Central Park from this angle, the forest of trees with their leaves aze in color. I can¡¯t believe this is my view now. From my bedroom. In my boss¡¯s apartment. It¡¯ste when I venture downstairs. Bonnie is cooking, a ck apron around her waist. She smiles when she sees me. ¡°Is it feeling more like a home up there?¡± I nod, sitting down at the kitchen counter. ¡°Yes. This smells amazing. What are you making?¡± ¡°Lobster ravioli.¡± ¡°Lobster ravioli?¡± ¡°Yes. It¡¯s one of St. ir¡¯s favorites.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 15 I take another deep breath of the intoxicating scent and nce at my watch. He never leaves the office before seven. ¡°I can¡¯t wait.¡± In truth, I have no idea how I¡¯ll react when hees home. Home. My husband. Victor St. ir. I rest my head in my hands, the full weight of the day crashing down on me like a tidal wave. I¡¯ve signed a contract. I¡¯ve gotten married. And I¡¯ve moved, sitting in an apartment that is nothing like me, so far removed from everything I¡¯ve ever known. And the man I¡¯m waiting for toe home is the man I despised just two weeks ago. The man who is now single-handedly bankrolling my new start-up andunching my best friend¡¯s art career. ¡°I imagine it¡¯s a lot,¡± Bonnie says softly. I nod, unable to speak. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure you get pepperoni pizza for lunch tomorrow.¡± I give a weakugh. ¡°Thank you.¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. ¡°Of course. For what it¡¯s worth, I¡¯ve known St. ir for years. He¡¯ll stay true to his word. And if he doesn¡¯t,¡± she says, raising her spat in warning, ¡°he can kiss his homemade lobster ravioli goodbye. I¡¯m not opposed to burning them if he upsets you in any way.¡± Iugh. ¡°You know, I sometimes gave him decaf coffee when he annoyed me at work. He didn¡¯t notice. It was my small act of rebellion.¡± Bonnie¡¯s eyes widen, and then sheughs too. ¡°Decaf?¡± ¡°Yes. Tiny, perhaps, but I know he¡¯d have hated it if he knew.¡± Sheughs again and my ownughter grows, half-hysterical and half-sane. The front door ms shut. I try to stop giggling, but I¡¯m still wheezing when footsteps sound in the hall. They¡¯re familiar. I should know, having spent a year ruled by theirings and goings down the office corridor. Victor St. ir stops in the vaulted doorframe of his kitchen. He looks between me, still giggling, to where Bonnie is smiling by the stove. Suspicion blooms in his eyes. ¡°Wee home!¡± I say. It¡¯s over the top, but what¡¯s the worst thing he can do? Fire me? He steps into the kitchen and puts his briefcase on the counter. ¡°Hello, Cecilia.¡± He¡¯s still in the fitted, navy suit from our ceremony, but his dark blond hair isn¡¯t in its usual neat waves. It¡¯s tousled, like he¡¯s run his hand through it repeatedly. It¡¯s been a stressful afternoon for him, then. I don¡¯t know if that makes me feel better or worse, that marrying me wasn¡¯t stress inducing for him but work was. ¡°I moved into the guest room upstairs,¡± I say. He nods, eyes on the papers he¡¯s flipping through. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°Steven and Bonnie were invaluable. They helped me pack up my old apartment, and Steven drove all my stuff to the storage unit. I couldn¡¯t have done it without them.¡± Victor makes a humming noise. ¡°Good.¡± ¡°Yes. How was the rest of your workday?¡± Blue eyesnd on me. ¡°It was a disaster. I had to spend over two hours on the assistant candidates HR prepared.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I say. That exins the hair. ¡°I have a shortlist of three who might be passable.¡± He slides a document over the marble counter. ¡°Call them tomorrow for me. You¡¯ll be able to tell which one is best.¡± I look down at the three unassuming names and phone numbers on the piece of paper. You might leave St. ir¡¯s employ, but you¡¯re never really out, it seems. I flip through the resumes of three people who have no idea what they¡¯re in for. ¡°I wired the money to your bank ount, as per the contract. It should be there tomorrow.¡± ¡°Uh, yeah. Thank you.¡± Victor shuts the briefcase with a loud snap and turns to the stove. ¡°Lobster ravioli?¡± ¡°Yes. Ready in five,¡± Bonnie says. This is my time. I clear my throat and Victor turns back to me. I have no idea what he thinks of me sitting here, in his kitchen, in his house. Perhaps he expects me to live in my room and stay out of themunal areas. ¡°Yes?¡± he prompts. ¡°I¡¯d like us to schedule a meeting about my start-up. I want to present what I have and get your input.¡± His mouth tightens. ¡°You should have everything in order before we meet. Treat it like I¡¯m a true potential investor.¡± ¡°I know. I have most of it in order.¡± ¡°I find that hard to believe,¡± he says. ¡°When would you have had time to work on it? While you were my assistant? I doubt it.¡± It takes effort not to grit my teeth, not to back down. ¡°So you were aware of all thete nights and weekends I worked. I wasn¡¯t sure.¡± ¡°I paid you to be avable.¡± ¡°On Christmas? On my birthday?¡± His eyes narrow. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Well, I did have time. Not much. But I carved it out, and I¡¯m ready to present it to you. Next week?¡± ¡°I¡¯d ask you to check with my assistant, but I don¡¯t currently have one.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°You married yourst one.¡± Victor slides his briefcase off the counter, eyes locked on mine. They burn again. Like they did in his office when he first made me the offer. Like they did in the restaurant when he took in my outfit. ¡°Call the shortlisted candidates tomorrow,¡± he says. Say Yes to the Boss 16 ¡°If you schedule a meeting for us next week,¡± I say. ¡°Fine.¡± ¡°Great.¡± Keeping his eyes on mine, he speaks to Bonnie over his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll eat in my office. I have work to catch up on.¡± ¡°Of course, sir.¡± He gives me a farewell nod, and I return it, like two knights just finished with their duel. Then he walks out of his kitchen and disappears down the hall toward the home office I¡¯d glimpsed earlier today. I sag against the kitchen counter. Confronting Victor St. ir is bing a hobby, and I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s one I enjoy. Bonnie sets down a te in front of me and the scent of fresh pasta and lobster washes over me. My prize and my reward. ¡°Good on you,¡± Bonnie says. ¡°Will you eat with me?¡± She nces down the hall, weighing her options. Then she nods and grabs a te of her own. ¡°Of course, dear.¡± And that¡¯s how I spend the night of my wedding. Eating delicious, expensive pasta with Victor St. ir¡¯s housekeeper, adrenaline leaking out of me with every bite, as my new husband works in his office. Victor and I find a routine in theing days. It¡¯s as beautiful as it is simple. It¡¯s avoidance. He gets up earlier than me. I hear him in the mornings, lying in my too-big, too-soft bed, listening to his feet in the hallway that connects our two bedrooms. They always disappear down the staircase. He starts off by going to his home gym. Either he works out alone or has one of his twice-a-week sessions with a personal trainer. I know, because I¡¯d scheduled and paid the appointments. Forty-five minutester on the dot, I hear him return up the stairs and the door to his bedroom shuts. Showering, I suppose. It¡¯s odd how I know a person¡¯s life so intimately when I know so little about the person himself. Victor is gone every day, from seven in the morning to eight or nine in the evening. When he returns, he heads straight to his office, eating his dinner at his desk. I want to ask Bonnie if he started with the dinner-at-his-desk routine when I arrived, but I don¡¯t dare. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do with that information. Be pleased? Offended? The apartment is most always empty when I start my day, and it is now too. I¡¯ve explored more in the days since I arrived. I even went so far as to lift one of the dumbbells in his home gym and nearly dropped it on my foot. There is personality in this space. It¡¯s just hidden well. Like the bottles of wine in the wine cooler. The books scattered around the living room. None of them are fictional. They¡¯re all biographies of great men and women of ages past, or books written by contemporary business leaders. Books he reads.Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. Today, I spend the morning working on my business proposal for Victor, interrupted sporadically by texts from Nadine. Some are more wee than others. Nadine: Your mother wille to town at some point, you know. Cecilia: I know. Nadine: You know she¡¯s my favorite person. Cecilia: Ouch. You¡¯re banned from getting pickles off my burgers. Nadine: That¡¯s a disproportionate response. I know you¡¯d never keep me from pickles. Aaaaanyway, what are we going to tell her about you and your new HUSBAND? I smile at my phone. Thank God for Nadine and her use of the word we . She doesn¡¯t know about my intentions to use the money yet, or about Victor¡¯s patronage of her art gallery. Cecilia: I have absolutely no idea what I¡¯m going to tell her. She¡¯ll freak out. I¡¯ll have to prepare a list of crazy things she¡¯s done herself. Nadine: Good one. Nothing says don¡¯t-care-about-me-marrying-my-boss like pointing out the one time she parked outside of a fire department. Cecilia: Deflect, deflect, deflect. I learned it from the best! Nadine: I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re referring to me or your mother, but¡­ yes. Good strategy. I¡¯ll be there with you, you know. If you want me there. Cecilia: I always want you with me. Nadine: You¡¯re never getting rid of me! Nadine: I should be free on Friday. Can Ie over and see Mr. Bosshole¡¯s apartment then? Pleeease? I need to know you¡¯re not his captive. Is he monitoring your texts? Tell me the exact color dress you wore to our junior prom. If it¡¯s correct, I know you¡¯re safe. Cecilia: Friday¡¯s perfect! Mustard. It was an awful look. Thank you for making me relive it. Nadine: You looked cute. Cecilia: Liar. After making myself lunch from the well-stocked fridge, I go out for a run. It takes me four-point-five seconds to make it to Central Park. It¡¯s just across the street, and then I¡¯m there, pounding on pavement under fall foliage. Dry leaves crunch beneath my feet and I breathe in deeply. I got this. I just have to keep my eye on the prize. A year living in this ce, barely ever seeing Victor, with time to spend every single day working on my business. He gave me the opportunity of a lifetime when he proposed, and I¡¯m going for it. ept the open door. It¡¯s what he would have done. I return, sweaty and breathless, to see Steven walking through the lobby. He¡¯s carrying a giant blue package,plete with a dainty white ribbon. His face is a mask of concentration. I hurry across the marble floor. ¡°Do you need help?¡± He shakes his head, but when he tries to hit the elevator button with his elbow, the package wobbles. I press it. ¡°Let me. Are we going up to Victor¡¯s apartment?¡± ¡°Yes. Thank you, Mrs. St. ir.¡± ¡°Call me Cecilia, please.¡± It¡¯s difficult to see him over the giant box, but not impossible. I meet cautious brown eyes. ¡°How old are you, Steven?¡± ¡°I¡¯m twenty-three, Mrs¡­ ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°How long have your worked for Victor?¡± ¡°Two years.¡± He looks from me to the gilded walls of the elevator, like he¡¯s not sure we¡¯re allowed to talk. ¡°Do you enjoy your job?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 17 His eyes turn suspicious. ¡°I do, ma¡¯am.¡±Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. The elevator door opens and I hurry on ahead, using my keycard to open the front door. ¡°That thing looks heavy, too. Are you sure you¡¯re okay?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says, but he grunts as he hoists it up and steps through the front door. The hallway is filled with presents. They make an obstacle course on the floor. Every size and shape, some wrapped, some not. The explosion of gifts stretches all the way into the living room. The coffee table is filled with so many flower bouquets it looks like a garden patch. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Steven sets the box down. ¡°Wedding gifts.¡± ¡°Wedding gifts?¡± Bonnie answers, emerging from the kitchen with a clipboard in hand. ¡°Wee home!¡± ¡°Um, thank you.¡± I toe off my dirty running shoes and run a hand over a silver packet. ¡°All these arrived today?¡± ¡°Yes. There¡¯s been a steady stream.¡± She taps her pen against the clipboard. ¡°I¡¯ve started making a list of all the senders. I took the liberty to order a stack of thank-you cards that will be here tomorrow, and I¡¯mpiling all the senders¡¯ addresses.¡± ¡°The senders? Who sent these?¡± ¡°Oh, a ton of people. I¡¯ll run through the list with you in a second. Steven?¡± ¡°Will you please go down and get thetest bouquets that arrived?¡± His shoulders sag, but he nods and leaves the apartment without another word. I wonder how many times he¡¯s ridden the elevator today. I lift a small, white gift box with a gauzy bow and turn it over in my hands. In my old workout leggings and messy ponytail, I feel like an ogre next to this pristine disy of wealth. ¡°There¡¯s no name on this one.¡± ¡°Hmm? Yes. Some have put their cards inside the present, rather than on the outside.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Understandable, for privacy reasons, but it doesn¡¯t make it easy for us.¡± There¡¯s a giant heart of roses. As in, real cropped roses arranged in a cardboard heart, colors of pink and purple and white. I lift the attached note. Mr. and Mrs. Victor St. ir, Congrattions on your wedding! We hope you¡¯re both taking the time off for a much-deserved honeymoon. The card is signed by a bank. Not a person. A bank. I lower it. ¡°Bonnie.¡± ¡°A bank sent us flowers?¡± She nods. ¡°Your marriage got out, I¡¯m afraid. It¡¯s public record, and there are a lot of people who want to be on Mr. St. ir¡¯s good side.¡± ¡°They¡¯re sending us gifts as business investments?¡± ¡°Some, yes. Some are by St. ir¡¯s family friends.¡± ¡°Family friends,¡± I murmur. Bonnie unfolds arge paper bag and ces it between us. ¡°Would you like to start unboxing, dear?¡± My eyes ze over as I look at the sheer number of deliveries. Some are stacked five high. ¡°I¡¯m not sure Victor would like that.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve checked in with him,¡± Bonnie says, handing me a pair of scissors. ¡°He wants them taken care of.¡± I reach for a ck and white packet. ¡°Well, in that case¡­¡± Bonnie is an organizational wizard, and I love efficiency. It takes us five minutes to work out a wless system. Unbox the gift. Add the gift-giver¡¯s name to her list. Take a picture of the gift for our records. Recycle the wrapping paper. Or, in my case, save the really beautiful bows and ribbons in a separate box. Bonnie smiles when she sees me do it. ¡°For future gift-wrapping,¡± I say. ¡°I do the same thing at home.¡± I lift the hand-blown ss vase I¡¯ve just unwrapped and turn it around. ¡°Wow,¡± Bonnie says. ¡°Yes. Is it just me, or does it look like¡­?¡± ¡°It does. Unfortunately, it really does.¡± ¡°Who sent us a phallic-shaped vase?¡± Sheughs, reaching for the packaging I discarded. ¡°One of his business partners. Carter Kingsley. What are you going to do with that?¡± I look around the sparse, modern hallway. There¡¯s nothing on the console table except a round mirror, braced against the wall. It¡¯s clearly a design mishap. ¡°Here,¡± I say, cing it on the table. ¡°This spot is screaming for some love.¡± Bonnie¡¯s lips twitch. ¡°Prime cement.¡± ¡°Yes. It¡¯s the pride and joy of our home.¡± ¡°Where all guests can see it.¡± ¡°We should include that in our thank-you note,¡± I say. ¡°Let them know we¡¯re proudly disying it.¡± Bonnieughs again. ¡°I¡¯m so d he chose you to marry. I¡¯d be doing this with anyone he picked, of course, but I don¡¯t think I¡¯d have this much fun with anyone else.¡± My chest tightens. ¡°Thank you. You¡¯ve been so weing, you know. So helpful. Thank you for making this easier.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 18 She smiles. ¡°Well, I can only imagine all of this is overwhelming. I¡¯m not one to speak ill of anyone. But I think we both know where St. ir¡¯s ws lie, and well¡­ it can¡¯t be easy.¡± ¡°That was a great way of putting it.¡± I reach for a box with a familiar logo on the side. It¡¯s one I¡¯ve seen in high-end catalogues all my life and never oncee face-to-face with. ¡°Have you noticed how many of these cards are addressed to the happy couple or to Mr. and Mrs. St. ir? I don¡¯t think they know my name.¡± ¡°I think many of them,¡± Bonnie says, ¡°are shocked he married at all.¡± ¡°That was my reaction when he asked me. ¡®You? Getting married?''¡± She shakes her head. ¡°That was probably his own as well.¡± I unwrap the Herm¨¨s leather wallet, embossed with the designerbel and the St. ir name. The kind of money these things must cost¡­ ¡°The Winthorpes sent this over,¡± I murmur. The family is legendary in this city. Bonnie nods. ¡°They were good friends with St. ir¡¯s parents.¡± I turn the wallet over. Wondering if I should or shouldn¡¯t pry, and knowing which instinct will win. Best to give in straight away. ¡°His parents aren¡¯t around, I¡¯ve gathered.¡± ¡°They passed a long time ago.¡± I nod. ¡°Well, it¡¯s awfully kind of them to send him this, then.¡± ¡°You,¡± Bonnie corrects. ¡°These are all gifts to both of you. They¡¯re hoping, I think, that he¡¯ll be someone like his grandfather or his parents were. Social, affable. The St. ir name used to be well-known in these circles.¡± I nce at the notecard and the name Winthorpe. ¡°He won¡¯t like all this.¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t think he will.¡± ¡°Maybe seeing the phallic-shaped vase will cheer him up.¡± Bonnie chuckles and hands me a baby-blue box to unbox. ¡°Somehow, I doubt that too.¡± I unwrap the Tiffany box with careful hands, but what¡¯s waiting for me inside isn¡¯t delicate in the least. It¡¯s a saber. I grip the heavy handle and pull the gleaming de out, brandishing it. ¡°Someone sent us a gazillion-dor sword.¡± Bonnie looks over. ¡°Ah. A champagne saber. The household already has two of those.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not surprised.¡± I lift it up, still sitting cross-legged in the hallway in my workout clothes. ¡°En garde! Is there no one here to challenge me?¡± The front door swings open to reveal Victor. His suit is dark with raindrops, hair tousled and damp. He looks from me to the saber, eyes narrowing. ¡°We¡¯re taking care of our wedding gifts,¡± I say. I lower the saber, but with no fancy sheath at hand, I tuck it safely back in the blue Tiffany box. ¡°I can see that,¡± he says. ¡°All of this arrived today?¡± ¡°Yes. There should be more iing tomorrow,¡± Bonnie says. She gets up and carries the kitchen chair back, disappearing down the hallway. Victor steps closer and a wet, Italian leather shoe appears next to my legging-d knee. ¡°Well,¡± he says. ¡°The assistant you rmended was shit.¡± I look up at him. He looks enormous from this angle. Twenty feet tall, at least. And both Bonnie and Steven have left me alone and at his mercy. ¡°Sarah is not shit,¡± I say. ¡°She came highly rmended and has the perfect temperament for the job.¡± ¡°She didn¡¯t pick things up quickly enough.¡± ¡°No, because she¡¯s still learning. I¡¯d been working with Mr. Conway for a year when you took over as CEO, so you didn¡¯t have to deal with that. She¡¯s had three days.¡± He frowns down at me. ¡°Well, I told her to pack her things. She isn¡¯t likely toe back.¡± ¡°No, I guess not. Does that mean you¡¯re calling the second candidate on my rmended list?¡± ¡°Yes. Brian.¡± ¡°Brad.¡± ¡°Right.¡± He steps past me and disappears into the kitchen without another word, and so I reach for another present. I¡¯ve just snapped a picture of it when Victor appears again. He has a beer in hand and the rained-on suit jacket is gone. In its ce is another of his crisp, white shirts. He starts to roll up a sleeve, inch by inch. ¡°She didn¡¯t color-code my calendar the way you did.¡± ¡°Sarah?¡± ¡°Miss Fleming, yes.¡± ¡°Well, and I hate to point this out again, she had only been there for three days.¡± ¡°I need you to train the next assistant.¡± He takes a swig of his beer, a furrow in his brow. ¡°I¡¯ve been getting calls of congrattions all day with no one to screen them. I don¡¯t know how the hell our marriage got out.¡± ¡°Well, don¡¯t look at me. I didn¡¯t call the tabloids.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think you did.¡± He leans against the wall and looks from me to the assortments of goods spread out around us. I clear my throat. ¡°Well, you¡¯re just in time to see me open our final gift.¡±C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. ¡°Because that will make my day better.¡± He bends and grabs a card lying on top of a cashmere nket. His face harden as he reads. ¡°I haven¡¯t spoken to these people in a decade.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s nice,¡± I say. ¡°That they¡¯d send something.¡± ¡°Sure. Not like they¡¯re kissing ass or anything.¡± ¡°There might have been some of that. Your bank sent us flowers.¡± Victor snorts, taking another sip of his beer. ¡°Have your pick of this crap.¡± ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t want another champagne saber for your collection?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± His gaze drops to the gift in my hand. Right, I¡¯m meant to open it. I undo the ribbon and carefully lift the lid, unwrappingyers of silk paper. At its heart is an envelope and scrawled on the front is Mr. and Mrs. St. ir. ¡°Who¡¯s it from?¡± Victor asks. Say Yes to the Boss 19 ¡°I don¡¯t know. Who sends a wrapped envelope?¡± I open it and pull out a thick card with the same scrawled writing. The letterhead makes my throat close. ¡°It¡¯s from Acture Capital.¡± Victor groans. ¡°Read it.¡± ¡°Victor. We were both pleased and surprised to hear the news. Congrattions are in order, it seems. To celebrate, you¡¯re both wee to dinner on Saturday the twenty-fourth at the Conways¡¯.¡± ¡°Who signed it?¡± ¡°All three,¡± I whisper. ¡°Tristan Conway, Anthony Winter, and Carter Kingsley.¡± The partners in his venture capitalist firm, and one of them used to be my boss. I¡¯d worked side by side with Tristan, organizing his inbox, his work schedule, his life. And now I¡¯m invited to dinner at his ce. ¡°Damn,¡± Victor mutters. ¡°I thought this would be a quiet, private thing. I see now that it¡¯s not.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem like it.¡± He runs a hand over his jawline. The rain in his hair has started to dry, leaving it a tousled, half-curled, dark blond mess. It¡¯s a side of him I¡¯ve never seen at work. Pissed off, sure. Aggravated, often. But not looking at me with calction, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to disy muscr forearms. ¡°We can go,¡± he says. ¡°It¡¯ll get them off my back, answer some questions, and we won¡¯t interact with them and their girlfriends again.¡± ¡°You want me toe,¡± I say. ¡°To meet your co-founders?¡± He nods. ¡°Yes. People know. We¡¯re going to have to own it, even if it¡¯s not in a big way. You want me to frequent an art gallery, right?¡± ¡°Right.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯ll go over better if we¡¯re seen as a couple. You love the art, I¡¯ll buy a ton of it to please you.¡± ¡°Pretend to be a couple,¡± I murmur. ¡°Will Tristan Conway be there? At the dinner?¡± His eyes narrow. ¡°Yes. It¡¯ll be at his ce.¡± I swallow, meeting the unforgiving gaze. For so long, what I¡¯d wanted was to be brave, to dare, just like these men did. To go after my dreams of running my ownpany. I¡¯ve given up ever earning Victor St. ir¡¯s respect. But I didn¡¯t want Tristan Conway to ask me why I¡¯d married his sessor and have no answer. ¡°Will you tell them?¡± I ask. ¡°About the reason why we married?¡± ¡°No. I don¡¯t want anyone to know about that apart from us and the staff.¡± His voice doesn¡¯t broker questions. But I¡¯m already sitting on the floor in my old sweaty gym clothes, and he¡¯s still here, leaning against the wall like we¡¯re hanging out. Any dignity I had is gone. ¡°Howe?¡± I ask. He looks from me to the line of gifts that litter the floor, sweeping his gaze from one to the next. ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone to know my grandfather wrote a use like that into the will.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I say. ¡°I understand.¡± He clears his throat and pushes away from the wall. ¡°Take what you want from all of this up to your room. Throw out the rest.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll donate what we don¡¯t want,¡± I say. ¡°Bonnie and I are writing thank-you notes tomorrow. Do you want-¡± ¡°No. Sign them for me.¡± ¡°Will youe into the office? When Miss Fleming¡¯s recement starts.¡± ¡°You¡¯re asking me to train your new assistant? And attend a dinner with your co-founders, pretending I¡¯m now your wife.¡± Ice-cold blue eyes meet mine. ¡°You are now my wife.¡± ¡°The point still stands, though. You¡¯re raising the requirements.¡± His eyes narrow. ¡°Yes, I am.¡± ¡°Then you¡¯re going to have to up your ante.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± he says. The word is spoken through clenched teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll give you my entire Sunday to work on your start-up. Give me everything you have so far and I¡¯ll give you my thoughts.¡±This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. ¡°That will be perfect.¡± He tosses back the rest of his beer and turns to the kitchen. ¡°Wedding gifts,¡± he mutters. Then his eyes snag on the console table. ¡°Why the fuck is there a ss dick on my hallway table?¡± The house is empty and quiet, just like it had been when its upant was still alive. But it hadn¡¯t been this dark. I look at the windows on the second story, and even up to the small, round one in the attic. All dark. I spin the key around in my hand once, twice, before taking the steps up the old porch. The door creaks when it opens. I can¡¯t remember it ever doing that before. There¡¯d been a time when Grandfather would call Stanley¡¯s name at the top of his lungs and the door¡¯d be fixed in thirty minutes. Or, if Stanley had the day off, he¡¯d march off to the gardener¡¯s shed himself to get the oil. Now the house smells dusty and shut-in. The bank hasn¡¯t been here to keep the ce clean and aired, and no wonder. Why would they? I turn on the lights as I go, walking past the double-staircases in the hallway and into the dining room. The giant table is empty. We¡¯d once been many people around it on the holidays, but when I lived here, there had been only me and him. I make my way upstairs and pass the room that had been mine without looking inside. The door to his study is half-open, the way he liked to keep it. Half-open to let people know they coulde in if they needed to talk to him. But half-shut to signal it would be preferable if they didn¡¯t. That was one of the many business and life maxims he liked to spread around him, always told in the same crusty voice, damaged from a life of whiskey and smoke. He¡¯d let those tidbits drop like jewels, expecting me to treasure them. To live by them. I push the door open and turn on the lights. His office looks as it did the day we read the will. The giant oak desk in the middle of the room with the leather iy, the bookshelves that line the walls. Tworge windows open up to the giant oak trees on the property, clothed now in darkness. I run a hand over the desk¡¯s surface. The jade ashtray is empty. It would have had half-smoked cigars in it had he been here. I look at the drawers in the desk. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe¡­ I pull one open at random. Papers are neatly stacked inside. His handwriting is unmistakable. Lists. Lists of everything, and for everything, as was his way. Say Yes to the Boss 20 The heading on the top one reads Spring ns, and the first item on the list reads Schedule regr lunches with Victor in the city. I shut the drawer again. I might have gained the legal right to this house, but I can¡¯t sort through the belongings of a man who had been intensely private, his shadow moving over my shoulder.Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. I can¡¯t do it. And I can¡¯t have anyone else doing it either. I walk to the door, and from a habit that¡¯s nearly twenty years old, I look at the framed picture that hangs next to it. The only ce in this house where my mother and father are present. They¡¯re on either side of my brother and I. Smiles abound. Phillip has his arm around my shoulders, and my stupid fucking grin is missing two front teeth. I look happy. I also look like a fool, unaware of the tragedy heading our way. I¡¯ve always hated that picture. Hated it for what it makes me feel. Hated it for being the only one of my family that my grandfather allowed in the house. I shut the door to his office behind me. No need to keep it half-open anymore. Steven is still in the car in the driveway, and he fires up the engine when he sees me. We¡¯re out of there without a single word spoken and the house on Granview disappears in the rearview mirror. His house. My house. A house with too many memories. And a house that won¡¯t simply be blown out and torn down and transformed because my aunt wants to have an open-nned kitchen. The house I¡¯d married to get. If someone had told me I¡¯d go to such lengths just a year ago, I¡¯d haveughed. I lean my head against the leather headrest and close my eyes. Married to Miss Myers, who is more than meets the eye, it seems. She¡¯s funny in a dry, careful way. From the looks of it she¡¯s charmed my housekeeper, a woman who¡¯d been nothing but professional around me. And she¡¯d strode into my office today, dressed in the same gray pencil skirt and silk blousebo that had been her armor, and told me she¡¯d finished training my new assistant. ¡°That quickly?¡± I¡¯d asked. She¡¯d nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve promised to be avable on email for theing two weeks if he has any questions, but I doubt he¡¯ll have many. I¡¯ve left extensive written instructions.¡± ¡°Excellent.¡± Cecilia had headed out of the office, heels pping sharply against the floor. But then she¡¯d stopped and done something she never did as my assistant. She¡¯d turned around and given me an order. ¡°Be nicer to this one,¡± she said. ¡°Give him at least two weeks before you consider firing him. I won¡¯t train assistant after assistant because you can¡¯t be patient.¡± The fire I¡¯d seen in her echoed what she¡¯d shown me when we negotiated our marriage. The same one that had burned in her eyes when she sat in my hallway, hair curling at her temples from her workout, and told me I had to up my ante. Marrying her had been a good decision. I liked being straight with what I needed. It was ten times better than what I¡¯d attempted before, dates after dates with women I¡¯d tried and failed to have anysting interest in. Cecilia had been surrounded by the sycophantic gifts we¡¯d received. All from people who wanted things from me. Time. Money. Connections. She¡¯d worn leggings. They¡¯d clung to shapely legs, ending just above bare ankles and sneaker socks. I don¡¯t know why the image is burned into my mind. Miss Myers with her hair in a messy ponytail, her skin makeup free and cheeks flushed from her exercise. But it is. And I can¡¯t seem to get it out. Steven bids me a good night when he drops me off outside my apartment and I ride the elevator with rising anticipation. There¡¯s no telling what I¡¯lle home to anymore. Her wielding a saber or baking in the kitchen. The silence that had once reigned supreme is gone. Cecilia¡¯s in the kitchen when I get home. No Bonnie in sight, just her, her hair in that low bun at the base of her neck and an apron tied tight around her waist. My eyes drop down, but no leggings this time. Her legs are concealed in loose jeans. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m disappointed or relieved. ¡°Hello,¡± she says. ¡°Hi,¡± I say. It¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve seen her cook here. It smells good. It smells like¡­ ¡°Are you making lobster ravioli?¡± She turns from the stove. Tendrils of dark hair have escaped at her temples and they¡¯ve curled in the heat. ¡°Yes. I was wondering if we could have dinner.¡± ¡°Have dinner,¡± I say. ¡°Together?¡± She nods. ¡°I got the recipe from Bonnie. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m really doing it justice, but it¡¯s an attempt.¡± She¡¯s cooking dinner for us. The two of us. ¡°Why?¡± Her lips curl into a half-smile. ¡°We¡¯re supposed to y an actual couple tomorrow night with your business partners. If we¡¯re going to pull that off¡­ well, I¡¯m sorry to break it to you, but we need work.¡± ¡°We need work?¡± ¡°Yes. If you look at the two of us interacting right now, not a single person would think we¡¯re married, not to mention in a rtionship.¡± I pull out one of the kitchen chairs. ¡°Right. And that¡¯s a problem.¡± ¡°Well, it is if you want us to seem married. If you¡¯d rather tell your business partners the truth, then that¡¯s all right with me.¡± I grit my teeth. ¡°I¡¯d rather not.¡± ¡°Well, then have a seat, eat some ravioli, and let¡¯s talk about our great love story.¡± I stare at her for a long moment. She looks right back at me, spat in hand. She looks like she did when I got home the other night, only it had been a champagne saber. It would be easy to send an email to my business partners and rain-check. Avoid them altogether for as long as our marriagests. Avoid having to do¡­ this. But something draws me to the kitchen table. The lobster ravioli, most likely. It smells good. ¡°Okay,¡± I say. ¡°Our great love story.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 21 Cecilia smiles. It¡¯s not an expression I¡¯ve seen often on her, and never before the past few weeks. ¡°Do you want parmesan on your pasta?¡± It¡¯s been a long time since someone other than a housekeeper cooked for me. She sets the te down in front of me and grabs one for herself. ¡°How was work today?¡± I narrow my eyes at her. ¡°What is this, really? Are we ying house?¡± Something shes through her eyes, but I can¡¯t figure it out, because she looks down at her te. ¡°No. There¡¯s no one here to watch us, either. I just thought it would be easier to talk over food.¡± Easier. It would also be private. She didn¡¯t want Bonnie here to listen to the two of us manufacture a love story out of a year¡¯s working rtionship. I taste the food, spearing two of the lobster raviolis. The sauce is great. Almost exactly like Bonnie¡¯s. ¡°This is good,¡± I tell her. She looks up. ¡°You think so?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a fairly easy recipe, but I might have aimed a bit high, going for your favorite right away.¡± ¡°This is my favorite dish?¡± ¡°Bonnie told me it was.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± I do like it, and I might have made ament to that effect once. She must have picked up on it. Goes to show just how good the staff I¡¯ve hired is. ¡°So,¡± Cecilia says. Her voice takes on the serious note I¡¯m used to, the one she always had when she briefed me on the week ahead, standing with her back straight in my office. This is familiar territory. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°We started dating in secret, because we didn¡¯t want the HR department to find out.¡± ¡°I¡¯m the CEO,¡± I say. ¡°What was HR going to do about it?¡± Her eyes lock on mine with something like exasperation. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t have fired you. They would have fired me.¡± ¡°Not if I have anything to say about it. And I do.¡± ¡°Okay, fine. Let¡¯s just say we didn¡¯t want HR to find out because of the hassle. Because of how people were going to talk.¡± I open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off before I can speak. ¡°Victor, we can say it was because of me. That I asked you not to make anything public.¡± ¡°All right. Fine.¡± ¡°The real problem is when they ask us about the wedding. Why the courthouse? Why so soon?¡± She drums her fingers against the table, a furrow in her brow. It looks almost¡­ sweet. ¡°They might think you¡¯re pregnant,¡± I say. Her eyes widen. ¡°Oh. Right. And I wanted to be married first.¡± ¡°We can let them make their own assumptions, Cecilia.¡± ¡°But there¡¯s no way I could be¡­¡± Her cheeks flush with faint color. The kind of rosiness she¡¯d have if we attempted to get her pregnant. Thoughts I shouldn¡¯t be having dance in my mind, of her legs in the tights, of her hair mussed and loose. Of the sh of defiance I¡¯d discovered in her. What would taking her to bed be like?Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. ¡°No,¡± I say slowly. ¡°There¡¯s no way that could be true.¡± ¡°So the question remains. Why did we marry?¡± ¡°Because we¡¯re in love,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t know. The same reason most people marry.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll buy that. You and me, I mean. In love.¡± I roll my neck. ¡°They don¡¯t have to buy it. They just have to ept the version we tell them.¡± She worries her lip between her teeth, her eyes examining as she runs them over me. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Nothing,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s just, I think you can get away with being the quiet, silent type when you¡¯re in love. I know I can y my part. We probably don¡¯t need much to convince them it¡¯s real.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll drape my arm over the back of your chair,¡± I say. ¡°They¡¯ll see it as a deration of love.¡± Her lips twitch. ¡°They¡¯ve never seen you with one of your dates?¡± ¡°No.¡± Much as they liked to, I¡¯d never mixed in pleasure with my business. I yed poker with my business partners sometimes. We attended functions together, the asional event. But at the heart of it, I needed them because I could aplish more with our pooled resources in Acture Capital than I could on my own. And they did, on asion, have solid input on business decisions. Cecilia brightens. ¡°Well, then. You don¡¯t have a precedent to live up to.¡± I cut myst ravioli. ¡°That¡¯s it, then. Our story¡¯s straight.¡± There¡¯s something likeughter in her voice as she reaches for her phone. ¡°Well,¡± she says. ¡°I prepared a list of questions.¡± I lean back in my chair with a groan, but she ignores it, just like she¡¯d ignored it when she was my assistant. Eye on the prize, that¡¯s Cecilia Myers. ¡°Questions?¡± ¡°Yes. Where did you grow up?¡± ¡°They won¡¯t ask us any of this.¡± ¡°No, but I¡¯m expected to know it about my husband.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Next question.¡± The furrow between her eyebrows is back. She scrolls on the phone, passing what must be dozens of questions along the same lines. ¡°Fine,¡± she says. ¡°Where did you propose?¡± ¡°In my office. At work.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 22 ¡°That¡¯s the least romantic proposal story I¡¯ve ever heard.¡± ¡°It¡¯s also the truth,¡± I say. ¡°My business partners will expect it.¡± She chews on her bottom lip again. ¡°You¡¯re right. It¡¯ll work in our favor, actually. To y on that.¡± I run a hand through my hair and consider the options before me. Going to this dinner won¡¯t be easy. It won¡¯t be fun. But it will help soften the image I know I have. An image I¡¯ve cultivated and never minded before. It¡¯s also an image that, at times, makes me somewhat unapproachable. I know. I¡¯m a paragon of self-awareness. Cecilia is the opposite. She makes housekeepersugh and brandishes champagne sabers like swords. ¡°We got married at City Hall because we couldn¡¯t wait,¡± she murmurs, looking down at her phone. ¡°We didn¡¯t want a big ceremony.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± she says. ¡°We¡¯d worked so closely before, too, in the office. We already knew each other very well.¡± ¡°That was my argument, once,¡± I say. ¡°But someone said that we were strangers.¡± She looks up at me, a smile shing across her lips. ¡°Yes. Well, we were. Still are.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not strangers, Cecilia.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know where you grew up,¡± she counters. ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about me.¡± ¡°I know enough,¡± I say, thinking of all the little things I¡¯d noticed in thest couple of weeks. Her running habits, her sleeping patterns. The sweet chai tea she liked to drink in the evenings, the book she¡¯d identally left on the kitchen counter when I came down one morning. The curve of her waist. The silky sheath of her hair. I know her better than probably anyone currently in my life. The same emotion shes through her eyes again. It looks like hurt, but that makes no sense. Odds are I¡¯m misreading her. Wouldn¡¯t be the first time. ¡°Okay,¡± she murmurs. ¡°All right. Well, in that case, I guess we don¡¯t need my questions. Just one more thing¡­ rings.¡± ¡°Rings,¡± I repeat. ¡°Fuck, you¡¯re right. I¡¯d overlooked that.¡± Her small, patient smile tells me she hadn¡¯t. ¡°Yes. Well, not having any was fine before, but if we¡¯re to act married in public¡­¡± ¡°We need them,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ll fix it.¡± ¡°You will?¡± Cecilia nods. ¡°Perfect. Well then, I only have one final question.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± ¡°What¡¯s the dress code for tomorrow?¡± I shrug. ¡°I¡¯ll be in a suit.¡± ¡°Shocker,¡± she says. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll go for a cocktail dress, then.¡± I think of her curves in a tight dress. I think of the way she¡¯d looked when we¡¯d gone out to dinner, with her eyes smoked and a neckline that was¡­ well. I wrest my mind away from that image. ¡°Sounds good.¡± She nods again and pushes her phone away. ¡°That¡¯s a wrap on this meeting, then. What time will we-¡± Her phone rings. The loud signal cuts through the kitchen, echoing off the walls. She reads the name on the screen and then declines, sliding her phone into her pocket. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she says. ¡°You were saying?¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t talking. You were.¡± My curiosity gets the better of me, mingling with the image of her in a tight outfit and loose hair. We¡¯d agreed we didn¡¯t need to be celibate. She¡¯s as free to date as I am. ¡°Who was that?¡± ¡°Just a friend.¡± ¡°The woman who was one of our witnesses?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°She¡¯s an artist, actually.¡± ¡°So that¡¯s why you want me to patronize an art gallery.¡± She nods. ¡°It¡¯s her first big show. Her stuff is amazing, but the New York art world is cutthroat, and there are fees just to exhibit.¡± Several things click into ce at that. Cecilia didn¡¯t just marry me to quit her job. Didn¡¯t just want to fulfill her dream of starting her own business. She married me to make her friend¡¯s dreame true too. In anyone else, it would be a weakness to care that much, to make business decisions based on sentiment. But I¡¯m not sure I can call the woman in front of me weak any longer. She clears her throat. ¡°I was thinking we¡¯d go to the opening together.¡± ¡°So I can buy some art, be seen, make some calls.¡± It¡¯s no different from what most people want. What every single one of the people who sent us wedding gifts wants. They wanted some of the St. ir name associated with them, as if the sheen and the prestige of an old family could rub off. But it¡¯s not cheap and tinum-coated. It¡¯s gold through-and-through, and it doesn¡¯t stain. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± I rise from the table and put my te into the sink. Her voice reaches me as I make my way to the hall.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°What do we say to people in a year?¡± she asks. ¡°When they ask why we divorced?¡± I look back at her, still seated cross-legged at my kitchen table. Miss Myers, and not a pencil skirt in sight. ¡°We tell them the truth,¡± I say. ¡°We wanted different things.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not the truth. We¡¯ll want the exact same thing. To be divorced.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 23 I roll my eyes, and she chuckles. ¡°Myers.¡± ¡°Sorry. Couldn¡¯t resist. Are you going to work now?¡± ¡°Do you work every evening?¡± I frown. ¡°Yes. What else is there to do?¡± She smiles, like she had expected my answer. Like she feels sorry for me. I don¡¯t like it. I leave her and her questions by the table, retreating to the one ce I¡¯ve always felt at home. The ce where I don¡¯t have to take care of deceased rtives¡¯ houses or sort out what ruse to put on with my assistant-turned-wife. The ce where I¡¯m in charge of all that happens. My office. I pause with the door half-open, and then, knowing he¡¯d disapprove, I shut it entirely. My room has a few spectacr advantages. One is the Central Park view, which I still haven¡¯t gotten over. When I work at my desk, I sometimes get lost in it. Another is the rain shower in the en-suite. There¡¯s just no denying that money buys quality, and nowhere is that clearer than in marble sinks and glorious water pressure. But the full-length mirror in the closet is a game changer. I turn around to get the full three-sixty look, examining every angle of the dress I¡¯m wearing. It¡¯s ck, fitted with three-quarter sleeves and a slit up my leg. Modest but sexy. Perfect for mingling with four billionaires and their significant others, two of whom have been my boss. Not like I¡¯ll be the odd one out or anything. I¡¯m not wearing any jewelry, and I hope that conveys understated elegance rather than I-didn¡¯t-have-anything-that-would-look-right-in-your-esteemedpany. Smokey dark eyes, no lipstick, blush and blowdried hair. If we were going out, Nadine would tell me I looked ready to tear men¡¯s hearts out. And that I needed to wear a shorter dress. I nce at the high-tech rm clock on my dresser. It¡¯s time for us to leave in a few minutes, and knowing Victor, he¡¯ll be ready. I slide into my nude pumps and head to my bedroom door. I¡¯m halfway down the hall when his bedroom door opens. Victor emerges in a ck suit, a hand readjusting the cuff of his shirt. It fits him like a glove. He gets them tailored. I know, because I¡¯ve made the appointments. Think what you will of him, he¡¯s impressive, all six-foot-two of him. He stops when he sees me. I run a nervous hand over my dress. ¡°Hello.¡± His gaze travels over my face, my neckline, down my body to my shoes. There¡¯s no mistaking the surprised admiration in his eyes. Seeing it is delicious. ¡°You look¡­ well.¡± ¡°Will it do?¡± ¡°Yes, it will.¡± ¡°Well. Thank you.¡± He clears his throat and walks down the hall, reaching inside his suit jacket. His face is once more the collection of sharp lines I know so well. ¡°Rings,¡± he says. There, in the palm of his hand, are two of them. ¡°Oh. Right.¡± I¡¯d sent him my ring sizest night. He must have found a jeweler during the day. I reach for the smaller of the two gold circles. My fingers brush over his palm as I take it. ¡°This one is mine?¡± I slide it on my ring finger and watch him do the same. His thick gold band fits perfectly, a contrast to the tan skin of his long fingers and broad hand. ¡°Does yours fit?¡± he asks. I nod, curling my hand into a fist. The gold feels cold against my palm. ¡°Sure does.¡± ¡°Just one more.¡± He reaches for his other pocket, and hand still inside it, he spins something around. Then he pulls out an engagement ring. ¡°Oh,¡± I breathe. It¡¯s beautiful. A solitaire diamond on a gold band, surrounded by a ring of emeralds.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°As your engagement ring,¡± he mutters. ¡°See if it fits.¡± I slide it on my finger. It¡¯s tight over the knuckle, but once I¡¯ve worked past the bump, the gorgeous ring slides into position next to the wedding band. It glitters beneath the spotlights. ¡°It fits,¡± I say. ¡°Right. Well, we¡¯ll wear them for tonight.¡± This might be a business decision and a fake marriage, but it feels very real to look down at your hand and see rings there, to see your husband slide his on his own ring finger. ¡°I¡¯ll give them back to you when we get home,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯d hate to lose one.¡± ¡°They¡¯re insured.¡± ¡°Right, well, I still wouldn¡¯t want to lose them.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡± My Prince Charming, I think, following him down the staircase. Bonnie is in the kitchen and she gives us both a smile as we pass. It widens as I meet her gaze, and she doesn¡¯t have to speak the words for me to hear them. Good luck. Steven has the car ready for us outside. ¡°Mr. St. ir,¡± he says, opening the door. ¡°Mrs. St. ir.¡± Victor¡¯s hand pauses on the hood of the car. The name hangs in the air between us. Mr. and Mrs. Is he about to protest? But then he folds his tall length into the car and I follow, stretching out my legs. Knot my hands together to keep them from shaking. I¡¯ve done crazy and challenging things before. I¡¯ve worked long hours, I¡¯ve traveled with both Tristan and Victor for work, I¡¯ve had no problem makingst-minute phone calls demanding they get thest suite or a table at a fully booked restaurant. I can do this. I look over, only to see Victor¡¯s gaze resting on my hands. On the rings on my left finger. I can¡¯t decipher the expression on his face. ¡°Everything all right?¡± He looks up, blue eyes meeting mine. They look dark in the dim lighting of the car. ¡°There¡¯s something you should know about the guests tonight.¡± ¡°There is?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 24 ¡°Have you met my business partners? Apart from Conway.¡± I shake my head. The times I¡¯d patched through their calls didn¡¯t count, nor the times I¡¯d seen them walk through the Exciteur hallway to visit St. ir. ¡°Well then. You won¡¯t have a problem with Carter. He talks more than is good for anyone, particrly himself.¡± ¡°Oh. Right.¡± ¡°But Winter is going blind.¡± I blink at him. ¡°Winter? Anthony Winter?¡± ¡°Yes. It¡¯s noticeable now.¡± It wasn¡¯t something I¡¯d picked up on, but I¡¯d only seen him twice, and at a distance. ¡°How sad,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡± Victor clears his throat but doesn¡¯t borate, so I keep my questions to myself and file it away under information to keep track of. Information to remember. We arrive outside an Upper West Side apartment building nking Central Park. It¡¯s the mirror opposite of Victor¡¯s, only across the park. I make the observation and he snorts. ¡°Conway is newer money,¡± he says, as if that exins everything. The nerves in my stomach are full-blown by the time we¡¯re in the elevator and feeling it rising slowly to the top. ¡°Show-time,¡± I whisper. Victor doesn¡¯t respond, a stone-cold, confident statue next to me, the way he¡¯s always been. Imprable and as likely to ignore you as he is tosh out. But then he reaches out between us and catches my hand in his. The grip is warm and firm,rge fingers closing around mine. ¡°Remember,¡± he says, ¡°that we¡¯re not strangers now.¡± My chest feels tight. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll remember.¡± His thumb strokes in a slow arch over my wedding and engagement ring, tracing their solid shape over my ring finger. And then the elevator pings and the doors slide open. Victor escorts me into a modern apartment, decorated with beige and grey ents and smelling deliciously like Italian food. The first to greet us is a golden retriever, coat thick and tail wagging. ¡°Hi there!¡± I say, extending my free hand for him to sniff. ¡°They have a dog?¡± ¡°Well then, what are you doing here?¡± I scratch his ear and he sits back on his haunches, doggy-grinning up at me. ¡°There you two are!¡± a familiar voice says. ¡°I thought Summer¡¯s trusty guard dog heard something.¡± Tristan Conway is walking down the hallway. My former boss, here in his own home, wearing a shirt with the sleeves turned up and a pair of navy cks. Salmon on rye bread. That was his favorite lunch, and he liked it twice a week, delivered to his desk. My free hand curls around the dog¡¯s fur. ¡°Conway,¡± Victor says. ¡°Thanks for the invitation.¡± I see the exact moment Tristan recognizes me. His eyes widen and drift down to my hand, resting in Victor¡¯s grip. ¡°Look at that,¡± he says. ¡°Miss Myers. Or I suppose it¡¯s Mrs. St. ir now?¡± I smile at him. ¡°Nice to see you again, sir.¡± Victor¡¯s hand tightens around mine and Tristan smiles. ¡°No need for formalities.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right. Call me Cecilia, then, please.¡± ¡°Cecilia,¡± he repeats. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be honest with both of you. I¡¯m surprised. Not just at the news.¡± ¡°It was sudden,¡± Victor says. ¡°Is it the happy couple?¡± A man strides down the hall. Tall and smiling with dark-auburn hair, he looks from me to Victor with twinkling eyes. ¡°Hell, St. ir, you couldn¡¯t give us a heads up? Let us congratte you?¡± ¡°We preferred a private ceremony,¡± Victor says. ¡°This is my wife, Cecilia. Cecilia, this is Carter Kingsley.¡± I shake Carter¡¯s hand. ¡°Nice to meet you.¡± ¡°Oh, I assure you, the pleasure is all mine,¡± he says. ¡°I also have a million questions for you. How do you stand being around him?¡± Victor snorts at my side and pulls his hand out of mine. ¡°I need a drink if we¡¯re to face an inquisition.¡± ¡°Not an inquisition,¡± Carter says. ¡°Well-meaning, friendly interest between business partners.¡± ¡°You mean nosy,¡± he fires back. Tristan chuckles and cuts through the tension with the ease of a man who¡¯s done it many times before. ¡°Come on in and have a drink. We put a bottle of the ¡¯07 Taittinger to chill so we could toast to your marriage. Cecilia, there are people here who are eager to meet you, and I can assure you, they won¡¯t be as nosy as Carter is.¡± ¡°Oh, they will,¡± Carter says. ¡°They¡¯ll just be more tactful about it.¡± ¡°As long as I¡¯m allowed to plead the fifth on asion, I¡¯ll answer as many questions as I can,¡± I say. Tristan leads me through the apartment and gives me a warm smile when Ipliment him on the ce. It should be weird, perhaps, walking side by side with him again after a year. But he¡¯s weing and kind and doesn¡¯t ask the question that I can see dancing in his eyes. Why the hell had I married Victor? He introduces me to his girlfriend Freddie, a short, dark-haired woman with incredible curves. She invites me to sit in-between her and Summer, Anthony Winter¡¯s blonde girlfriend, and owner of the friendly golden retriever who was roaming the living room in search of head rubs and scraps of food. ¡°He¡¯s a living, breathing vacuum cleaner,¡± Summer says. ¡°Let me know if he bothers you.¡± ¡°Oh, not at all. I love dogs.¡± Freddie smiles. ¡°So does Tristan¡¯s son, so we try to have Summer and Anthony over as often as possible. Beats having the can-I-please-get-a-dog conversation over and over again.¡± I chuckle. ¡°I¡¯m sure!¡±Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. Summer looks between the two of us, her giant smile infectious. ¡°Changing the subject here, but¡­ you¡¯ve married St. ir! We have to talk about it.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°It still feels very new.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 25 ¡°Congrattions! You¡¯re a newly-wed!¡± The sincerity in her voice makes me feel guilty. ¡°Thank you. It¡¯s been very overwhelming, to tell you the truth.¡± Freddie nods. ¡°I can imagine. From what Tristan told me, it all happened rather quickly?¡± Trantion: give us the details. So I do, telling them how we dated in secret and reached a point where we needed to make things official. He¡¯d proposed, I¡¯d epted. ¡°It was a whirlwind,¡± I admit. ¡°But sometimes, when you know, you know.¡± My gazends on Victor as I speak. Standing in between all three of his business partners, his mouth a line, suit jacket still on. Holding himself apart, even here, amongst people he¡¯s known for years. In the brief time since I agreed to marry him, I¡¯ve seen glimpses of someone else. Someone who is capable of dry, teasing humor and slyments, who answers questions, often reluctantly, but never dishonestly. Even when he knows what he¡¯s saying might be painful to hear. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°When you know you know.¡± Tristan uncorks a bottle of champagne and pours a ss for everyone, hands sping around the stems of crystal flutes. ¡°Let¡¯s have a toast to the happy couple,¡± he says. Freddie and Summer urge me up and I give a half-embarrassed smile, not fake in the least. I walk across the plush carpet to stand next to Victor. Not letting myself hesitate, I slide my arm beneath his and lean into his side.All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. Blue eyes meet mine. ¡°A toast,¡± he says, as if it¡¯s the worst thing in the world. ¡°It won¡¯t kill you,¡± I whisper. ¡°Look happy.¡± He smiles, a small but true smile that sends a shiver down my spine. His armes around my waist. ¡°Bossy.¡± Tristan clears his throat and I look up to see them all standing in a circle, sses raised to us. I sweep my eyes over them all: my former boss, Anthony Winter with his charming girlfriend by his side, the constantly grinning Carter, and Freddie with a golden retriever at her feet. People I would never have been able to meet just a month ago, who wouldn¡¯t have exchanged more than a sentence or two with me while I was Victor¡¯s assistant. Who had lives and wealths and opportunities unimaginable. Toasting to our fake union. ¡°To Mr. and Mrs. St. ir,¡± Tristan says. ¡°To Mr. And Mrs. St. ir,¡± the others echo, sses held high. I keep my smile on my face and lean into Victor. For the first time, I¡¯m grateful for his aloofness, for the relentless strength that keeps my own from gging. Summer¡¯s arms are tight around me. ¡°Promise me,¡± she says. Iugh, running a hand over the silk of her dress. My head feels light with champagne andughter. ¡°I promise!¡± ¡°I have absolutely no one I can run with in this city, and if I don¡¯t run with anyone, I don¡¯t run at all.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll do it,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ll text you next week with a time and a ce.¡± ¡°And you¡¯ll guillotine me if I don¡¯t show up.¡± She lets go of me, a blinding smile on her face. ¡°I might not be quite so drastic, but yes. Can Acee too?¡± ¡°He might slow us down,¡± she says. ¡°How fast do you think we¡¯ll run?¡± Sheughs again, not stopping as Anthony wraps his arm around her waist. He looks straight at me. ¡°It was very nice to meet you, Cecilia.¡± I think of the times I¡¯d patched him through to Tristan. ¡°Likewise. You¡¯re wee to join our running club if you want.¡± Summer puts a hand on his arm. ¡°Anthony doesn¡¯t run.¡± He nods. ¡°I don¡¯t. Besides, if I tried, I have a feeling Summer and I would argue the entire way.¡± ¡°We wouldn¡¯t,¡± she protests. ¡°We would,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯ll want to chat while we run, or stop for ice cream, or take a scenic route.¡± ¡°You make me sound like a distracted squirrel.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you, though?¡± Their banter and obvious closeness sends a pang through my chest. It sharpens when Anthony presses a kiss to her temple. ¡°Are you ready?¡± Victor asks. He has my coat in hand and I take it from him, sliding my arms through the sleeves. The hallway tilts when I flip my hair back. ¡°Woah,¡± I murmur. In a move that mimics Anthony, Victor wraps his arm around my waist. That¡¯s the second time tonight. ¡°Thanks for having us tonight,¡± I say to Tristan and Freddie. ¡°For the champagne, for dinner¡­ for everything.¡± ¡°It was our pleasure,¡± Tristan says. ¡°See you around, St. ir?¡± Victor nods and presses the button for the elevator. His arm falls from my waist as soon as the elevator doors close behind us. I take a deep breath. ¡°We did it.¡± ¡°Yes, we did.¡± ¡°And we survived,¡± I say. ¡°Did you think we wouldn¡¯t?¡± ¡°I thought it might be a close call. They didn¡¯t seem to question why we¡¯d gotten married, either! At least not to our faces.¡± ¡°It¡¯s probably all they¡¯re talking about now.¡± He frowns, extending an arm to me. ¡°How much did you have to drink?¡± ¡°Not a lot. Just what they offered.¡± ¡°They offer all the time. You don¡¯t have to ept.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 26 ¡°Thanks, Dad,¡± I mutter. He rolls his eyes and drops his arm. ¡°Right. You¡¯re not wobbly at all.¡± ¡°It¡¯s my shoes,¡± I say, walking after him through the lobby. ¡°They look great, but they¡¯re not very steady.¡± Steven¡¯s waiting for us outside. Victor holds the car door open for me, an inscrutable expression on his face. I unbuckle my strappy heels the second we¡¯re inside. ¡°Ah. Relief.¡± He snorts, but he doesn¡¯t look away. My head feels light. ¡°Your friends are lovely.¡± ¡°They¡¯re my business partners.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t consider them friends?¡± ¡°Of a sort, I suppose. But we have shared investments, so I won¡¯t get too friendly.¡± I pull up a leg beneath me on the plush leather seat. ¡°They don¡¯t seem to think that way.¡± ¡°They have different values than me.¡± I raise an eyebrow and he turns to me fully, draping an arm behind the headrests. Something sparks in his eyes. ¡°You take issue with that.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s just so you.¡± His voice deepens. ¡°So me? Care to borate, Miss¡­ Cecilia?¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. ¡°Well, that¡¯s an example of it, actually. It¡¯s been weeks, but you still find it difficult to call me Cecilia. You want to go for Miss Myers.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a force of habit.¡± ¡°It creates even more of a boundary between us, and that¡¯s something you like,¡± I say. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right? Because you and I are business partners.¡± ¡°We are.¡± I¡¯m on a roll, champagne and adrenaline making my words flow. ¡°Do you know, that in the entire year I worked for you, I never once saw youugh on the phone? Make a joke with an employee?¡± ¡°You kept track?¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°No, I didn¡¯t. But I can¡¯t remember a single instance. Your separation between church and state is absolute.¡± ¡°As opposed to you, who prefers to mix them incessantly.¡± ¡°I mix them?¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Do you think I never noticed how much you and Eleanor¡¯s assistant talked? Some afternoons you chatted for hours.¡± ¡°You heard us? Through the door?¡± ¡°Sometimes.¡± ¡°Wow.¡± Trying to sort through a year¡¯s worth of hushed conversations with Mason is difficult, but my brain attempts it. What incriminating things had I said about Victor? He shifts closer, voice dropping. ¡°Thinking of all the awful things I might have overheard?¡± ¡°Yes. I don¡¯t know if I should apologize.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t hear a thing. But if you think you should apologize, I¡¯m willing to hear it.¡± ¡°You vain man,¡± I say. ¡°Do you know how good of an assistant I was? I had lists of your favorite lunches, rotating them based on the day of the week and the mood you were in. I took pride in organizing your email inbox. It wasbeled and color-coordinated and a work of art. I drafted the best memos and meeting notes for you.¡± Victor¡¯s lips curl, an expression I¡¯m so unused to seeing that it stops me mid-brag. ¡°I¡¯ve noticed, now that Brad is here.¡± ¡°He¡¯s doing a good job, isn¡¯t he?¡± ¡°Good enough. Probably thanks to your coaching.¡± Thepliment is tiny, but it warms me. I¡¯d wanted Conway¡¯s approval when I was his assistant. With St. ir, I¡¯d craved it, and every day he said nothing was a day I needed it more. He¡¯s close, his aftershave a heady balm. In the dim light of the car, his blue eyes look almost ck. ¡°Cecilia.¡± ¡°They bought it. About you and me, and our marriage. Thank you for that.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wee.¡± He takes my hand in between both of his and with strong, sure fingers he slides my rings off my finger. He has to worry them around my knuckle, but then they¡¯re off, gleaming gold in his palm. ¡°Keep them safe for me,¡± I murmur. He puts them in his suit pocket. ¡°Until next time.¡± My heart pounds. The champagne, I think. Steven pulls the car to a stop outside our apartment building. Victor¡¯s the first to break eye contact and get out, but I follow suit, heart still racing. He had always intimidated me. It hasn¡¯t changed. Victor rests a hand on my low back and we walk through the lobby. There¡¯s no one here to see us, but his hand is there regardless, a warm weight through my dress. He unlocks our front door and nods toward the staircase. ¡°Get some sleep,¡± he tells me. ¡°You¡¯ll need it, because tomorrow, I¡¯m going to tear your business idea to shreds.¡± The dry threat makes me smile. ¡°Good. I don¡¯t want you to go easy on me.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not my style.¡± ¡°Oh, I know.¡± I look at him standing alone in the hallway, hands in his pockets. He looks back at me until our gazes break. Say Yes to the Boss 27 The excitement of the evening makes it hard to sleep, despite my big,fortable bed and the view of the dazzling city skyline outside my window. I tell myself I won¡¯t, but I listen for the sound of his footstepsing up the stairs. The door to his bedroom shuts, and I imagine him in there, Victor St. ir, running his hand through his hair. Just before I fall asleep, I hear his footsteps again. This time down the staircase and out the front door. I hear it shut. Iy awake for a long time, but I don¡¯t hear him return. ¡°It can¡¯t have gone that bad,¡± Nadine says. ¡°How prone am I to exaggeration?¡± ¡°Look, you¡¯ve worked on your business start-up for what, two years? And I¡¯ve seen you ving away at it on weekends. You¡¯ve researched everything about this.¡± ¡°The weekends I could, at any rate. But yeah. He warned me he¡¯d tear it to shreds, and he did.¡± ¡°Details,¡± Nadine says. ¡°I need them.¡± I reach for my ss of wine. It¡¯s served in a stemless ss, part of the hipster decor in this fancy bar. ¡°He sat in his home office, looking just like he did at work, and I presented it to him like he was an investor and I was an entrepreneur.¡± ¡°Which you are.¡± ¡°Hopefully. But he¡¯s definitely a real investor.¡± I shake my head, my cheeks heating up. ¡°What he said makes sense. That I¡¯m not ready yet tounch. That I need to make it clear what positions I want to hire and where, not to mention how I¡¯llpensate them. My branding is muddled and if I¡¯m looking to take in outside investors, I need to have a fully-functioning website up and running. A ce where clients can purchase tasks or hours with us virtual assistants.¡± Nadine¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°This,¡± she says, ¡°is why I chose a career in the arts. Not a single word you just said makes sense.¡± Iugh, putting my hand on hers. ¡°It¡¯s fun when you finally get it, I promise. It took me a long while.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°No, you knew all about it in college. I remember. You¡¯d sit in our dorm room with your bed littered by books. Like, you couldn¡¯t even sleep in it at night before you stacked them all up.¡± ¡°Never stopped me from partying, though.¡± ¡°Sure didn¡¯t. We could party all night long in those days.¡± ¡°We¡¯re getting old,¡± I say. She nods. ¡°I went out with a few buddies from the studio on Wednesday and I think I¡¯m still hungover.¡± ¡°That was three days ago.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°Exactly. Are you happy, though? With your husband¡¯s feedback?¡± I groan. ¡°Don¡¯t call him that.¡± ¡°Your husband? Isn¡¯t what that he is?¡± ¡°Technically yes, as you very well know. But I don¡¯t think about him like that.¡± ¡°My job is to tease you. It¡¯s in the job description of a best friend. Sorry, Cece.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°Fine. Yes, I was happy with his feedback, even if it made me doubt everything for an evening. But he knows what he¡¯s talking about, at least business-wise.¡± Nadine takes a sip of her rosemary gin and tonic, a staple of the trendy Soho bar we¡¯re at. It has trendy price tags too. ¡°Is that this guy¡¯s secret? I haven¡¯t forgotten how much he made you work this past year, you know. Or how you cried on my couch two months in about how impossible he was to please. But you¡¯re still willing to take his advice.¡± ¡°Gosh, I was really exaggerating back then.¡± ¡°No, you were stressed and overworked. I¡¯m friends with past you too, you know, not just present you.¡± ¡°I guess I was. Thank you.¡± ¡°Anytime. But can you exin it to me?¡± I lean back in the chair, thinking of Victor. It¡¯s not hard to. He¡¯s everywhere in my life now, just as present as he was when I ran his schedule. ¡°He has a driver who idolizes him and a housekeeper who¡¯s Wonder Woman. From what I can see, he barely interacts with either, but they¡¯re such ss acts at their jobs.¡± ¡°And he had you as his assistant,¡± Nadine says. ¡°What is it with this guy that has so many great people willing to work for him? From what I can tell, he¡¯s awful.¡± ¡°He is. I¡¯m not making any excuses for him. But¡­ he invites excellence. You can¡¯t be anything but your best around him, you know? He wouldn¡¯t let you. And he works just as hard himself, Nadine. I¡¯ve seen it up close. He¡¯ll drive the hardest bargains, and watching him do it is impressive. Even if it¡¯s scary sometimes.¡± Her smile tilts. ¡°You sound like you¡¯re joining his little army of sycophants. I don¡¯t want you to be a Stepford wife.¡± Iugh. ¡°Oh, there¡¯s no risk of that. Truthfully, I think I¡¯m getting the best bargain out of this deal.¡± ¡°Just make sure you do,¡± she says, lowering her eyebrows and wiggling them. ¡°I found someone I want you to meet.¡± ¡°You did?¡± ¡°Yes. Jake, at the Francis Hunt Gallery. He¡¯s one of the curators and he¡¯s razor-sharp, but not in an I-color-coordinate-my-closet kind of way, you know?¡± ¡°Hey,¡± I say. ¡°I color-coordinate my closet.¡± She grins. ¡°I know. I¡¯ve lived with you. And you can¡¯t have two people like that in a rtionship. What if your organizational systems sh? You¡¯d argue forever!¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°Mine would win.¡± ¡°Well, Jake would let you organize his closet. I can just tell. He isn¡¯t too artsy for your taste, either. A few years older than you. I don¡¯t know, Cecilia, but I think this guy could be the one.¡± ¡°You say that about every guy you want to introduce me to.¡± ¡°And have I ever been wrong?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°Every single time.¡± She snorts. ¡°Everyone¡¯s a possibility. But Jake is a certainty. Both you and your hubby are allowed to date other people, right?¡± I groan. ¡°Hubby?¡± ¡°Yes. Your better half, the yin to your yang, your happily-ever-after.¡± ¡°St. ir would have an aneurysm if he heard this conversation. But yes. We can date other people as long as it¡¯s kept discreet. Although,¡± I say, reaching for the stem of my ss and twisting it between my fingers, ¡°I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s changed since we went to dinner with his business partners.¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. ¡°When you pretended to be happy newlyweds.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 28 ¡°Has the vibe between you changed in the past week?¡± I shake my head. ¡°We barely see each other. He works out in the morning, then he¡¯s at work the entire day while I work from home. He gets home past seven. We don¡¯t have dinner together. He doesn¡¯t watch TV or hang out in the kitchen. We¡¯re like ships passing in the night.¡± ¡°The man is a workaholic.¡± ¡°Textbook,¡± I agree. ¡°Although¡­¡± ¡°In the past week, I¡¯ve heard him disappear at night.¡± ¡°Disappear.¡± I shift in the chair. ¡°Yes. Leave the apartment. So I don¡¯t exactly think he¡¯s being celibate.¡± Nadine¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Oh. You think he¡¯s meeting someone at night?¡± ¡°Why else would a man that busy spend the nights somewhere else?¡± I ask, shrugging. It shouldn¡¯t bother me, and yet, the idea of Victor disappearing at night to another woman, another apartment, feels like nails beneath my skin. Itchy and painful. I know him. I used to run his schedule, his life, send emails in his name. He¡¯d have a second apartment in our building or rent a hotel room close by. Anything for convenience and to save time. ¡°Maybe he goes for midnight walks,¡± Nadine suggests, but her voice is doubtful. I sigh. ¡°Yeah. With all the free time he has. It¡¯s okay. I mean, I was under no illusions about our arrangement. He made it very clear in the beginning that we were both free to date.¡± ¡°Which means you are free to meet Jake.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°So I can color-coordinate his closet.¡± ¡°Yes, after you¡¯ve made sweet, sweet love.¡± ¡°Ugh. I hate it when you pull out that phrase.¡± She grins. ¡°I know.¡± Her phone rings and I raise an eyebrow, watching as she digs through her purse. ¡°Since when do you have your phone on sound?¡± ¡°I do when I might get important-oh.¡± Her face changes in an instant, goes focused and predatory. ¡°Hello?¡± I sip from my drink and eavesdrop shamelessly. ¡°Yes,¡± she says, nodding, as if the person on the other end can see her. ¡°Of course. Yes. I understand.¡± ¡°Understand what?¡± I stage-whisper. She grins and shakes her head in my direction. ¡°I¡¯d be more than happy to. On the twenty-second? Yes. Yes, of course. I can have apleted series by then.¡± I stare at her in exaggerated surprise, my mouth open, and she grins at me again. ¡°Yes. Thank you so much. Talk to you soon.¡± She hangs up and the next second she¡¯s out of her chair, reaching for me, shrieking. ¡°Oh my God!¡± ¡°You got a date for your exhibition?¡± ¡°Yes! They¡¯ve decided I¡¯m a headliner! A headliner, Cecilia!¡± ¡°A headliner,¡± I repeat, hugging her back. ¡°Someone dropped out and they just asked if I¡¯d be willing to show sooner. If I¡¯d be willing, and I¡¯d get a discount .¡± She leans back, dark brown eyes meeting mine. ¡°Of course I¡¯m willing.¡± ¡°This means you have the opening next month. The twenty-second.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± She wipes at her eyes. ¡°I have so much to do. I have toplete my seven virtues series. In three weeks.¡± ¡°If anyone can do it, it¡¯s you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have toe up with the money a lot sooner, too. I hope you¡¯re as optimistic about that.¡± ¡°Nadine,¡± I say. ¡°About that¡­ I might have solved that little problem.¡± Her eyes narrow. ¡°Have you married a second time?¡± I snort. ¡°No. The first time was enough.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I have the money for the exhibition. It was part of what I negotiated for.¡± She puts a hand on the table, as if she needs the support. ¡°You¡­ Cecilia. You¡¯re crazy.¡± ¡°I¡¯m determined,¡± I say, ¡°and you¡¯re more my sister than my best friend.¡± In the golden light of the bar, her eyes shimmer. ¡°I can¡¯t ept that.¡± ¡°Of course you can. You were the one who told me to marry St. ir and skim some off the top, and this is me doing just that. I couldn¡¯t have done any of this without you. I¡¯ll be there on your opening day too, the proudest best friend there ever was.¡± She hugs me again, squeezing me tight, and speaks through a closed throat. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to repay you.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have to,¡± I murmur. ¡°I love you, you know.¡± ¡°I love you too,¡± she whispers. ¡°Getting your bosshole to help me too. You¡¯re a genius.¡± ¡°If we rise, we¡¯re rising together.¡± She nods, leaning back to wipe her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m exhibiting.¡± ¡°You¡¯re exhibiting,¡± I repeat. It feels like ten years of work to get to this point, of seeing her experiment and find her voice, lose it again, rediscover a new direction.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. My own throat feels a little tight. ¡°You know what this means for tonight.¡± ¡°We need to celebrate.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 29 I nod, reaching for both of our sses and pressing hers into her hand. ¡°Bottoms up,¡± I say. ¡°To artists who cancel, and the artists who seize the opportunities they leave behind.¡± She raises her ss. ¡°To friends who have each other¡¯s backs.¡± Theputer screen in front of me fades in and out of view, my eyes struggling to focus. I lean back in my office chair and close them. The emails and memos can wait. They¡¯ll have to, because I don¡¯t have any more in me tonight. Running on empty. It¡¯s past midnight and I should be in bed. Had been, in fact, until the cold premonition that always signaled a bad night drove me out of it again. The best thing to do on such nights is to avoid my bed until I finally fall into it so exhausted I sleep like the dead. It keeps me from dreaming of them.C0ntent ? 2024 (N/?)velDrama.Org. I run a hand through my hair. Where is she? Cecilia hadn¡¯t mentioned where she¡¯d be tonight and Bonnie hadn¡¯t known either. I¡¯d called Steven, but he hadn¡¯t driven her anywhere. No notes left behind on the kitchen counter either. Her schedule is usually predictable. Reliable. She¡¯s here when I get back home, chatting with Bonnie in low, cheerful tones in the kitchen or, in thest week, sitting on the couch in the living room with a book in hand. She always shuts her bedroom door by ten p. m. And on her way up the stairs to go to bed, she always pauses at my half-open office door. ¡°Goodnight,¡± she says. It had annoyed me at first, but she¡¯d kept at it, professional and kind, like clockwork. I always say it back. ¡°Goodnight.¡± And then I listen to her soft steps heading upstairs, the sound of another person living in my apartment. Making it feel like a home. But not tonight. I push away from the desk and head into the kitchen. Maybe what I need is a cup of coffee. The clock on the microwave assaults me with a time that¡¯s far toote, showing twenty past one. We have never discussed this. To keep or not to keep one another informed. But surely she should recognize that herself? Cecilia Myers, who is the paragon of organizational virtue and forethought. Who had run my life so smoothly I didn¡¯t know to miss her as my assistant until she left. She might be in trouble. Possible scenarios sh through my mind, of Cecilia lost in the city, her phone dead, her wallet a beacon to thieves. Cecilia in another man¡¯s apartment, in his arms, giving him all of herughs. And then, my brain unable to stop, the image of her in a car wreck, her body bent and broken. I wrest my mind away from that image. Reach for my phone and find her number. I drum my fingers along my kitchen counter as the signals go forth. One, two, three¡­ She answers on the fourth, but I don¡¯t hear her voice. I hear the pulsing of heady music. ¡°Cecilia?¡± ¡°Victor?¡± ¡°Wait a minute!¡± The beat of tropical house sts and her words are muffled byughter and the shuffle of bodies. She¡¯s at a nightclub. ¡°Where are you?¡± ¡°Where are you, Cecilia?¡± ¡°I¡¯m at Ivory!¡± I grit my teeth. ¡°Are youing home tonight?¡± ¡°Yes, of course I am. I¡¯m just going-¡± The rest of her words are unintelligible, lost in the beat andughter. ¡°How are you getting home?¡± ¡°Taxi. I can¡¯t hear you very well.¡± Her voice is giggly. Like she¡¯d been after Conway¡¯s dinner, only worse. ¡°I¡¯lle pick you up.¡± ¡°I¡¯lle and pick you up!¡± Her voice turns into a squeak. ¡°Now?¡± ¡°No. When you¡¯re ready to leave.¡± There¡¯s the sound of shuffling again, and then a door shuts. I hear a woman yelling about someone cutting in line. ¡°Now I can hear you better,¡± Cecilia says, her voice dropping. ¡°Hi, Victor.¡± ¡°Hello. Text me twenty minutes before you want to leave and I¡¯ll pick you up, okay?¡± ¡°Okay,¡± she breathes. ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want you out in the city alone at night.¡± ¡°I¡¯m with friends.¡± ¡°Still. Text me.¡± ¡°Okay. I¡¯ll send you-¡± The call clicks off, and she¡¯s gone on the other end, lost in a bathroom stall at a club downtown. I shouldn¡¯t have offered. Shouldn¡¯t have insisted. But here I am, pulling on my jacket and grabbing my car keys. I pass the hideous ss dick vase on my hallway table. She put it back after I threw it in the trash. It sets my nerves on end. Teasing me. She¡¯s teasing me. The elevator takes me down to the garage and the ck Range Rover I use too rarely. Steven is more convenient day to day, skilled at parking and discreet. The engine purrs to life under my hands. She might not have texted yet, but I¡¯m not going to sit at home and wait. Better to be in the city, to be moving. The streets of New York are filled with taxis and mopeds, deliveringte-night food to drunkards and partygoers. I weave through traffic with one hand on the wheel. Refuse to think about what I¡¯m doing, the boundaries I¡¯m crossing. Cecilia and I are not friends. Cecilia and I cannot be friends. I pull up outside of the innocuous ck facade of the club my GPS tells me is Ivory. The music is pulsing from inside, faint but noticeable, even through my car. A cab driver gives me a dark look for upying a spot, and I stare right back at him. He¡¯s the one who caves first. It takes another ten minutes before my phone vibrates in my pocket. Myers: I¡¯m ready now. Thank you! I wait a few minutes. Not nearly enough to make it usible that I left when she texted, but I¡¯m not willing to leave her waiting in the club. Say Yes to the Boss 30 St. ir: I¡¯m outside. After I¡¯ve sent it, my thumb hovers over her name on my phone. I don¡¯t do it. Having her name as Myers instead of Cecilia is good. Distance is good. But distance is an illusion, I realize, watching her step out of the club. She has an arm wrapped tightly around her friend, the dark-haired woman who¡¯d served as our witness. The artist I¡¯m to patron.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. I lean across the empty passenger seat and lower the window. ¡°Myers!¡± Our eyes meet. Her dark hair is loose and curled around her face, a messy tendril falling across her cheek. She gives me a wide smile. Like I¡¯m her favorite person ever. ¡°There he is!¡± Her friendughs and they walk, still entangled, to my car. Both of them. I¡¯m frowning as they help themselves into the backseat. ¡°Hi,¡± Cecilia says. ¡°Hello,¡± her friend says. ¡°Can we make a stop in Brooklyn first?¡± Across the river, she means. Hell no. I open my mouth to say just that, looking at her through the rearview mirror. Cecilia¡¯s gazing right back at me. Her eyes are wide, and earnest, and¡­ happy. The retort dies on my tongue. ¡°Okay,¡± I hear myself say. She smiles and I look away from the rearview mirror. I drive in silence toward the Brooklyn Bridge, thankful for theck of traffic. I¡¯m Steven for the night, it seems. ¡°Thank you for this,¡± her friend says from the backseat. Nadine? Is that her name? ¡°I appreciate it.¡± I nce up to see her measured look, and give her a nod in return. The two of them exchange murmured farewells in the backseat and hug firmly. Cecilia says something against Nadine¡¯s ear that leaves both of themughing. I frown, knowing it¡¯s about me. ¡°Goodbye!¡± Nadine tells me. ¡°Thank you again for everything!¡± I nod, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. I¡¯m just about to floor it when Cecilia surprises me by getting out as well. She slides into the passenger seat beside me with a smile, fastening her seat belt. ¡°Thank you. I wanted to ask you if you could drop off Nadine as well, but cell reception was really bad in there.¡± She tugs at the tight dress she¡¯s wearing, pulling it back down over smooth knees and thighs. ¡°Aren¡¯t you cold?¡± ¡°A little,¡± she says. ¡°But I¡¯m too happy to be cold.¡± I drum my fingers again, fighting with my own instinct, and losing. ¡°I¡¯ll bite. Why?¡± ¡°Nadine is headlining an art exhibit next month!¡± ¡°You went out to celebrate.¡± ¡°Yes. We had to, you know. Ivory isn¡¯t the best club in the city, but you always know you¡¯re in for a good time.¡± She leans back in the seat, settling into the plush leather, and gives a happy little sigh. ¡°Thank you for picking me up.¡± ¡°Oh! You¡¯re driving!¡± ¡°Last time I checked, yes.¡± ¡°But where¡¯s Steven?¡± She nces back, as if he¡¯s lurking in the backseat. It makes my lips curl. ¡°He has the night off. He¡¯s not hiding in the trunk, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re thinking.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re driving.¡± Her eyes look zed and her full lips are smiling, as if they can¡¯t do anything else, as if she¡¯s locked in happiness for tonight. ¡°Still am, yes.¡± She chuckles and reaches down to take off her heels, just as she had after the Conway¡¯s dinner. ¡°Dancing in these should be illegal.¡± I have nothing to say to that, so I don¡¯t. But I watch the length of her bare legs as she stretches them out. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to.. well.¡± She looks over at me, hesitation in her eyes. ¡°Why did you call me? To see where I was?¡± ¡°You weren¡¯t home, it waste, and you usually are.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know you wanted me to tell you when I¡¯ll be out.¡± I keep my eyes on the road. ¡°Neither did I, to tell you the truth.¡± There¡¯s silence between us, punctuated by the sound of her turning in her seat. ¡°You were upte, then?¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep.¡± ¡°You¡¯re gone some nights, too.¡± I don¡¯t know what to say to that. It¡¯s not something I can put into words, and even if I did, I doubt she¡¯d¡­ no. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you noticed.¡± ¡°I have,¡± she says. ¡°And I don¡¯t call you to ask where you¡¯re going.¡± ¡°No, I suppose you don¡¯t.¡± She clears her throat, and there¡¯s something tight beneath the cheerfulness. ¡°I appreciate the ride home. But I can be out for as long and as often as I¡¯d like, just the same as you.¡± I can¡¯t argue with that. Nor can I admit to the feeling of unease when she wasn¡¯t home. ¡°Noted. It was just out of the ordinary for you, and so I¡­ checked in.¡± She rxes against the seat, palms t on her knees. I nce at her left hand and find it bare. Of course. The rings are with me, back in the safety box at home. Say Yes to the Boss 31 My mother¡¯s engagement ring had looked good on Cecilia¡¯s finger. ¡°Do you know,¡± she says, ¡°that we¡¯ve been married almost two months now?¡± ¡°I did know that.¡± ¡°Which means we only have ten months left.¡± ¡°Looking forward to divorce?¡± Sheughs, running a hand through her messy dark hair. Gone are the low ponytails and tight buns. I approve of that. Long live the free, tumbling waves. I wonder what they¡¯d feel like wrapped around my hand. ¡°I¡¯m just surprised at how smoothly it¡¯s gone,¡± she says. ¡°Did you expect us to fight?¡± She snorts. ¡°No. But I expected more hups. We have less friction than we did when I worked for you.¡± ¡°We had friction?¡± ¡°Yes. Maybe you didn¡¯t notice it.¡± I pull up to the garage in my apartment building, watching the steel door rise inch by inch. ¡°We got a lot done.¡± ¡°Yes, that¡¯s true. We certainly did. I don¡¯t think anyone who works for you can do anything else.¡± I park the car and walk around to open her door. But she¡¯s already stepped out, bare-footed, onto the concrete.Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. ¡°Cecilia.¡± Sheughs and bends to slide her heels back on, stretching out a hand to support herself. Itnds on my arm, and I hold still. ¡°You¡¯re a handful when you¡¯re drunk.¡± Her eyes fly to mine. ¡°I¡¯m not drunk, and I¡¯m not a handful!¡± ¡°Sure you¡¯re not.¡± ¡°I¡¯m perfectly capable of walking in a straight line. I can recite the alphabet backwards and forwards-no! I¡¯ll do you one better!¡± She straightens, and to my amazement, she recites my social security number and my birthday. ¡°Oh, and you¡¯re a Taurus,¡± she says, ¡°but you don¡¯t believe in astrology.¡± I stare at her. A million responses flit through my mind. I choose the safest one. ¡°That does not prove you¡¯re sober.¡± ¡°Come on, even you have to admit that was a little impressive.¡± She walks past me to the elevator, arms loose at her sides. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have asked. I know better than anyone that you have a no-praise policy.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have a no-praise policy.¡± ¡°Ouch,¡± she says. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make me feel better.¡± I can¡¯t think of anything to say to her teasing, but then I don¡¯t have to, because the elevator doors open and she bounces out to open my front door. Her front door. Our front door. I should head straight upstairs, but nothing about this night has gone ording to n. So I follow her into the kitchen. She turns on lights as she goes and opens the fridge, surveying the contents. I watch her. ¡°What did you mean by that?¡± She gives a low hum and takes out a packet. ¡°Do you like this?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t see what it is.¡± ¡°Hummus.¡± ¡°I figured,¡± she says, and digs through a box to find baby carrots. ¡°I want to make sure I don¡¯t identally ruin Bonnie¡¯s nning by snacking on something she¡¯s set aside for you.¡± I lean against the kitchen counter. ¡°Don¡¯t deflect. What did you mean?¡± ¡°Mean about what?¡± She bobs her head as she rips off the stic lid, like she¡¯s still listening to music. The whitece edge of her bra peeks out of her neckline and it¡¯s suddenly all I can see. Cecilia in her underwear. Cecilia in nothing at all. Sleeping in the bedroom opposite mine every night. She looks up at me, catching my eyes. A slow smile spreads across her lips. I clear my throat. ¡°My no-praise policy. That I don¡¯t have. You said ouch , afterwards.¡± Sheughs, and the sound expands in the kitchen, fills it in ways it¡¯s never been full before. ¡°If you say you don¡¯t have a no-praise policy, that means I¡¯ve just never done anything praiseworthy. But as a ster assistant-don¡¯t object-I know I did. I was great at my job.¡± I frown, watching her flow through my kitchen, opening drawers and finding utensils. She looks like she was the one who designed it. Like she cooks in here every day. Maybe she does. I don¡¯t have any insight into how she spends her days when I¡¯m away. It suddenly strikes me as a crime. ¡°I praised you.¡± She raises an eyebrow at me. ¡°When?¡± I stare back at her and rack my brain. A workce isn¡¯t helped by excessive praise. It doesn¡¯t increase morale or motivation, and too much devalues the entire operation. ¡°We worked together every day. I don¡¯t know when.¡± Cecilia hums, a smile in the corner of her lips. ¡°I can tell you how often. Never.¡± I frown, watching her as she dips a carrot into the hummus. Swirls it around. ¡°So I don¡¯t believe in participation trophies,¡± I say. ¡°Every office I¡¯ve headed has been sessful.¡± She smiles, and it¡¯s a private smile, like I¡¯ve made a joke only she understands the punchline to. ¡°Of course they have.¡± ¡°Of course? It took hard work and dedication.¡± ¡°I know, I know. I¡¯m not disputing that. You¡¯re the hardest-working person I¡¯ve ever met.¡± She tosses thepliment out like it¡¯s nothing. Like it¡¯s easy. Obvious. Self-evident. I watch as she opens the fridge again. I didn¡¯t know the day woulde when I missed Miss Myers¡¯ prim hairstyles, but I miss them now, watching the dark hair curl down her back. It¡¯s far too distracting. Say Yes to the Boss 32 ¡°Here it is,¡± she murmurs to herself and pulls out a ss bottle. She tries to twist the cap, but it won¡¯t open.All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. I¡¯m moving before I decide to and knock her hands softly aside. ¡°Oh,¡± she breathes, looking up at me. It¡¯s a move from a bad high school movie. But I unscrew the lid for her and feel like I¡¯m ten feet tall. ¡°Here,¡± I mutter. Her voice is warm. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°What is this, anyway?¡± ¡°Kombucha. Want some?¡± Her hands brush mine as she takes the bottle back and the simple contact makes me mute. I watch as she takes out two sses, and after she¡¯s gone through the trouble¡­ ¡°You drink kombucha when you¡¯re drunk?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not drunk,¡± she says and pours a healthy amount into each ss. ¡°This is restorative. It¡¯s healthy. And it means I¡¯ll feel absolutely terrific tomorrow.¡± ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t you? If you¡¯re not drunk now?¡± She narrows her eyes at me, but it¡¯s yful. ¡°Do you want your kombucha or not?¡± I don¡¯t. It doesn¡¯t look appetizing in the least, with little particles swirling around. ¡°I do,¡± I say, and that¡¯s when I know I should go upstairs. Because she is nothing like the assistant I thought I had, nothing like the Miss Myers who answered mymands and never spoke back, who wore too-loose pencil skirts and had her hair in prim ponytails. The woman before me is full of life andughter, of interest and dreams, and for the first time in forever, it intrigues me rather than bothers me. It reminds me of times in a kitchen like this. Times when homes were meant forughter and life, instead of work and rest. When there was someone who dared tease me. Someone close enough to ever get the opportunity. ¡°Victor?¡± she asks. There¡¯s no hesitation in her voice. She says my name like she owns it, and not like she¡¯d rather call me Mr. St. ir and retreat back up her stairs like she thinks I bite. ¡°Cheers to two months of marriage,¡± she says and raises her ss of kombucha. I look down at my own ss and it looks like dishwater. But I clink it to hers. ¡°Only ten more to go,¡± I say. She smiles at me over the rim of her ss, and despite myself, I feel myself smiling back. It dies as soon as I taste the drink. Cecilia bursts outughing at my expression and she doesn¡¯t stop, folding herself double over my kitchen counter. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°Definitely drunk.¡± Sheughs again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s just¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡± I pour the rest of my ss out in the sink. ¡°It was probably bad luck to toast with something that disgusting.¡± ¡°Your face,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯ve always been so careful to serve you things you enjoy.¡± ¡°Things I enjoy?¡± ¡°Yes. You like lettuce on BLTs, but not in burgers. You prefer your steaks medium-rare. You hate creamers in coffee, and vors even more. I once served you hazelnut coffee and never again.¡± Her smile is satisfied. I decide to unsettle it. ¡°You might know my social security number,¡± I say, ¡°but that doesn¡¯t mean you really know me.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t?¡± Cecilia shifts on the chair and it brings her closer, a whiff of perfume washing over me. Her green eyes are serious on mine. ¡°I know who you hire, who you spend your time with. I know your taste in clothes and your tailoring sizes. I know that cutesy email farewells aggravate you. You don¡¯t like holidays. You hate when people use the word ¡®like¡¯ needlessly. I¡¯ve seen the way your eyes twitch.¡± ¡°My eyes do not twitch,¡± I say. ¡°But the word ¡®like¡¯ is pointless.¡± Her grin widens. ¡°It didn¡¯t use to bother me, but now I think of you whenever I hear a person using it.¡± ¡°So you know a lot,¡± I say. ¡°But not all.¡± She purses her lips. ¡°I know your taste in women.¡± Ah. Interesting. ¡°Do you?¡± ¡°Yes. I organized most of your dates, you know. Booked restaurants, put your calls through. You have a type.¡± Cecilia has never spoken to me like this. I doubt she would¡¯ve just yesterday, and I doubt she will tomorrow, when the liquid courage has disappeared. ¡°And what do you think my type is, Cecilia?¡± ¡°Tall, slender, young,¡± she says. ¡°They often expect you to send a car to pick them up. By you, of course, they really mean me.¡± ¡°Mmm.¡± ¡°Do you know I had to prepare a list of excuses in my desk for when they ask to be patched through to you?¡± ¡°A list of excuses?¡± ¡°Yes. You know, you¡¯re in a meeting, you¡¯re on a phone call, you¡¯re away on a business trip. You¡¯re finalizing an important contract or you have a meeting with the governor.¡± ¡°I had a meeting with the governor?¡± Her eyesugh. ¡°Yes. You¡¯ve met the governor six times in the past year, at least as far as the women you¡¯ve dated are concerned.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Making things up, Miss Myers.¡± ¡°You know, I¡¯m surprised you didn¡¯t ask one of them to marry you. You could have had a real marriage. A semi-real one, at least.¡± I pull out the chair next to her. The motion puts our knees against one another beneath the table. ¡°Why do you think I was dating so much?¡± ¡°Because you¡­¡± Her words run out, eyes widening. ¡°That¡¯s what you were doing the past six months.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I admit, and wonder if I¡¯m offending her. She bursts outughing. ¡°Sorry. I just can¡¯t imagine you going on dates with women, with the sole intention of¡­ of¡­¡± ¡°Finding a wife,¡± I say. ¡°To fulfill a use in my grandfather¡¯s will.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 33 ¡°Yes. It¡¯s so methodical. It¡¯s very you.¡± ¡°Very me,¡± I repeat, my gaze dropping to her lips. They¡¯re fuller than I¡¯d noticed before, and when she worries the lower one between her teeth, small indents form. ¡°You really do think you know me.¡± Thest traces of humor disappear from her voice. ¡°I know some things. There are a lot of things I still wonder about.¡± ¡°I might not know your social security number, but that doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t know things about you, Cecilia Myers.¡± Her breath hitches. ¡°You don¡¯t know much.¡± The kitchen holds danger, and I should leave. I don¡¯t. ¡°I know you care deeply about your friends. So deeply you married me to help a friend¡¯s dreame true. I know you have no siblings or family close by the city. I know you want to stand on your own legs andunch your business, but that you¡¯re scared to, as well. I know you saw marrying me as an opportunity but also as an escape,¡± I say. ¡°I know clothes are a shield for you. You dressed modestly and frumpy in the office because you wanted to be taken seriously.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t dress frumpy.¡± My gaze travels down the neckline of her wrap dress. ¡°You didn¡¯t dress like this.¡± She exhales softly. ¡°No. Not in the office.¡± ¡°I understand why.¡± I wouldn¡¯t have been able to concentrate on work if she did. ¡°To the best of my knowledge, you didn¡¯t really need this marriage or the money it provided. You wanted it. You wanted the opportunity, you¡¯re ambitious, you¡¯re determined. Which also means somewhere inside, even if you don¡¯t admit it to yourself, you didn¡¯t want to get rid of me that badly.¡± Her voice is low. ¡°I wanted to do something wild.¡± It would be easy to lose myself in her gaze. The pull is there, telling me to stay, to drown. Victory pounds at my temples and sudden desire burns in my stomach. I could reach out, now. I could kiss her. Cecilia swallows, her hand tightening around her ss. ¡°You don¡¯t think badly of me for marrying you?¡± What? ¡°No. Why would I?¡± ¡°Because I¡¯mpensated for it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a business deal,¡± I say. The words fortify my resolve, steady the pounding of need through my veins. ¡°We both gain from it. If anything, I think well of you for it. You helped me.¡± Business is what I understand the best, removing any vagueness or emotion. It¡¯s territory I understand. I stand. ¡°Goodnight, Cecilia.¡± She watches me with dark eyes. ¡°Goodnight, Victor. Thank you for tonight.¡± When I fall into bed this time, sleep wees me immediately, and I don¡¯t dream at all. ¡°Is that gnhi?¡±Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. Bonnie nods and uncovers the te of golden dumplings. ¡°Tonight¡¯s dinner is gnhi with ragu.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been eating like a queen since I moved in here. This smells amazing.¡± She smiles, dropping them one by one into the boiling pot. ¡°It¡¯s a passion of mine.¡± ¡°Oh, and we can tell.¡± She looks over her shoulder. ¡°We?¡± ¡°Yes. Well, I know Victor thinks the same thing.¡± Bonnie¡¯s pleased flush is clear on her cheeks, even when she turns back to the stove. I pull out a chair and have a seat at the kitchen table. Today had been filled with headaches. I¡¯ve been interviewing web creators for my start-up, and so far I didn¡¯t feelfortable with a single one. They had to take my requirements and trante them into a functioning website for both the assistants I¡¯d hire and the clients we¡¯d have. Before this, I¡¯d never realized how much work went into interviews. The front door opens and familiar footsteps echo through the hallway. The route they take has changed in the past week, since the night he picked me up from the club. The night we¡¯d nearly kissed. He doesn¡¯t head straight to his office. He heads toward the kitchen instead. I smooth my hair back behind my ear and look over at Bonnie, but she has her back turned. Victor walks into the kitchen. He¡¯s taken off his suit jacket, and he¡¯s rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, inch by inch. ¡°Hello,¡± he says. ¡°Hi,¡± I say. ¡°Did you have a good day?¡± He nods. ¡°Brad didn¡¯t screw up quite as bad today.¡± A month ago, I would have thought he was serious. Perhaps he would have been, too. But the blue eyes that meet mine hold dry humor. ¡°Surprising,¡± I say. ¡°He didn¡¯t breathe in the wrong direction?¡± ¡°No. He didn¡¯t scald my coffee either.¡± ¡°He¡¯s learning.¡± ¡°He had a good tutor.¡± A pleased flush creeps up my cheeks. His thick, dark blond hair is mussed from where he¡¯s run his hand through it. ¡°You had to make big decisions today?¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°You heard?¡± ¡°I guessed.¡± ¡°One of my business partners is negotiating with a media conglomerate about a takeover. It would be one of Acture¡¯s biggest purchases.¡± ¡°Oh. That¡¯s really exciting.¡± He nods, but he¡¯s frowning. ¡°Yes. Carter is eager to run point on this one, but we¡¯ll have to negotiate as a group. The media corporation doesn¡¯t want to sell.¡± ¡°Family business?¡± He waves a hand. ¡°The major shareholders are all from onerge, extended family. They¡¯re letting sentimentality cloud their judgment.¡± He says it like it¡¯s the gravest of errors, and I smile. ¡°Do you have a lot of work tonight? We could have dinner, if not.¡± Victor¡¯s hand ttens on the marble counter. Silence stretches on, my offer hanging in the air. He could shut that door. He¡¯d be right to. Say Yes to the Boss 34 ¡°Sure,¡± he says. ¡°Okay. Good.¡± I flit up from my chair and get our sses, a sudden bout of nerves flooding my system. ¡°Doesn¡¯t the food smell delicious?¡± ¡°It does.¡± ¡°It¡¯s almost done, too,¡± Bonnie adds. She tes it for us and I grab a seat at the table opposite Victor. He keeps his eyes on his phone, but as I watch, he does the most extraordinary thing. He turns it on silent and slides it into the pocket of his pants. He sees me looking. ¡°Anything wrong?¡± I shake my head. ¡°No.¡± The tes appear in front of us and Bonnie says bon appetit. ¡°Thank you,¡± I tell her, and I mean it. ¡°This looks incredible.¡±This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. She wipes her hands on her apron. ¡°There¡¯s parmesan in the fridge and a bottle of red that would work great. Help yourselves.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Victor says. Bonnie nods again and as she leaves the kitchen, I catch the curve of a smile on her lips. Wine in the fridge, huh? Victor gets a bottle and uncorks it with a practiced move. The muscles in his forearms flex with each pull on the cork. Damn shirtsleeves. ¡°Cecilia?¡± ¡°How is your start-uping along?¡± It takes me a moment to gather my wits. But when I do, Iunch into a description, and pray he¡¯s not deducting this from our monthly mentoring sessions. ¡°I¡¯ve spoken to some personal assistants, actually. People I know through work or school. Several are interested in joining. It¡¯s flexible, you know? They can sign up to do as many hours as they¡¯d like to in a given week.¡± He nods. ¡°It¡¯s as flexible from the clients perspective as it is from the assistants. That¡¯s good, Myers.¡± ¡°Thank you. The thing I¡¯m struggling with at the moment is web design.¡± ¡°Tell me.¡± Victor listens to my problems, drinking from his ss and digging into his food. He looks like he usually does at his business meetings,plete with the furrow in his brow. He remarks positively on one change and critically on two points. After that, we fall silent, the only sound in the kitchen our cutlery against the tes. I clear my throat. ¡°My mother ising to town in a month or two.¡± ¡°Is she?¡± ¡°She doesn¡¯t know I¡¯m married.¡± ¡°Quite a change,¡± Victor says. ¡°Do you n on telling her?¡± ¡°Yes. I don¡¯t think I can get around it.¡± ¡°You could show her the contract. Might make it easier for her to understand.¡± Iugh. ¡°Yes. And then she¡¯d lose her mind.¡± ¡°She wouldn¡¯t approve?¡± ¡°Of me turning marriage into a business arrangement? No. I doubt she would. Although she¡¯s¡­ unconventional. She never chose marriage for herself, and I think she never really thought I would, either.¡± Victor¡¯s stopped eating, his gaze on mine. ¡°Your mother never thought you would marry.¡± I shrug. ¡°She¡¯d say she raised me better than that.¡± His eyebrows rise. ¡°Your mother sounds intriguing.¡± ¡°She is. She¡¯s nothing like me, you know. She¡¯ll decide she¡¯s going to try fasting for a week, only to take a month-long culinary course the next. A husband would only have slowed her down, as she loves to say. ¡®Men for a season, sometimes for a reason, but never a lifetime,''¡± I quote. Victor snorts. ¡°And your father?¡± ¡°Not in the picture. Mom changed the story a lot when I was growing up. One week she¡¯d say he was a traveling musician, and the next he was fleeing from the mob. Now that I¡¯m older, I think she might not be quite sure who he is.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°I did not expect this.¡± That makes me smile. ¡°No, I can see that. I probably strike you as someone with a very proper background.¡± ¡°Yes. Raised to be an assistant.¡± ¡°God, I hope no one is raised to be an assistant.¡± He snorts, returning his gaze to his te. ¡°You hated it, then?¡± ¡°Hated what?¡± ¡°Your time working for me. You were counting down the days, Myers.¡± ¡°I¡¯m back to Myers again,¡± I say. ¡°That happens a lot when we talk about work.¡± ¡°Force of habit. And don¡¯t deflect.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± I say, though I am. The gnhi is delicious, small pillows of heavenly goodness, and he eats them with methodical precision as he waits for my answer. ¡°I didn¡¯t hate it all the time. There were days when I loved it.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Yes. I got to call a lot of powerful people on your behalf, not to mention say no to a bunch of Exciteur executives when they wanted your time.¡± ¡°Gatekeeper,¡± he says. Say Yes to the Boss 35 I nod. ¡°You had the power, but I had ess to the power.¡± His lip curves. ¡°Sounds like you liked that.¡± ¡°Sometimes, yes. Controlling your schedule and calendar, making sure everything was in order¡­ I loved that part of it. I still love organizing. It¡¯s my passion.¡± He pushes his empty te away. ¡°So the part you didn¡¯t love was me.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡¯m saying, really.¡± Victor raises an eyebrow. ¡°You told me, when I asked you to marry me, that you wanted to get away from me.¡± I shift in my chair. ¡°I remember.¡± ¡°So I was the part of your job you didn¡¯t like.¡±Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org. ¡°Yes,¡± I admit. ¡°Not always. I learned a lot from you. But you weren¡¯t easy to please or to predict.¡± Even so, a certain part of me had been proud to be his assistant because of that very fact. Look at me wrangle this beast. I had ess to the man who regrly bit his employees¡¯ heads off, and I hadn¡¯t been fired. Seeing him in front of me now, shirtsleeves rolled up and dark blue eyes serious on mine, is like having double-vision. The image of him in his own home now, talking to me, superimposed over the image of him behind his desk telling me to get it right the next time or else. Same man. And yet. The two are blurring, both softening around the edges, and I realize I¡¯m not afraid of him anymore. I haven¡¯t been for quite some time. ¡°Noted,¡± he says, as if I¡¯ve spoken the realization aloud. ¡°I know it¡¯s toote, but for what it¡¯s worth, you were excellent at your job. I hope you saw that reflected in yourpensation.¡± Pride at his words makes my chest swell. Yes, he hadpensated me handsomely, and I know I¡¯m luckier than most with my savings ount. But he¡¯d never said the words. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. He nods again, like we¡¯re done with this topic, but doesn¡¯t rise from the table. Neither of us is eating anymore. I reach for the winess. ¡°Are you excited about tomorrow?¡± ¡°Tomorrow,¡± he repeats. ¡°Ah. Nadine¡¯s exhibition opens.¡± ¡°I had Brad call a few art magazines and tell them about the gallery opening.¡± He crosses his arms over his chest, as if he¡¯s unsure of how to act. But he nods. ¡°Yes. Should bring some more photographers there. They¡¯ll want to photograph us together.¡± ¡°That¡¯s okay.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll buy a few pieces for appearance¡¯s sake as well.¡± I grin. ¡°Gosh, this is perfect. Thank you, Victor. For doing that.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°I¡¯m so excited for her,¡± I say. ¡°She¡¯s worked so hard to get to this moment, you know. The gallery is perfect for her and the owners have already hinted they want some of her pieces permanently exhibited.¡± Iugh, then, remembering her words. ¡°But even at something as momentous as this, her first gallery opening, she¡¯s still trying to set me up with someone.¡± Victor lowers his winess. ¡°To set you up with someone.¡± ¡°Yes. Apparently one of the curators is, and I¡¯m quoting her, a man I could organize a closet for.¡± ¡°I have no idea what that means.¡± ¡°Me neither,¡± I say. ¡°But it¡¯s Nadine for someone I¡¯d match well with in a rtionship.¡± ¡°How would she know that?¡± ¡°She knows me very well. I don¡¯t think there¡¯s a man I¡¯ve dated that she hasn¡¯t met.¡± Victor¡¯s voice is cool. ¡°Do you only date men who are unable to keep their own closets in order?¡± I shake my head. Why did I bring this up? ¡°No. It¡¯s her version of apatibility test, I suppose. She thinks I need to be with someone who bnces out my organizational side.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± he says. ¡°It¡¯s not scientific. I kinda think she wants me to date someone who¡¯s like herself. Maybe it¡¯d work out, you know. She is my best friend for a reason.¡± His lips are a thin line. ¡°So you¡¯re going there tomorrow to flirt, as well as to support your friend. Sure you want me toe?¡± ¡°Of course I do. I have no intention of flirting with anyone.¡± ¡°Except that your friend will encourage you to.¡± ¡°I¡¯m my own person,¡± I say, and I mean it in more ways than one. Why is this silly little story a sticking point? He disappears several nights a week, going who knows where and doing who knows what. With who knows who. I¡¯d snuck downstairs on one such night the past week, but he was nowhere to be found on the bottom floor. Gone. We didn¡¯t promise one another celibacy, and he seems to be making full use of that liberty. Victor rises from the kitchen table and puts his te in the sink. It¡¯s an oddly domestic thing for him to do, but with his rolled-up sleeves and ruffled hair, he looks at home here in the kitchen. As elegant as one of his expensive kitchen appliances. Bonnie¡¯s wordse back to me. The St. ir name is old. Moneyed. Historic. And he¡¯s thest one who carries it. It strikes me as tragic, suddenly, that he never pursues real rtionships. ¡°You are your own person,¡± he says, as if that settles everything. ¡°Tomorrow evening. I¡¯ll meet you at the gallery.¡± ¡°As there will be photographers there, I¡¯d appreciate it if you didn¡¯t flirt in front of them.¡± I open my mouth to respond, but he¡¯s already disappearing down the hallway and out of view. When Ie down the next morning, there¡¯s an envelope with my name on it waiting for me on the kitchen counter. Bonnie is nowhere to be seen and Victor had left the apartment over an hour earlier. I¡¯d heard his bedroom door close and the telltale sound of his dress shoes against the hardwood floor. Judging by the writing on the envelope, he¡¯d left it here for me. Say Yes to the Boss 36 I open it. Two familiar rings lie at the bottom. The message couldn¡¯t be clearer. For tonight. I hold them in the palm of my hand, the heavy gold ring and the peculiar design of the engagement ring. It¡¯s gorgeous, the solitaire diamond reflecting under the kitchen lights, the ring of emeralds sparkling. It¡¯s not something I thought he would have picked out. I slide them on and close my fist around them. He wants us to go tonight as a married couple. Him as the investor; me as the supportive friend. Does this have anything to do with the carelessment I madest night about Nadine¡¯s friend Jake? The one she¡¯s so sure I¡¯d hit it off with? I smile down at the rings. Pretty they may be, but they¡¯re an illusion, and that¡¯s what Victor¡¯s keen to protect. Nothing more and nothing less. And if he thinks he¡¯s the only one allowed to have his fun, I¡¯ll give him my opinion tonight, too. Because the contract goes both ways. I can date, as long as I¡¯m discreet. Perhaps it¡¯s time to remind him of that. A few hourster, and he¡¯ste and Nadine is busy, but I couldn¡¯t be happier. I¡¯m surrounded by my best friend¡¯s art. It¡¯s professionally disyed on the walls and sets the sterile gallery aze with color, the abstract pieces flowing from one frame to the next. The series with the seven virtues is my favorite. She¡¯d been working on it for a year. Sometimes she¡¯d worried whether it was old-fashioned to have the virtues represented. But we¡¯d both agreed the world could use more of them, and she¡¯d infused that into the paintings, with abstract concepts and colors matching each one. I sip my ss of champagne and ogle Nadine without shame. She looks drop-dead gorgeous tonight, like she could take the stage and give an impromptu performance at any time. We¡¯d been at her ce yesterday to test out looks, and the fitted auburn jumpsuit she chose makes her look tall and graceful. The entric artiste and the polished young woman, rolled into one. Ready to sell you a painting for a few thousand dors right before she returns to her Brooklyn studio to paint her heart out. She¡¯s wearing the gold hoop earrings I got her for her twenty-fifth birthday, and they catch the light as she talks to a visitor, her hands moving in a pattern that is so uniquely her. If this is how parents feel when their children graduate, then I can understand why so many of them cry. I¡¯m so proud, watching her own this space and this role. Nadine-at-sixteen would be overjoyed at this, having her biggest dreame true. I feel as proud for Nadine-at-sixteen as I do for Nadine-at-twenty-eight, standing there across the space. ¡°Gorgeous, right?¡± a voice says by my right. I answer without taking my eyes off her. ¡°Yes, she really is.¡± The man¡¯sughter is deep and surprised. ¡°Well, I was actually talking about the painting behind her. Justice . There¡¯s anger in it, too, can you see that?¡± I chuckle and turn to the man beside me. He¡¯s a head taller than me, in a navy linen shirt and with a beard that looks artfully unkempt. ¡°There is, yes. Perhaps justice is often apanied by anger. Anger at the things that aren¡¯t so.¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± he says. ¡°The fantastic thing is that she managed to capture it in an abstract. I haven¡¯t met a painter quite like her, ever, I think.¡± ¡°Nadine has always been talented at that. Making you feel things with her art.¡± He smiles, then, and his dark brown eyes are warm. ¡°So you¡¯re the best friend. I suspected you were, but you also looked like you were contemting a painting, and I didn¡¯t know if you were a prospective buyer.¡± ¡°Best friend,¡± I say and stick out my hand. ¡°And prospective buyer.¡± He shakes it. ¡°Supportive. I like that. I¡¯m Jake.¡± ¡°Cecilia,¡± I say, my smile widening. So this is the messy closet-owner. ¡°I heard you were instrumental in getting this gallery showing off the ground?¡± He gives a half-smile. ¡°I was there when Nadine pitched her art, yes. But I didn¡¯t do any heavy lifting, believe me. My colleagues were almost as enamored by the portfolio she showed us as I was.¡± My smile widens, watching as his eyes return to Nadine. There¡¯s true appreciation in them. I wonder if it¡¯s more than just for her art. Who should really organize his closet? ¡°She¡¯s always evolving, too.¡± Prideces my voice. ¡°For as long as I¡¯ve known her, she¡¯s been experimenting with different mediums and expressions.¡±This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°You two have been friends for a long while, right?¡± ¡°Yes. I think it¡¯s¡­ fourteen years now. Yes. Fourteen years exactly next month. We were neighbors, once upon a time.¡± His smile widens. ¡°Nothing like old friends.¡± ¡°No, and you can¡¯t make new old friends,¡± I say. ¡°An unfortunate truth.¡± His gaze catches on something behind me. ¡°Oh, someone¡¯sing our way. I wonder if management sent someone new?¡± I know who it is before I turn, based on thatment alone. And yes. There he is, striding through the gallery, dark suit tailored to his tall, strong form. ¡°He¡¯s with me,¡± I say. Victor puts his arm around me and presses a kiss to my temple. The simple, brief touch stuns me. He extends a hand toward Jake and speaks in clipped tones. ¡°Victor St. ir. Cecilia¡¯s husband.¡± ¡°A pleasure to meet you,¡± Jake says, shaking his hand. His gaze travels between us and then he takes a step back. ¡°It was lovely talking to you, Cecilia.¡± ¡°Likewise,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m happy you were there that day when Nadine pitched her art.¡± His smile deepens. ¡°So was I. I¡¯ll catch youter.¡± The moment he¡¯s out of earshot, I round on Victor. ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°What was what?¡± he asks, his face a study in bored professionalism. ¡°You introduced yourself as my husband.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that what I am?¡± He strolls toward one of the giant abstracts on the wall, one I¡¯m familiar with. It¡¯s Charity . ¡°Yes, but not in that sense of the word.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean.¡± If my gaze could kill, that¡¯s what it would do. Have him drop dead right then and there in the art gallery. As it stands, it doesn¡¯t seem to harm a hair on his head. He just watches the blue swirls of Charity with his hands behind his back. ¡°Is this aboutst night? What I told you about the man Nadine wants to set me up with?¡± ¡°I think I¡¯ll put in an offer for this one,¡± he says. ¡°It would go well with the colors in the gym.¡± ¡°Your home gym has no color.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± He turns and strides on, and I¡¯m forced to catch up with him. Still angry, because he might pretend otherwise, but we both know exactly why he¡¯de on as strong as he had. He¡¯d kissed me. Say Yes to the Boss 37 My temple, and only briefly, but still. And it was not something we¡¯d agreed upon beforehand. ¡°Victor,¡± I say. ¡°If you think I¡¯ll be happy to be-¡± ¡°Mr. St. ir,¡± a man interrupts. ¡°And this, of course, has to be the new Mrs. St. ir?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Victor says and there¡¯s his arm again, sliding around my waist with no thought to his self-preservation. ¡°Good to see you here, Hadley.¡± ¡°Likewise.¡± The man gives me a hesitant smile. He¡¯s middle-aged, a camera in hand. ¡°Mind if I take a picture of the two of you in front of the, uh, painting here?¡± ¡°Not at all,¡± Victor says, turning to me. ¡°Hadley works at the Post .¡± I put on my widest smile, because Victor or no Victor, we¡¯re doing this for Nadine. The camera shes and I step away from him as soon as Hadley lowers it. ¡°What do you think of the art?¡± I ask Hadley. ¡°Don¡¯t you just love the colors?¡± Thatunches an hour ofworking so intense, I have no chance to tell Victor off about his domineering. In my mind, all I can hear is the sound of his bedroom door, mming at night, as he disappears out of his apartment. But he has the nerve to kiss my temple, or to react like he didst night, when I mentioned flirting. I give Nadine a massive hug when I see her. She thanks Victor in an earnest tone, but then she¡¯s gone again, swept away in the tide of visitors. Tonight is her time to shine, and everyone wants a piece of her. We¡¯re alone in front of Temperance when I get my shot. ¡°That wasn¡¯t fair, what you did back there. Or the way you reactedst night.¡± Victor turns t, blue eyes my way. ¡°borate.¡± ¡°We never agreed to be celibate or monogamous.¡± ¡°I¡¯m aware of that.¡± ¡°Yes, I bet you are,¡± I say. ¡°But that cuts both ways, dear husband.¡± ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± he repeats, eyes narrowing. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean you can flirt in a room full of people who belong to New York¡¯s art elite, many with cameras and here to report. Think of how that would look.¡± ¡°I was having a conversation.¡± ¡°With someone whose closet you¡¯re already nning to organize,¡± Victor says, his voice dropping low with anger. ¡°Or was that not him? Are you still waiting to be set up with your Prince Charming?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not being set up with anyone. It was a dumb suggestion and one I shouldn¡¯t have mentioned to you, clearly. But that¡¯s not the point.¡± ¡°Then what is the point, Cecilia? Exin it to me.¡± I step closer, eyes darting to the couple by our side. I don¡¯t want to be overheard. ¡°You spend several nights away every single week. I¡¯ve told you I know about it before, and you didn¡¯t deny it. Why is it okay for you to be involved with someone but not for me? It¡¯s not as if a single conversation with someone here would make front-page news. Your fragile masculinity would remain intact, I¡¯m sure.¡± Victor¡¯s voice is sharp. ¡°What exactly do you think I do at night?¡± ¡°Do you want me to spell it out for you?¡± ¡°Yes, I think I do.¡± ¡°If you get to have sex, I get to have sex,¡± I say. The word sex feels like it echoes in the grand space. I nce around, but no one is looking at us. ¡°Sex,¡± Victor says. His voice is midnight. ¡°Myers, I haven¡¯t had sex since I married you. Which, if you recall, was several months ago.¡± He sounds like that¡¯s a painful revtion. ¡°I recall. I was there.¡± ¡°Good. So whatever you think you¡¯re using me of, I assure you, it¡¯s not that.¡± ¡°Then where do you go at night?¡± His jaw works, and then he turns away from me, looking out at the crowd. ¡°As soon as we leave, I¡¯ll show you.¡± The drive is taut with silence. He¡¯d taken the car himself, and looking at him from the corner of my eye, I wonder if the reason is to have something to do. A machine beneath his hands and a road to watch. We haven¡¯t spoken since he got behind the wheel, taking us further and further out of the city. The skyscrapers turn to mid-rises that soon shrink into glorious suburbia. The wide streets we drive through are tree-lined. I glimpse electronic gates and pools behind fences. Old Victorian houses and charmingly cracked pavement only enhance the wealth that hides behind these hedges. I¡¯ve never been to this area of Long Ind. I look out the window and speak for the first time since we left the gallery. ¡°Are we going to visit a rtive of yours? I might be overdressed.¡± Victor gives a harsh chuckle. ¡°In a way, yes.¡± ¡°Oh. You¡¯re sure I¡¯m not overdressed?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not overdressed,¡± he says. There¡¯s a brief pause. ¡°I¡¯m in a suit, Cecilia.¡± Funny, how in my head, that¡¯s what he always wears. Even in thefort of his own home, I¡¯ve only seen him in suits, heading to work or returning home from it. He turns onto a smaller street. The pavement is smooth here, and giant oaks line it, their trunks too big to wrap my arms around. The car slows to a crawl outside a property and he turns onto its driveway. A giant wrought-iron gate swings open on electronic hinges. The house is enormous. That¡¯s my first impression. Enormous and Victorian and beautiful, with shutters and a wrap-around porch. Boxwood hedges line the building and give way to a stone staircase, slick with leaves. Behind the house I glimpse awn that stretches toward tall trees. No neighbors nearby. ¡°Wow. This house is¡­¡±N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. Victor parks the car. ¡°It¡¯s a lot of things.¡± The air feels thick out here, smelling of fall and rain and nature. We walk toward the porch and scare a squirrel. It darts across thewn. ¡°This is your grandfather¡¯s house?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He unlocks the front door, and just like that, everything makes sense. This is where he goes at night. This is where he grieves, even if he¡¯d never call it that. He won¡¯t look at me. I wonder if he¡¯s regretting this. That I¡¯m here and witness to so much of him. But as I step into the wood-paneled entryway, his dry voice bes that of a guide. Telling me about the property and the rooms. Say Yes to the Boss 38 I follow him through a sitting room with a giant firece, into a dining room with a table that¡¯srge enough to seat twelve. I drink everything in. The antlers mounted on the wall. The framed picture of a family tree that looks yellow with age. It¡¯s like a cab of curiosities, meticulously decorated and richly furnished. ¡°You married me to inherit this house,¡± I say. He¡¯s stopped by the bay windows in the sitting room. It would make for a great reading nook, I think, looking out over the backyard. Although I¡¯m not sure if backyard is the right word. Property, perhaps, or estate. Thewn and gardens beyond look endless. ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°Was it a good bargain?¡±Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. Victor gives me a wry smile. ¡°I haven¡¯t decided yet.¡± ¡°Because of me, or because of the house?¡± ¡°Both,¡± he says, and it feels like his gaze goes right through me. ¡°Both.¡± I swallow. ¡°Will you show me the rest?¡± He nods. We walk through the kitchen, a guest bedroom, three baths. We finish our loop back in the entryway and the two grand staircases. The house is beautiful. It has character ingrained in every single floorboard. ¡°Do you want to see upstairs?¡± ¡°If you want to show me, yes.¡± He leads the way up the staircase and I let my hand slide along the worn railing. ¡°That was his room,¡± Victor says, nodding down a hallway. I can just barely see a master bedroom. ¡°This,¡± he says, pointing to an anonymous-looking guest bedroom, ¡°was mine.¡± I know so little of his background, of his life, of his family. I know his parents are out of the picture. ¡°You grew up in this house,¡± I murmur. Victor nods. ¡°Since I was eight.¡± He pushes open a half-closed door and my eyes widen at the treasures beyond. It¡¯s a study, and it¡¯s glorious. Multi-paned windows look out on the property, letting thest daylight into a room that could have been made for Winston Churchill. A wide, oak desk with a leather iy sits in the middle. The floor is covered in a thick oriental rug. All around us are bookshelves. My eyes travel over the spines, over memorabilia and trophies and pictures. ¡°This was your grandfather¡¯s study? It looks beautiful. It could be the set of a movie.¡± Victor doesn¡¯t answer and I turn away from my perusal of a small bronze statue of a dog. He¡¯s standing in front of a framed picture hanging by the side of the door. His hands are in his pockets, jaw tense. Perhaps taking me here was an impulsive decision. Something to show me I was wrong when I used him of sleeping around. But this is not a ce where he¡¯sfortable. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say. ¡°For what?¡± ¡°For the loss of your grandfather. I didn¡¯t tell you that, when he passed.¡± ¡°You organized his funeral,¡± Victor says. ¡°You were there.¡± ¡°In a way, I suppose.¡± I step closer, my voice dropping. ¡°Do youe here to feel close to him?¡± Victor looks away from me. ¡°No. Not consciously, at least.¡± ¡°It¡¯s your house now. Are you nning on¡­ changing anything?¡± ¡°Yes. I have to clean this ce out. His things are everywhere. My parents¡¯ things are everywhere.¡± ¡°Your parents died when you were eight?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He inclines his head toward the picture behind him, the one he¡¯d been studying. Two boys, one a head taller than the other, are standing in front of a smiling couple. The man has his arm around the woman¡¯s waist and his free hand on the small boy¡¯s shoulder. They¡¯re standing in front of this very house, I realize, but at the height of summer. The smaller boy¡¯s knees are scraped and his grin is wide. It¡¯s Victor. The eyes are familiar, as is the thick mop of hair, much lighter back then. He¡¯s smiling at the camera like he¡¯s never known anything but joy. Victor turns. ¡°That was a long time ago.¡± ¡°This is your brother?¡± ¡°What was his name?¡± ¡°Phillip.¡± Victor rolls his neck, every line in his body tense. He¡¯s ufortable. Ufortable with me here. Ufortable in this space. I step back from the picture. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°For showing me this.¡± He opens the door and I step out of his grandfather¡¯s office. Victor follows me, and halfway down the hall, his shoulders rx. I catch his sleeve. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He halts, a tall, suit-d shadow beside me in the dimly lit hallway. ¡°You already said that.¡± I shake my head. ¡°No, I used you of something I had no proof of, and no way to back up. Not to mention something you¡¯re allowed to do under the terms of our marriage.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t apologize,¡± he says. ¡°Or you¡¯ll force me to as well. For iming you like that at your friend¡¯s gallery.¡± ¡°You, apologize?¡± ¡°It would be a first.¡± He puts steady fingers beneath my chin and tips my head up. ¡°I¡¯m not sneaking out at night. I¡¯m here. Not having sex.¡± I can¡¯t think with him this close. ¡°Good,¡± I murmur. ¡°I¡¯m not interested in Jake.¡± ¡°Good,¡± he says. He¡¯s so close that the word ghosts across my lips, and then he descends, kissing me. Say Yes to the Boss 39 Not in a brief or tender way. Not really like it¡¯s our first kiss, either. He presses his lips to mine with strength and warmth, as businesslike as he does everything. Maybe it¡¯s from the surprise, or from the long months without any physical contact from a man. Maybe it¡¯s the stress of the day. But I kiss him back. He groans into my mouth, hands sliding around my waist. My body tightens, narrows, all sensations emanating from the spots where we touch. My back hits the wall. I reach up to twine my arms around his neck, one of my hands finding its way into his thick hair. I¡¯m touching St. ir. His hands tighten around my hips, and it¡¯s like he¡¯s thinking the same thing I am, because he lifts his lips from mine. ¡°Myers,¡± he murmurs. My whisper is breathless. ¡°This made you think of work?¡± ¡°You only call me Myers when we¡¯re talking about work.¡± I regret my words, because he lifts his head, a furrow in between his brows. ¡°I can assure you, I wasn¡¯t thinking about work. At all.¡± ¡°Neither was I,¡± I say. His lips curve and he reaches out to run a tendril of my hair between his fingers. He watches it for a moment before he tucks it behind my ear. ¡°Well,¡± he says, stepping back from me. In the darkness, his eyes glitter. ¡°Let¡¯s go home before we do something we regret.¡± It¡¯s a good thing I never knew how Cecilia Myers tasted. If I had, I wouldn¡¯t have gotten a lick of work done with her outside my office every day, in demure clothes and pony-tails and lips a man could devour. The muscle strain in my arms makes me groan. I¡¯ve loaded the weights too much today, and I know it, but the burn is good. It¡¯s necessary. It¡¯s aplishment and achievement and if I¡¯m not aplishing and achieving, I¡¯ll lose momentum. The thought makes me pause mid-bicep curl. Momentum was my grandfather¡¯s word. He used it relentlessly, describing everything from investments and exercise to studying. I sound like him. Being in his house so often probably isn¡¯t helping. Walking around and daring myself to open drawers, to throw things away, toe to some fucking decision about the ce. Right now it¡¯s a relic. One I¡¯d showed to Myers. She¡¯d dared me to with her usation yesterday, thinking I was out sleeping with someone at night. Christ, I wish I was. I doubt I would¡¯ve responded as strongly if that was the case. But since myst foray into dating ended, a month prior to marrying Myers, I haven¡¯t slept with anybody. I put the weights down with an exhale. I¡¯d abused the gym instead. Worked more than ever. Taken every single meeting thrown my way, anything to get me away from Cecilia¡¯s questions and challenging eyes and the damnable tight leggings she wears around the apartment. I¡¯m attracted to my assistant-turned-wife. It¡¯s aplication I can¡¯t afford, but judging from the taste of her kiss and the feel of her body against mine, it¡¯s one I¡¯m going to repeat. Hell, it¡¯s the reason I¡¯m working out in my home gym mid-morning. It¡¯s the time she uses it. I¡¯d started noticing changes a week prior. The lighter weights in the rack were moved. Not much, but by an inch here and there. And when I fired up the treadmill, the incline wasn¡¯t at my usual setting. Now I¡¯ve stayed an hour longer than usual, and all for the chance to see her again. Not that I have a clue what I¡¯ll do when she¡¯s here. Ogle her in her workout tights, probably. I¡¯m losing it. I lift the hem of my T-shirt and use it to wipe the sweat off my forehead. The door swings open and I hear a small intake of breath. I drop the hem of my T-shirt but it¡¯s toote, because Cecilia¡¯s eyes are locked on my chest. She¡¯s seen the scar. Well. If what my body burns for happens, she¡¯d see the scar, anyway. Perhaps it was only a matter of when. But she¡¯ll have questions.N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. She always has questions. ¡°Hi,¡± she says, a hand still on the door. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to interrupt.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not interrupting. Come in.¡± She gives me a tentative smile. The memory is in her eyes, the same thing I¡¯m thinking of. Kissing her in the hallwayst night. She walks to the treadmill and yes, she¡¯s wearing her workout tights. The look of her ass in them makes my jaw clench. ¡°Everything okay?¡± she asks. ¡°Yes.¡± I force my attention back to the weights. Grab one and lie down on the bench, ready for tricep lifts. The air in the gym feels as weighted as the steel te I¡¯m holding, thick with possibility. Had she been lying awakest night too? Thinking about the two doors and a hallway that separated us? I can only stand it for so long. I look over at her running on the treadmill, and I catch her watching me lift. Her cheeks color and her gaze darts down,nding on my chest. I have to divert her before she asks me about the scar. There are a lot of things I want to do with Cecilia Myers before discussing the car ident. ¡°Have you heard from your friend?¡± I ask. ¡°About yesterday?¡± She nods, walking quickly on the treadmill. ¡°Nadine¡¯s over the moon. I don¡¯t think she can really believe she sold as many paintings as she did, or how many journalists were there. I mean, neither can I!¡± ¡°Thank you for that. I know you pulled some strings.¡± I shrug, which is a hard thing to do when you have a twenty-pound weight above your head. Making the calls had been painless, save some idle chitchat it had forced me to engage in. Not much work at all, I think, watching the smile on her face. Her voice lowers. ¡°Thanks forst night as well.¡± I close my eyes against the tide of need rising inside me. She¡¯d looked up at me with too much knowing, standing there in the hallway outside my grandfather¡¯s office. I¡¯d had to kiss her to get away from it. But now I can¡¯t get away from the memory. ¡°Anything to prove a point,¡± I say. Say Yes to the Boss 40 Her voice turns teasing. ¡°Right. All you wanted was to win.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like being used of things I haven¡¯t done.¡± I turn to her, meeting eyes that never looked at me this boldly before I married them. ¡°Trust me, Cecilia. I¡¯m very aware of all the things I haven¡¯t done since we got married.¡± The temperature in the gym rises another degree. ¡°Well,¡± she murmurs. She runs a hand over her forehead and pulls her ponytail up higher. She¡¯s in a tank top, the smooth, strong lines of her arms on disy. Then she jumps off the treadmill. ¡°Well?¡± ¡°I think I¡¯ll try this machine.¡±N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. I sit up on the bench and watch her assault the shoulder press. She¡¯s shoving, not pulling. I put down my weight and cross the space to her. ¡°Like this,¡± I say, my hands atop hers. This close, she smells like shampoo. Floral and warm and womanly. ¡°Oh,¡± she breathes. ¡°You pull like this¡­ can you feel it between your shoulder des?¡± ¡°Yes. Wow. I have no muscles.¡± ¡°Building them will help you sit in front of theputer all day.¡± I brush her ponytail aside and ce my hand on her upper back, right between the wings of her shoulder des. Hair curls along the delicate skin at her nape. ¡°Right here.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know that,¡± she says. I press a kiss to her neck. The skin is warm and fragrant beneath my mouth. ¡°Now you do.¡± ¡°Uh-huh.¡± I slide my hand down to her waist and continue my exploration of the long expanse of her neck. Dangerous, this. But my body is in control now, my stomach tightening with need. ¡°Victor,¡± she murmurs. She twists on the bench and I kiss her. Her lips are soft and pliable beneath mine. She tastes minty from toothpaste, fresh and warm and irresistible. Her handse up around my neck. I¡¯m sweaty, but so is she, and we¡¯d probably break a sweat in bed together anyway. Hell, if Myers is as feisty there as she had been negotiating our marriage, it¡¯s guaranteed. I slip my tongue between her lips and she sighs, deepening the kiss in response. The sound goes straight through me and I feel my body responding, need sharp in my lower body. I hadn¡¯t lied to her. It had been a long time. I pull her into standing and she follows me fluidly, the length of her body pressed against mine. Finally, I think, and slide my hand down to cup her ass through her workout tights. The ass I only noticed a few months ago, but that has taunted me every single time she¡¯s worn these tights around the apartment. ¡°Victor,¡± she says again, and I like it. Want her purring my name in all kinds of ways. ¡°What are we doing here?¡± ¡°Does it matter?¡± I tug her tight against my body and let her feel just how much I need this. ¡°We can do whatever we like.¡± ¡°Mmm.¡± Her lips return to mine and I wonder if we can do it right here, right now, and indulge in a different kind of exercise. Then her hand slips down my neck and strokes the spot through my T-shirt where the diagonal scar starts. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about this,¡± she murmurs against my lips. ¡°It was a long time ago.¡± And not something I want to talk about right now, not when I¡¯m gripping your ass and your mouth is on mine. Happy ce, right here. ¡°Will you tell me how it happened?¡± I press another kiss to her lips before I lift my head. It hurts to pull my hands away from her, and I know I¡¯ll have to take a cold shower or use my right hand before I¡¯ll get any work done today. ¡°I¡¯m keeping you from your workout,¡± I say. Her swollen lips shift into a frown, and I turn, not wanting to see that I¡¯d put it there. ¡°Victor¡­ I didn¡¯t mean to pry.¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± ¡°Come back,¡± she whispers. I sling my towel over my shoulder. The one I should have used to wipe my face instead of my T-shirt, and all this would have been avoided. ¡°I should shower. Tomorrow evening, though.¡± ¡°Tomorrow evening,¡± she repeats. I shut the gym door behind me and leave the heady smell of bodies and want. The rest of my apartment is in order, clean and fresh and quiet. It¡¯s like a balm across my feverish senses, even if it doesn¡¯t ease the aching length between my legs. What have I set in motion here? My arm is through Victor¡¯s, and with every step we take, my body reminds me of that fact. He¡¯d offered it casually, like we do this all the time. Like we¡¯re a couple. The scent of his cologne and his steady presence are as distracting as the grandeur of the opera house we¡¯re approaching. Victor gives our name to the attendant by the vaulted entrance. ¡°The St. irs,¡± he says. Tonight¡¯s another night to show a strong united front, to unt the sess of our marriage. He¡¯d warned me that one or more of his business partners might be here tonight. That journalists, photographers, and New York¡¯s elite would be. Which means for the purposes of tonight, we¡¯re very much in love. ¡°This ce is gorgeous,¡± I say. Light beams in from above, through the ss domed ceiling, making the limestone floor gleam. ¡°It took too long to construct,¡± Victor says. ¡°The architecture firm the city hired went over time by three months.¡± I lean closer. ¡°I understand that must have been a major disappointment for you, considering that I worked for you for a year and not once did you have me schedule appointments to go to the theater or the opera.¡± He snorts. ¡°I suppose I haven¡¯t gone as muchtely.¡± ¡°Bytely, do you mean the past decade?¡± ¡°I might, yes. You¡¯re in a good mood tonight.¡± My fingers tighten on his arm. I am, and it has nothing to do with the opera. Excitement and anticipation is a heavy weight in my stomach. Against every one of my principles, I liked kissing him. The memory of his touch in the gym is powerful enough to make me shiver. ¡°I am in a good mood,¡± I say. ¡°Nadine came with me to shop for this dress. We had a great afternoon.¡± Victor looks down at me, dark blue eyes sweeping over my form. The dress is red and clings to my body. Nadine had called it a fuck-me dress, but the lite version. The one you can wear to a function¡­ and ask a man to peel you out of afterwards. Say Yes to the Boss 41 Victor¡¯s voice is husky. ¡°Good choice.¡± ¡°Thank you. I like you in your tux.¡± He stops, eyes dropping to my lips. I tip my head back in wee. The kiss is perfect. Warm and strong and filled with the promise of what¡¯s toe. He trails his lips to my ear afterwards, heedless of who¡¯s watching. ¡°It¡¯s a beautiful dress,¡± he murmurs. ¡°But it¡¯ll look even better on your bedroom floor.¡± A shiver runs over my skin. I catch sight of a few men in tuxedos watching us across the lobby and Iugh, breathless. ¡°Something funny, Myers?¡± ¡°I just realized that we won¡¯t have to work so hard to seem like a couple in love tonight.¡± The second the words are out, I hear how they sound. ¡°I mean, because of¡­ well. Not that we¡¯re actually in love. You get what I mean.¡± Victor nods and pulls me along. His gaze is locked on the same group of men. ¡°Indeed.¡± I want to press my hands against the warm flush in my cheeks, but if he hasn¡¯t noticed how flustered my own words made me, I won¡¯t bring it to his attention. Victorworks like he does all things. Intensely. Idle chitchat is brief and to the point, despite my efforts to string it out. I aim smiles at people to soften the bluntness of him. ¡°What was that?¡± he asks me as we step away from a couple. I¡¯d asked the two of them where they honeymooned, because we never had a chance to go on one ourselves, and it hadunched a refreshing ten-minute conversation about different Caribbean inds. ¡°That,¡± I tell him, ¡°wasworking.¡± ¡°Not any kind I do.¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m aware of that.¡± ¡°What does that mean?¡± ¡°That you¡¯re prickly and to the point. And that works great in meetings-I¡¯ve seen it work!-but not at events like this.¡± ¡°You¡¯re criticizing me,¡± he says. I meet his gaze, and it¡¯s not fear that unfurls inside of me at the challenge in them. It¡¯s something else entirely, but it scares me just as much. ¡°I¡¯m giving you advice. Not the same thing.¡± ¡°You¡¯re talking semantics, now.¡± ¡°Talking about shared interests outside of business is the most important part ofworking. If we were a proper married couple, and if you really wanted them to remember you, we¡¯d take their advice seriously. You¡¯d call them in a few weeks¡¯ time and thank them for their input. You¡¯d tell them we¡¯ve booked a trip to one of the inds they suggested. Bermuda, say.¡± ¡°Barbados,¡± he says. ¡°Better beaches, they said.¡± I smile. ¡°Right. Barbados. When we¡¯d eventually go on our dyed honeymoon, we¡¯d email them a picture or send them a postcard.¡± ¡°That¡¯s too much.¡± ¡°No, it shows that we think they did us a favor. They feel helpful and included. People like to help, Victor. They also love the chance to look knowledgeable in front of others.¡± His mouth is a frown. But it¡¯s his thinking frown. ¡°A lot of work,¡± he says. I shrug. ¡°Not necessarily. Just requires some forethought. And you¡¯d really prefer we have our fake honeymoon in Barbados? I wouldn¡¯t have guessed you were a surfer.¡± Victor¡¯s eyes meet mine. ¡°No?¡± ¡°I would have thought you didn¡¯t vacation at all.¡± ¡°Not regrly, no.¡± ¡°Surfing would not have been what I thought swayed you.¡± ¡°You im to know me,¡± he says, ¡°and yet sometimes I wonder if you do at all.¡± ¡°Mmm. I know for a fact you don¡¯t know me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m starting to learn.¡± I don¡¯t think he¡¯s talking about my honeymoon preferences anymore. I run my fingers down his sleeve, finding a sliver of skin along his wrist. ¡°What are we doing?¡± ¡°Whatever we want,¡± he says, eyes darkening. ¡°I told you that already.¡± It sounds so simple when he says it. It probably is, for him. I¡¯ve spent a year watching him do as he pleases and take what he likes. And the world bows at his feet because of it. What could be more convenient for him than sleeping with the woman he lives with? Who he¡¯s already married to? But convenience cuts both ways. I¡¯d once said I¡¯d try to be more like him and his ilk. Going after what I want. ¡°Look,¡± he says. I follow his gaze to a podium across the lobby. A small half-circle has formed around a well-dressed couple. He¡¯s tall and auburn-haired, in a suit. The dark-haired woman next to him is gorgeous, and despite barely reaching his shoulder, they look well-matched. ¡°Who are they?¡± ¡°The architects who designed this opera house.¡± ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Are they a team, then? An architect duo?¡± ¡°They¡¯re a team, all right,¡± Victor says. ¡°They¡¯re married.¡±Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Ooh,¡± I breathe. ¡°Imagine working that close and alsoing home together at the end of the night.¡± ¡°An absolute nightmare,¡± Victor says. Iugh. ¡°You would think that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a team yer. It¡¯s worked out.¡± ¡°Businesswise, yes,¡± I say, and ignore the look he shoots my way. I¡¯d spent a year making observations about him and never once did I think I¡¯d get the chance to share them with him. Doing it now is heady. Say Yes to the Boss 42 ¡°That may be so,¡± he says, ¡°but could you do it, Cecilia? A fight at home would spread to your work, and that¡¯s intolerable.¡± ¡°Not all couples fight that much.¡± ¡°Married ones do.¡± ¡°They do? We haven¡¯t had a single one.¡± His lips twist. ¡°Not yet, anyway. But you and I are a different story.¡± ¡°We are?¡± ¡°We¡¯re not a real couple. They,¡± he says, inclining his head to the couple in the distance, ¡°are.¡± ¡°That¡¯s your take on rtionships, then. They¡¯re bound to devolve into fighting?¡± He looks away from me. The sharp line of his jaw above me looks like a pane of ss, distant and imposing. But he answers. ¡°Yes. Small disagreements grow, turn to nagging, which turns to arguments. I don¡¯t have time for that.¡± ¡°But the rewards are bigger, too,¡± I say. ¡°When you know someone well enough to get past a disagreement. It strengthens you.¡± He snorts. ¡°Are you a psychologist, as well?¡± I can¡¯t let this go, even if I¡¯m just poking the bear. He leads the way beneath arge archway. ¡°What was the longest rtionship you¡¯ve ever had?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not lying on a couch in your office,¡± he says. ¡°So you don¡¯t want to answer my question.¡± He turns me toward a set of stone stairs. I let my hand trail along the smooth wood railing as we ascend. The ce still smells of new construction, the promise of memories yet to be made. It¡¯s beautiful. ¡°I¡¯ll answer your question if you answer it first,¡± he says. ¡°Three and a half years.¡± He¡¯s silent as we walk along an empty hallway. I tighten my grip on his forearm. ¡°Victor?¡± ¡°A year,¡± he says. ¡°Almost.¡± ¡°Gabrie?¡± He looks down at me. The question is in his eyes, but he swallows it, and shakes his head. ¡°No. This was college.¡± I nod. I had been in charge of booking his weekly dates with his supermodel ex, and when they ended things right after he took over as CEO of Exciteur, I¡¯d been the one to send her flowers, too. ¡°College was a long time ago.¡± ¡°You¡¯re my wife,¡± he says. ¡°Not my therapist.¡± The gruff way it¡¯s said makes meugh, and then I can¡¯t stop, the sound filling the empty hallway. ¡°No rtionships for you, then. Just marriages.¡± Victor shakes his head. It¡¯s not in anger, though. More like exasperation. ¡°Yes, and only when they¡¯re business arrangements.¡± ¡°Noted,¡± I tease. It¡¯s his word. ¡°What I really don¡¯t like,¡± he says, ¡°is when a woman gets under your skin. When you can¡¯t get them out of your head.¡± Victor¡¯s voice drops. ¡°It¡¯s worse when you¡¯re forced to be close to them.¡± ¡°Like when you live across the hall from them?¡± ¡°Yes. When they walk around your apartment in tight pants.¡± Pleased surprise rolls through me. ¡°How dare they,¡± I murmur. ¡°In their own home.¡± ¡°The audacity,¡± he says. His arm disappears beneath mine and a strong hand grips my fingers. He pulls me into an empty cloakroom. Rack after rack has bare coat hangers on them. With norge audience, there¡¯s no staff and definitely no coats. My voice is breathless. ¡°If you¡¯re looking for a way out of talking about rtionships, you won¡¯t find it here.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says, hands closing around my waist. ¡°I will.¡± My lips are still smiling when he presses his against them, kissing me firmly.Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. It¡¯s a while until I speak again. ¡°Oh. Effective.¡± His chuckle is dark. ¡°The only way to shut you up.¡± I press my hands t against his chest, strong beneath the fabric of his dinner jacket. He kisses me like he had in the gym, like he knows what he wants and has no qualms about taking it. He kisses me like he negotiates. To win. I¡¯ve never felt wanted this way before, never wanted quite this much in return. It¡¯s heightened by theplicated tangle of emotions I feel for this man. Respect, dislike, intrigue, awe. He¡¯s an enigma. And right now, he¡¯s an enigma who¡¯s entirely focused on me. His hands dig into my hips and I meet him in the same intensity, sliding my hands into his hair. The wall is hard against my back. ¡°Do you think this is why they designed so many cloakrooms?¡± I whisper. Heughs hoarsely, moving his lips to my neck. His beard tickles, sending goose bumps across my skin. ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°The architects are married.¡± ¡°They needed somewhere to sneak off during constructions.¡± His hands slide down my body, over the soft fabric of the dress, and it was worth every cent. Victor groans, his hand ghosting past the curve of my breast. A hard length digs into my hip. ¡°Fuck, Myers. This wasn¡¯t part of the n.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, locking my knees around his hips. ¡°It wasn¡¯t part of mine either.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 43 ¡°And yet.¡± He kisses me again, morenguorous this time, and with each passing second the heat in my stomach grows sharper. I want him. ¡°If it wasn¡¯t our first time,¡± he says, ¡°I¡¯d take you here.¡± The words are like a bolt through me. Imagining him, imagining us¡­ ¡°Where anyone could walk by?¡± He rests his head against my shoulder. ¡°Fuck. But yes, I would.¡± I reach down and palm him through his pants. The hard length throbs against my hand and he groans into my neck, nothing like the Victor in perfect control of himself and his world. It makes my head spin. ¡°A shame it¡¯s our first time, then.¡± His hands dig into my waist, fingers an inch from the undersides of my breasts. ¡°Yes.¡± I stroke him onest time through the fabric. Then I push him away and rearrange my dress. My lips feel swollen and when I look down, my nipples are visible through the fabric. ¡°We should leave.¡± Victor is staring at me, eyes dark. ¡°Yes. We should.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t call Steven. I want us to walk home.¡± ¡°Is this your way of getting back at me?¡± he asks. ¡°For all the times I had you run my errands and handle my calls?¡± ¡°Maybe. Would you object if it was?¡± In the darkness, and in his tux, Victor looks every bit as dangerous as he does at the negotiating table. The fire in his eyes speaks of battles to conquer. ¡°No,¡± he says. ¡°Bring it on.¡± Victor doesn¡¯t nod to the concierge in the lobby of our apartment building when we get home. He just keeps a hand on my lower back, steering me into the elevator. He kisses me as soon as the doors close. I grip him tight, burning from the teasing, the taunting. The deliciousness of this man, usually leashed so tight, unwinding for me. We make it into the hallway and the front door shuts hard behind us. We look at each other. His breathes fast, wide chest rising and falling. And I¡¯m lost. He reaches for me and I step into his arms, back into his kisses. I¡¯d never known it could be like this. ¡°Victor,¡± I murmur. He gives a groan of acknowledgement but doesn¡¯t stop. His hands skim down my dress, finding the smooth curve of my thighs. ¡°Hold on to me.¡±Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. I grip his shoulders just in time. Victor lifts me up onto the hallway table. Something brushes past my hip and then ss hits the stone floor with a shatter. ¡°Oh, no. Our vase.¡± Victor sears my neck with kisses, stepping between my legs. They split of their own ord, my knees rising to grip him tight against me. ¡°Whoops.¡± I grin. ¡°You¡¯re telling me that wasn¡¯t on purpose?¡± ¡°Of course not,¡± he murmurs. ¡°I keep removing it. You¡¯re the one who puts it back.¡± ¡°It annoys you.¡± His fingers dig into my thigh. ¡°You like annoying me?¡± His lips return to mine, hot and strong. One of his hands smooths up my leg. ¡°This dress is annoying me right now. I have to feel you.¡± ¡°God, yes please.¡± ¡°Where?¡± He cups one of my breasts through the fabric of my dress, and with unerring precision, brushes over a nipple. ¡°Here?¡± ¡°Or¡­ here?¡± He finds the hem of my dress and lifts it up, up, up. I gasp at the touch of his hand on my inner thigh, my hands tightening on his shoulders. ¡°Victor¡­¡± ¡°Keep saying my name like that, Myers.¡± His lips catch mine and his hand cups me through my panties, warm against my heat. ¡°Cecilia,¡± he murmurs. ¡°How about here?¡± The confession is a whisper against his lips. ¡°Yes.¡± He slides them to the side and I can¡¯t breathe, can¡¯t think, around the feeling of his fingers brushing my hot skin. ¡°Fuck,¡± he mutters. ¡°You¡¯re wet.¡± Yes, I think. All for you, only for you, but the words die on my tongue as he strokes. His fingers tease my folds and with a skill that shouldn¡¯t surprise me, he finds my clit. My breath turns shaky against his lips. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he says. ¡°Fast or slow?¡± I can¡¯t believe we¡¯re doing this. But I tell him, my eyes closed and breathing fast. ¡°Hard.¡± Another of his smiles against my lips and then the pressure increases on my clit. Heat radiates from that simple touch, and with each of his circles, it grows stronger. I tighten my grip on his shoulders. Life support, that¡¯s what they are, as he takes me higher and higher. His free hand joins the one he¡¯s using on me, and then I feel it, the sweet burn of his finger sliding into me. ¡°Oh my God.¡± ¡°Do you know?¡± he asks. ¡°How badly I want to be inside you?¡± My fingers tighten around hispels. I don¡¯t know, but if it¡¯s as badly as I want him inside me, he¡¯s burning too. The relentless movements of his hand feel like punishment. His fingers speed up and it¡¯s all I can do to hold on against the racing of my pulse. I¡¯m going toe if he continues. ¡°Victor, I¡­¡± Say Yes to the Boss 44 ¡°I know,¡± he says. ¡°You hate me for this, but you love me for it too.¡± ¡°Please.¡± He kisses me, tongue moving against mine. His thumb presses down on my swollen clit and I break apart. Pleasure sweeps my body and I squeeze my knees around his hips. He holds me through it, a finger still sliding in and out of me. ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± he murmurs. ¡°That¡¯s it.¡± I¡¯m breathing hard when the high ends, hands tight around his neck. ¡°Oh my God.¡± His fingers circle onest time before he slides my panties back into ce. The fabric feels rough against my sensitive skin. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing,¡± he says, ¡°that I didn¡¯t know how good you feel. I¡¯d never have gotten anything done with you as my assistant.¡± My voice is breathless. ¡°Yes. You¡¯d have done me.¡± He chuckles and I reach for him, finding his lips again. He¡¯s hard against me. He had meant what he said. He needs to be inside me. But I had meant what I said earlier too. I want to tease him for what he¡¯d done to me for a year. So I slide off the console table on shaky legs and find my footing among the shattered ss. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°My pleasure.¡± ¡°That was¡­ enlightening.¡± His smirk turns into a full-blown smile, and it takes my breath away. ¡°I¡¯d use a lot of adjectives about what just happened, but enlightening isn¡¯t one of them.¡± ¡°Yes. Well, I don¡¯t have a thesaurus on me.¡±Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. ¡°There¡¯s one in my office. You could apany me there.¡± ¡°In your office?¡± I raise an eyebrow, the aftereffects of my orgasm making me bold. ¡°You would, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°As would you. My desk is big enough.¡± ¡°But not tonight.¡± I turn, though it hurts, and start heading toward the staircase. To where both of our bedrooms are, separated by a hallway and two doors without locks. No distance at all. ¡°Cecilia,¡± he calls. ¡°I have a dinner tomorrow with business associates.¡± I put out a hand to lean against the wall. His eyes clock it, just as they do the flush in my cheeks. His lips curl into a half-smile. ¡°Oh,¡± I say. ¡°How exciting.¡± ¡°Will youe with me?¡± I swallow. ¡°As your wife?¡± ¡°I will.¡± ¡°Thirteen paintings,¡± Nadine says. ¡°Do you realize how much money that is?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°Well, almost. I saw what you sold them for.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not beer-money. It¡¯s not even rent-money. It¡¯s rent-for-a-year-money!¡± ¡°Even with themission the gallery is taking?¡± ¡°They¡¯re just taking ten percent! Jake told me they usually request thirty, but because it was such ast-minute booking, they¡¯re charging ten. ¡± ¡°Jake said that,¡± I say. ¡°Yes. He said he was happy to meet you, by the way. That it was clear you and I are great friends.¡± Her voice turns bashful. ¡°I have a confession to make.¡± ¡°Out with it,¡± I say. With my headphones in, I can talk to Nadine and survey my closet. Despite having the guest bedroom, it¡¯s big enough to house a small futon in the center. ¡°I think Jake might be interested in me.¡± Iugh. ¡°Oh, do you?¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be! I guessed that the second I met him.¡± ¡°You did not.¡± ¡°I did,¡± I say. ¡°The five minutes we spoke were all about how fantastic you are, and I didn¡¯t mind, because I love singing your praises. We were like two fangirls.¡± ¡°Oh, stop it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s true. So. Are you interested in him?¡± ¡°No. He¡¯s not my type.¡± I smile, grateful she¡¯s not here to see it, and reach out to grab a handful of dresses. ¡°You know I love you, but you often see things in ck-and-white.¡± ¡°No I don¡¯t. I¡¯m an artist. I see endless nuances of color.¡± ¡°Sure you do. But not when ites to men.¡± ¡°He¡¯s perfect for you. He¡¯s too simr to me to work.¡± I think of Victor, and his precise way of speaking, the methodical movement of his hands. The ambition and the business sense and the discipline. ¡°I don¡¯t know about that,¡± I say. ¡°I think attraction is more about finding someone who isplementary.¡± Nadine is quiet a beat, but when she speaks, her voice is heated. ¡°Okay. Spill.¡± Iugh. ¡°How did you know?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 45 ¡°Your voice. Your words. Come on, you don¡¯t really want to know how I know, not as much as I want to know what you know.¡± ¡°I have no idea what you just said.¡± ¡°Spill!¡± ¡°All right, all right. So. Last night Victor and I attended the opening of New York¡¯s new opera house.¡± ¡°Right. As you do.¡± ¡°As you do,¡± I say. ¡°When you¡¯re married to a St. ir. And well¡­ some things happened.¡± Nadine is silent as the grave as I give her the whole seedy rundown of what took ce, shortened to a few sentences. I make the scene on the console table in his hallway sound like a handshake, but by the time I¡¯m done, my cheeks are still red. ¡°Saying all that out loud¡­ wow.¡± ¡°So what now? What do you want?¡± I look at my dresses. Most are boring, the ones I¡¯d worn a million times at the office. One is¡­ decidedly not. ¡°I think for him,st night was about control. Having it, specifically. For whatever reason, he always has to be in control.¡± ¡°Sounds like someone else I know.¡± I snort. ¡°I like things to be organized. I don¡¯t have to be in control.¡± ¡°Right, I won¡¯tment. Go on.¡± ¡°Well, I want him to lose it.¡± I run a hand over the silky fabric of the dress. ¡°I¡¯m going to try and seduce my husband, and I know just how to do it.¡± I wait until we¡¯re seated at the dinner table before I drop the bomb. Victor and I sit side-by-side, watching the two men approaching. Carter Kingsley talks to the media mogul he and Victor are here to woo. Me? I¡¯m wooing my husband. I lean in to murmur the words. ¡°I¡¯m not wearing any underwear.¡± Victor¡¯s jaw works. ¡°Damn it, Myers.¡± ¡°This dress is pretty short, too.¡± ming blue eyes bear into mine. ¡°You¡¯re ying with fire.¡± ¡°Am I? Or are you?¡± He smiles, a barely there curl of his lips that sends heat through me. The first half of dinner is uneventful, except that Victor¡¯s arm is draped behind my chair. Every time his hand brushes my shoulder, left bare from the strapless dress, my attention zeroes in on the small point of contact.Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. I wouldn¡¯t have believed we¡¯d be here six months ago. That I¡¯d be sitting next to him at a fancy restaurant, and feeling less like a trophy wife, and more like a businesswoman. Like someone who goes after what she wants. Someone who doesn¡¯t care what her past, judgmental self would have thought about this arrangement. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to have you here,¡± Carter says. He¡¯s shot me spective looks all evening, and more than once, I¡¯ve seen him note Victor¡¯s hand by my shoulder. ¡°Married life seems to be treating you well.¡± Mr. Simmons, owner of a national media conglomerate, looks up from his steak. ¡°I heard something about that. Congrattions, you two. Where did you go on your honeymoon?¡± ¡°Oh, we haven¡¯t, yet.¡± I put a hand on Victor¡¯s chest, looking up at him. ¡°Neither one of us has had a chance to get away from work. But we will.¡± ¡°We¡¯re thinking Barbados,¡± Victor says. His gaze flicks down to my hand and the two rings glinting in the light. Am I overdoing it? But then his lip curls. ¡°Have you been, Simmons?¡± Small talk. He¡¯s engaging in it, and the edge I¡¯d noted in his voice earlier is gone now. We¡¯re halfway through a discussion of the merits of the Caribbean when something on my leg makes me pause, fork halfway to mouth. Victor¡¯s hand beneath the table. He slides my hem up, inch by inch, until his long fingers curl around my bare knee. ¡°I heard you¡¯ve branched into Spanish media as well,¡± he says to the men across from us. My brain tries to focus on Simmon¡¯s reply, but it¡¯s more upied with his fingers tracing patterns on the inside of my thigh. Thank God for fancy restaurants and long, linen tablecloths. Victor keeps his hand there, leaning back against his chair with smooth professionalism on his face, as the rest of us finish up our food. And little by little his thumb inches upwards. Abort mission, I think. Because he still looks like the cool, calm sculpture of control, while I¡¯m the one burning with need. Memories of his fingers between my legs yesterdaybine with the public aspect of today, and if he reaches the spot between my legs, he¡¯ll feel just how much I want him. I cover my mouth with a napkin and lean his way. ¡°Victor¡­¡± His thumb double-taps against my inner thigh. An acknowledgement, before it continues to smooth upwards. ¡°What about you?¡± Simmons asks me. ¡°What did you do before you married St. ir over here?¡± The fingers pause, as if he wants to give me a chance to respond without distraction. I¡¯m d for it,unching into an exnation of my virtual assistant start-up. Simmons nods throughout. At his side, Carter looks impressed. ¡°This sounds brilliant,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯d essentially be selling the solving of tasks and letting clients pay through a subscription. Victor, are you considering investing?¡± ¡°Potentially,¡± he responds, voice giving nothing away. ¡°If she¡¯d allow me, of course. It¡¯s not something we¡¯ve discussed yet.¡± ¡°It¡¯s early days still,¡± I say. Carter nods. ¡°Of course, of course. But if he doesn¡¯t want a piece of it, I might.¡± He gives a crooked, wolfish grin to Victor. ¡°Don¡¯t scowl. I¡¯m always on the lookout for goodpanies to shepherd, new entrepreneurs to mentor.¡± ¡°I¡¯m mentoring her,¡± Victor says. I clear my throat. ¡°Thank you, Carter. At the moment I¡¯m not considering outside investment, but if I reach that stage, I¡¯ll definitely bear it in mind.¡± Victor¡¯s hand tightens around my thigh at my words, and I close my legs in response. A few secondster I feel it. The soft, apologizing circle of his thumb. I open them again and his hand slides higher, only an inch away from where I need his fingers. One brush over my sensitive skin and I¡¯d- ¡°Well, I have to get going,¡± Simmons says. ¡°This has been lovely, gentlemen. Acture Capital has a lot to rmend it.¡± Victor withdraws his hand. ¡°The pleasure was ours.¡± ¡°It was,¡± Carter agrees. ¡°I¡¯ll call you this week. We can draw up a mock contract for yourwyers to read through as well, and at your own time. We want you to feelfortable with the decision, regardless of which way you¡¯re leaning.¡± I smile and say my goodbyes, and then we all three watch as Simmons walks out of the restaurant. ¡°I should call it a night too,¡± Carter says, tossing his napkin on the table. ¡°Unless you two are in the mood for clubbing?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 46 ¡°We¡¯re not,¡± Victor say. ¡°You go to clubs?¡± I ask. Carterughs. It¡¯s a wonder to see him go from business to off-duty in so short a time span. ¡°No. Not in years. But if ourdy here wants to¡­¡± ¡°Mydy,¡± Victor corrects him, and then shakes his head. ¡°Of course, yourdy. And how the rest of us men weep at that. Cecilia, you look stunning tonight.¡± He rises from the table and so do we, following him out into the cold New York air. Steven is waiting for us by the curb. The second we¡¯re in the car, Victor presses the button to roll up the partition. It seals us into the backseat. Victor reaches for my hand. ¡°Feel,¡± he mutters, pressing it t against his hard length. The outline is stark through his pants. ¡°That¡¯s what your no-panties stunt did to me.¡± I feel lightheaded, power and desire rising like a wave inside me. ¡°You liked that.¡± He kisses me, a hard press of his lips on mine. I run my nails along his hardness and he gives a low hiss. ¡°Cecilia¡­¡± ¡°Yes? Can I get you another coffee? Reschedule a meeting? Book your date with a new woman?¡± ¡°You¡¯re punishing me,¡± he says. ¡°You said you didn¡¯t object.¡± In the darkness of the backseat, his eyes look almost ck. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t. But two can y this game.¡± His hand grips the hem of my dress and tugs it up forcefully, the other pushing my legs apart. The shocked silence that follows is sweeter than candy. ¡°Fuck,¡± he mutters. ¡°You told the truth.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t believe me?¡± ¡°No. That¡¯s why I tried to find out beneath the table.¡± There¡¯s a hoarseness in his voice I wouldn¡¯t have believed it could hold, one that isn¡¯t polished or controlled or restrained. It¡¯s the Victor I saw in his grandfather¡¯s study, the Victor who dared me to follow him at Nadine¡¯s art show. The Victor who wants with such burning intensity that all I want is let him consume me. I want to drive him to the edge. And then I want to drive him straight over it. His fingers stroke the seam between my legs, the same motion I¡¯m raking along the length in his pants. ¡°Two more minutes,¡± he murmurs, ¡°and I would have been doing this in the restaurant.¡± My breath catches. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have dared.¡± ¡°You know I would have.¡± His fingers part me, and then he bends down, putting his mouth right over my clit. ¡°Oh my God.¡± I find the thick strands of his hair, gripping. ¡°Yes. Right there.¡± There¡¯s brief chuckle against my sensitive skin and then his lips return, tongue manipting my clit back and forth. With this angle, it¡¯s all he can do. But it¡¯s also more than enough. ¡°I was going to seduce you,¡± I whisper. Victor turns his head to look up at me, his beard scraping against my skin. ¡°What do you think this is?¡± ¡°I seeded?¡± ¡°You overperformed.¡± He returns to the task at hand and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning. Twice in two days, Victor has focused more on my pleasure than his own. It¡¯s not what I would have expected. Perhaps it¡¯s because he has to be in control, but if this is what Victor in control is like, well¡­ Bring it on. Arge, impatient hand on my knee spreads me wider and I give up any pretense of stroking him through his pants. There¡¯s no room for concentration when he sucks my clit into his mouth. ¡°Victor,¡± I whisper. ¡°Victor, I can¡¯t, not here.¡± He doesn¡¯t stop, and in the rising tide inside of me, my body says something different. It can, and it will. This is my husband. This is our car driving us home to our apartment. And it¡¯s my pleasure to take. So I dig my fingers into his hair and focus on nothing but the sensation of his tongue, flicking back and forth. ¡°Like that.¡± There¡¯s a hum against my clit as he agrees, and a few secondster, the orgasm sweeps over me. I turn my head against the headrest to keep from moaning, fingers tightening in his hair. He doesn¡¯t stop licking me. Doesn¡¯t take his mouth away until my legs rx against the leather seat and my hand slides out of his hair, resting on the nape of his neck. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he murmurs. ¡°You can¡¯t tease me like that, Myers, if you can¡¯t take the consequences.¡± He presses a close-mouthed kiss to my sensitive clit. ¡°Cecilia,¡± he agrees, and pulls the hem of my dress down. Dazed, I look out the window. ¡°We¡¯re standing still.¡± ¡°We have been for a few minutes.¡± ¡°Oh. We¡¯re home.¡± ¡°That we are,¡± Victor says. He reaches down and rearranges himself, a frown on his lips. ¡°Can¡¯t wait to get inside.¡± ¡°Inside what, exactly?¡± His eyes light up. ¡°Inside who, I think.¡± Victor knocks on the partition and raises his voice. ¡°Night, Steven.¡± A muffled voicees from the other side. ¡°Night, Mr. and Mrs. St. ir.¡± My cheeks burn. I¡¯d forgotten himpletely, but it seemed Victor hadn¡¯t. And he¡¯d still done what he did. ¡°Oh my God,¡± I whisper to him, out on the sidewalk. ¡°Steven just¡­ he was there the whole time.¡± ¡°He didn¡¯t hear or see a thing,¡± Victor says. His arm wraps around my waist and I¡¯m half-carried, half-escorted through our lobby. Good thing, too, because my legs feel weak. ¡°Let¡¯s give him a raise.¡± ¡°Will it ease your embarrassment?¡± Victor ms the button to the elevator. ¡°Then consider it done. Nowe here.¡± His kiss tastes like me and ignites the same fire he¡¯d ked just minutes earlier in the car. My body burns for his. I¡¯m the one who unlocks our apartment with the keycard tonight. Victor steps in behind me. Without letting myself hesitate, I push him against the closed front door. His eyes meet mine, but the sh of confusion turns to surprised approval when I drop to my knees.N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. Say Yes to the Boss 47 ¡°Myers¡­¡±This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. I undo his belt buckle and slide down his zipper. It¡¯s difficult to get it over the hard bulge beneath, but with heroic effort, I manage. I slide my fingers beneath the stic of his boxer-briefs and tug them down. He springs out, hard and swollen and gleaming at the tip. ¡°You don¡¯t think you¡¯re the only one allowed to tease?¡± His eyes tell me he¡¯d thought just that. They flutter closed as soon as I grip him, skin hot and firm to the touch. ¡°Christ,¡± he mutters. I open my lips, closing them around his head, and then I swirl my tongue like he had done to me in the car. The sweet expletives are gone, now. His hand finds my loose curls and he grips. ¡°Fucking hell, Myers.¡± This is what I want. Him, unbound, andpletely at my mercy. Victor St. ir begging me for more. Victor St. ir needing me for a change. I wrap my lips tight around his shaft and start to move, careful to swirl my tongue at the end with every bob. I look up at him the entire time, and I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen anything hotter than Victor like this, leaning against a wall and his face tight as if with pain. He¡¯s so hard he¡¯s throbbing in my mouth, and it¡¯s all because of me. I grip the base of him tightly and use my free hand to cup his twin weights. He tastes musky and delicious, and as I speed up, he groans above me. The sound sends a bolt of heat between my legs. I can¡¯t wait until he¡¯s inside of me. His hands tighten in my hair. ¡°Myers, you need to stop.¡± I speed up. ¡°Myers,¡± he says again. It¡¯s the voice he used in the office, calling me in from my desk, and I react to it on instinct. His hard length makes a sharp pop as I release it from my mouth and look up at him. ¡°You¡¯ve proven your point.¡± His chest rises and falls rapidly, and the eyes that stare down at me are wild. ¡°But I¡¯ll be inside you when Ie tonight.¡± Oh Lord. I nod, mute, and ept the hand he offers me. We don¡¯t get further than the kitchen. He grips my hips and lifts me up onto the counter, the same one I¡¯ve prepared breakfast on a dozen times or seen Bonnie bake bread on. ¡°Here,¡± he says. ¡°Now.¡± I reach for the buttons on his shirt and undo them, my fingers fumbling. ¡°I need this off.¡± He helps me with an impatient growl, the shirt hanging off his frame. God, he¡¯s gorgeous, sculpted from a daily exercise regimen that prioritizes health and well-being. A wide, strong chest and the hint of a six-pack across a t stomach, marred only by the long, jagged scar that sweeps across his torso. I run my hand over it, desire and curiosity at war within me. The scar clearly doesn¡¯t bother him anymore, not as he tugs my dress down over my strapless bra. He undoes the sp and my breasts spill out into his hands, nipples taut. ¡°Fuck, Myers. Fuck.¡± He ducks his head to suck a nipple into his mouth, and my smile turns into a gasp. Sensitive, so sensitive, and I¡¯m stimted too far already. I grip the hard length of him and tug him closer. He hisses out a breath, hands pushing the hem of my dress up. Fingers dig into my skin. ¡°Condom?¡± ¡°I¡¯m on birth control.¡± With that, he fits the blunt head against me and gives a single, deep thrust. Sensuous stretching and a fullness that reaches impossibly deep. My hands find purchase on his shoulders, my breathing fast. He¡¯s big, and he¡¯s buriedpletely, and my entire body feels like a live wire. ¡°Finally,¡± Victor murmurs as he starts to move. It¡¯s all I can do to hold on, but I do that to the best of my ability, locking my legs around his hips and bracing a hand behind me on the kitchen counter. The sound of us fills the kitchen, amplified against the marble. Concentration and pleasure-pain are stark on his face. ¡°Look down,¡± he tells me. I do, and think I might orgasm from the sight alone, of him filling me with deep, measured strokes. I didn¡¯t know it could feel like this. That I could want like this. ¡°You feel unreal,¡± he says, his voice like a benediction. ¡°I¡¯m not going tost for shit.¡± ¡°Then don¡¯t.¡± He gives a hoarse halfugh, and the sound goes straight through me, hits parts of me that are aching just as bad as the spot between my legs. He¡¯s out of control, and it¡¯s all for me. Victor slides an arm around my waist to support me as he speeds up. The other hand strokes over the slick folds of me, spread around him, and presses down on the swollen nub up top. I moan at the feeling. Too stimted, I¡¯m too stimted, and he couldn¡¯t possibly- But he does, and I do, my body breaking apart for a second time. I grip his shoulders and reach out, my mouth finding his bare shoulder. Teeth sink down. Victor curses and speeds up, hips like pistons, my skin digging into the kitchen counter. We¡¯ll have to sanitize it with bleach after. His hands curl around my hips and fingers dig into my skin. ¡°Fucking hell, Myers.¡± Hees with sharp, erratic thrusts that smart against my inner thighs. His chest rises and falls, the scar rippling with the heavy breaths. I dig my hands into his shoulders. Don¡¯t pull out, I think. Not yet. But Victor does. He steps back, mouth soft and hair wild, and tucks himself back into his pants. The shirt still hangs off him and the chest is on glorious, glorious disy. He looks like a god, a conqueror, a man thoroughly well-pleased. I slide off the counter and wiggle my dress down past my hips, keeping my legs locked closed. Theck of panties is suddenly very apparent. Victor runs his eyes over me, pleasure in his deep-blue eyes. ¡°This mightplicate things, but I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll let it. We¡¯ve always worked well together.¡± ¡°Uh,¡± I say. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s true.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°You¡¯re my ideal woman, Cecilia. Business alwayses first.¡± I reach for my bra. It¡¯s in the sink, and the flesh-colored satin is sttered with water drops. ¡°Business first,¡± I repeat. He takes it as confirmation. ¡°Thanks for an unreal night,¡± he says, and then his familiar striding gait echoes down the hallway as he makes for the staircase. Well. He lost control, but it didn¡¯t take him long to regain it. It¡¯s been three days since the kitchen counter incident, but sleeping with Myers hadn¡¯t gotten the desire out of my system. It only increased it, to where my need for her feels like a fever beneath my skin. The idea of prim Cecilia Myers, quiet assistant and organizational genius, wearing a dress without panties out to a dinner with business associates is¡­ well. Say Yes to the Boss 48 Hot as fucking hell. But the idea of Cecilia, with her wide smiles and teasing jokes, standing in the bedroom across from mine, and making the decision not to put on underwear so she could seduce me? It makes me hard just to think about. I reach beneath my desk and rearrange the ache. Three days since the kitchen is three days too long, as far as that part of my anatomy is concerned. It has a head of its own in more ways than one. She¡¯d tasted sweet in the car. If I close my eyes, I can still hear her muffled whimpers. I can see the bare treasure between her legs and taste it on my tongue. The memories are doing nothing for my concentration or the pounding headache at my temples. Nothing to dull the ache in my pants, either, but I have no time to solve that issue. Not now. Not when Myers and I have our meeting in fifteen minutes. She arrives on the dot, punctual as always. We¡¯re at home, but with my office so simr to that of Exciteur, it¡¯s hard not to draw the parallels. The only difference is her slippers instead of heels. ¡°Hi,¡± she says. Her hair is in a high ponytail and a flush creeps up her cheeks. ¡°Hello,¡± I say. We haven¡¯t spoken much since we slept together, although slept is not the right word for the explosive kitchen counter fuck. She has her routine and I have mine. I¡¯m going to have to get more sex into it somehow. ¡°Are you okay? You look tired.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I say. She sits down on the chair opposite my desk, clutching a binder to her chest. ¡°All right, then. I have a lot to share with you today.¡± ¡°Go right ahead.¡± Ceciliaunches into a refined elevator pitch, and I listen, humming asionally. Her idea sounds like many of the hundreds of start-ups I¡¯ve heard about over the years. Unease grows in my stomach when I realize she also sounds like many of the start-ups that fail within their first year. She hands me an overview of costs and an expansion n. ¡°This is where I¡¯m heading,¡± she says. ¡°The overhead is considerable, but with a quick enough expansion, I should hit my numbers.¡± I tap my pen against the paper. It¡¯s neat and orderly, like all the reports she prepared for me. In truth, the n she¡¯s drawn up is impressive. She¡¯s thinking far ahead. She has herpany¡¯s story brand nailed down. But. ¡°Your figures are too high.¡± She leans across the desk, and the neckline of the T-shirt she¡¯s wearing swings low. I can see the tops of smooth breasts. Throbbing, aching pain. ¡°Have I miscalcted?¡±N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. ¡°No, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve done it correctly. But the figures are too high from a risk perspective.¡± Her wide, soft lips turn down at the corners. They¡¯d been wrapped around my dick just three days ago. The image of her sinking to her knees, pressing me against the front door¡­ takingmand. Looking up at me. Christ, St. ir. ¡°From a risk perspective,¡± she repeats, voice turning hard. ¡°I want to take risk. I¡¯ve seen you, and your business partners, take risks all the time. It¡¯s always been rewarded.¡± I brush the back of my hand over my mouth to hide a smile. ¡°Not always. I¡¯ve made tons of deals that fell through.¡± Her eyes flicker up to mine. ¡°You have?¡± ¡°Of course. I¡¯m thirty-four, Myers. What do you think I did until I was twenty-five?¡± ¡°You made mistakes?¡± she asks. Her voice is so full of skepticism I want tough. ¡°Yes. You have to do things wrong to learn how to do them right. The sooner you make the mistake, the sooner you¡¯ll learn.¡± I tap the paper in front of us. ¡°With this overhead, so soon into starting the business, you have no room for error. No room for unexpected losses. One rough wind, and you fall. And there will be rough winds. There always are.¡± She blows out a breath. ¡°If I cut this, I won¡¯t grow as fast.¡± ¡°If you don¡¯t, you might not grow at all.¡± Cecilia snatches up the papers and sits back in her chair. She reads them over with a frown, looking like an angry kitten. But she¡¯d asked for my advice and I gave it. I run a hand through my hair. Not once had I cared if I offended the people I critiqued before. I¡¯d given them hard truths and cold facts, letting the chips fall where they might. I¡¯d certainly not been as measured as I am with her. Fucking her has definitely messed with my head. ¡°Damn it,¡± she says. ¡°You¡¯re right. You can say I told you so.¡± ¡°There¡¯d be little point in doing that.¡± She sighs, putting her papers down. ¡°I¡¯ll start over with my calctions, then.¡± ¡°Once you¡¯ve changed them, send your n to me and I¡¯ll take a look.¡± Her eyes look like they had when I nced up at her in the car, my head between her legs. Shock at what I¡¯m doing. ¡°You mean for next month¡¯s meeting?¡± ¡°No, send them to me as soon as you¡¯re done.¡± ¡°But you said¡­¡± ¡°I know what I said.¡± I nod down to the papers, breaking eye contact. My head is killing me, and now my throat¡¯s started, too. It scratches when I speak. ¡°But I have an interest in thispany too. Send it to me.¡± ¡°All right, I will. Thank you.¡± She scoops up the papers and heads to the door, a look of deep concentration on her fair features. A year with her walking in and out of my office, just like that, and I¡¯d never truly noticed her before. It strikes me as a gross oversight on my part. Thirty minutester Cecilia knocks on my half-open door again. She¡¯s holding a mug and wearing an apologetic smile. ¡°Your voice sounded scratchy earlier. Do you think you¡¯reing down with something?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± I say. It¡¯s the truth. Too much work, and too many people depend on it being done. The steady stream of emails never ends. Brad is good, but he isn¡¯t Cecilia, and it shows. Not to mention the conference in Boston next week with Exciteur. It will carve three days out of my normal work schedule. ¡°Still,¡± she says, and sets the giant cup of tea down on my desk. A scent of honey wafts up from the hot water. ¡°For your throat. And¡­ thanks for agreeing to look at my numbers again this week.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 49 ¡°Yeah. Sure.¡± She¡¯s gone again, and I look at the mug for a long time. I can¡¯t remember thest time anyone did something for me. Something they weren¡¯t paid for and that I didn¡¯t ask them to do. I drink the tea. It¡¯ste in the afternoon by the time I leave my home office, mug in hand. It helped, but only temporarily, and now my throat feels like it¡¯s closing in on itself. I haven¡¯t been sick in years. I don¡¯t allow my body to be sick. Which, of course, means it¡¯s doing it anyway. I wonder if this is punishment for mixing business and pleasure and giving in to Cecilia. Or maybe this is my body¡¯s way of punishing me for not giving in with Cecilia over the past three days. I know which one my head wants it to be. Both of them. Familiar voices drift from the kitchen and I stop in the hallway, listening to them chatter. Once, my apartment was always dead quiet. Not anymore. Cecilia and Bonnie soundfortable with one another, voices muted and soft. My mother and grandmother used to talk like that. My brother and I would sit at the kitchen table at Grandma¡¯s and listen to them chatter about everything and nothing as they cooked or baked. They¡¯re all gone now, and in nine months¡¯ time, so will Cecilia be. My apartment will be quiet again. I step into the kitchen. Cecilia¡¯s eyes brighten when she sees me, and the expression sets off an ache in my chest. But her expression quickly turns to concern. ¡°Oh, you look awful.¡± ¡°Hello to you too.¡± ¡°You sound even worse.¡± She steps around the kitchen ind and puts a cool hand against my forehead. ¡°You have a fever.¡± She makes it sound like something I¡¯ve done on purpose.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Cecilia.¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t fuss.¡± She steps back, eyes narrowing. I imagine it¡¯s the look she wore outside my office, warding off employees who wanted to speak to me for no particr reason. She was always good at that. My gatekeeper. ¡°We¡¯re having soup for dinner,¡± she says. ¡°Should be good for your throat.¡± Bonnie speaks up from the stove. ¡°Chowder and freshly baked bread.¡± ¡°Christ, Bonnie,¡± I say, sinking down on the kitchen chair. My head feels ready to explode. ¡°You¡¯re worth every cent I pay you.¡± There¡¯s silence after my words, but I¡¯m too tired to tell if it¡¯s stunned or disapproving. Too tired to care, too. Then a warm bowl appears in front of me and a giant ss of water. A small hand, one I recognize intimately now, ces an aspirin next to it. Tea and now this. We eat in silence, Cecilia and I. Her usual attempts at chatter are gone, and I don¡¯t know whether I¡¯m grateful or if I miss them. After dinner, I make it halfway down the hall before her voice stops me. It has an unmistakable note ofmand in it. ¡°Where are you going?¡± I reach out to steady myself against the wall. Consider lying, and then discard the idea. I¡¯m the master in my own home. ¡°To my office.¡± ¡°You need to rest. Lie down.¡± ¡°I can rest in the chair. It¡¯s ergonomic.¡± Cecilia snorts, and then she¡¯s there, in front of me. Her hand presses against my chest. ¡°Please rest. At least lie down for a bit. Please.¡± Her eyes are impossibly close. Would she lie down with me? There¡¯s no way I can deny that offer, even if my body is at war with itself. Desire against the disease. ¡°I¡¯ve decided,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m going to lie down for a bit.¡± Her lips quirk. ¡°Great choice. How about your couch? I¡¯ve never seen you use it.¡± ¡°I use it.¡± ¡°Well, you haven¡¯t in the past months.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were keeping track.¡± This time, the smile on her face is unmistakable. She¡¯sughing at me, but she doesn¡¯t say a word as we head back into the living room. I stretch out on the gray couch. It had been one of the few things I¡¯d told the interior designer: The couch had to befortable. None of that look-good-but-feel-awful bullshit. He¡¯d delivered. A sigh of relief. It feels good to be lying down, and the pillow beneath my head is¡­ well. Maybe I should try sleeping down here for a change. Might be better on nights when the bed holds nothing but nightmares. ¡°Isn¡¯t this much nicer than working?¡± I don¡¯t open my eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t gloat.¡± There¡¯s the sound of footsteps, and then water being poured. I crack open an eyelid to see her returning with a clean towel in hand. She leans over my face. ¡°Hey, I don¡¯t-oh. Okay.¡± The towel feels ice-cold against my forehead. It¡¯s delicious. ¡°I¡¯ve put a big ss of water on the coffee table for you, too. Do you want anything else?¡± ¡°No.¡± After a brief silence, I crack open another eyelid. ¡°Thanks.¡± Cecilia smiles at me. ¡°That was more than I ever got as your assistant.¡± ¡°Kick a man while he¡¯s down, why don¡¯t you.¡± Sheughs, and then her slipper-muffled footsteps recede along the hardwood floor. She¡¯s leaving. ¡°Hey,¡± I say. ¡°Where are you going?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 50 The steps stop. ¡°You wantpany?¡± I should say no. Shouldn¡¯t even have asked. I shift on the couch, knowing that answering yes is showing weakness. It¡¯s definitely not a part of the business box, not even a part of the pleasure box where I¡¯d ced her three nights ago. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°All right. Let me just get something to drink.¡± A few minutester she sinks down next to me on the giant couch and props her feet up on the coffee table. She has arge ice coffee in hand the color of caramel. ¡°That,¡± I say, ¡°looks disgusting.¡± ¡°It¡¯s eighty-seven percent sugar, twelve percent milk, and one percent coffee. It¡¯s also one hundred percent delicious.¡± ¡°Ugh.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not your preferred single-shot Americano, that¡¯s for sure.¡± She reaches for the remote control. It¡¯s in a basket on the living room table, together with the remote for my surround system. I haven¡¯t had music on in ages. It has been a long time since I¡¯d lived in my home, and not just used it to work, sleep and exercise in. ¡°Your TV is huge,¡± she say. ¡°Do you like watching things when you¡¯re sick? Or do you want me to be quiet?¡± ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be muchpany if you were quiet.¡± ¡°You¡¯re even grumpier when you¡¯re sick. Can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised.¡± Cool fingers rearrange the towel on my brow and briefly brush through my hair. Oh. The faint touch of her fingers along my tight scalp felt like heaven. But her hand is gone, and I¡¯ve already exposed myself too much tonight.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°I¡¯m grumpy,¡± I say, ¡°because I have you rxed and on my couch, but I don¡¯t have the energy to make full use of that.¡± The channel-scrolling stops. ¡°You¡¯re talking about¡­¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯m talking about sex.¡± The channel-scrolling resumes. ¡°You won¡¯t be sick forever.¡± ¡°Thank the small mercies.¡± I turn my head slightly. She¡¯s stopped at a home renovation show. A couple from Texas redoing farmhouses. ¡°I love watching these shows,¡± Cecilia says. ¡°Itbines all of my interests.¡± ¡°You have an interest in old barns.¡± Sheughs, and the sound doesn¡¯t grate against my headache. It¡¯s soothing. ¡°No. But I like organization, renovation, fixing things up. I like seeing happy couples and their kids. I like¡­ okay, I don¡¯t mind barns.¡± ¡°Have you ever actually been inside of a barn?¡± ¡°Oh, yes. Many times.¡± I turn my head, ignoring the blinding headache. ¡°You¡¯re serious.¡± ¡°Dead serious. My mother went through a vegan phase. One of her best friends at the time had this ce where you could pet rescued barnyard animals for spiritual healing.¡± My silence has to be enough, because sheughs. ¡°Yeah. I know it¡¯s not something for you.¡± ¡°Spiritual healing,¡± I say. She shrugs. ¡°Or rxation, I suppose. I have to give it to her, it¡¯s hard to feel stressed or angry when you¡¯re holding amb or petting a cow.¡± ¡°There is so much about you that I could never have predicted.¡± ¡°Happy I can still surprise you,¡± she says. She stretches out an arm along the back of the couch, and I see her hand, dangling only inches away from my face. It would be so easy to have her run it through my hair. And soplicated. I close my eyes. ¡°Tell me more about your mother.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± No. ¡°Yes.¡± She pulls her legs up beneath her on the couch, settling in. ¡°She had me when she was twenty-one. She¡¯d dropped out of college and was road tripping with a few friends at the time.¡± ¡°Wow.¡± ¡°Yes, not the ideal time to get pregnant.¡± Cecilia¡¯s voice doesn¡¯t hold bitterness, though. Only fondness. ¡°She¡¯s not normal. Not in the sense that you and I are normal. If we even are, because in truth, what is normal? She¡¯s special. Fearless, and obsessive. She¡¯ll go deep and far in one direction and inspire everyone she meets about it.¡± ¡°Like veganism.¡± ¡°Like veganism,¡± she says, ¡°or geology, or ocean conservation, or space exploration. It was tantric yoga once. She made me practice with her every morning and evening.¡± I make a choked sound and look up at her. She meets my gaze, and then sheughs, reaching out to p me on the shoulder. ¡°Tantric yoga is not the same as tantric sex!¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°Very sure. God, Victor, no, she was not into that.¡± Cecilia frowns. ¡°Well, not that I know of. But maybe she was when I was at school. Ugh. I don¡¯t want to think about that.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡± ¡°Tantric yoga involves no sex at all. Just a lot of breathing, mindfulness, and praying to deities. This was at the same time she experimented with polytheism.¡± I rub a hand over my eyes. ¡°Christ. I can¡¯t think of an upbringing less like my own.¡± Cecilia chuckles. ¡°It was different than most of the kids at school, too. But thanks to her I am excellent at trivia. I know a lot about most things.¡± ¡°Where¡¯d you live?¡± ¡°We moved around a lot. The longest ce we stayed in was Santa Fe.¡± ¡°New Mexico,¡± I mutter. ¡°Figures.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 51 ¡°Be nice,¡± she says, but there¡¯s only fondness in her tone. ¡°She loves very freely, my mother, and has no boundaries. We often had her friends sleeping on the couch.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t imagine you in that household. How did you be¡­ you?¡± ¡°Someone had to be the adult.¡± ¡°And that fell to you?¡± ¡°The first person I was ever personal assistant to was my mother. I organized our trips from the time I was twelve.¡± The image of a young Cecilia with a clipboard and a patient expression rises before my eyelids. Something tightens across my chest. Fondness. I really am sick.N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. ¡°Is that why you want to start yourpany? So you can be the personal assistant to a whole country?¡± Sheughs. ¡°I suppose so, yes. Since the model is subscription and task-based, it¡¯s affordable. People in all walks of life will be able to buy some peace of mind from us. Helping people help themselves, in a way.¡± Her fingers drum softly against her knee. ¡°So my childhood was different from yours, then. I¡¯m guessing your grandfather didn¡¯t bring you to any barns to pet cows for stress relief?¡± I snort. ¡°He would¡¯ve had a fit if I suggested something like that.¡± ¡°What recreational activities were eptable for a young St. ir?¡± Her tone holds fake grandiosity, but there¡¯s interest there, too. I flip the cold towel over. It slips slightly and then her slim fingers are there, brief and wonderful. ¡°Tennis, golf, sailing,¡± I say. ¡°Languages. We¡¯d go to museums asionally, especially if he knew the¡­ the docent.¡± I wave a hand. My skin feels flushed, too hot. Damn fever. ¡°I came with him on most of his business trips. Travel was important for him.¡± ¡°What did you do? When he was working on the trips?¡± ¡°I walked around whatever city we were in.¡± She rearranges herself on the couch behind me, and then something rests against my head. Definitely her thigh. This woman is killing me. ¡°Tell me about it.¡± I sigh. My throat feels shot to hell, but I do it anyway, because she asked. ¡°He went to Europe a lot, Asia on asion. I walked across London when I was eleven. It¡¯s deceptively big. I had to ask someone to exin how the Tube worked so I could make it back to the hotel in time for dinner.¡± She makes an incredulous sound. ¡°At eleven, I was getting up at six every morning so my mother could realign my chakras.¡± ¡°Well, you seem very well-adjusted now.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± she says. ¡°I haven¡¯t had my aura read in years, though. I might be all out of whack. Do you miss him?¡± ¡°Who?¡± I already know, and she knows it too, but she presses on. She¡¯s brave. I knew that already, but she confirms it daily. ¡°Your grandfather.¡± ¡°No.¡± I reach for the buttons in my shirt. It feels as if my skin is boiling, as if the heat in here has ratcheted up ten degrees. ¡°He wasn¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t know. It wasn¡¯t easy being his grandson.¡± ¡°I can only imagine,¡± she says. I¡¯m halfway down my chest when I remember the scar. She¡¯ll see, but she already has. She¡¯s already asked too, and damn it, I¡¯m too hot. I undo thest button and take a deep breath. Still too warm. ¡°He had expectations, then.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t every parent or guardian?¡± I ask. ¡°His were just very well-articted.¡± ¡°Is that why you work so hard?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sick,¡± I mutter. ¡°I¡¯m not lying on a therapist¡¯s couch.¡± Her voice turns teasing, and then she lifts the damp towel off my forehead. Smooth fingers rub circles at my temples. ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°Your chakras are definitely off.¡± I sigh. She¡¯s good at what she¡¯s doing, spiritual nonsense aside. ¡°Realign them for me.¡± ¡°I really have no idea what I¡¯m doing, you know.¡± ¡°Never admit that.¡± ¡°Right. Project confidence. Negotiate from your strengths. I¡¯ve learned a lot, watching you do business.¡± I don¡¯t know what to respond to that, so I don¡¯t, sinking into the feel of her taking care of me. It¡¯s weakness, and it¡¯s dangerous, and I should walk away. But I can¡¯t remember thest time something like this happened. In the background, an excited couple squeals as their renovated house is revealed. ¡°He didn¡¯t want me anymore than I wanted him,¡± I say. Her fingers pause. ¡°How do you mean?¡± ¡°He wasn¡¯t expecting an eight-year-old boy to raise, and I¡¯d only known him as someone we saw once a month over dinner. But suddenly there was only the two of us.¡± Her fingers finally run through my hair. ¡°He asked for custody, then? After your parents passed?¡± ¡°Demanded it, more like it,¡± I say. ¡°He wasn¡¯t going to let me go to my aunt in Florida. He didn¡¯t like her husband and he said I¡¯d be a lost cause in that household. ¡®Charlotte lets her boys y too many video games, but there¡¯s still hope for you, boy.''¡± Cecilia chuckles. ¡°Was he like you?¡± ¡°No. He worked all the time. Didn¡¯t really have a lot of close friends, either. Just people he considered¡­ worthwhile to have as acquaintances. He tried to raise me like I was my father, the son he¡¯d lost. A chance to do it over again.¡± ¡°Victor,¡± she says. ¡°That sounds like you.¡± I reach above my head and search blindly for her wrist. I find it and bring her hand back to my hair. ¡°You¡¯ve gotten a lot bolder since I married you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of you anymore.¡± Her words are soft, matter-of-fact. But it takes me several seconds to process them. ¡°You were afraid of me before.¡± ¡°Of course I was,¡± she says. Despite the seriousness of the topic, her voice is teasing. ¡°You told me several times in the first couple of weeks how useless I was. Mason covered for me twice when I had to run into the bathroom.¡± ¡°Run into the bathroom?¡± ¡°To cry,¡± she says. ¡°But you didn¡¯t break me.¡± I can¡¯t reconcile the emotions I had toward the assistant back then, can¡¯t match them with the Cecilia I know now. But I can¡¯t deny the words she attributes to me. They sound like mine. Say Yes to the Boss 52 Shame tastes like ash on my tongue. I¡¯d made her cry. I hadn¡¯t even known her first name or cared enough to learn it, but I¡¯d been able to make her cry all the same. I am like him, only worse, because he worked for something. For the family legacy and the family name. I¡¯m working to prove him right about me, but he isn¡¯t even here to see it. ¡°You¡¯re still alive under there?¡± Cecilia says, lifting the towel from my brow. ¡°You have to let me know if you need an ambnce, you know.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say. ¡°I haven¡¯t said that before, I think. But I¡¯m sorry for not treating you better when you were my assistant.¡± She¡¯s quiet. A hand smooths down my cheek, the softest touch, and it feels like forgiveness. We don¡¯t speak for a long time, not until my eyelids feel heavy and my skin cooler. Cecilia changes channels until she finds a movie. It¡¯s one I¡¯ve seen before, many years ago. A romanticedy. She puts the remote down and rearranges behind me again. This time, she stretches out too, and her arm ends up draped over my chest. I nce down to see her hand tracing my scar. The ragged line is faint now, the only remaining evidence of the car crash. I don¡¯t have the energy to protest, and her hand feels cool against my warm skin. ¡°A long time ago, this,¡± she murmurs. I close my eyes. ¡°It¡¯s from a different life.¡± She sighs, a soft sound of rxation. ¡°Maybe you have many in you. That¡¯s what my mother would say.¡± Maybe I do, I think. And maybe this is the start of a new one. I blink my eyes open to sunshine. I turn over in bed and search for the best pillow, the one with the perfect level of firmness, and pull theforter up below my chin. Why is it sunny? I always draw the curtains. I yawn and open my eyes, curled on my side, and look out at the view. I¡¯ll never tire of it. Central Park, the trees, the skyscrapers that line the other side. In one of those buildings lives Tristan Conway and his son, the apartment I was in with Victor over a month ago. When we toasted to our marriage. Victor. We had been on the couchst night. How did I get up here? Either my memory has betrayed me, or I was asleep when he brought me upstairs. Did he lead me, half-asleep on my feet? Did he carry me? I peek beneath the covers. I¡¯m wearing the same clothes as yesterday, minus the cardigan and my slippers. He put me to bed, then. I groan, pulling theforter over my head. He was sick and still he¡¯d done that. I¡¯m in over my head. He¡¯d given me somethingst night I never thought I¡¯d get. An apology and an insight into why he is the way he is. I think of him traveling alone with his grandfather to cities all around the world, and then left to his own devices while meetings were being held. I think of a man who had no idea how to raise a grieving grandson, but stepped up to do his best. A son who lost everything and learned to y by his grandfather¡¯s rules. I take a quick shower beneath the rainfall showerhead and wrap my fluffy purple robe around myself. I look in the mirror and see bright eyes, clean skin, and wet, towel-dried hair. And then I plod out to the hallway in search of my sick, CEO husband. He¡¯s not in his bedroom. The door is half-open and I peek inside, but it¡¯s empty, the bed made in exact precision. He¡¯s not downstairs either. Not in his office, not in the gym, not on the balcony. I even check the two spare guest bedrooms. But nothing. I grab my phone. Thest text I¡¯d sent had been the address to Nadine¡¯s gallery for the opening. It feels like ages ago. We¡¯d been twopletely different people then. Cecilia: Don¡¯t you dare tell me you¡¯re at work. With how sick you werest night, you should be in bed. I don¡¯t expect a response, but the words need to be said. So I¡¯m surprised when my phone chimes ten minutester. Victor: You know, you¡¯re considerably more bossy than I used to think. It¡¯s easy to imagine the glint in his blue eyes when he wrote those words. He¡¯s flirting back with me. Cecilia: You¡¯re deflecting. And thank you. Seeing as how I¡¯m now my own boss, I take that as apliment. Victor: You should. Yes, I¡¯m at work. I had a number of meetings that couldn¡¯t be changed and I felt better this morning. Thirty secondster, my phone chimes again, and this time I chuckle. Victor: I also don¡¯t know why I¡¯m justifying my actions to you. If you¡¯re your own boss, then so am I. Get to work changing those numbers, Myers. Cecilia: You sound like you need to pet a cow. Victor: I can think of much better ways to relieve stress. My stomach clenches at the innocent string of words. I imagine them in his voice, the dark, low tone that brokers no discussion. The way he¡¯d spoken to me in the backseat of our car. Cecilia: A shame you didn¡¯t choose to work from home, then. I took a shower before I went looking for you¡­ and I¡¯m only in my robe. Victor: Great. Now I¡¯m hard, and I have a meeting with Japanese investors in five minutes.Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. Heat blooms inside. Imagining him, tall and imposing and in a suit, sitting in his office. I¡¯ve seen him like that hundreds of times. Every day I worked for him. But the mental image of him reaching beneath his desk and readjusting himself because of me¡­ I do something I¡¯ve never done before. I shimmy my bathrobe down my shoulders and tighten the tie around my waist. My modest cleavage looks tantalizing in the camera on my phone. No nipples, just the tops of my breasts and the dip of my cleavage disappearing down into my robe. I take a picture and hit send, heart pounding. Victor: Fuck. Momentster, an image of his own appears. The imprint of his hard length against his gray suit trousers, his hand pulling them taut. Every single inch of him is visible through the Italian fabric. It makes my stomach clench. I know those inches. I need those inches. Say Yes to the Boss 53 Cecilia: Someone¡¯s feeling better. Victor: Someone better still be in that robe when I get home. Cecilia: Can¡¯t make any promises¡­ so you¡¯d bettere home soon. He doesn¡¯t respond to that, probably heading into a meeting with investors with me on his mind. It makes me feel powerful. Wanted. Funny, how the one area where we have absolutely no problemmunicating in is the physical one. The desire I feel from him obliterates all the usual hups I¡¯ve faced with men in the past. There¡¯s no room to think about my insecurities with him, and it¡¯s intoxicating. Despite my text, I change out of my robe pretty quickly. Bonnie always arrives midday and I have no intention of walking around half-naked with someone else in the house. No, I do what I always do, which is work. My desk in my bedroom with the incredible view has be my home. I run with Summer in Central Park around lunchtime and then eat a quick meal at the kitchen ind. I don¡¯t shower afterwards, my head filled with new ideas, and return to myputer. His words made sense. I need to be more conservative with my numbers, and now I know how to swing it. I¡¯m deep into my calctions when I hear footstepsing up the stairs. They¡¯re not Bonnie¡¯s careful strides. I push back from the desk. That¡¯s all I have time to do before my door is pushed open. I shriek as Victor crosses the distance between us, eyes focused, hair messy. ¡°You¡¯re not in your robe,¡± he says, hands closing around my waist. ¡°But you¡¯ll do.¡± He lifts me up and moves us to the bed. Myugh turns into a gasp. ¡°What apliment.¡± ¡°I can dopliments.¡± His hand smooths over my thigh. ¡°Your legs and ass look fucking unreal in these tights. I¡¯ve never seen a woman wear things like this before.¡± ¡°Yoga pants?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He kisses me, hungry and wanton, and I spread my legs to ept his weight on top of me. Against my thigh, I can feel how hard he is. He¡¯s still in the gray suit. ¡°How was your meeting?¡± ¡°Torture. All I could think about were these.¡± His hands find the hem of my T-shirt and slide it up. He grabs the stic of my sports bra and tugs it, baring me for his gaze. He bends to a nipple and I sigh, putting my hand in his hair. ¡°Well,¡± I murmur. ¡°You seem to be much better thanst night.¡±N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. He gives a thrust against me, as if disputing that. I chuckle and reach down to palm him through his pants. ¡°In some ways, I mean.¡± ¡°I am much better,¡± he says, his five-o¡¯clock shadow scratching my skin as he kisses down my stomach. He hooks his fingers into my yoga pants and panties and tugs them down. ¡°Lift your hips.¡± I do, and then I¡¯m once again naked before him, but this time it¡¯s full daylight. Any qualms that rise to the surface are gone at the hunger in his eyes, the appreciation as they sweep over me. It makes me bold, ignites my body in ways that make it burn. This time, I ride him. His eyes sh at first and then turn molten, gaze settling between my legs. Watching as I take him inside. Like he¡¯s done before, he focuses on me. There¡¯s no artifice to it and no pressure. Not once has he told me toe. He just circles my clit with his finger, eyes hooded. ¡°You look unbelievable,¡± he says, eyes shifting to my breasts. And I believe him. Ie first, beneath the steady movement of his thumb and the deep movement of him inside of me. Hands bracing on his chest, I speed up through my orgasm, body shuddering. I open my eyes to his pleasure-pained expression. He¡¯d held off, but judging by the sheen on his forehead, it cost him. I kiss him. He lifts his hips and then I¡¯m the one holding on, face buried against his neck, as he fucks me with piston-strength. Thrusts turn erratic and he growls into my ear as he explodes, emptying himself inside me. I¡¯ve never heard a hotter sound than Victor St. ir losing control. His chest rises beneath mine, strong arms wrapped around my back. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of him, soap and shampoo and the briefest hint of aftershave. ¡°Who are you?¡± he mutters into my hair. ¡°Apanying me to dinner without your panties. Sending me nudes at work.¡± I chuckle. His eyes are molten and sated, the furrow gone from between his brow. ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± I say. ¡°But it seems to be working on you.¡± ¡°That¡¯s an understatement.¡± I kiss him again, my lips soft now, and settle beside him on the bed. His arm is beneath my head and his wide chest rises with hisbored breathing. He stares up at the ceiling. ¡°Good thing you didn¡¯t put no physical rtions into our contract,¡± I say. ¡°Or we would both be in breach.¡± ¡°This,¡± he says, ¡°was not something I anticipated.¡± ¡°Neither did I.¡± He runs his free hand through his hair. I doubt he¡¯s the kind of man who cuddles. I shouldn¡¯t press, and yet¡­ I can¡¯t let this opportunity go. I turn on my side and put my head on his shoulder. Victor doesn¡¯t react either way, just looks up at the ceiling. His Adam¡¯s apple moves beneath his stubble as he swallows. ¡°Thank you for carrying me upstairsst night,¡± I say. It takes him a while to reply. ¡°Steven uses the gym some mornings,¡± he says. ¡°Couldn¡¯t let him see my wife like that.¡± The words ¡®my wife¡¯ feel like they rattle around in my head, in my chest, taking root. ¡°I have to leave for a conference next weekend,¡± he says. ¡°It¡¯s Exciteur¡¯s big-¡± ¡°Conference. I remember. In Boston.¡± ¡°Right. You know about it.¡± ¡°I organized Mr. Conway¡¯s flights therest time, and I did yours as well.¡± ¡°Come with me,¡± Victor says. He raises his left hand and strokes it over my back. ¡°I¡¯ll have a suite. You can work during the days. We can have dinner at night. Do this.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 54 I bury my head against his shoulder. The part of me that he¡¯s just teased into orgasm wants to say yes to that. Three days at a hotel with him, with this, with one giant bed and bathtub and shower. But I don¡¯t want to apany him just to be avable for sex. He has his job and I have mine¡­ and sex can¡¯t just be a perk. Another part of our deal. It doesn¡¯t have to mean a lot, but it has to mean something. ¡°Let me get this straight,¡± Nadine says on the other end of the phone. ¡°You¡¯ve slept together multiple times now. He has apologized for how he treated you as his assistant, which he should have done a long time ago, by the way, and invited you along as his sex toy at a conference.¡± ¡°Christ.¡±This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°That¡¯s the gist of it, right? And now you¡¯re cooking him his favorite dinner.¡± Disapproval is faint in her voice, but it¡¯s there. ¡°It¡¯s a strategic move,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m going to tell him to sit down for dinner when hees home, and then I¡¯ll do what he responds well to. I¡¯ll negotiate.¡± She groans. ¡°I do not understand the two of you and your weird fascination with ying office.¡± ¡°I never yed office,¡± I say. ¡°It was my actual job.¡± ¡°Remember our Introduction to Philosophy ss? You made a study guide from your notes and printed copies for every single one of our ssmates.¡± ¡°You illustrated the front page,¡± I fire back. Sheughs. ¡°Fine, fine. So you¡¯re going to renegotiate with St. ir. Renegotiate what, exactly? Your marriage?¡± I reach for the giant pepper shaker Bonnie keeps on the kitchen counter and add a hefty dose to the tomato sauce. ¡°Not our marriage, really. But what we are.¡± ¡°You¡¯re going to ask him to define the rtionship.¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t define it myself.¡± I lean over the stove and breathe in the scent of pasta pomodoro. ¡°But I want to make it clear that it can¡¯t just be sex. Despite cooking for him tonight, I¡¯m not going to be his convenient wife who got him his grandfather¡¯s house and is always around when he wants to have sex. It has to be separate from the deal.¡± ¡°Hell to the yes,¡± she says. ¡°How are your feelings?¡± It takes me a moment to admit it. ¡°I¡¯m getting attached.¡± ¡°Of course you are. You wouldn¡¯t be you if you weren¡¯t.¡± She pauses, and in the silence, I can hear all the things she isn¡¯t saying. ¡°I know,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ll be careful.¡± ¡°You¡¯re too good for him. Don¡¯t let all his money and power and suits intimidate you.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°So, you and Jake are finally going on a real date?¡± ¡°Yes¡­ and don¡¯tugh, but I¡¯m actually nervous about this one.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a good sign! You never are. Tell me what you¡¯re wearing?¡± We¡¯re deep into a discussion on hairstyles when I hear the front door open. ¡°Sorry, I have to go, he¡¯s home!¡± ¡°Good luck!¡± I tuck my headphones into the pocket of my yoga pants and turn around, leaning against the counter. His footsteps echo on the hardwood floor. Victor stops in the entryway, eyes moving from me to the empty kitchen. No Bonnie. ¡°Hi.¡± ¡°Hello.¡± A slow curve to his lips. ¡°You¡¯re alone.¡± ¡°I am. I decided to cook dinner for us.¡± He puts down his briefcase and undoes the button of his suit jacket. ¡°Any particr reason?¡± ¡°Not really,¡± I say. ¡°Want something to drink?¡± His eyes search mine, but then he nods. ¡°Yes. I¡¯ll get it for us. Wine?¡± He passes by me, and then, as if he catches himself, he stops to press a kiss to my temple. The affectionate touch sends heat to my cheeks. ¡°I looked at the numbers you sent me today,¡± he says, opening a wine bottle. ¡°Oh? What did you think?¡± ¡°Much better. The lower overhead will handle slower, but more sustainable growth.¡± He sits down at the kitchen table, eyes on me. ¡°You¡¯re ready to put the n into motion.¡± Excited nerves flutter through my stomach. ¡°I think so too.¡± ¡°Carter offered, and I wouldn¡¯t be doing my job as mentor if I didn¡¯t bring it up again,¡± Victor says. He looks down at his ss of wine, jaw working. ¡°If you put a proposal together I can forward it to Carter. He¡¯s on the lookout for more start-ups to invest in.¡± ¡°Do you think that would be a good idea?¡± ¡°Investment would get you off the ground faster. He has awork and connections you could use.¡± ¡°I sense a but here somewhere.¡± His eyes meet mine. ¡°But I¡¯d rather it was me investing.¡± My heart is pounding in my chest. ¡°If I let you, though, we¡¯d only be mixing business and pleasure even more than we already have.¡± ¡°I¡¯m aware of that,¡± he says, voice dry. ¡°It¡¯s a bad idea.¡± I turn off the stove and keep my eyes on the food I¡¯m ting. ¡°As bad as the two of us sleeping together?¡± ¡°No,¡± he admits. ¡°That¡¯s probably worse.¡± His honesty makes me smile. For better or for worse, Victor always gives it to you straight. I put down our tes and ept the ss of wine he hands me in exchange. ¡°Thanks.¡± ¡°No, thank you. Did Bonnie prepare this?¡± ¡°I made it from scratch.¡± His housekeeper hadn¡¯t objected at all when I said I wanted to cook dinner for the two of us. She¡¯d smiled, actually, in a way that was a tad too knowing. Say Yes to the Boss 55 ¡°It¡¯s good,¡± he says. ¡°Your mother taught you to cook, too? Between all the tantric sex and cow-petting?¡± ¡°Tantric yoga,¡± I correct him, and he gives me a crooked smile. ¡°But yes, she did. For a while we lived in amune with a big kitchen garden and there was always fresh produce.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°Amune.¡± ¡°It was great, for a time. There were always other kids to y with.¡± ¡°Do you think your mom is the reason you agreed to marry me?¡± I look up at him in surprise, and steady blue eyes gaze back at me. I consider the question. ¡°I do, actually. Not directly. But she was never afraid to think big or differently. She always said that the most important thing was a person¡¯s integrity. That going to bed at night wasn¡¯t difficult as long as you had that. She also told me the sky was the limit.¡± I look down at my food, thinking about her. About the things I haven¡¯t told her. ¡°She¡¯s adventure itself. And if I start thispany, if I pursue my own dream, I will have had an adventure in my life. An attempt at one, anyway.¡± Victor¡¯s silence isplete. I don¡¯t look at him, embarrassed at my own outpouring of words. ¡°Are you afraid to tell her about our marriage?¡± ¡°Yes, a bit.¡± ¡°If you exin it to her in those terms, I don¡¯t think you have anything to be afraid of,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯ve been true to yourself throughout this whole thing. And if it¡¯s an adventure you want, well¡­¡± I smile, looking up at him. ¡°Marrying my boss is definitely an adventure.¡± ¡°Happy to oblige,¡± he says. I bite my lip, considering my words. ¡°Actually, speaking of integrity and mixing business-and-pleasure¡­ I don¡¯t just want to be here for you when you want sex.¡± His eyes burn with sudden focus. ¡°All right,¡± he says. ¡°What do you want? If you¡¯re asking for a rtionship, Cecilia, I-¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not. Not at all. Don¡¯t worry. I know our marriage is a business deal and I respect that. What I¡¯m saying is that I want a friendship too. I want this , what we¡¯re doing, to be equal. We¡¯re equals.¡± ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you as someone who just caters to me.¡± I snort. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°Fine. I no longer see you as that.¡± ¡°Good, that¡¯s honest.¡± ¡°I¡¯m always honest with you.¡± I nod. ¡°I¡¯ll do the same with you.¡± But the words don¡¯t soften the expression on his face. His eyes narrow instead. ¡°What brought this conversation on? Was it something I said or did?¡± ¡°Not per se. Just¡­ I¡¯m not going toe with you to a conference just to be in the hotel room when youe back from work, just to satisfy you.¡± His voice turns dark. ¡°Don¡¯t I satisfy you in return? Last night, you came not once, not twice, but-¡± ¡°Yes, you do. A lot.¡± My cheeks are on fire. It¡¯s one thing to do it, another to talk about it casually over dinner. ¡°I have noints in that department.¡± ¡°Noints,¡± he mutters. ¡°After she just promised me honesty.¡± ¡°Fine. The sex is amazing. Better than I¡¯ve ever had. If I had known it would be this good between us, I would have jumped you a lot sooner.¡± A smile breaks across Victor¡¯s face. It¡¯s pleased and masculine and it transforms his stern features entirely, as if a spotlight has just illuminated them. ¡°Best you¡¯ve had, huh?¡± I rub my neck. ¡°I didn¡¯t think this conversation would go in this direction.¡± ¡°First she makes me dinner, then shepliments me in bed. Fuck, Myers. This ce has gotten a lot better since you moved in.¡± It¡¯s not on par with what I¡¯d told him, but¡­ the words make my chest tighten. ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re in those tights again?¡± I stick a leg out beneath the table. ¡°Whoops.¡± He groans, eyes dancing. ¡°You¡¯re killing me.¡± ¡°But do you see what I mean? I don¡¯t want to feel like I¡¯m just a convenient booty call, just because I also happen to live here. I want this to bepletely separate from our contract and our agreement.¡± ¡°It ispletely separate,¡± he says. ¡°This has nothing to do with yourpensation, with mentoring, with my grandfather¡¯s house. Was that what you¡¯re worried about?¡± ¡°A little bit, yes.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be. They¡¯re not rted.¡± He pushes his empty te away and reaches up to undo the top buttons of his shirt. I catch a hint of dark blond chest hair and have to look away. ¡°I was going to suggest dessert, but I¡¯ve changed my mind. Taken your words into consideration.¡± ¡°Do you have work to do?¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. ¡°I always have work to do,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m starting my ownpany.¡± ¡°That you are. All right. Let¡¯s work in the living room for an hour, and then you choose a movie for us.¡± ¡°Choose a movie?¡± His voice turns gruff. ¡°Yes. Isn¡¯t that a suitable friendship thing to do? And then I can finally fuck you on the couch. I still haven¡¯t forgiven my body for being too sick for itst time.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°That does sound like a suitably friendship thing to do. You might regret giving me free rein of movie choice, though.¡± My eyes feel like glue. Heavy and weighed down with tiredness, and my bed is like a cloud of cotton. The room is still dark, and the rm clock by my bed reads two-fourteen a. m. No reason for me to be awake. I turn over and snuggle into the pillow, rxing back into sleep. I¡¯m nearly there when I¡¯m jolted awake by a sound. The same one that must have broken through my sleep earlier. It sounds like someone yelling. I throw the covers back and grab my phone from the nightstand. Is someone in the apartment? I pad across my bedroom floor and press my ear to the door, but all is silent. Not a peep. The scream had been close by, too. I crack the door open. Everything is dark. Say Yes to the Boss 56 Then a muffled sound echoes in the hallway. It¡¯sing from Victor¡¯s bedroom. I walk closer on bare feet and stop right outside his closed door. On my phone, I dial 911 and keep my finger over the call button. My heart feels like it¡¯s about to burst out of my chest, a thousand possibilities racing through my head. Is there someone in there with him? Is everything all right? I turn the handle and push his door open. Victor¡¯srge bedroom is cast in shadows. The king-sized bed stands in the middle, and only one figure is outlined on it, covered by a single thin sheet around his hips. He hasn¡¯t drawn the drapes and there¡¯s enough light from the city behind to see his pained expression. He turns over, another low, agonized sound escaping his lips. He¡¯s having a nightmare. I¡¯m locked in indecision on the doorstep. The one thing I can rule out is calling 911. But from what I know of Victor, he would not appreciate me seeing him like this, not to mention waking him up. Weakness, I¡¯ve found, is one of the many things he hates. I turn to leave. But then he gives a hoarse scream, this time into his pillow, and it twists my heart. I have to wake him up. I leave my phone on the floor and hurry across the soft carpet. Dressed only in the oversized T-shirt I always wear to bed, I crawl onto his California king. ¡°Victor,¡± I murmur. ¡°Victor, I think you should wake up.¡± He stirs, twisting onto his back. His eyes rove beneath his eyelids. I put a hand on his chest and find it mmy to the touch. ¡°Victor,¡± I say. ¡°No,¡± he mutters, legs moving beneath the sheet. His knee hits my shin with agonizing strength. ¡°No!¡± I grip his shoulders and shake him. ¡°You have to wake up. It¡¯s not real, it¡¯s only a dream.¡± His body stills and I soften my hands, moving them up to his cheek. His hair is damp where it sticks to his sweaty forehead. ¡°Victor, you¡¯re okay.¡± His eyes open and blink. They take a moment to focus before settling on mine. ¡°Cecilia,¡± he says. His voice is hoarse. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me. You¡¯re okay, you know.¡± He looks down at my hands on his chest. I¡¯m about to lift them when he moves, pulling me against his chest. Through the thin fabric of my T-shirt I can feel the pounding of his heart. It mirrors mine. ¡°What are you doing in here?¡± ¡°You were having a nightmare. I¡­ I heard you.¡± ¡°You heard me,¡± he says. ¡°All the way into your bedroom?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I don¡¯t want him to retreat, though, so I turn and kiss his neck. His pulse thunders beneath my lips. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he says. His hand smooths up my back, and finding the hem of my T-shirt, slips inside of it. It¡¯s warm as it strokes up my spine. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°Do you want to talk about it?¡± He kicks off the sheets and shifts my hips against his, to where I learn that Victor St. ir sleeps naked. ¡°No.¡± I lift my head and kiss him. The racing of my heart turns into something else, and trapped against my stomach, he grows long and hard. He doesn¡¯t want to talk about it, all right. His free hand curves up my thigh to the stic of my panties and tugs them down. He turns me onto my back and I arch mine, letting him peel the T-shirt off. A strong hand tugs at my nipple. The raw need he¡¯s exuding has me more than ready, and he discovers the same thing, fingers teasing between my legs. We don¡¯t speak as he fits himself against me and pushes inside. I lock my legs around his hips, arms around his neck, and hold him as he speeds toward release. It doesn¡¯t take long. He copses on top of me with a groan and I close my eyes, gripping him tight in every possible way.Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. His weight feels delicious and even sweaty he smells good, of man and soap and Victor. He kisses the spot right beneath my ear, pressing his lips to my skin for so long that it feels like an apology for the frenzied, hurried sex. Sorry. I run my hand up his muscled back. Forgiven. I don¡¯t return to my own bed that night, instead remaining curled up in his arms, and we both drift off to sleep. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it,¡± she says. ¡°I mean, I know we haven¡¯t signed anything yet, but still. I can¡¯t believe it!¡± ¡°You¡¯d better start.¡± ¡°But I mean-oh, thank you so much, Steven. Have a great evening.¡± My driver tips his head in Cecilia¡¯s direction, a faint smile on his lips. ¡°You too, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Goodnight,¡± I tell him. He nods and closes the car door behind us. I wrap my arm around Cecilia¡¯s waist. She¡¯s wearing heels, and even if they aren¡¯t that high, the leaves on the sidewalk can be treacherous. She leans into my touch. ¡°I know you¡¯d rather it be you, but¡­ I hope you understand why I have to ept Carter¡¯s offer.¡± ¡°I understand,¡± I say, and I mean it. While I¡¯d rather it be me she¡¯sing to for money as well as guidance, she wants to stand on her own legs. Keep what distance she can between us. Herpany willst longer than a year¡­ and our marriage won¡¯t. The happiness in her voice is enchanting. ¡°He said you pitched to him,¡± I say. Unwee jealousy burns in my chest. It has no ce here. It¡¯s me she¡¯s going home to. Hell, it¡¯s my rings she¡¯s wearing on her finger. She nods. ¡°I did, right after dinner. Rather unprofessional, perhaps, at a party.¡± ¡°It was just a quiet dinner at Tristan¡¯s. Business makes sense.¡± ¡°Carter said my start-up sounded exactly like the thing he¡¯s been looking for.¡± I press the button for the elevator, my arm still around her waist. ¡°Carter¡¯s good at what he does.¡± I can hear the obvious reluctance in my voice. ¡°I have a business! I have an investor! Oh, I can¡¯t believe this is happening. I¡¯ll soon have aunch date. Within a few months, I might have clients. Can you believe this?¡± She shakes her head, dark curls flying. Her eyes are lined with elegant sweeps of makeup, but it doesn¡¯t take away from her natural beauty. It just makes her more striking. I tip her head back and kiss smiling lips. She tastes sweet, like white wine and tion. ¡°Sorry,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯ve been bragging.¡± Stupid, endearing humbleness. I grab her hand and lead her into our apartment, straight to the hidden wine cooler in the kitchen. ¡°Bragging,¡± I say, opening the door. Bottles of champagne stare back at me. ¡°Do you remember where you put the saber we got as a wedding gift?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 57 ¡°The one I was brandishing as a weapon when you got home?¡± ¡°The very one.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll get it.¡± A few minutester she meets me back in the kitchen. I have three bottles tucked beneath my arm. They should be cold enough. Her eyes widen. ¡°Wow. Are we having a party?¡± ¡°We¡¯re celebrating you scoring your first investor, and we¡¯re doing it the way I know best.¡± ¡°By drinking a lot of expensive champagne?¡± ¡°By using the saber you¡¯re holding. Come on. Let¡¯s do this on the balcony.¡± ¡°Outside?¡± But she¡¯s smiling, leading the way through the living room. Two champagne sses dangle from her left hand. ¡°I¡¯ve never sabered champagne before.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve done it enough times for the both of us. Come on, I¡¯ll teach you.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I open the door to the balcony and we step out in the fall air. She pulls her jacket tight around herself, the wind ying with curls around her face. The evening air is cold, but I feel warm, watching her looking with open curiosity at me untwisting the screw caps of the champagne bottles. ¡°How do you do it?¡± It¡¯s been too long since I¡¯ve done this. Too long since someone looked at me like that, with openness and ownership. ¡°Peel away the foil like this, exposing the neck¡­ unscrew the cage. Remember to keep your thumb on top of the cork. Now, hand me the saber.¡± She does, apprehension in her eyes. It makes me grin. New York with its glittering high rises as the backdrop and a beautiful woman looking at me. I feel fourteen again, showing off in front of a girl. ¡°Then you run your finger along the neck. See the seam in the ss here? You need to slide the saber along the seam, toward the head, and strike at where the cork is. The spot where the two seams meet is the weakest. Pressure on that point will make the ss crack clean and the cork will fly.¡± ¡°Are you sure this is safe?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. It mostly is, anyway. ¡°I¡¯ve done this hundreds of times.¡± ¡°So that¡¯s why you got it as a wedding gift.¡± I shrug. ¡°Yeah. It was probably from one of the guys I went to boarding school with.¡± ¡°Boarding school? I didn¡¯t know you went to boarding school.¡± ¡°Yes, I was at Andover for a time. It was better for both my grandfather and me. We did this a lot, there. You can even do it with a kitchen knife, or if you¡¯ve an appetite for risk, a credit card.¡± The wind whips at my clothes and lifts her hair from her face. ¡°Ready?¡± Her eyes widen. ¡°You¡¯re going to do it out there?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I angle the bottle at forty-five degrees out toward the dark city beyond. It¡¯s been years. But I slide the saber along the neck once, twice, tighten my grip, and then strike. The ss breaks clean and the cork shoots out into the cold New York air and into the darkened park. ¡°Oh my God!¡± Iugh and pour out an inch of champagne onto the deck. It had been a clean hit, but the practice is ingrained into me. Removes any ss splinters. ¡°Can I try?¡± ¡°Of course. Why do you think I brought several bottles?¡± I hand her the saber with a flourish. ¡°You just got your first investor, Cecilia. Brag as much as you like. This night belongs to you.¡± A smile lights up her face. It reaches deep inside of me, twists. Too much. She sees too much, but I don¡¯t want her to stop looking. It takes several tries, and a bit of coaxing, but then she manages. A single swipe of the saber in her grip and the cork shoots out over the railing. ¡°Oh!¡± ¡°You did it.¡± ¡°Holy shit! That was such a rush!¡± ¡°You picked it up fast.¡± ¡°Liar,¡± she says, grinning. ¡°It took me a dozen tries.¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t do it at all my first month at Andover.¡± ¡°I still can¡¯t believe you did this at boarding school. What kind of ce was that, really? I¡¯m imagining you in a school uniform, harassing teachers.¡± I chuckle. ¡°It was an interesting environment, that¡¯s for sure.¡± ¡°Is that Victor for ¡®I hated it¡¯?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t hate it,¡± I say. ¡°At times, sure. But it was good for me to get away from living with my grandfather for a few years.¡±This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°So you could drink champagne and smoke in the dorms.¡± ¡°Pretty much.¡± I wrap an arm around her shoulders and open the door. ¡°Come on. You¡¯re getting cold.¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m not. I have champagne to warm me.¡± ¡°Then why were you shivering?¡± She stifles a yawn with the back of her hand. ¡°You need to stop winning arguments.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the way I am,¡± I say. ¡°And you, Cecilia, need to stop apologizing for bragging, or for your sess, or for taking what you want.¡± She sets her ss down and wraps her arms around my neck. I smooth my hands along her hips. She hasn¡¯t said a word about the nightmare she¡¯d woken me up from the other night. Nor did shement when I got her from her own bedst night either, pulling her toward my bedroom. Sleeping next to her hadn¡¯t been difficult. It hadn¡¯t felt like a burden¡­ and I hadn¡¯t been waiting for her to fall asleep so I could head downstairs to my office. I¡¯d fallen asleep with the scent of her hair on my shoulder and the weight of her on my arm, and dreamt absolutely nothing. ¡°So,¡± she says. ¡°Are we still going to the house tonight?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 58 ¡°I¡¯m nning to. But if you feel tired, stay home.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°I¡¯ming. It¡¯s my opportunity to learn more about you.¡± I snort. ¡°Right. The Spanish Inquisition. If you ask too many questions I¡¯ll banish you to the first floor.¡± ¡°That¡¯s okay. I¡¯m sure there will be interesting artifacts to uncover. Childhood trophies¡­ your baby pictures.¡± ¡°If you¡¯re looking for anything sentimental, you¡¯ll be disappointed. Bute on, let¡¯s go.¡± She hums along to the song on the radio as I drive us out to the house. The familiar route takes us out of the city and into the suburban paradise.All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. I¡¯ll sort through papers tonight. That¡¯s the goal, anyway, even if I know Cecilia might be a distraction. But she¡¯d said she wanted to do more friendship things, whatever that meant. Not rtionship-things, though. I¡¯d thought that was what she¡¯d been asking for, and had opened my mouth to agree when she¡¯d cut me off with a staunch denial. Which was just as good. Rtionships invariably soured, grew full of expectations and whininess and women saying one thing while meaning something different. I look at Cecilia. She has her legs crossed, fingers ying with the hem of her skirt, as she sings along to the radio. Somehow I doubt she would be like that. She¡¯s always been honest and straight with me. The trouble, because there¡¯s always trouble, might be less this time. Might be something we could work through together. Might even be worth it. An hourter, she sits in my grandfather¡¯s study with me, cross-legged on the floor. A giant binder of photographs is open on herp. I¡¯ve nced at her several times already. It feels raw, exposing, to have her see the albums I never knew he kept. Half of me wants nothing more than to snatch them away. But that would be admitting they mean something. I return to the neatly kept ledgers of expenses on his desk instead. He has dozens of these, records dating back decades. There are things here he expected me to pick up after he died. Things I¡¯ve neglected to. Including the yearly expenses he paid for cemetery upkeep. I look at the receipt until the letters blur. Of course he paid for that. And with him dead, the responsibility falls to me. How had I not realized that before? Are my parents¡¯ graves overgrown now? Devoid of flowers? ¡°Oh,¡± Cecilia says. ¡°You were adorable.¡± I tear my gaze away, focusing on her. She¡¯s wearing a soft smile. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you actually found baby pictures.¡± ¡°This goes in the keep pile.¡± She closes the leather-bound album with a snap and stacks it on top of the others in the corner. I close the ledger I¡¯m reading. Gravesite maintenance. Things I¡¯ve never thought about, not since I moved away from this house. I can¡¯t even remember thest time I was there, and for the first time in years, guilt punches me in the gut. ¡°Hey,¡± she says. ¡°Are you okay?¡± ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°It must be hard, being here. Surrounded by all his stuff.¡± I brace my hand against the desk. His desk. Suddenly, my hands look foreign to me. A grown man¡¯s hands on a desk I remember so vividly from childhood. I¡¯d been sent here to do my homework on asion. He¡¯d sit in the armchair and watch with a book in his hand. I¡¯d considered it punishment, then. Now I wonder if it wasn¡¯t his attempt at getting us to spend time together. ¡°He sat here so often, even after he retired. Work was such a big part of who he was.¡± Her eyes soften. ¡°Part of his self-image.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. I stroke the leather iy with a single finger. ¡°He loved trivia and quizzes. It was the only game we yed, him and I. There should be an old Trivial Pursuit box around here somewhere.¡± ¡°Trivia, huh?¡± ¡°Yeah. The questions got outdated eventually, and we¡¯d end up in arguments about whether or not to ept the answer on the card or the actual truth. You know, Moscow is the capital of the Soviet Union. That sort of thing.¡± ¡°Did it get heated?¡± ¡°Yes. Stupidly so. We were both pretty stubborn.¡± She smiles. ¡°You, stubborn?¡± ¡°Hard to believe, is it?¡± ¡°Iprehensible.¡± I look at the neat rows of books surrounding us, gaze wandering. ¡°On the anniversary of my parents¡¯ and brother¡¯s death, he¡¯d order pizza. We never had takeout pizza otherwise. I think he assumed greasy pizza was the best way to take a nine-year-old boy¡¯s mind off of their deaths.¡± ¡°What kind of pizza did you get?¡± ¡°Always pepperoni for him, and I chose something different every time. We¡¯d eat it in the backyard.¡± I reach for his letter opener and look down at the engraved handle. R. St. ir. ¡°He always made sure he was home that week. No business trips or meetings.¡± Even thest few years, we¡¯d had dinner together on that day. We¡¯d skipped the pizza. Our conversations hadn¡¯t been lively or deep. They¡¯d been what they always had been. Businesslike and demanding and, running like a current beneath the surface, our shared loss. ¡°That was thoughtful of him,¡± she says. ¡°Do you miss him?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve asked me that before.¡± ¡°I know. But sometimes questions have different answers.¡± I brace my hands against the desk, the gold of my wedding band hard against the oak. A grown man¡¯s hands indeed, like my father¡¯s. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°He was thest piece, you know? Connecting me back to my family. Thest source of information about my mother and father.¡± ¡°He was your father¡¯s father?¡± She rises from the floor in a smooth movement. Dark curls fall down her back, tickling the edge of her tank top. She walks to the wall and the framed picture that hangs there. She plucks it off the wall, and my heart feels like it¡¯s standing still in my chest. ¡°These are your parents?¡± She turns toward me, frame gripped tightly. There¡¯s a smile on her lips. ¡°You look like your dad a bit, but you have your mother¡¯s smile. Not that you use it often enough.¡± I swallow. ¡°Right.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 59 ¡°You look simr to your big brother too. I¡¯ve always loved that about siblings. The same features but tossed together in a different order. How much older was Phillip?¡± ¡°Three years.¡± ¡°Did you look up to him?¡± A memory breaks through, and I chuckle. ¡°Yes. I followed him around everywhere when I was a kid. Every single interest he had, I picked up a weekter, without fail.¡± Cecilia smiles down at the picture, and then back up at me. ¡°I have a feeling you were even more stubborn as a kid.¡±All content is ? N0velDrama.Org. ¡°I¡¯ve been told I was, yes.¡± She walks around the desk, picture frame still in her grip. ¡°Are they part of your nightmares? The time you lost them?¡± I can¡¯t get air into my lungs. They work, uselessly, against the tide of shame that rises up inside me. It had been too much to hope that she¡¯d never bring them up. In all the years I lived in this house, my grandfather had mentioned my nightmares exactly once, and then only to tell me to keep it down. They got rarer and rarer with the years, but fatigue or stress brought them out in full force. Or, it seemed, lusting painfully after Cecilia. She puts the frame down on the desk and steps behind my chair, handsnding on my shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she says. ¡°We can pretend I never asked.¡± Her palms against my chest restarts my breathing. I look down at the frame, at the familiar image of all of us happy and blissfully unaware. ¡°Yes, they¡¯re what I dream about.¡± Her hand traces the scar through my shirt. It doesn¡¯t surprise me that she¡¯s put it together. What surprises me are my own words, slow and pained. ¡°It was a car ident. A drunk driver. We were driving home from dinner in this very house, actually.¡± I grip her wrist and tug her around, pushing back from the desk. She settles onto myp with a sigh. I fit my hands to her hips, pressing her tight against my chest. Something to hold on to. ¡°Dad and Phillip died right away. They were on the left side of the car, where the other car hit.¡± She tightens her grip on my shoulders, and I see them in front of me, my brother and my father. Stuck next to me in the crushed car, not breathing, not¡­ I clear my throat. ¡°A piece of metal went straight into my chest. Not deep, but wide. The rescue team had to cut me out of the car.¡± ¡°Oh, Victor.¡± I say the next part because it belongs to the story, because it¡¯s important, because it¡¯s her memory. But I hate every single word. ¡°Mom spoke to me in the car, when it was just the two of us and the silence, before the sirens came. Told me to hold on. We both made it to the hospital in ambnces, but I was the only one who left. Turns out a giant piece of metal in your chest isn¡¯t as bad as a head injury and internal bleeding.¡± The memories of those long, painful days in the hospital are ones I¡¯ve never managed to suppress. Lying in a hospital bed, body half-broken, and being told that Mom had gone. I hadn¡¯t even seen her. They¡¯d wheeled her into surgery, and then she was no more, and I was given Jell-O and pitying nces and the crushing sense of being absolutely andpletely alone in the world. Never again would I feel that powerless. Grandpa saw that desire in me, helped me mold myself into someone who took control. Someone who wasn¡¯t at the mercy of fate. Cecilia leans back in my hands, shimmering green eyes meeting mine. Her voice is shaky. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Victor.¡± I close my eyes. I don¡¯t want to see her pity, I don¡¯t want to hear it. Women I¡¯ve dated in the past have always looked at the scar like that. At first, it seems to make them want me more, for some reason I¡¯ve never understood. But then they want an exnation, and the exnation leads to pity. And I¡¯ve already had so much fucking pity. My entire life was full of it back then, in the months and years after. Every single time someone at school asked an innocent question about my parents and I had to say the words. They¡¯re dead. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°Don¡¯t feel sorry for me. I don¡¯t want it.¡± With the uncanny way of knowing she has, she shakes her head. ¡°It¡¯s not pity. It¡¯spassion.¡± My thumb moves in a sweep over her hip, and I can¡¯t think of a single thing to say. She doesn¡¯t say anything either, just kisses me, and that¡¯s good. That I know how to do. I lift my head a whileter. My throat and chest both feel ufortably tight, and it¡¯s not from her glorious weight on myp. I reach for her left hand and hold it between our chests, running my thumb over her wedding rings. ¡°Oh,¡± she murmurs. ¡°I forgot to give them back to you earlier.¡± I separate her engagement ring from her wedding ring, pressing my thumb down on the emerald-encircled diamond. ¡°This was my mother¡¯s engagement ring.¡± ¡°It was?¡± Her voice is quiet. ¡°Thank you for letting me wear it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s been in a safe for over twenty years,¡± I say, eyes on the rock. ¡°And it¡¯s just a ring.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not just a ring.¡± She starts to worry it off her finger, sliding first the engagement ring off and then the wedding band. Her ring finger looks bare without them. She puts them in my palm, warm from her skin. I look at them for a long time, but then I slide them back on her finger. ¡°I¡¯d rather they be with you than in my safe.¡± ¡°You want me to wear them?¡± she asks. ¡°All the time?¡± I keep my eyes on the rings. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind.¡± Her hand closes, rings on. ¡°I don¡¯t mind.¡± ¡°So this is a code red situation,¡± Nadine says. ¡°It¡¯s code ck. Code¡­ midnight. Whatever¡¯s worse than red.¡± ¡°You¡¯re definitely overreacting.¡± ¡°Am I really, though? I talk to her on the phone every single week and I haven¡¯t mentioned this. She¡¯s not going to be happy.¡± Nadine cocks her head. She¡¯s done her hair in braids and they¡¯re a waterfall down her shoulder. She looksfortable in Victor¡¯s living room, curled up in one of the armchairs. ¡°Your mother never reacts the way you¡¯d expect. I bet she¡¯s going to congratte you and ask when the grandchild is due.¡± ¡°She is the living embodiment of ¡®screw the establishment.¡¯ She never got married herself.¡± ¡°She did marry Jeff.¡± ¡°Not legally. The ceremony was ancient Mayan.¡± Nadine grins. ¡°I remember. Your job was to invoke the fire element.¡± I¡¯d identally dropped the match and it had lit the hem of my mother¡¯s dress on fire. She¡¯dughed and Jeff had stomped it out, and their friend Harry, fulfilling the role of shaman, said it signified a fiery union toe. And it had been, all two long years of it. ¡°You did an excellent job on wind,¡± I say. Say Yes to the Boss 60 Nadine grins. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°She¡¯sing on Friday. Usually she stays with me, but this year she¡¯s staying with her friend Gwen. Thank God for that. I think she¡¯d have a heart attack if she came into this apartment.¡± Nadine looks around, a smile on her lips. ¡°It is rather¡­ austere.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tell her over dinner. It¡¯s the only way.¡± ¡°Will you introduce her to St. ir?¡± I twist the rings on my left hand. ¡°I want to. But I don¡¯t know if it¡¯ll spook him. My mom is nothing like the kind of people he¡¯s used to. I mean, our childhoods couldn¡¯t have been more different.¡± Nadine shrugs. ¡°It could be a test. If he cares about you, he¡¯ll do it without hesitation.¡± ¡°That might apply to normal men. I¡¯m not sure if it applies to him.¡± She tuts. ¡°He¡¯s a normal man, Cece. I don¡¯t want to hear you giving him special allowances just because he¡¯s rich and powerful.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not doing that.¡± ¡°Good.¡± She looks like she has more to say, but the sound of the front door opening stops both of us. Bonnie¡¯s in the kitchen preparing. Steven neveres into the apartment unannounced. Which means Victor¡¯s home early. Nadine smiles. ¡°This should be interesting.¡± Victor stops in the living room, gaze moving between the two of us. ¡°Hello.¡± ¡°Wee home,¡± I say. My cheeks feel warm and I don¡¯t know what to do with my hands. His eyes glitter, meeting mine. Seeing all of it and more. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you wereing over, Nadine,¡± he says. ¡°Would you like to stay and have dinner with us?¡± She nces at me before responding. ¡°I¡¯d love to, but I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t. I¡¯m going to a new exhibition opening in Noho.¡± ¡°The Tavaso Gallery?¡± he asks, shrugging out of his suit jacket. ¡°Yes. Do you know it?¡± He nods. ¡°They called about investing, a year or so back. I passed at the time, but I might reconsider. The ce looks good.¡± ¡°It does. They¡¯re opening an exhibition on the theme of Ruins tonight. The lineup is impressive.¡± ¡°Well, the next time we see each other, you¡¯ll have to let me know what you thought,¡± he says. ¡°Sure, happy to.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°One of the paintings Victor bought from you hangs in the lobby of Exciteur now. It has arge sign next to it with your name.¡± Nadine¡¯s voice turns high. ¡°It does?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. Victor had taken a picture of it one day and sent it to me. Noment along with it, no exnation. Fulfilling his side of the bargain, and yet¡­ it had made butterflies explode inside. ¡°Wow,¡± she says. ¡°Thank you, Victor.¡± He nods, working on the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up inch by inch. ¡°Temperance is a good fit. Come by and see it some day.¡± ¡°I will.¡± Nadine looks at the both of us, a stunned expression on her face. ¡°I¡¯m not sure when I¡¯ll get used to the idea of my paintings actually being out there in the world. I¡¯m not sure if I ever will. It still feels surreal.¡± ¡°You will,¡± I say. ¡°Because it won¡¯t stop happening.¡± Victor hums in agreement. ¡°Own it. You worked to get to this point, and if people didn¡¯t want your art, they wouldn¡¯t buy it.¡± We say goodbye to Nadine and she shoots me a mouthed oh my god! in the hallway. I grin and mouth good luck! back. She¡¯s going to the Tavaso with Jake for their second date. Victor is talking to Bonnie in the kitchen when I return. He¡¯s seated at the table, long legs stretched out in front of him, uncorking a bottle. ¡°Wine?¡± ¡°Yes, please. Although we can¡¯t have it every night. We¡¯re bing alcoholics.¡±N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. He waves arge hand, his wedding band catching the light. Wearing it every day, the twin to mine. ¡°We rarely have more than one ss each.¡± I sit down opposite him. ¡°You¡¯re persuasive.¡± ¡°I know,¡± he says, lips quirking. ¡°Hi.¡± ¡°Hi,¡± I say. ¡°We already said hello.¡± ¡°Yes, but you had guests.¡± ¡°Well. Hello, then.¡± He nces at Bonnie. What would he do if she wasn¡¯t here? Pull me across the table and kiss me hello? Lines are blurring, and yet I couldn¡¯t be happier. Bonnie serves us salmon, broli and wild rice, a dinner that¡¯s so healthy it¡¯s practically fighting our cholesterol with every bite. It¡¯s also delicious, with a sour cream sauce and rye bread. We¡¯re halfway through dinner before I ask the question. ¡°I have somethinging up this weekend that I need your advice on.¡± ¡°Not Carter¡¯s investment, right? It¡¯s too soon.¡± ¡°No, not that. This is family rted. My mother ising to town.¡± ¡°Ah. Yes, you mentioned that a while back. Have you told her?¡± ¡°Not about our marriage, no. Not that I quit my job either. I¡¯ve been¡­ avoiding it.¡± He puts his fork down, eyes focused on mine. ¡°Do you want to share it with her?¡± ¡°Yes. We¡¯ve always shared everything. I know her reaction might be negative, but I couldn¡¯t live with myself if I kept this lie of omission up for an entire year.¡± ¡°Then you should tell her,¡± he says. ¡°Do you want me to be there?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 61 ¡°You would meet her?¡± ¡°If you want me to, yes.¡± ¡°If I want you to,¡± I murmur. ¡°Well, how about we have dinner together on Saturday night? That gives me Friday to¡­ exin things to her.¡± ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll clear my schedule.¡± ¡°Oh. Are you busy that night?¡± He shakes his head. ¡°A function I¡¯ve been trying to get out of.¡± ¡°Thank you. I know you don¡¯t really do things like this.¡± Victor raises an eyebrow. ¡°Meet people¡¯s mothers?¡± ¡°Well, yes. It wasn¡¯t part of our contract.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve done a lot of things that weren¡¯t a part of the contract.¡± My cheeks heat up, but I don¡¯t look away from his gaze. On my left hand, my rings feel warm. ¡°I don¡¯t think either of us could have anticipated this.¡± ¡°No,¡± he says. ¡°I certainly didn¡¯t. I didn¡¯t know I was attracted to you when I suggested marriage.¡± ¡°Ouch.¡± He chuckles, light dancing in his eyes. ¡°I was blind back then. But trust me, that¡¯s a good thing. I wouldn¡¯t have made the suggestion if I had been.¡± ¡°Because itplicates things.¡± ¡°Because it might, yes.¡± We look at each other for a long moment. Questions rise in my throat, but I swallow them down. Not yet. Not now. Victor cuts into his salmon. ¡°How do you think she¡¯ll react?¡± ¡°Impossible to predict. I know she¡¯ll be mad I didn¡¯t tell her about it sooner. We¡¯ve been married four months now.¡± ¡°Four months next Tuesday,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ll y along with whatever scenario you want, Cecilia. Just let me know.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°I think I¡¯ll go with the truth.¡± ¡°Noted,¡± he says, jaw working. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine your hippie mom will like that very much. Nor me, for having coerced you into this arrangement.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t coerce me. If I remember correctly, I negotiated pretty fiercely for myself.¡± A smile ghosts past his lips. ¡°You did. So well, actually, that I had an oh shit moment afterwards.¡± ¡°You were hot when you negotiated,¡± he says. ¡°I stopped being blind.¡± ¡°Oh, really? That¡¯s good to know.¡± ¡°Are you going to argue with me at every turn now?¡± I grin. ¡°I just might, if you enjoy it.¡± His lips tug, but only briefly, features returning to seriousness. I¡¯ve seen him focused and intense many times before. Negotiating business deals, dealing withwyers, facing opponents across a table, on stage at conferences. But being the subject of it takes my breath away. ¡°You¡¯ll tell her the truth, then. That means I¡¯ll have some things to answer for on Saturday.¡± I shake my head. ¡°I¡¯ll tell her to go easy on you.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t. I can take it.¡± Yes, I think. But you shouldn¡¯t have to. Meeting family was nowhere in the job description, but we¡¯re in new territory here. ¡°Thank you. For agreeing.¡± He nods, returning to the food. His hair isn¡¯t mussed today. It had been a day free from frustrations. ¡°You have to let me know if I can return the favor,¡± I say. ¡°Any distant rtives you need to exin your sudden nuptials to?¡± ¡°Only the ones who would have benefitted from us not getting married.¡± ¡°Oh. I didn¡¯t think about that. Are they upset?¡± He shrugs. ¡°I haven¡¯t spoken to them since the will was read.¡± ¡°Real close, huh?¡± ¡°Not at all.¡± ¡°I¡¯m guessing they didn¡¯t send any wedding gifts.¡± He gives a half-grin. ¡°You¡¯d know better than me. You were the one who sent out all the thank-you notes, after all.¡±This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Right. Did you see that the champagne saber was engraved with our wedding date? Some people really put thought into it.¡± ¡°Or their assistants did,¡± he says. ¡°You sent a lot of gifts on my behalf.¡± ¡°Oh, I sure did. I don¡¯t think you realized it, but white lilies with pink peonies was the standard bouquet you sent to the women you dated. Very thoughtful of you.¡± He looks down at his food. ¡°Right. Was that based on your preferences?¡± ¡°Yes. I never told you, but I sent it to myself once, on my birthday. You paid.¡± His eyes widen, and then heughs. It warms the kitchen and sets his eyes alight. ¡°Fuck, Myers. I can¡¯t say I disapprove. You earned them.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 62 ¡°Yes, I rather think I did.¡± ¡°Have you figured out who gave us the ss dick, by the way?¡± I chuckle. ¡°The one you deliberately broke?¡± ¡°Wasn¡¯t deliberate. If you remember, I was very focused on something else at the time.¡± ¡°Oh, I remember,¡± I say. ¡°Carter gave it to us.¡± Victor snorts. ¡°Of course. The asshole. He knew exactly what he was doing.¡± ¡°Think it was a sign?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He pushes back from the table and takes my empty te with him to the sink. It¡¯s as rare a disy of domesticity as theughter he¡¯d let out earlier. ¡°That he thinks I¡¯m a dick.¡± ¡°Is that your role in your foursome?¡± ¡°Our foursome,¡± he mutters. He returns to the table and leans over me, mouth hovering inches from mine. ¡°Yes. With my business partners, I¡¯m generally the one with the most practical business sense.¡± ¡°You mean you¡¯re the most ruthless.¡± ¡°The world is like that,¡± he says. ¡°The strong and the weak. The takers and the taken. My grandfather made that very clear. I¡¯ve always known which category I want to fall into.¡± ¡°I think you¡¯re seeding.¡± He kisses me, long and searching. ¡°We can¡¯t have a foursome,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Will a twosome work?¡± ¡°What did you have in mind?¡± ¡°A bath.¡± ¡°For both of us?¡± ¡°Yes. The tub in my bathroom is huge, but I¡¯ve never used it. I imagine we could put it to interesting use.¡± Over his shoulder, my eyes clock Bonnie. She enters the kitchen, but seeing us, she turns on her heel. Giving us privacy. I slide my hands up his neck. ¡°You¡¯re sure your office isn¡¯t more attractive?¡± ¡°Compared to you? Absolutely not.¡± His tub is big enough for two, even if we¡¯re a snug fit with his tall frame. I lean against his chest in the water and close my eyes at the rising pleasure. His fingers have be expert, teasing between my legs, one hand on my soapy breast. His hard length is trapped between our bodies, digging deliciously into my back. He puts his mouth by my ear. ¡°Good idea?¡± I give a shakyugh, but it cuts off as he slips a finger inside. ¡°Yes. Very.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not too sore from yesterday?¡± ¡°A bit. The warm water is helping. Was that your n?¡± I turn around to catch his eyes. They¡¯re fixed on my breasts, rising above the water¡¯s surface. The sex we¡¯d hadst night had been rough and hard and I¡¯d loved every single moment of it. It had also left my inner thighs sore this morning. ¡°It urred to me, yes.¡± He adds another finger and my body stretches to fit him, aching in the sweetest of ways. ¡°Think you can take me in the water?¡± I lean my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. His thumb has started to circle my clit and it¡¯s hard to think around the rising tide of pleasure. ¡°Yes,¡± I whisper. His chuckle is dark in my ear, but he makes me orgasm first, taking his time to warm me up. And when we shift in the bath, and he pushes inside of me, we both groan at the sensation. It¡¯s soft and quiet, a stark contrast tost night. Afterwards, we¡¯re silent and slow. Each movement feels heavy and I don¡¯t want to speak, don¡¯t want to break the magic. We lie on our usual sides of his king-size bed. The room is cast in shadows, but they¡¯re soft,forting ones. I close my eyes at the sated tiredness in my body. He¡¯ll be the death of me, this man. I can¡¯t wait to see where it leads. ¡°Cecilia,¡± he says. I turn on my side to face him. His profile is clear against the faint light of the city, the high forehead and the straight nose. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t had someone like you in my life for a very long time,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m not always going to know how to handle it.¡± In my chest, my heart does a double take. ¡°I¡¯m aware.¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to fuck up, Myers. Probably a lot.¡± ¡°I know that, too.¡± The words hang in the air. Be patient with me. I reach out and find his arm, curling my hand around it. A wrong word from me could shatter this olive branch, the weakness, the honesty. So I give him an out. ¡°When you do, I¡¯ll order myself flowers from you again.¡± He chuckles. ¡°Good. n for that.¡± I fold myself against his side. After a moment, he turns, and a heavy arm wraps itself around my waist. I bury my face against his chest, the tickle of his chest hair, and breathe in his scent. He might be the mostplicated, infuriating man I¡¯ve ever known. He¡¯s also the most hard-working,yered, dedicated one. We might not be a real married couple, but I¡¯m hopelessly in love with my husband. I¡¯m sitting at my desk on Saturday when the phone rings. Thank God, I think. I¡¯m looking into grave upkeep for my parents, brother and grandfather, not trusting Brad with it, and a distraction is wee. Especially this one, I think, seeing the name on my screen. ¡°Hello, Mrs. St. ir.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± she says. Taken aback by the name? It¡¯s hers, after all. ¡°Hello, Mr. St. ir.¡±Ccontent ? exclusive by N?/vel(D)ra/ma.Org. ¡°How did the day go?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 63 ¡°Good. She¡¯s in the restroom now.¡± ¡°How did she handle the big reveal?¡± ¡°You know what? Much better than I thought.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I say. ¡°If she¡¯s all that you¡¯ve described her as, she¡¯s the queen of original ideas.¡± ¡°Oh, I reminded her of that. You¡¯reing to dinner, right?¡± ¡°Of course I am. I made the reservation.¡± ¡°Thank you so much, Victor. Would you mind printing my business n from myputer and bringing it along? Mom wants to see it. I think it¡¯ll help, you know. With exining exactly why I decided to enter the archaic institution of matrimony.¡± ¡°Her words?¡± I head toward the stairs. ¡°Password on yourputer?¡± ¡°Promise me you won¡¯tugh.¡± ¡°I promise.¡± ¡°Chocte.¡± I don¡¯tugh. I¡¯m grinning, though. ¡°Of course it is.¡± ¡°It¡¯s on my desktop. See you soon, then,¡± she says. ¡°Mr. St. ir.¡± ¡°Looking forward to it, Mrs. St. ir.¡± The line clicks off, but my grin doesn¡¯t fade. A fool, that¡¯s what she¡¯s turning me into. Not a single part of my orderly, contained world is the same with her in it. But I don¡¯t miss it. Her bedroom is filled with her, despite the furniture being the same as mine. Clothes draped over a bed she no longer sleeps in. A desk with neat papers and a closedptop. I open it up. Her screensaver is a beach on some faraway tropical ind. It makes me think of our joke about honeymooning in Barbados. Did it have a kernel of truth in it? I can take a week off work if it means seeing Cecilia in bikinis,ughing on the beach, teasing me in a pool. I type ¡°chocte¡± and the tropical ind dissolves into her desktop. It¡¯s filled with neat folders, organized and color-coordinated. Best assistant I¡¯d ever had. Should have appreciated her more when I had her. Even if I prefer the way I have her now. My eyes flick from folder and file to the next one. They stop on top of a widget on the desktop. It¡¯s a timer. A stopwatch, to be exact. It¡¯s set for months, weeks and days. Seven months, twenty-two days, fifteen minutes, fifty-six seconds. Above it in tiny letters are seven words. Until I get rid of St. ir! I watch the timer for a long time. The seconds add up. Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine. Another minute shaved off her sentence. She¡¯s counting the days until our marriage ends. When I finally print her business n and staple it, I don¡¯t have the mind to appreciate the neat front page. All I can see is the timer. She¡¯d pitched her business to Carter, because she wanted his investment, not mine. She¡¯smitted to not making our marriage messier, because she¡¯s always nned on ending it. Following our contract. Like I was, once. Like I should always be. Business and pleasure don¡¯t mix. How many times had I heard that? How many times had my grandfather told me that? Never hire your friends. Never work with your family. He hadn¡¯t mentioned girlfriends, probably because he never assumed I¡¯d be that stupid. Well. Watch me now, Richard. You shouldn¡¯t have died. I dress for dinner. Dinner with Cecilia¡¯s mother, which was something she¡¯d asked me to do. Introducing me to her mother feels off now. Not as a step forward, but as damage control. Shame is like a beat beneath my breastbone, hiding a more painful emotion. I¡¯d been so poor of a boss to her that she, still, couldn¡¯t think of me as anything more serious than a business partner or a ymate in bed. Steven doesn¡¯t say hello when I get in the car. Perhaps he¡¯s learned to tell my moods by now. Or perhaps he doesn¡¯t dare because I¡¯m that fucking intolerable as a boss. I tug at the sleeves of my shirt. Fucking dinner with my fucking wife who can¡¯t wait to fucking get rid of me. Everybody leaves. Everybody has always left. Why would she be any different? Traffic makes mete, and the ckness of my mood turns sulfur. It¡¯s oil beneath my skin. Tar-ck and sticky. I need to shake it off or I won¡¯t be able to y my part. ¡°St. ir,¡± I tell the hostess at the restaurant. ¡°My wife should already be here.¡± She shines up. ¡°Oh, yes. We gave you a great table in the back. Follow me.¡± I walk through the crowded Upper East Side restaurant. I shouldn¡¯t have booked something like this. The white tablecloths and candles scream pretentious, money, expectations. Everything her mother is not. Another strike for me. They¡¯re seated at a round table in the back of the restaurant. Marguerite Myers looks like her daughter, only two decades older. They¡¯re the spitting image of one another. One polished and dark-haired, the other wild and with hair streaked with gray at the temples, but both sharing the same wide smile. The expression on her face makes me guess she¡¯s not holding a grudge about our marriage. No wonder. Cecilia has probably told her she¡¯s going to be rid of me soon enough. Only seven months and twenty-two days left. Cecilia sees me and a private smile lights up her face. It¡¯s not fair of her. ¡°You made it!¡±Ccontent ? exclusive by N?/vel(D)ra/ma.Org. ¡°Traffic made mete.¡± I press a kiss to her cheek. It¡¯s hot and flushed beneath my lips. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Not a problem at all. Victor, this is my mother, Marguerite. Mom, meet Victor.¡± She stands. The table had made her look taller, but now I¡¯m looking down at a woman a head and a half shorter than me. Green eyes run me over before she extends her hand. ¡°He¡¯s tall,¡± she says. I shake her hand. ¡°Nice to meet you.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 64 She flips my hand over and grips it in both of hers, studying my palm for a few seconds. ¡°Good grip.¡± ¡°Mom.¡± She releases my hand and sits back down. ¡°Good hands are important, Cece.¡± ¡°I know they are.¡±Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. Well, I didn¡¯t. Marguerite locks her eyes on mine. She¡¯s going to be the one in control of this conversation, I think. Not me and not Cecilia. ¡°I wanted to meet the man my daughter married as part of a business transaction,¡± she says. I nod. ¡°I¡¯m sure I would have wanted the same.¡± Her eyes narrow. ¡°You¡¯re also the one my daughter spent a year working for, on evenings and weekends. Fetching your dry-cleaning and ordering your lunches.¡± Cecilia¡¯s voice is fierce. ¡°Mom, that¡¯s not all I did. You know I learned a lot from my years at Exciteur. I attended conferences, I traveled.¡± ¡°I know. But I also know that the man right here made your life very difficult for a long time. It¡¯s a good thing that he learns that.¡± ¡°He knows,¡± Cecilia says. She sounds embarrassed. My hands are white-knuckled in myp. ¡°I¡¯m aware, Miss Myers. Cecilia did excellent work for me and I didn¡¯t appreciate her enough. I like to think she gained valuable experience, though, and learned things to apply to her own business. But that¡¯s only a hope. I¡¯ve apologized to her for the times I stepped out of line.¡± ¡°I did learn a lot,¡± Cecilia says. ¡°You¡¯re talking like he took advantage of me with this marriage. Like I said, it¡¯s a mutually beneficial agreement. It has a start and end date. We signed a contract, Mom.¡± ¡°Contract,¡± her mother says. The word is infused with dislike. ¡°Contracts can be broken.¡± I brace my hands against the table. The stakes are high, and beneath my feet, I can feel the thin tightrope I¡¯m treading. ¡°Not by me, they won¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°The contract Cecilia and I signed was checked by three separatewyers. It protects her as much as it does me.¡± Marguerite waves a hand like that was never the real issue. ¡°Why my daughter? Why did you offer this deal to her?¡± We haven¡¯t ordered food yet. I nce toward the waiter, but he¡¯s nowhere to be seen. Get me a drink. Please. ¡°Mom, he doesn¡¯t have to justify himself,¡± Cecilia says. ¡°He has been nothing but professional through this entire process.¡± ¡°And that was why you didn¡¯t tell me for months? Cece, you have so much light inside you. I don¡¯t want you to waste it with someone who can¡¯t appreciate it.¡± Cecilia¡¯s cheeks are on fire, but her eyebrows are drawn in the same determination mirrored on her mother¡¯s face. One has diamond studs in her ears and the other has feathers dangling, but they¡¯re the same, these two. Different sides to the same coin. It¡¯s a marvelous thing to watch. ¡°I¡¯m not wasting myself. Victor and I aren¡¯t-it¡¯s not like that. I¡¯m also an adult, capable of making my own decisions.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°To tell you the truth, I offered the deal to Cecilia because she was the best person for it. I knew her as someone loyal,petent, intelligent and looking for a new job. In the months since, she¡¯s proven me right a hundred times over. She¡¯s all that and more.¡± Marguerite¡¯s gaze meets mine. I don¡¯t look away. Let her see how true every single one of those words were. ¡°Well,¡± Marguerite says. ¡°You know, honey, that it¡¯s not the transaction itself I¡¯m disapproving of. Marriage is an archaic institution. If you two have managed to reinvent the wheel and both gain from it, more power to you. I just don¡¯t want to see you being exploited by this young man here.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Cecilia says. Her voice is firm. ¡°Please trust me when I say I¡¯m not.¡± I focus on Marguerite. ¡°I understand your concern, and I¡¯m sure I would feel the same in your position. Ask whatever you¡¯d like tonight. I¡¯ll answer.¡± It¡¯s risky as hell, giving someone that power. But Cecilia had asked me to do this. So do this I will. Cecilia looks at me with warm eyes. Like she¡¯s d I¡¯m here. Like she hears more than just the words I¡¯m saying. I look down at the menu. We order eventually. Marguerite and Cecilia decide to share dishes, something it seems they do often at restaurants. They chatter about options, and in my mind, all I can see is the timer. Until I get rid of St. ir. Halfway through the meal, Marguerite clears her throat. ¡°You clearly have an arrangement that works. I felt myself slipping into the territory of judgement earlier, and those are not the fields I like to wander.¡± ¡°Mom,¡± Cecilia murmurs. ¡°It¡¯s a metaphor. Look, Victor, St. ir, whatever you like to go by. If what you and my daughter have told me is true, then I¡¯m happy for you. You¡¯re both gaining from the experience. Perhaps gaining understanding and sympathy for the other, as well? But I¡¯m getting ahead of myself.¡± ¡°Thank you, Miss Myers,¡± I say. ¡°Call me Marguerite. Miss Myers is my daughter. Or I guess she¡¯s Mrs. St. ir now?¡± Cecilia shakes her head. ¡°I didn¡¯t change my name.¡± No, she never had. Her name wasn¡¯t really Mrs. St. ir, as much as I might tease her about it. Why would she change it legally, when we only have seven months and twenty-two days left. ¡°I¡¯ll just tell the two of you one more thing. You should get out of the city for a bit. Both of you. You¡¯re too pale, Victor.¡± She shakes her head again, reaching for her ss of red. ¡°Working all the time isn¡¯t bnced.¡± ¡°We have to work,¡± Cecilia says. ¡°No one has to. It¡¯s a decision.¡± She shrugs, looking between the two of us with glittering eyes. ¡°Maybe this little fake marriage of yours will even be real by the end?¡± Cecilia gives a painedugh and shoots me a look out of the corner of her eye. I look out at the other guests and pretend not to see. If she wants me tough with her at the preposterousness of the idea, I can¡¯t. Not anymore. We¡¯re quiet in the car on the way home. Cecilia has the air of someone about to speak, but whatever she¡¯s working up to doesn¡¯t emerge. It isn¡¯t until we¡¯re back home that it does. Her voice is soft. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that. I know it wasn¡¯t easy for you.¡± ¡°It was fine.¡± ¡°No, she¡­ she implied a lot of things, and assumed others.¡± ¡°She¡¯s protective. I¡¯m d your mother is like that.¡± Cecilia nods, eyes searching mine. ¡°Okay. Thanks for dinner, and thank you for doing that. I know you had other ns tonight.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 65 I shake my head. ¡°A function. Like I said, I didn¡¯t want to go to it anyway.¡± ¡°No, instead you got to y twenty questions.¡± She smiles, looking at me. Waiting for me to reciprocate. ¡°Yeah. Survived it, though. It¡¯ste. I should go to bed.¡± ¡°Oh, yes. Me too. It¡¯s been a long weekend, and tomorrow I¡¯m going with Mom to her friend¡¯s pottery ss.¡± ¡°Right. Well, I¡¯ll see you for dinner tomorrow, then.¡± She braces her hands against the kitchen counter, and for a moment, the expression on her face is lost. ¡°Yes, of course. Goodnight.¡± I take the stairs in two and close the door to my bedroom. My breathinges heavy. My bedroom feels empty and alien without her in it. I want her here, but not if she¡¯s waiting to get rid of me. Not until I know she¡¯s really forgiven me for how I behaved during our year together at work. Her mother¡¯s words ring in my ear. The assumption that I¡¯ve exploited and used her. Cecilia¡¯s own confession that I¡¯d made her cry at work. This is why I don¡¯t get involved. This is why I¡¯ve always kept up boundaries. Because someone ends up getting hurt if you don¡¯t. I¡¯d just never thought that person would be me. Victor hasn¡¯t been himself for the past week. Hees backte from the office, sometimes way past dinner, and goes straight to hisputer. We don¡¯t sleep in the same bed anymore, despite me trying to twice. I¡¯d wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him desperately, passionately. He¡¯d kissed me back for a long moment and then lowered my arms from around his neck. He¡¯d run a thumb over my lower lip, eyes on the movement rather than meeting mine. ¡°We¡¯ll talk more this weekend.¡±This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°This weekend?¡± ¡°Yes. Will you let me take you out to dinner?¡± ¡°On a date?¡± ¡°I¡¯d like that, yes.¡± ¡°Good,¡± he¡¯d said, and we¡¯d said good night right there, in the long impersonal hallway between our two bedrooms. It had been the only time this week where we¡¯d had an actual conversation. In some ways, he¡¯s every bit the Victor I once knew. The one who came home and went straight to his office, who hated unnecessary small talk, who avoided emotional intimacy. And I can only think of one reason why that¡¯s happened. It had started when we came home from dinner with my mother. The distance. I¡¯d been reying some of Mom¡¯s words in my head in the days since, especially her thoughtless suggestion that this might be more than a fake marriage. Victor had looked away from me when she said that, obviously pained by the suggestion. Pained because he couldn¡¯t fathom it, or pained because he suspected it was what I now wanted? I know he¡¯s easy to spook, and still, I¡¯d insisted on that damn dinner. I¡¯d hoped it would settle my mom¡¯s nerves and in some naive, foolish way, I wanted them to meet. Two of the people who meant the most to me. The only one missing was Nadine, but we hadn¡¯t needed any more fuel to that fire. It had managed to scorch us all on its own. My phone rings and I put my headphones in before I answer. ¡°Hi, Mom. Did you make it home okay?¡± ¡°Sure did! Had a lovely flight, too. The clouds were gorgeous. Aiyana was waiting for me at the airport and we¡¯re on our way now.¡± ¡°To the flower festival?¡± ¡°Yes. She¡¯s exhibiting and I¡¯ll help.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll have to send me some pictures of all the flowers.¡± ¡°I will. Hey, say hi to Aiyana.¡± I raise my voice. ¡°Hi Aiyana!¡± A cheerful voice, slightly echoey, from the other end. ¡°Hi, Cece baby!¡± ¡°Good luck with your exhibition!¡± ¡°Thanks, honey!¡± Mom¡¯s voice returns to the phone. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking a lot since we said goodbye.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think I made it clear just how happy I am that you finally made the decision to tell me about your marriage. I understand why you were hesitant. It¡¯s not like I¡¯ve ever spoken positively about marriage.¡± I run my fingers along the marbling on the kitchen counter. ¡°No, nor about secrecy, New York¡¯s corporate scene, rich people, men in suits, inheritances in general¡­¡± ¡°Hey now,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯ve always said that suits have a certain appeal. They¡¯re just an outdated custom.¡± ¡°Not to mention you think they kill originality.¡± ¡°No man was blessed with life only to dress forever in gray or ck,¡± she says. ¡°But honey, that wasn¡¯t the point. I wanted you to know that I appreciated your honesty. Your path and my path aren¡¯t the same, but they are perpendicr, for as long as I¡¯m treading mine. And I¡¯m so grateful I get to see the beautiful, strong, ambitious woman you¡¯ve be.¡± My throat feels tight. ¡°Thanks, Mom.¡± ¡°Victor was¡­ interesting. He has the conflicted power of a man who knows himself and his abilities well, but hasn¡¯t fully incorporated his shadow self. He still fights his weaknesses, when he should be embracing them.¡± ¡°He won¡¯t let me heal his chakras,¡± I say, half-joking, half-serious. ¡°I tried once.¡± Mom hmms in thought on the other end. ¡°A man like him wouldn¡¯t. But there¡¯s healing to be done in other ways, sweetie. He¡¯ll find it in time, and you can¡¯t do it for him. Just remember to keep your channels ofmunication open.¡± I sigh. ¡°Yes. I will.¡± Mom once drew a chart of the channels she considered a part ofmunication, and you¡¯d be surprised how many non-verbal ones she included. This week, we haven¡¯t been using much of any channel, Victor and I. ¡°I love you,¡± I say. ¡°You know, I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ve ever thanked you for giving me a childhood unlike any of my friends¡¯. I know I wasn¡¯t always grateful when I was younger. But I am, Mom. We were a team, you and I, and we saw so many things, and did them all together. You were always there for me.¡± There¡¯s a beat of stunned silence on the other end, and then Mom sniffles. Her voice is warm. ¡°Honey, I love you too. I know the life we lived wasn¡¯t always easy for you. You¡¯re cut more from your grandparents¡¯ cloth than mine, you know.¡± ¡°Yes, I know.¡± ¡°But the years I raised you were the best ones in my life. Always.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I whisper. I¡¯m going to cry if we don¡¯t end this. Perhaps she thinks the same, because she gives a strangled halfugh, and I join in. Say Yes to the Boss 66 ¡°Well. Aren¡¯t we a pair of criers today?¡± she says. The conversation stays with me as I cook my lunch and eat it in silence. She had always been there. No boarding schools, no cold silences. Listening to every thought I had. My phone chimes again. I¡¯m expecting a picture of bohemian flower arrangements, and knowing Aiyana, perhaps with white lotuses in the center to represent the female sex. That¡¯s not what I get. Nadine has sent me a selfie. Her braids are a mess and her eyes are smudgy with mascara. Her smile is also huge, aforter pulled up to her neck. She¡¯s in bed. She¡¯s written five words. So I did a thing. I type back. Cecilia: Did you just wake up? I¡¯m so jealous of the life of artists. Nadine: I did. And think, Cece. Is this myforter??? Cecilia: Oh my god. You¡¯re at Jake¡¯s!!! You¡¯re in his bed! Nadine: Yeeees. Cecilia: What! Judging from your smile I should say congrats, so congrats! How was it? Nadine: Unreal. Can we have brunch next week, please please please? I have so much to tell you. Cecilia: Clearly! And yes! Nadine: I thought he was too simr to me, but he¡¯s not. He¡¯s amazing. He understands my art and we have these long debates about Cubism and the future of mixed media and it¡¯s so hot? Who knew? Also I saw his closet and it wasn¡¯t messy at all.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. Iugh. She¡¯s infatuated, and I couldn¡¯t be happier. Not when he¡¯s as enamored by her. Cecilia: People can surprise you. I¡¯m happy for you. Get your ass up and make him some abstract art eggs. Nadine: How¡¯s your hubby? Falling for him yet? Cecilia: I¡¯m very much afraid the answer is no¡­ but only because I¡¯ve already fallen. There¡¯s no response, so I guess Jake woke up. I smile at the picture of her grinning from ear to ear on my phone. I can¡¯t think of anyone who deserves love more than her, after years of working so hard and dating only weirdos. I recognize her smile¡­ because that¡¯s me, too. I can¡¯t figure out when it started, what moment things shifted inside me, but when I look back it feels like it was always there. A thrumming in my body when I¡¯d see him striding down the hallway at work. Pride when he¡¯d negotiated and strong-armed, and I¡¯d be the one toe in with his memos. It had been buried deep at times, fleeting and ephemeral. But it had been there. Now I¡¯ve seen the other sides to him, the ones he keeps hidden. The tortured side, the caring, the confident. The silly and the surprisingly sentimental. The one that holds me tight at night and breathes in the scent of my hair like it¡¯s more valuable to him than air. I want this to be a real marriage. I want it so much my heart aches with it. Is that so crazy? After everything we¡¯ve done together? The front door rings. I startle from my desk and wait a moment, but then it rings again. Bonnie isn¡¯t in. I run down the stairs in my slippers and answer. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Hello, ma¡¯am. We have a delivery in the lobby for Mr. St. ir that requires a signature. Is he avable?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid he¡¯s at work. Where¡¯s the delivery from?¡± ¡°Aw firm, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°I can sign for him.¡± My voice snaps into professionalism. How many times had I done this for him when I was his assistant? ¡°You¡¯re wee to send the courier up.¡± The concierge breathes a sigh of relief. ¡°Excellent, Mrs. St. ir. She will be outside your door in a minute. Would you like a longer dy?¡± I look down at my yoga pants. ¡°No, that¡¯s okay. Thank you.¡± The courier is hesitant outside of our door, but I shake away her concerns. ¡°I¡¯m Victor¡¯s wife,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure they get to him.¡± ¡°All right, ma¡¯am,¡± she says. The man envelope she¡¯s clutching is thin. I sign my name with a flourish on the paper and smile at her. ¡°Thank you. We appreciate it.¡± ¡°Of course, ma¡¯am. Have a good day.¡± ¡°You too, miss.¡± The door shuts behind her and I stand in the hallway, envelope in hand. I flip it over. It¡¯s from hiswyers, Irving and Hardmann. I¡¯ve seen dozens of these envelopes before. They always contain important documents for his various business acquisitions, investments, hirings. It had been express-delivered here, which means it must be urgent. Had they sent it to the wrong address? It¡¯s only two p. m. and Victor won¡¯t be home for hours yet. The decision is split-second. I¡¯ve opened his mail a hundred times before. I¡¯ve sorted and organized it for him, I¡¯ve scanned it for him when he¡¯s been on business trips. This is no different. I open the seal with careful fingers and pull out the document inside. The headline is in bold, ck font, and falls like a scythe. Petition for Divorce. Below, already printed in fine font, are our names. Victor St. ir and Cecilia Myers. I follow the hostess in a numb daze. Around us, people sit at long oak tables, talk mingling into a low-level chatter. Papernterns hang from beams in the ceiling. It¡¯s cozy. I can¡¯t appreciate any of it. Victor walks behind me. His presence is solid, real, ever-present¡­ and yet I can¡¯t look at him. I had resealed the document and put it on his desk. He asked about it when he came home. ¡°On your desk,¡± I¡¯d said. ¡°Thank you,¡± he¡¯d replied, face a mask. As if the document inside isn¡¯t premature, isn¡¯t an end to us. My heart feels twice its normal size, beating so hard it might break out of my chest. He brought his briefcase tonight. Did he bring the papers? Is that why he wants to have dinner? He¡¯s going to talk about our divorce. About how this has gotten tooplicated, too messy. We mixed business and pleasure and we shouldn¡¯t have. The end ising. Say Yes to the Boss 67 And there¡¯s not a thing I can do to stop it. ¡°Is this okay?¡± the waitress asks with a bright smile. It dims slightly when she nces from me to Victor. I guess he doesn¡¯t look happy either. His voice is low. ¡°Yes. Thank you.¡± ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll be back soon to take your order, or if you prefer, you can order through an app on your phone. The info is in the menu.¡± She leaves us, and we sit down, silence reigning supreme. I force some cheer into my voice. ¡°This is an interesting ce. Not your usual restaurant?¡±N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. ¡°Thought I¡¯d branch out. Was that okay?¡± ¡°Yes, yeah, absolutely.¡± I look down at the menu and fight the knot in my throat. Of course I¡¯d end up here. It¡¯s a surprise to absolutely no one, least of all myself, and the sense of I should have known better is crushing. ¡°If you don¡¯t like what they have, we can leave,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m not set on Asian fusion.¡± ¡°No, we¡¯ll stay. This looks good. Look,¡± I say, tossing out the first thing I see. ¡°They have BBQ pork buns. I like those.¡± We order through the app on my phone, and I¡¯m grateful for it, for the practical discussion and something to do with my hands. But it doesn¡¯tst, and as soon as the order goes out, we both fall silent. He looks still as a statue, gazing out at the fully packed restaurant. Not at me or the silent pleading in my eyes. As imprable as he ever was. ¡°You¡¯ve been busy this week,¡± I say. ¡°Work is gearing up,¡± he says. ¡°Oh? Anything in particr?¡± ¡°Exciteur is purchasing a small Canadian consulting firm. It¡¯s failing, and by taking over their operation and clients, we¡¯ll expand our reach.¡± I force a smile. ¡°A venture capitalist, serving as a CEO, turning back to venture capitalism?¡± He snorts. ¡°I guess, yes. It¡¯s a good opportunity.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure it is. Did you negotiate it?¡± ¡°No, Eleanor did a good job with it. I was only needed at the final stage.¡± I can imagine how he¡¯d done it, too. Broad shoulders and sharp tones,manding the room. Not taking no for an answer. Laying out his arguments in a pattern so ruthlessly logical you could only agree. Victor runs a hand through his hair. ¡°Did you have a good day?¡± Panic crawls up my spine. No distance tonight, not like he¡¯s been for the past days. All focus. I have Victor St. ir in front of me, and he¡¯s preparing himself for a negotiation. ¡°Yes. A good week, even. Got my business n sent to my new ountant. I hired the one you rmended a while back. And I have a meeting set up with Carter next month.¡± Victor gives a single nod, eyes intent on mine. ¡°Good. That¡¯s good.¡± ¡°Yeah. Nadine, actually, she finally got together with Jake? You know the man she thought would be good for me?¡± I say, and seeing his jaw tense, my words tumble out with the weight of bricks. ¡°You know I never thought that. I wasn¡¯t interested in him then. Anyway, point being, she¡¯s happy. Which makes me happy too.¡± ¡°Right. That¡¯s good too.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°So all is good. I¡¯m having a good week.¡± Don¡¯t destroy it, I think. Please. He clears his throat. ¡°Cecilia, I want to talk to you about something, and to tell you the truth, I¡¯m not sure where to start. It¡¯s not the kind of conversation I¡¯m used to having.¡± He runs a hand through his hair, the telltale sign of frustration. And I can¡¯t let him get the words out. ¡°Look, I¡¯ve been thinking too,¡± I say. ¡°About us and what we¡¯re doing means for our contract. You know, about how itplicates things? But I want you to know that I have a lot of respect for what you¡¯re doing with your grandfather¡¯s house. I¡¯m not going to jeopardize that. So while mixing business and pleasure isn¡¯t good, I think-¡± ¡°No, let me go first. Please.¡± It¡¯s the please that leaves me silent. I nod, mouth still open. He turns to his briefcase. Here ites, doom in an envelope, and horror rises within me at the sight of the familiar man color. Victor pulls out the piece of paper like he¡¯sfortable with it. Like it won¡¯t bite him. I don¡¯t want it anywhere near me. His jaw works once as he reads it over. ¡°This is for you,¡± he says. ¡°If you want it.¡± He puts the paper down on the table. Petition for divorce. And at the bottom, his signature. The hard press of the V and the flourish on St. ir. He¡¯s already signed it. The words vanish in a haze of tears. I bury my face in my hands, but he¡¯s seen it. ¡°It was my mom, right? It got too much for youst weekend?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t cry, Myers. Please.¡± ¡°My husband wants to divorce me. I think it¡¯s appropriate.¡± He gives a low groan. ¡°I don¡¯t understand people,¡± he mutters. ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t your mom. She¡¯s a tough negotiator.¡± ¡°You think so?¡± ¡°Then why?¡± Victor braces both forearms against the table, blue eyes boring into mine. ¡°Cecilia, don¡¯t cry. Please. Look, I know I¡¯ve been intolerable. I was a horrible boss, I¡¯m tough to deal with, I have a short temper. I¡¯m sorry for all of that. For making you cry at work. For making you cry right now. If you only knew how much that¡¯s killed me, to think about. I know it¡¯s all my fault.¡± I shake my head, but I can¡¯t find any words. He doesn¡¯t need them. ¡°I saw the timer on yourputer. You¡¯re counting down the days until you¡¯re out of this marriage, until you get rid of me. I don¡¯t want to shackle you to me for a day longer than you want to be. This,¡± he says, touching the divorce papers on the table, ¡°is an offer to you. No strings attached. I¡¯ll still mentor you if you want. The money is still yours, Nadine will continue to get as much press as I can throw her way.¡± ¡°You¡¯re offering me a divorce¡­ if I want it?¡± His jaw tightens. ¡°Yes. I¡¯ve signed it. You can do whatever you like with it. Sign it now. Sign it in six months. But after you divorce me, I want to ask one thing.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 68 ¡°Will you let me take you out on a date? Properly, as you deserve. Not as equals, because you¡¯re much better than me, but I think I can change,¡± he says. ¡°It just won¡¯t be overnight.¡± I shake my head. It¡¯s slow at first, but soon bes so strong my hair whips at my neck. His eyes look pained. ¡°No? You wouldn¡¯t go out with me afterwards.¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t want to divorce you. I don¡¯t want this piece of paper.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t?¡± ¡°No. Not at all. Victor, I¡­ God, the stupid timer on myputer. I¡¯d forgotten about that. I¡¯m so sorry you saw it. It was something I had when I worked as your assistant. Because I heard you say to Tristan that you doubted I¡¯dst a year.¡± A flush creeps up his cheeks. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to apologize to you for all the shit I¡¯ve pulled. I could spend a lifetime trying to make it up to you, and it wouldn¡¯t be enough.¡± I grab his hand with mine. It¡¯s stiff beneath my fingers, but then he flips it over, fingers twining with mine. ¡°You¡¯re a different man now than you were back then. You¡¯re letting me see a different side of you.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t rte to the person I was then. To have you right under my nose and not recognize the treasure. I¡¯m sorry, Cecilia.¡± ¡°I forgive you. You know that, right? The timer was such a silly thing. I reset it when we married, and then forgot all about it.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t want to get rid of me?¡± ¡°No, and don¡¯t you dare try to get rid of me either. I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡± His eyes search mine, and I look back at him, letting him see just how serious I am. A smile starts on his lips. It spreads, transforming his face. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Yes. Really.¡± ¡°Well, then. I like that.¡± Iugh. ¡°I like that too. But Victor¡­ a divorce. Wouldn¡¯t you lose the house if we¡¯re not married for a full year?¡± He nods. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°But it¡¯s your grandfather¡¯s house. It was where your father grew up, where you grew up. You couldn¡¯t-¡±This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°It¡¯s just a house,¡± he says, and there¡¯s steel in his tone. ¡°It¡¯s the past. I¡¯m looking at my future right now.¡± My tears well again. His eyes turn rmed, the hand beneath mine tensing. ¡°Cecilia?¡± ¡°These are happy tears. Victor. I really thought you were going to divorce me. I saw the papers yesterday.¡± ¡°You saw them?¡± ¡°I always opened your mail when I was your assistant. The envelope was from Irving and Hardmann, and I thought it might be urgent. I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Was that why you were so nervous tonight?¡± ¡°You noticed?¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯ve learned to read you pretty well.¡± ¡°You have,¡± I say, tightening my fingers around his. ¡°God, Victor, what are we going to do? Stay married? Are we truly married?¡± His lips curl into a smile. The sight sends an ache through my chest. ¡°Yes, we are. Although I¡¯m going to take my wife out on a lot of dates. More than most husbands.¡± ¡°More than most husbands, huh?¡± Victor slides his chair next to mine, ignoring the disapproving looks of the people sitting behind us. He puts his arm around me. I grip his hand, resting on my shoulder, and feel the cold metal of his wedding band against my palm. ¡°If we¡¯re going to be married,¡± he says, ¡°we¡¯re going to be the best married couple ever.¡± Iugh. ¡°You¡¯re toopetitive for your own good.¡± He kisses me, right there in the restaurant. I feel light enough to float away at the touch. A proper marriage. A proper rtionship. Dates. My husband. Love is a beautiful ache in my chest, and the words dance on my tongue. I swallow them for now and give him a wide smile. Not yet. Not now. They¡¯ll be my secret for a while. ¡°I don¡¯t have to bepetitive anymore,¡± he says. ¡°I won you.¡± My grin widens. ¡°tterer.¡± ¡°I¡¯m learning.¡± ¡°But I have to tell you,¡± I say, tapping my fingers along his jaw. ¡°If you ever have your assistant send me flowers, I¡¯m going to refuse them by the door.¡± ¡°White lilies with pink peonies,¡± he says. ¡°I remember, and I¡¯ll get them for you myself. I promise.¡± ¡°He shouldn¡¯t be emailing you this much,¡± Victor says. ¡°You¡¯re on vacation.¡± I look over my shoulder at my grumpy husband. He¡¯s lying in the shade, a dog-eared biography beside him on the wide lounge chair. Despite the privacy of our backyard and private pool, he¡¯s wearing swim trunks. Not me. I¡¯d packed cute bikinis I hadn¡¯t used yet. ¡°He¡¯s not on vacation,¡± I say. ¡°You know Carter is helping me set this up. I can¡¯t afford to be picky about when I answer an email.¡± Victor¡¯s look tells me I should be pickier. I smile and finish off the quick email, sending it off. I close theptop and shove it back in the shade. I turn to him. ¡°That¡¯s not what¡¯s really bothering you, is it?¡± His eyes run over my body with naked appreciation, stopping at my breasts. My skin is picking up a tan in record-speed here in Barbados. ¡°No, that¡¯s not what¡¯s bothering me,¡± he murmurs. I push him back on the lounge chair. He leans back with a grin and grips my hips, settling me cross-legged over him. ¡°A private pool was an excellent decision,¡± he says. ¡°It was,¡± I say. ¡°But you¡¯re still annoyed that Carter¡¯s investing, despite it being your idea.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 69 He focuses on my skin instead of my face, fingers painting patterns over my stomach and hips, asionally brushing across the underside of my breasts. He¡¯s getting a tan too, the sun has started to bleach his dark blond hair, and he hasn¡¯t shaved in days. He looks glorious.Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°Fine. I¡¯d rather it was me investing. Call it illogical or just in sexist, I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°You did invest,¡± I say. ¡°You invested in me. Our agreement gave me what I needed to start the business, not to mention giving me the time I needed. You¡¯re the initial investor.¡± His lips curve, eyes on the nipple he¡¯s teasing between his fingers. ¡°I like that.¡± ¡°Besides, if this is some weird jealousy thing, you know Carter isn¡¯t my type. He¡¯s too easy to talk to. I like men who make you work for it.¡± His fingers mp down on my nipple and I gasp, swatting his bare chest. ¡°Hey.¡± Heughs and closes his lips around my nipple in a sensual apology. I grip his broad shoulders and press a kiss to his damp hair. ¡°Do you know something?¡± A humm sends shivers along my chest. ¡°You don¡¯t know how to rx. We¡¯ve been here for four days so far, and you¡¯re either working, catching up on reading for work, or making love to me.¡± He speaks against the skin between my breasts. ¡°You ranked them in the wrong order.¡± ¡°Oh, did I?¡± ¡°Yes. Do you know, you once called me the hardest-working person you¡¯d ever met.¡± I chuckle. ¡°Did I?¡± ¡°I remember. It was quite thepliment, you know.¡± ¡°Of course you¡¯d think that was the highestpliment.¡± ¡°Well,¡± he says, kissing his way across my breast. ¡°I used to think it was. But working isn¡¯t my favorite thing anymore.¡± ¡°Mmm.¡± I close my eyes at the feeling of his lips on my nipple. ¡°But no work tonight, on the dinner cruise. For either of us.¡± ¡°None,¡± he says. ¡°Which means we should make good use of the time we have now.¡± His hands slide down to grip my ass and he rocks me forward, over the growing hardness in his trunks. Iugh. ¡°God, you have a one-track mind.¡± ¡°I¡¯m on my honeymoon with my wife.¡± A thrill runs through me. It hasn¡¯t stopped, whenever he says the words. My wife. ¡°When you put it that way¡­¡± His beard scrapes against my neck, a kiss pressed to my skin. My pulse thunders beneath it. ¡°Thank you for this trip,¡± I say. ¡°For taking the time off.¡± It had been his idea, and I¡¯d been as shocked as everyone around us that he was going on vacation. But he¡¯d reminded me that it was my mom who¡¯d told us we should go. ¡°I have to make my mother-inw happy,¡± he¡¯d said, and I¡¯d gotten the feeling it was only partially a joke. ¡°We didn¡¯t start out on the right foot.¡± Victor kisses the hollow in my throat. ¡°You¡¯re wee, but that¡¯s the third time you¡¯ve thanked me. Do you think spending time alone with you on a tropical ind is hard? It might be the easiest thing I¡¯ve ever done.¡± I run my fingers through his hair, scraping my nails over his scalp. He hums in pleasure, like arge golden cat. I can¡¯t resist. I rock my hips along his erection. ¡°Something sure is hard.¡± He groans, eyes downcast. ¡°God, I love you without clothes. So beautiful.¡± I revel in his words, his hands, the feel of him. Our bodies had understood one another long before Victor and I did. I¡¯m not concerned about walking around naked in front of him in bright daylight, wearing only the two rings on my left hand. Comfortable intimacy is like a web between us. Victor kisses me, slow andnguorous. There¡¯s no rush here. We¡¯re not hiding from our feelings, and we¡¯re not hiding from each other. I brush hair back from his forehead. ¡°Victor.¡± He trails a line of kisses along my corbone. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I love you.¡± His lips pause. Against my chest, I feel the sudden pounding of his heart. I hug him closer. ¡°I¡¯m not asking for anything, or demanding it back. I just really wanted to tell you. Even if-¡± His lips crush against mine. Thenguorous kisses are gone, reced by a hunger that sets my heart racing. He tugs at my ponytail and my curls spill over my back, tickling my bare skin. Then his fingers are between my legs, stroking and circling. ¡°Victor, I-¡± ¡°I have to be inside you.¡± His words set off my own need and I tug at his swim trunks. He lifts his hips and then he¡¯s free, hot and hard in my hand. I duck my head to suck him into my mouth and he lets out a deep groan. I can¡¯t resist, not when he¡¯s like this, a trip wire hovering at the edge. Victor doesn¡¯t let me enjoy him for long. He flips me over on the lounge chair and we both sigh at the sweet, blessed relief of his entrance. It feels like I¡¯m weing him home. He braces himself on his elbows, kissing me as he starts to move. They¡¯re deep, earth-shattering kisses, mirroring the slow, steady roll of his hips. Every hard thrust of his pelvis against mine sets my pleasure off. ¡°Cecilia,¡± he murmurs. ¡°God, I¡­¡± ¡°I know,¡± I say, wrapping my legs around him. ¡°I know.¡± I orgasm before him, the bastard, as he angles his entry just the way I need. Brushing against my clit with every hard m. When he gets close, I hold him tight and whisper the words in his ear again. ¡°I love you.¡± He finishes with a force that takes my breath away, his groan in my ear. We lie there for a long time, still connected, our breathinging fast. He finally rises up on an elbow and sated, blue eyes meet mine. ¡°Say it again.¡± ¡°Say what?¡± ¡°You know what.¡± His eyes shutter for a moment, like he¡¯s taking a hit. But they¡¯re clear as the sky above when he opens them again. ¡°I love you too, Cecilia.¡± ¡°You do?¡± Say Yes to the Boss 70 He kisses me in reply and I hold him tight, taking all he¡¯s offering and tucking it safely inside my heart, knowing he¡¯s doing the same in return. Victor turns on his side and pulls me close. ¡°So much,¡± he says. ¡°More than I know what to do with. You know that, right? I have no idea how to handle it. I¡¯mpletely powerless with you.¡± His hand finds my thigh, notching it over his hip. ¡°I hate you for that sometimes.¡± I stroke his lip with my finger. ¡°I know. It¡¯s scary. Trusting another person this fully.¡±Ccontent ? exclusive by N?/vel(D)ra/ma.Org. ¡°It¡¯s terrifying.¡± ¡°But it¡¯s worth it. You know, I can¡¯t imagine my life without you now.¡± ¡°I can,¡± he says. ¡°And I want to avoid it at every cost.¡± I smile, wandering my fingers up his cheekbone to his forehead. His eyes close. His eyshes are dark at the roots and blond at the tips. ¡°Was that why your grandfather wanted you to marry, do you think? So you¡¯d have someone in your life when he passed?¡± Victor¡¯s breathing catches. It¡¯s brief, but it¡¯s there. ¡°I¡¯ve never thought of it like that.¡± ¡°Why did you think he required it?¡± ¡°Because it was my job to carry on the St. ir name. He said that often enough while he lived. That if I didn¡¯t put the hours in, the family would die with me.¡± Victor clears his throat, eyes drifting to my temple. His fingers trail one of my curls. ¡°I think he wanted me to carry on my father¡¯s legacy. Grandpa never really got over the loss of his son, I think.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t even imagine that.¡± ¡°But maybe he didn¡¯t want me to be alone, either,¡± he says. ¡°I like the idea of that.¡± ¡°He loved you,¡± I say. ¡°I know you never spoke about it, the two of you, and from what you¡¯ve told me, he was far from perfect. But he loved you.¡± Victor closes his eyes again, leaning into my touch. It takes a long time before he replies. ¡°Yes. I think he did.¡± I stroke his hair, enjoying the warmth of the Caribbean sun and the gentle breeze sweeping across our sweaty skin. But eventually, my curiosity wins out. ¡°So?¡± ¡°So what?¡± ¡°Are you interested in carrying on the St. irst name?¡± Victor¡¯s lips tug. ¡°I don¡¯t know. My wife never took the St. irst name. There¡¯s no guarantee she¡¯ll agree to give it to my children.¡± I lift up on an elbow. ¡°Your children?¡± ¡°Yes. Our children.¡± ¡°So you are interested in having kids.¡± His gaze drops to my corbone, and he reaches out, tracing it with a long finger. ¡°Not any time soon, and I don¡¯t know how good of a father I¡¯d be.¡± ¡°You¡¯d be amazing.¡± He snorts. ¡°You don¡¯t genuinely believe that.¡± ¡°Yes, I do. I¡¯m not saying it wouldn¡¯t take some work. It would for me too. I don¡¯t know the first thing about being a mother.¡± ¡°But is it something you want?¡± I smile at him, his beautiful strong face and clear blue eyes, the furrow between his brows. Loyal and skilled and dedicated. ¡°I do,¡± I say. ¡°But not anytime soon.¡± He closes his eyes, hand curling around my hip. ¡°Well. That¡¯s good, then. Even if it¡¯s mildly annoying to give my grandfather thestugh. He always loved being right.¡± ¡°Like his grandson?¡± Victor¡¯s hand tightens on my hip. ¡°Watch it, Myers.¡± Iugh. Happiness makes my chest feel like a bubble, floating high. His voice iszy. ¡°You know, if you change your name, I won¡¯t be able to call you Myers anymore.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll still be able to.¡± ¡°Technically yes, but it wouldn¡¯t be urate.¡± ¡°Well, if you started calling me St. ir, wouldn¡¯t that be confusing for you?¡± ¡°Mmm. I think I¡¯ll manage.¡± He shifts me closer on the wide lounge chair, a tanned leg resting by mine. ¡°You know, we only have two months left until our one-year anniversary.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right. One year since our wedding in the courthouse. The one you wanted scheduled at lunchtime to avoid traffic.¡± ¡°Christ. I clearly had my priorities right.¡± His gaze turns teasing, mercurial, the Victor I love best. The side only I¡¯m allowed to see. He walks his hands up the curve of my waist. ¡°I¡¯ve decided to do things right.¡± ¡°Oh? That sounds ominous.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve looked into vow renewal ceremonies.¡± ¡°You have? That¡¯s¡­ interesting.¡± ¡°It is. Some even look like real weddings. White dress, catering, the works.¡± ¡°Catering, huh.¡± ¡°Tons of it. Well, it looked exciting. Something my wife deserves. So I think, when the time is right, I¡¯ll ask her if she¡¯d want to renew her vows with me.¡± I bite my lip, holding his face between my hands. ¡°When the time is right?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°When she¡¯ll say yes. I think I might even go down on one knee. But then again, perhaps she¡¯ll find that corny.¡± My heart is stuttering in my chest and I speak the next words against his lips. ¡°No. She wouldn¡¯t.¡± EPILOGUE The numbers on myputer screen bleed in front of my eyes, my mind drifting. It¡¯s been doing that a lottely. The work doesn¡¯t hold my attention the way it once did, and try as I may, I can¡¯t seem to find my way back to it. Say Yes to the Boss 71 The only business I like working on these days is Cecilia¡¯s, and half the time, she doesn¡¯t want my opinions. The thought makes me smile. The autumn¡¯ste sunlight streams in through the bay windows, tinted orange from the shifting leaves on the great trees. I look around my office, memories interposing on one another, a kaleidoscope of the past and present and future. Seeing my father and grandfather in here, arguing about trusts and investments. Myself, twelve and sullen, giving my grandfather the silent treatment. He¡¯d been sitting in the chair I¡¯m in. Or Cecilia and me in this room, newly married and unsure of one another, sorting through documents that tore my heart to shreds. A small hand curls around the half-open door and pushes it open. Philippa¡¯s ponytails are half-askew, her brown eyes curious. ¡°Daddy?¡± ¡°I¡¯m in here.¡± ¡°Whatcha doing?¡± ¡°Working. Did you just wake up from your nap?¡± She shakes her head, but the imprint from her pillow marking her cheek give her away. I push back from the chair and open my arms. Philippa runs on legs that have too much energy to ever walk. I swing her up and put her on my knee. Her little body is sturdy, and getting heavier by each passing month. The marvel of her hasn¡¯t stopped knocking the breath out of my chest. How can a person be so tiny and still be a fully formed human being? When they¡¯d ced her in my arms at the hospital, she¡¯d been so small. Minuscule and infinitely precious, her head fitting in the palm of my hand. Impossible. Incredible. ¡°Whatcha working on?¡± ¡°Numbers, lots and lots of numbers.¡± She screws her face up and Iugh, pressing down on her button nose. Philippa has so many of her mother¡¯s features, including the beautiful eyes, but her hair, as Cecilia likes to remind me, is all mine. As light blonde as mine had been at her age. ¡°I know you don¡¯t understand it, honey.¡± ¡°Boring,¡± she says. ¡°Daddy, let¡¯s go outside.¡± ¡°You want to y?¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t it snack time?¡± She shakes her head, eyes glittering. We both know it is. I lift her up and walk out of the office, and Philippa sits content on my hip, happy to be carried. Cecilia keeps telling her that she needs to walk more, and that her mother is too far gone to carry her, but she knows she can still demand rides from her dad. ¡°Outside, outside, outside!¡± she sing-songs. ¡°Your yhouse?¡± ¡°Where¡¯s Bonnie, then? And Mommy?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she says, eyes blinking at me. For a two-and-a-half-year-old, she¡¯s remarkably clever. Too clever for her mother and me on frequent asion. ¡°Oh, really? I¡¯m going to guess Bonnie put you down for a nap, and after you woke up, you were to go straight to the kitchen for snack time. But you went to my office instead. Hmm?¡± She giggles, leaning back in my arms. A sticky hand presses against my mouth. ¡°No!¡± ¡°No?¡± I mumble. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡± ¡°Shhh, Daddy!¡± ¡°Mmhm. Right.¡± We walk through the living room, past the French doors that open up to the backyard. Philippa makes a sound of protest. ¡°Nope,¡± I say. ¡°We¡¯re informing your mother about your little escape first, before we y.¡± I find my wife in the dining room. She¡¯s pacing in front of the reading nook she¡¯d created, her headphones in and hands at the small of her back. ¡°No,¡± she says. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good option. Can you get another appraisal? Thank you.¡± I hoist Philippa up and we stand in the doorway, watching Cecilia pace. ¡°Mommy¡¯s working,¡± my daughter whispers. I nod. ¡°She¡¯ll be done soon.¡± Cecilia spots us and gives us a wide smile. Then she looks down at her belly, back up to me, and rolls her eyes. Ah. So our son is doing backflips again. I¡¯d tell him to be nicer to his mom if I he could understand me. ¡°Look,¡± Philippa says. ¡°Look, look.¡± She¡¯s pointing at Cecilia¡¯s feet. She¡¯s in slippers, but they¡¯re not matching. One is her gray, fluffy slipper and the other is toorge and leather. She¡¯s wearing one of mine and one of her own. I chuckle, and Philippaughs along, her toddlerughter filling the dining room. Cecilia turns to look at us with warm eyes. Her free hand is smoothing over her rounded belly, and I watch the movement. My beautiful wife. ¡°That¡¯s good. Thanks for getting back to me. I¡¯ll talk to you tomorrow.¡± She pulls out her headphones. ¡°Sarah?¡± I ask. Cecilia nods, pushing hair back from her forehead. She looks flushed. ¡°It¡¯s about the West Coast expansion.¡± ¡°She¡¯s good. I¡¯m d you have her on board.¡± ¡°So am I. But what do we have here? Did you wake up from your nap, honey?¡± Philippa squirms in my arms and I set her down. She¡¯s moving before she hits the floor. ¡°Yes! And Bonnie wasn¡¯t there! So I went to Daddy!¡± ¡°We¡¯re going outside to y,¡± I say. Cecilia runs a hand over our daughter¡¯s fair hair. ¡°Oh, are you? Do you have time for that?¡± ¡°I do.¡± ¡°Good. But that means there¡¯s a certain little girl here who has to have her afternoon snack.¡± Philippa looks up at her mom, hopefulness etched on her face. ¡°Can I have a Pop-Tart?¡±This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Ice cream?¡± ¡°No. There are apple slices and peanut butter for you in the kitchen. Go on. The faster you eat, the sooner Daddy will take you outside.¡± Say Yes to the Boss 72 Philippa looks at me, as if to confirm this. I give her a serious nod. ¡°On my honor.¡± She doesn¡¯t understand that, but she reads my nod well enough, and scampers off to the kitchen. Through the open doorway I hear the sound of Bonnie¡¯s voice and Philippa¡¯s questions. It wouldn¡¯t surprise me if she¡¯s angling for a Pop-Tart or ice cream again. I close the distance to my wife and wrap an arm around her waist. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± ¡°Swollen. Like a toad. I feel ready to burst at any moment.¡± ¡°With over a month left.¡± I rub my hand over the small of her back and she sighs in pleasure. Her lips part and I kiss her rosy cheek. ¡°How¡¯s our son doing?¡± ¡°Your son is alternating between kicking me in the ribs or the dder. Or both. I swear, sometimes he¡¯s doing the splits in there.¡± ¡°He¡¯ll be athletic, then.¡± She leans her head against my shoulder and I breathe in her hair, the familiar shampoo, the smell of her. ¡°Athletic,¡± she murmurs. ¡°When did you be such an optimist?¡± When my wife is carrying twenty-five extra pounds of baby, I think, but I keep that thought to myself. Seeing Cecilia pregnant and giving birth had been one of the most humbling experiences of my life. It put everything into perspective. I wasn¡¯t close to the strongest person in this rtionship, and seeing her bring Philippa into the world had confirmed it. ¡°I¡¯m just very grateful for you, and all that you¡¯ve given me,¡± I say. She snorts into my shirt. ¡°Charmer.¡± ¡°Always.¡± I bend closer to her ear. ¡°You know as well as I do what we can do to make this babye faster.¡± She shivers in my arms. I look down and yes, her nipples are at the ready. Her breasts are getting heavy again. I do my best to tend to them when they¡¯re aching. ¡°Victor,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m humongous. How do you still find me attractive?¡± ¡°You¡¯re you, and you¡¯re carrying our child.¡± I run a hand over her stomach, excitement coursing through me. Not long until we meet him. ¡°I¡¯m proud and turned on in equal measure, and I love you. You could be the size of a whale and I¡¯d still wake up hard and needing you.¡± ¡°Size of a whale,¡± she grumbles. Iugh and tilt her head back up to mine. Kissing her is slow andnguorous and absolutely amazing. Philippa has made this a little rarer and a lot trickier, but all the more precious. She¡¯s breathing hard when I lift my head, her eyes glossy. I trace her bottom lip with my thumb. ¡°You looked just like this when I kissed you, after we said our vows.¡± She smiles. ¡°You kissed me a lot longer than was appropriate. We had an audience.¡± ¡°Well, we were already husband and wife. I figured we¡¯d make sure everyone knew it was real.¡± She chuckles and I turn us around, toward one of the framed pictures on the wall. We¡¯re standing in front of theke where we got married, right where Cecilia had always dreamed it would take ce. She looks stunning and I look dazed. The photo hangs next to the picture from my grandfather¡¯s study, my parents and brother along for the ride. Philippa knows the name of every single one of them, including my brother she¡¯s named after. It¡¯s not the only picture of them around the house anymore. ¡°Oh, those were the times, when I fit into my dresses,¡± Cecilia says. ¡°Look how handsome you are. You were born to wear tuxes.¡± I shake my head. ¡°No, I was not. I hate bowties around my neck.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a shame, because they sure don¡¯t hate you.¡± I kiss her again. Even after years of marriage, Cecilia¡¯s unabashed appreciation for me turns me on. She once joked that I was so starved for it when she met me that all she¡¯s doing is filling the void. Maybe that¡¯s so. All I know is that I still get turned on, like she¡¯s flipped a switch, when she says she loves me. She exploits that to great effect¡­ and I¡¯ve noints. Cecilia wraps her arms around my neck but can¡¯t pull herself close, with the bump in the way. She looks down in frustration. ¡°I want to hug your daddy,¡± she says. ¡°Would you please let us?¡± Her belly stays firmly in the way. I chuckle, kissing her again. My arms are tight around her shoulders. ¡°He can stay. I¡¯m holding two of my favorite people in the world right now.¡± ¡°With the third seconds away from bursting in here demanding that you y with her. Are you sure you have the time?¡± ¡°Absolutely, Mrs. St. ir. There¡¯s nothing else I¡¯d rather do.¡± Her smile softens, illuminates the face I love so much. The face I couldn¡¯t live without. The face I¡¯d once looked at every single day for a year and never truly seen. I don¡¯t miss the man I was back then. Cecilia sometimes talks jokingly about it, about the team we made when she was my assistant, but I can¡¯t look back at it with fondness. All I see is someone who was so blind he couldn¡¯t recognize the miracle in front of him, let alone treat her right. ¡°I love you, Mr. St. ir,¡± she says. ¡°You¡¯re the best husband a woman could ever want.¡± I groan against her shoulder and sheughs, knowing how excited I get. Every time.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. But the joyous peal ofughter from the kitchen drowns out my body¡¯s needs. ¡°Daddy!¡± Philippa calls. ¡°I¡¯ming!¡± A Ticking Time Boss 1 It¡¯s the waiting I hate the most. Nerves grow until they¡¯re so thick in my stomach that I feel nauseous, my palms turning slick around my ss. Why had I ordered a Cosmo? I¡¯ve never had one before in my life. Brian¡¯ste. Howte is eptable before I¡¯m entitled to leave? Leaving would be the easier option. A quick text. Let¡¯s rain check. But that would be fleeing, and I¡¯d promised myself I would face my fears. Idiot , I think. I should have started with something smaller. Confined spaces, spiders, the concept of infinity. Just not blind dating. I can¡¯t handle the awkwardness. To see how he looks down at his phone, or worse, to look down at my own in search of an excuse. What if he¡¯s visibly disappointed by me? Or worse, what if he wants to grab a nightcap and I don¡¯t? I take a fortifying sip of my pink drink. One drink. That¡¯s all we have to share, and then I can say I have to get back home because I have work tomorrow. I¡¯ll order some food on the way home to celebrate surviving. The bar looks good, at least. He¡¯d been the one to suggest it after a week of awkward text exchanges. Dim lighting and patrons in fancy clothes. Music at just the right volume. Not too loud, not too quiet. The prices are just shy of fortune-ruining, which is good for Manhattan. My phone vibrates against the table with a text. Brian¡¯ste, which I already know, and he apologizes profusely. He actually uses the word profusely. I put the phone down and take five steadying breaths. Maybe I should have eaten something after my job interview beforeing here. Maybe scheduling a blind date and an interview for my dream job on the same day was too much. But I¡¯d been caught up in a rush of adrenaline and bravery, and I¡¯d done it. And now I¡¯m paying the price. ¡°It¡¯s just a date,¡± I murmur to myself. The ball of nerves in my stomach doesn¡¯t listen, continuing to spin in nausea-inducing patterns. ¡°Just a date. I can leave if I don¡¯t like it. Just leave.¡± I don¡¯t feel better, so I try another argument. One that Nina had said over and over against night as she talked me back from the ledge of cancelling. The only way to get morefortable with it is exposure. But exposure doesn¡¯t seem so harmless tonight, and not when Brian just gave me another fifteen minutes to sit alone and look like a dork while my nerves rise from innocent butterflies to Hitchcock-like birds in my stomach. I need a ss of cold water. I leave my Cosmo on the table and head for the bar. It¡¯s mostly empty, a few businessmen leaning against it in smarmy suits. Standing up feels good. Moving about feels good. I lean against the bar and tap my fingers against the ss counter. The bartender spots me. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°A cold ss of water, please,¡± I say. ¡°Lots of ice.¡± ¡°Still or sparkling?¡± ¡°Still.¡±Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Sure thing.¡± He turns, but stops. ¡°Would you like some lemon in that?¡± ¡°Just water. Please.¡± Why is dating horribly, awfully nerve-wracking for me? Everyone else seems to have a breeze doing it. They dance from one date to the next like it¡¯s a game. The bartender sets a tall ss of water in front of me. I drain it, everyst drop, until there¡¯s nothing but clinking ice left. A voice speaks to my left. ¡°You doing okay?¡± I catch the sleeve of a suit jacket beside me, arge hand curled around a ss of scotch, but I keep my eye on my own. My chest is heaving. ¡°Yes. Just fine, thank you.¡± ¡°Need another ss of water?¡± The voice is male, smooth and deep. I shake my head and close my eyes. Thest thing I need is someone to waste all my pent-up small-talk energy on. ¡°Nope. All good.¡± A small bowl ofplimentary peanuts is pushed into my field of vision. ¡°Just in case.¡± The gesture makes me chuckle. Ites out like a nervous squeak, but it releases some of the tension rising up inside of me like a teapot. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, turning toward him. Light, tawny eyes meet mine. I¡¯ve never seen eyes like that on a man before. Hair a dark shade of auburn is pushed back over his forehead, rising over a square face. ¡°If you¡¯re nning on having a panic attack,¡± he says, ¡°I can think of better ces than this bar.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not having a panic attack. Besides, who ns on having one?¡± ¡°It¡¯s just a figure of speech.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a stupid one,¡± I say, and smooth my hands over my dress. Then I realize what I¡¯ve just said. ¡°Sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to insult you.¡± He turns toward me, his lips curling at the corner. He¡¯s tall, now that¡¯s he¡¯s stretched to his full height. ¡°I¡¯m not insulted.¡± ¡°Good. Well¡­ thank you for the peanuts.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wee, although I have a confession to make. They were already here.¡± I snort again. Perhaps this is good. I can blow off steam with this Wall Street banker. ¡°I suspected. Nice gesture, though.¡± He waves a hand at the bartender, who turns mid-stride to listen to whatever peanut guy has to say. I nce at his suit. He looks like money. It¡¯s there in the well-fitting fabric, glossy beneath the dim lights. I don¡¯t trust guys who look like him. Too charming to be real, and too rich to be humble. ¡°Another water for thedy,¡± he says. ¡°Lots of ice, no lemon. You know the drill.¡± The bartender nods. ¡°Coming right up.¡± He disappears down the bar and peanut guy turns back to me. I frown at him. ¡°You didn¡¯t say please.¡± His eyebrows rise. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± ¡°To the bartender.¡± I¡¯m speaking more frankly than usual, especially to a stranger, but my nerves have me turned upside down. My cheeks heat up. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s just more polite to say please.¡± ¡°Noted,¡± peanut guy says. He leans against the bar, lips still quirked. ¡°Although, I¡¯m sure that bartender has seen people far ruder than me in his days.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not an excuse to be rude going forward.¡± ¡°I tip generously,¡± he says. ¡°Always have.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 2 ¡°Flinging money around doesn¡¯t make up for ack of manners.¡± ¡°So now I¡¯mcking manners? Interesting.¡± I shake my head. ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡¯m implying. Gosh, can we ignore where I tried to correct you? I¡¯m sorry. That was rude of me.¡± He doesn¡¯t look the least bit offended. ¡°Not particrly.¡± The bartender returns with a full ss of ice water and puts it down in front of me. I open my mouth to say thank you, but peanut guy beats me to it. ¡°Thank you,¡± he says, voice dropping. ¡°We really appreciate your help here tonight.¡± The bartender doesn¡¯t stop moving down the bar. ¡°Anytime,¡± he tosses over his shoulder. Peanut guy turns to me with a triumphant smile. ¡°Am I back in your good graces now?¡± ¡°Yes. Sorry.¡± He rests his suit-d arms on the bar counter. ¡°So what¡¯s got you so bent out of shape?¡± ¡°Bent out of shape,¡± I repeat, reaching for my ice water. I drain half of it before confessing. ¡°I¡¯m actually waiting for someone.¡± ¡°I figured. Is hete?¡± ¡°He is, yeah. Is it obvious?¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯re here and he¡¯s not, so yes. Boyfriend?¡± ¡°Just a date.¡± I twirl my ss around. ¡°A first date, actually.¡± ¡°And he¡¯ste? That¡¯s not a good sign.¡± Peanut guy reaches for an actual peanut, his hand cutting across my vision. It¡¯s broad and lightly dusted with dark brown hair. A masculine hand, with long fingers. ¡°Howte is toote?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t have a hard and fast rule about it.¡± ¡°Do you have hard and fast rules about a lot of things?¡± I look over at him. It¡¯s a bad idea, because he¡¯s stupidly good-looking. Square jaw and eyes that meet mine with steady charm. Oddly enough, I¡¯m not nervous talking to him. We¡¯re so obviously not suited. He¡¯s amusing himself, I¡¯m distracting myself. Exposure, I think. ¡°About some things, I guess. I have criteria.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s hear them,¡± he says. ¡°Well, he has to be a nonsmoker.¡± Peanut guy gives a nod. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like it if he could cook me dinner once in a while.¡± ¡°So he needs to be a renowned chef,¡± he says. ¡°Got it.¡± I chuckle at that. ¡°Right. Oh, and he has to subscribe to a newspaper or magazine. At least one, preferably more, and they can¡¯t just be digital subscriptions.¡± ¡°Oddly specific,¡± he says. Long fingers curl around his ss, eyes the color of whiskey. ¡°Is that a literacy test? Because I think you can reliably assume a guy your age would be able to read.¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m a journalist.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± ¡°Yes. I need someone who appreciates the written word, you know? I want to spend my Sunday mornings arguing over who has what portion of the newspaper.¡± Hearing myself, my cheeks re up again. ¡°I know how I sound. Like a hopeless romantic.¡± ¡°Are you one?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a realistic romantic,¡± I say. ¡°Which is why I¡¯m on a first date with a stranger.¡± He lifts an eyebrow again. ¡°This is a blind date?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°And he¡¯ste. Really not off to a good start.¡± I shrug, feeling the nerves settle into a current in my stomach. Talking to this guy helps. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll give him a shot. Something might have happened to him on the way here, you know.¡± I look over his shoulder, but the businessmen down the end of the bar counter are talking amongst themselves, paying him no mind. ¡°Why are you here? Waiting for your own blind date?¡± I can¡¯t say it without smiling. As if. ¡°No,¡± he says, swirling the amber liquid in his ss around. ¡°I¡¯ve met her before.¡± That makes me roll my eyes. ¡°Of course. She¡¯ste too?¡± ¡°Yes. Often is, as a matter of fact.¡± ¡°I guess that¡¯s not on your list of criteria, then.¡± ¡°No. Come to think of it, I don¡¯t know if she subscribes to a newspaper.¡± ¡°You should ask her that tonight,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ve heard it¡¯s a dealbreaker for some.¡± His smile stretches wide. ¡°So have I, kid,¡± he says. ¡°Tell me why dating makes you this nervous.¡± ¡°Kid? We¡¯re practically the same age!¡±Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. He¡¯s still smiling. ¡°Are we? I can¡¯t remember thest time I was as nervous as you waiting for someone to show up.¡± This guy is a roller coaster. ¡°That doesn¡¯t define my maturity. I¡¯m twenty-six,¡± I say. Honesty makes me add the rest. ¡°Well, I will be in four months¡¯ time. How old are you?¡± ¡°Thirty-two,¡± he says. That¡¯s when my phone vibrates in my pocket again. Ice shoots through my veins, freezing me to the spot. Brian¡¯s probably here. Has it already been fifteen minutes? God, I hate this. Hate it hate it hate it. A nce down at my phone confirms it. I¡¯m outside. Did you grab a table? A Ticking Time Boss 3 ¡°Is that him?¡± Peanut guy says. ¡°Yes,¡± I murmur. ¡°It¡¯s showtime.¡± ¡°For him, not for you,¡± he says. ¡°Just be yourself.¡± ¡°Right.¡± My fingers fly over my phone. I have a table inside. ¡°Good luck, kid. I¡¯ll be over here if you need me.¡± ¡°Stop calling me a kid,¡± I say. My nerves are ring up again, making mesh out. ¡°And don¡¯t look at me the whole date. That¡¯s weird.¡± He smiles wide, and I catch a hint of a dimple beneath the dark five-o¡¯clock shadow coating his jaw. ¡°Just signal and I¡¯ll give you a usible excuse.¡± ¡°Um, thanks. Have a nice evening,¡± I say and head toward my table. My disgusting drink stands there, forgotten. I sit down and smooth my hands over my dress. I can do this. When I look up, I cast my eyes about for a man striding my way. Instead I meet peanut guy¡¯s gaze. He¡¯s leaning against the bar, ss in hand, and gives me the smallest of nods. There¡¯s a hint of a smile on his face. The arrogant bastard. But he¡¯s quickly eclipsed by the man who approaches me. This has to be Brian. Nina set me up with him, a guy from her old job. She promised he would be nice. That was the word she used. Nice. He looks nice, I think, in a friendly sort of way. He¡¯s wearing a beanie that sits low on top of dark curls. He shrugs out of his denim jacket. ¡°Hey,¡± he says. ¡°Sorry I¡¯mte.¡± ¡°No worries.¡± He looks down at my drink, and a frown mars his face. ¡°You¡¯ve already ordered?¡± Yeah, dude. I was waiting here alone for twenty minutes. ¡°I did, yes. I hope that¡¯s okay.¡± He shrugs and sits down opposite me. ¡°Sure, sure. So Nina told me you¡¯re a journalist.¡± ¡°I am, yes. I¡¯d love to work in investigative reporting someday,¡± I say. Hopefully sooner than just one day, if the interview today had gone as well as it felt. I¡¯d spent over two hours today at the New York Globe ¡®s offices. ¡°So you write, like, these exposing pieces about government corruption and scandals?¡± He slouches in his chair, but his eyes glow with enthusiasm. This is promising. I spin my disgusting drink around and nod. ¡°I¡¯d like to, at least.¡± ¡°You know, I have a lot of opinions about the press.¡± ¡°You do?¡±This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. He raises a finger. Almost like he¡¯s lecturing me. ¡°You guys need to start reporting more on facts, and less with your emotions.¡± Um¡­ ¡°Yes. Well, reporting on the facts as they are is the hallmark of good journalistic integrity.¡± ¡°Sure, but so often they don¡¯t. You know, I haven¡¯t subscribed to a newspaper in years. The facts I care about are all online. I can find them with the press of a button.¡± I rub a hand over my neck. ¡°Well, a lot of people do that nowadays. Print media is struggling for that very reason.¡± ¡°It¡¯s dying, more like it. But if you reported more on facts, you¡¯d be doing better.¡± He raises a hand, signaling to the waitress. ¡°Over here!¡± Oh, dude. That¡¯s not okay. My nerves turn to irritation instead. ¡°Say please,¡± I mutter. He doesn¡¯t hear me. ¡°I¡¯ll have a beer,¡± he tells the waitress. ¡°Easy on the head, all right? And not a wheat beer. Anything but a wheat beer.¡± He turns back to me, like our conversation was never interrupted. ¡°That¡¯s why a lot of people don¡¯t trust journalists anymore. It¡¯s not that hard of a job, right? Reporting the facts. Not like working in manualbor or, like, working at a brewery.¡± ¡°Not as hard as your job, you mean?¡± I say. My hand is tight around my ss. He shrugs and gives me a smile, like we¡¯re sharing a joke. ¡°You said it, not me. Hey, I have a few stories you should write about. I¡¯m sure everyone says that, but I¡¯m serious. I think this could be good for you.¡± Oh boy. ¡°Really?¡± I ask. ¡°What are they?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a member of an onlinemunity. We don¡¯t really tell people about it, but we share updates the regr media won¡¯t report on. I know exactly how you¡¯ll react-but listen with an open mind. Sasquatch was sighted recently, just upstate. Farmers in the area have been covering it up, and a friend of mine online has seen the FBI vehicles.¡± His eyes widen. ¡°This goes all the way to the very top.¡± I take a long, hard sip of my disgusting drink. Oh Christ, I think. Over Brian¡¯s shoulder, I see peanut guy talking to a leggy blonde. Her hair falls in a wave over her shoulder and she has a hand on his arm. He says something and she tosses her head back tough. At least someone¡¯s having a good time. ¡°This is a scoop,¡± Brian says. ¡°Could be really good for your career. I mean, if you want the help.¡± An hourter, I¡¯ve still not found a way to escape. Brian just won¡¯t stop talking. About how my career could go in a different direction if only I had the guts to report the actual facts. His ten-minute monologue would be charming, if it wasn¡¯t such a tant example of mansining. He adjusts his clear-rim sses-I¡¯m starting to wonder if he¡¯s only wearing them for aesthetic reasons-and leans back in his chair. ¡°So that¡¯s why,¡± he says, ¡°I had to quit that job.¡± ¡°Because they didn¡¯t respect your initiatives.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± he says. He looks like he¡¯s actually enjoying himself. Probably because his date has mainly been listening to himself talk. ¡°But strong people like others who take charge. They recognize themselves,¡± he says. His voice has gone weird and soft, and my stomach tightens up in nerves again. No, no, no. This is what I don¡¯t like. Turning someone down or having to rebuff them. Conflict-averse to the max, that¡¯s me. ¡°Especially women,¡± he continues. ¡°They really like someone who knows how to show them a good time.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t-¡± He lunges across the table and presses his lips to mine. It¡¯s so unexpected I jerk back, but he follows along, his mouth like a leech. And oh God, is that his tongue? I don¡¯t kiss him back. I sit there, hands balled on the table, for two long seconds before I push against his chest. He leans back with eyes that are warm. ¡°Well,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯re a good kisser, at least.¡± At least? At least? This man is unbelievable. A Ticking Time Boss 4 ¡°Thank you for tonight,¡± I say, because I can¡¯t find it in myself to stop being polite. ¡°But I think I¡¯m ready to head out.¡± ¡°Back to mine?¡± he asks. ¡°Or yours?¡± I reach for my clutch. ¡°Uh, I have work early in the morning. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be able to do that.¡± ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s a Saturday¡± he says. Oh, so it is. Shoot. My gaze travels over his shoulder and locks eyes with the man from earlier. Peanut guy, who called me kid , but who¡¯d also promised he would help. He¡¯s standing alone by the bar, no blonde in sight. And he catches my gaze. He raises an eyebrow. You need me? I give a teeny, tiny nod. ¡°Audrey?¡± Brian says. ¡°Come on, have a nightcap with me. At least let me take you home. I¡¯ll even let you pick my brain for more stories.¡± The only thing worse than picking this guy¡¯s brain would be having him try to suck mine out again through my teeth.Ccontent ? exclusive by N?/vel(D)ra/ma.Org. ¡°Oh,¡± I say. ¡°Goody. But, I don¡¯t think-¡± The peanut guy has reached us. He puts a hand on the back of my chair, his tall form shadowing our table. ¡°There you are,¡± he tells me. His face is serious, no dimple or charming smile in sight. ¡°We¡¯ve been looking all over for you.¡± ¡°You have?¡± ¡°Yes. Your mom is beside herself. Come on, we have to get going.¡± ¡°Right now?¡± I squeak, looking from him to Brian. His eyes are wide on my suit-wearing savior. ¡°Yes,¡± peanut guy says. ¡°I have a car outside. If we go now, we can still get there in time. Come on.¡± He turns to Brian. ¡°You understand, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says weakly. ¡°Go on, Audrey.¡± I stand up and peanut guy holds up my thin jacket. I slide into the arms. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Thanks for tonight.¡± He nods, and doesn¡¯t even say it back. The jerk. Maybe he¡¯s upset he can¡¯t keep exining someone¡¯s profession back to them. ¡°Hurry,¡± peanut guy says by my side. I try to match his long strides through the bar and toward the front door. ¡°My tab,¡± I whisper to him. ¡°I need to-¡± ¡°I¡¯ve cleared it,¡± he says. ¡°Come on, he¡¯s watching.¡± We emerge into the warm New York air and he lets go of my wrist. My skin tingles where he¡¯s held it. ¡°Oh my God,¡± I say, looking over my shoulder at the closed bar door. ¡°That was awful.¡± ¡°It didn¡¯t look great,¡± he says, but he looks mightily pleased with himself. He¡¯s even taller out here than he¡¯d been hunched over the bar. Towering over me. A burst of nerves flitters through my stomach. ¡°So, what did he do wrong?¡± he says. ¡°Talk about his mother too much? Compare you to his past dates? Ask you toe back to his and check out his herb garden?¡± My nerves die and Iugh. ¡°That would arguably have been worse. No, he didn¡¯t do that. He gave me advice about my career.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a bad thing?¡± peanut guy asks, a raised eyebrow. ¡°Yes! He knows nothing about it!¡± ¡°Ah. Talking out of his ass, then.¡± ¡°Yes. It was so patronizing I forgot to be nervous. I can¡¯t believe I got all dressed up for this,¡± I say, looking down at my ufortable shoes. ¡°It looked like you had better luck.¡± He rubs a hand over his neck, almost as if he¡¯s embarrassed, and gestures toward the street. ¡°We should walk. He might leave any minute.¡± ¡°Oh. And I¡¯m not on my way to my¡­ What was it? My sickly mother?¡± ¡°I kept it vague,¡± he says. ¡°Lies usually work better that way.¡± ¡°You¡¯re an expert at it?¡± He snorts. ¡°Unfortunately, yeah.¡± ¡°So?¡± I press on, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket. ¡°How was your date?¡± He shrugs. ¡°It went all right.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry if I interrupted it, by needing¡­ assistance,¡± I say. ¡°Oh, it was already over. I told her I didn¡¯t want to see her anymore.¡± I stop and stare at him. He notices and rolls his eyes. Auburn hair has fallen over his square forehead and his jawline is sharp from this angle. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me that way,¡± he says. ¡°She knew it wasn¡¯t going anywhere either.¡± I think back on the excited blonde he¡¯d chatted to at the bar. ¡°Right,¡± I say. ¡°At least I didn¡¯t lecture her about how to do her job,¡± he says, smiling crookedly. ¡°I know better than to do that.¡± I rub a hand over my mouth. ¡°God, he kissed me, too. More like lunged at me.¡± ¡°I saw that,¡± he says, and there¡¯s sympathy in his voice. ¡°Didn¡¯t look good.¡± ¡°Definitely wasn¡¯t.¡± We¡¯ve reached my subway stop and I pause, digging through my purse for my card. I doubt he¡¯s heading downstairs too. ¡°Thank you for helping out back there,¡± I say. He nods, eyes on me. ¡°Anytime, kid.¡± I groan. ¡°Not that again.¡± ¡°Riling you up is fun.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 5 ¡°You should get a hobby.¡± It¡¯s another rude thing to say, but somehow, it feels fun with him. Knowing he can take it and dish it back just in kind. He leans against a streemp, cool and collected and seemingly oblivious to the people passing us. ¡°Oh, this is my hobby,¡± he says. ¡°Rescuing damsels in distress at bars who go on bad blind dates.¡± ¡°Happens a lot, does it?¡± ¡°More than you¡¯d think,¡± he says. ¡°Where do you find these guys, anyway? Dating apps?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve tried a few of those,¡± I admit. ¡°They¡¯re not my favorite, but¡­ you get dates, at least.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure you do,¡± he says. I brush past the enigmaticpliment. ¡°But this guy was actually someone my friend set me up with.¡± ¡°Renouncing that friendship?¡± ¡°I really should,¡± I say. ¡°Anyway, this was¡­ nice. I mean, not the date. But the before and after.¡± He grins. ¡°Happy to help.¡± ¡°I should probably head home. Had a full day, and all. I actually had a job interview today. For my dream job.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, probably rambling. I inch toward the subway steps. ¡°I never got your name, actually?¡± He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a small notepad and pen. It¡¯s a slick move, matching his suit, his demeanor, the moneyed air. I don¡¯t trust guys like him. Never have, not since my childhood. But something about him makes me feel energized. Alive. ¡°Carter,¡± he says, scribbling something. ¡°I¡¯ve enjoyed talking to you. Don¡¯t see this as having any strings. But if you need to pick a guy¡¯s brain or be rescued from awful blind dates again¡­¡± I stare at the paper he¡¯s extending toward me. Carter, it says. And beneath it are seven digits. ¡°Your phone number?¡± ¡°The very one,¡± he says. I take it, and wonder why I¡¯m not nervous. He¡¯s a man. An exceedingly handsome one, even. But I¡¯d seen the woman he turned down tonight, and she could easily have passed for a model. Looked happy and smiling, too. This thing, him and me, is so clearly a friendship thing. So I don¡¯t feel nervous at all, epting the piece of paper. ¡°Thanks,¡± I say. ¡°Might be good to get a guy¡¯s perspective on things.¡± ¡°Anytime,¡± he says, and nods to me. Like an old-time gentleman seeing off ady. ¡°Get home safe.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± I murmur again, and walk down the steps. It isn¡¯t until I¡¯m halfway home, dizzy from all the impressions of the day, that I realize I never gave him my name. With shaking fingers, I add his number to my phone and give him the glorious name Carter Peanuts. Then I send him a single text. My name is Audrey. Thanks for the peanuts. His responsees just as I¡¯ve unlocked the room I¡¯m renting on the second floor of a brownstone. I rest against the closed door and read it, feeling endless possibilities stirring around me. Carter : Anytime, kiddo. Pleasure to meet you. Carter : When¡¯s your next date with hyperventtion? Audrey: I didn¡¯t hyperventte, not fully. And I¡¯ve been talking to someone new, actually. Carter: Tell me about this guy. Audrey: It¡¯s just someone I matched with on an app. The conversation is meh, but he seems cute and he has a dog. Carter: Good thing conversation isn¡¯t a big part of rtionships. Audrey: Funny. Not every guy is talkative, you know. Just willing to strike up a conversation with a perfect stranger at a bar. Carter: I get that. I¡¯d never do that, for example. Audrey: Me neither. What if the other person was a weirdo? Carter: Or worse. Serial killers abound. Audrey: That¡¯s why I never tasted any of the peanuts you offered. Had youced them before? Carter: You¡¯re on to me. I always carry a vial of arsenic around. Audrey: I figured. You gave me those vibes. But, tell me. What do you do on a first date? Carter: Beyond hyperventte, you mean? Audrey: Yeah. Tell me how a guy prepares. Carter: What a question. Tells me everything I need to know. Audrey: How so??N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. Carter: You prepare, do you? And work yourself into a state through it all. The trick is to not prepare at all. I don¡¯t. Audrey: So just¡­ show up? Carter: Yes. He¡¯s there to date you, not the dress you spent four hours picking out. Just show up with a good attitude. That¡¯s the only prep you should do. Audrey: This is such a guy¡¯s advice. Carter: Isn¡¯t that what you wanted? A guy¡¯s perspective? Audrey: Yes. But wow, is it a guy¡¯s. Please continue though. Worst mistakes a girl can make? Carter: That¡¯s gonna vary from man to man, kid. I can only tell you what would turn me off. A Ticking Time Boss 6 Audrey: Lay it on me. I can take it, I promise. Is it aggressively eating free peanuts? Was your arsened gift actually a test? Carter: I don¡¯t think charming a man on your first date is your problem, not judging by the other night. Audrey: He was definitely a weirdo though. Come on. Share something. Carter: Fine. Someone who wants to change everything about their order annoys me. I mean, if you¡¯rectose intolerant, fair. But when a date wants tobine two dishes, have them served due north, and could they please get some sesame seeds on top? That bothers me. Audrey: Oh I get that. I would never. So, I already know punctuality isn¡¯t important to you. But what is? Carter: You forgot rudeness. Apparently I love being rude to waiting staff. Audrey: Oh my god. I¡¯m still sorry I said that. I want to me it on my nerves but maybe I¡¯m just awful. Sorry!! Carter: That text right there proves you¡¯re not. Carter: So. What¡¯s important. That she canugh. If I can¡¯t make a womanugh, it¡¯s game over for me. Audrey: Your ego can¡¯t take it? Carter: Kid, it¡¯s my one superpower. If I don¡¯t exercise it regrly I¡¯ll die. Audrey: Aren¡¯t you also pretty sessful? Carter: I¡¯d take issue with the word ¡°pretty¡± if we hadn¡¯t just met. Audrey: Lol. Alright. So you¡¯re very sessful, and funny. Dating has to be a game to you, and one you always win. Audrey: This is great. I¡¯ll spam you with guy questions. You¡¯ll regret ever giving me your number. Carter: Haven¡¯t regretted it so far. You¡¯re funny, kid. Audrey: Still only a few years younger than you. Carter: Ah, but you¡¯reing to me for advice. I¡¯m clearly the mentor here. Audrey: Aaaand now you¡¯re obnoxious again. Carter : It¡¯ll keep happening. Might as well get used to it. Audrey: I¡¯ll consider myself warned. Carter: When are you meeting guy-with-dog? Audrey: Next Thursday. I got a new job, so I want a few days to settle in before I throw myself into the fire again.Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. Carter: Congrats. And it won¡¯t be that bad. Debrief with me after. Audrey: I will. Thanks for this. Weird as it sounds I¡¯m d I was freaking out at that bar. Carter: Me too, kid. My faucet is leaking again. ¡°Crap.¡± I bang on it, hoisting my bag up on my shoulder to avoid the spray, but it doesn¡¯t help the slow and steady drip. My little duct-tape fix fromst night isn¡¯t holding up. It¡¯s soaked through. Shit, I¡¯m going to bete¡­ and on my second week at the Globe . I crouch down low and open the cab. Where is it¡­ aha! I grab the duct tape and start wrapping it around the pipe. Hopefully it¡¯llst another twelve hours. Then I shove a clean towel under the cab and hope it won¡¯t be soaked through when I get back home. I make it out of the tiny room I rent, past the closed door of my never-awake, constantly weed-smoking neighbor, and downstairs. There¡¯s mail on the stoop. Of course there¡¯s mail. I grab it and rush back in to myndlord¡¯s door on the first floor. Pierce owns this brownstone, and rents the converted bedrooms upstairs out to students or penniless young professionals. ¡°Mr. Pierce?¡± I half-scream. He¡¯s hard of hearing. ¡°You¡¯ve got mail! I¡¯ll put it outside your door!¡± There¡¯s a thud inside. ¡°Is that you, Audrey?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± ¡°Noted,¡± he calls back. His voice is rusty, like always, and his choice of words makes me smile. The old man barely says thank you. Time for the tough conversation. ¡°My faucet is leaking again! Any news on the plumber?¡± Another thud inside, and then his heavy footfalls. ¡°Yes, yes, I called him yesterday. He¡¯s on it,¡± Pierce says. Which, if I know myndlord, means he forgot and is about to call the plumber right now. ¡°Thank you!¡± Then I have to race to the subway. I make it to the Globe with a few minutes to spare. Walking through the prestigious lobby, past the gold-framed articles of legend, the sleek logo behind reception, and pulling out my employee keycard¡­ even now, two weeks in, it makes me feel giddy. This job is like winning the lottery, and not even the paltry sry can make me think otherwise. I ride the elevator up to my floor with a smile on my face. Ridiculous, perhaps, and I¡¯m sure the stressed journalists and department heads who ride with me think I¡¯m nuts. But I¡¯m just a junior investigative reporter at the Globe who just got the greenlight to investigate my first story. And probably a little bit nuts too. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and my smile widens. It¡¯s past eight thirty, when he drinks his first cup. Carter: You¡¯re wrong. vored creamer makes it worse, not better, and I¡¯ll fight anyone who tells me otherwise. I type my reply as I walk through the long hallway on my floor. Audrey: I told you to only do one-and-a-half pumps. Did you put two? It ruins it if you put two. Carter: Do you think I have time to measure out a half-pump? Audrey: You have time to text me, so yes. Carter: Touch¨¦. A Ticking Time Boss 7 Over the past weeks, our texting has grown from tentative hellos to a frenzy of banter. Never about anything serious, and rarely about our own lives. But we have differing opinions on almost everything. I sit down at my desk in the openndscape, and while myputer turns on, I send him another one. Audrey: You know, I still don¡¯t know what you do for a living. Is that weird? Carter: I¡¯ve told you. I rescue women from bad blind dates. Audrey: No, you said that¡¯s your hobby. Not so good at remembering all your lies, are you? Carter: It¡¯s the number-one problem for superheroes, actually. Trouble keeping up with multiple identities. Leads to a lot of early retirements.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. I grin down at my phone. He never says what I expect him to say. Always thinks of something different, something unexpected, doesn¡¯t like the way I take my coffee, disagreed with my choice of date locationst weekend. We haven¡¯t seen each other again since the bad date. I don¡¯t know if I want to, either. This, our texting friendship, is¡­ perfect. Exactly what I need. Someone to shake me out of my rut. Exposure therapy. ¡°You look happy,¡± a voice says to my left. ¡°Too happy. Do you remember what story you¡¯re supposed to be working on?¡± I turn toward Den. He¡¯s my deskmate and he¡¯s always, always, in the newsroom early. He looks over at me with a vaguely disapproving frown, his round sses low on his nose. Like me, Den is a junior reporter. He carries a leather satchel to work and yesterday he rocked a sweater vest. I think he fancies himself a journalist in the ¡¯40s, but I hope to one day win a Pulitzer, so Lord knows we both have journalistic dreams. ¡°I remember,¡± I tell him. ¡°How¡¯s your pieceing along?¡± He pushes his sses up. ¡°Great. I¡¯m going out after lunch to interview members of the church.¡± ¡°They agreed to your request?¡± He hesitates, but then he turns his chin up. ¡°They will.¡± I smile at his resolve and set about opening my email inbox. I start the day by reading through all the official memos from the editor-in-chief and from the executive team. Today¡¯s is short. It mentions the acquisition of The New York Globe by Acture Capital. It¡¯s a hands-off venture capital firm. The announcement is phrased in pretty terms, but I read it with a sinking pit of despair. Print media is being sold to investor funds, one after one, and we all know how the worst of them treat newspapers. Theyy off employees, rack up subscription prices, and bleed thepany into bankruptcy. Den breaks through my mid-morning read-through. ¡°Booker read through the draft of the Johnson article you helped with yesterday.¡± ¡°She did?!¡± He nods, but he looks pleased with himself. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Did you see her read it?¡± ¡°Yep.¡± ¡°Den,¡± I say, ¡°please. How did she seem?¡± He finally relents and turns toward me with a shrug. ¡°She said it was decent.¡± ¡°Decent,¡± I breathe. ¡°Really?¡± It might not seem like a lot, but decent is basically great in Booker¡¯s terminology. Tara Booker is the editor of investigative journalism and my direct boss, although she usually concerns herself with the reporters who don¡¯t have junior in front of their names. ¡°Did you get statements from the victim¡¯s family?¡± Den asks. I nod. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m going to write it up today.¡± ¡°Should make for a good piece,¡± he says, and that¡¯s the most friendliness I¡¯ve gotten out of Den so far. What is this? My birthday? I allocate an hour to my solo project. It¡¯s a story I¡¯ve been following for months, about a bodega in Queens that¡¯s being illegally shut down because of rising rent prices. The owners had tried to take it to court, but because they didn¡¯t have the right paperwork-and no money to pay for an attorney to help them with it-they didn¡¯t get past the initial hurdle. So the constructionpany who wants them out will get away with it. It¡¯s the type of David-and-Goliath story that makes my blood boil. I work straight through lunch, the words flowing, and I barely notice when a shape leans against my desk. ¡°Audrey,¡± a sharp, feminine voice says. ¡°Take a break.¡± I look up at Booker. She has her arms crossed over a peach blouse, the color entuating her dark-brown skin. Brown eyes that regrly skewer seasoned reporters meet mine. ¡°Right,¡± I say. ¡°I will, just as soon as I¡¯ve typed up the transcript from my interviews.¡± ¡°Take a break now,¡± she says, in a voice that brokers no dispute. ¡°I need to talk to you.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I close the lid to my workptop and turn in my chair. ¡°Bad news,¡± she says. ¡°Your solo beat is put on hold.¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry?¡± She inclines her head, and her voice sounds strained. ¡°Wish I could say otherwise, but those are the new ordersing from management. The Globe has been bought. Seems like there¡¯s a different tuneing from the top.¡± ¡°I just read about that¡­ but surely it¡¯s a quiet owner? Someone who sits on the board?¡± ¡°No. They¡¯ve changed management. As of two days ago, we have a new CEO.¡± I sink back into my chair. My article, lost. To another Goliath. ¡°Why would they cut my article?¡± ¡°They don¡¯t know about you,¡± Booker says. ¡°But all solo-initiative reporting has been put on pause while management enacts some structural changes.¡± She says thest two words like they¡¯re sour on her tongue. There¡¯s quiet panic in her eyes. ¡°This is bad,¡± I guess. A Ticking Time Boss 8 ¡°It might be,¡± she agrees, and it¡¯s her candor more than anything that makes me worry. Booker has always seemed like a queen on her throne, ahead of the curve, doling out the story beats in the newsroom like amander with her legions. She sighs. ¡°Anyway, we won¡¯t know more for a while. There¡¯s talk of whole departments being cut, major buyouts, but nothing confirmed yet.¡± ¡°Whole departments,¡± I repeat. ¡°Surely they can¡¯t do that?¡± ¡°Acture Capital has bought the majority stake,¡± she says. ¡°They can do anything with the Globe they feel like.¡± I open my mouth to say something, but her gaze has locked on a spot beyond my shoulder. I turn to see, and watch a man walk through the hallway with a box. A picture frame sticks up over the edge. ¡°Oh my god,¡± I whisper. He¡¯s been fired. ¡°Shit,¡± Booker says. ¡°That¡¯s Phil, our music correspondent.¡± ¡°They¡¯re already firing people?¡± ¡°Seems like it. He worked here for decades.¡± Her voice sounds like it¡¯sing from far away, and she stares at the door where Phil disappeared. ¡°I have another job for you, Audrey.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not fancy, and I won¡¯t pretend to you that it is,¡± she says. No-nonsense, just as always. ¡°Someone needs to interview the new CEO for the corporate newsletter.¡± ¡°The person responsible for all of this,¡± I say. ¡°Right?¡± Her tone is hard. ¡°Yes. The interview order ising from management itself. Something about introducing the CEO to the staff. No doubt it¡¯ll be a puff piece, Audrey. You¡¯ll probably speak to an assistant. You might even get pre-recorded answers.¡± I nod. It¡¯s grunt work, as opposed to my solo article, but I¡¯m a junior reporter. I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯ll do anything, any journalistic writing they¡¯ll allow me. But I don¡¯t have to enjoy it. ¡°I¡¯ll get on it right away,¡± I say. ¡°Good. I¡¯ve been told they¡¯re expecting you up on the fifteenth floor.¡± ¡°Now?¡± ¡°Now,¡± she repeats grimly. She shakes her head and strides off, and I get the feeling she has a lot more thoughts about the new management than she¡¯s letting on. They¡¯d let Phil go. They¡¯d cut my article, and so many others, without even knowing what they were about. Just a halt on all employee-driven initiative. Departments might get shed. Whole groups of people, just like Phil. I grab my notepad and head toward the elevators. They might want a puff piece, but I¡¯ll be damned if I don¡¯t ask the new CEO at least one question about what¡¯s going on. I make it up to the fifteenth floor with my heart hammering in my chest. This is what I like doing. Asking tough questions, getting real answers. But I¡¯ll alsoe face-to-face with someone who now owns thepany I work for. The reality of that sets in. One wrong word, and I might be the one to collect my things from my desk and leave. Not that I have many things to collect yet. And if they¡¯re nning on gutting the newsroom, shing the Globe , junior reporters won¡¯t be high on the list. This whole thing, my dream job, the beginning of my career, could all be over before it¡¯s even started. I¡¯m greeted by a soft-spoken assistant in an atrium. His name is Timothy, ording to the name tag on his desk, and he¡¯s an executive receptionist. ¡°My name is Audrey Ford,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m here for an interview with the new CEO for thepany¡¯s newsletter?¡± ¡°Ah, yes. Thanks foring so quickly,¡± Timothy says. ¡°Mr. Kingsley is waiting for you just inside here.¡± It takes me a moment to process his words. I really wille face-to-face with the CEO. No fast-talking assistant, no pre-recorded answers. I clutch my notepad like a shield and walk toward the closed door. Knocking twice, I announce myself. ¡°Audrey Ford here, from Investigative, for an interview!¡± ¡°Come in,¡± a voice calls. I push the heavy door open and step into an office flooded with light. The CEO has the best office, I think. How typical. Then I register who¡¯s sitting behind the ss desk. Auburn hair pushed back over a square forehead. A mouth that looks like it¡¯s always quick to charm, a smile hiding in the corner. And familiar tawny eyes that lock on mine. ¡°Carter?¡± I ask. Audrey is standing in the doorway to my office, clutching a notepad to her chest like it¡¯s armor. She looks different than that night, three weeks ago, when she¡¯d been hyperventting inside a dark bar.This belongs to N?velDrama.Org. Her dark brown curls are swept back in a low ponytail and the dress she¡¯d worn is long gone. In her ce is a woman in cks and a blouse, professional, her attention fully focused on me. Her eyes are wide. ¡°Carter?¡± ¡°Audrey?¡± I stand. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± ¡°I work here.¡± ¡°Here? At the Globe ?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she says. Then she looks out at the hallway, as if my assistant might hear. She pushes the door closed. ¡°I told you I was a journalist!¡± ¡°I never thought you¡¯d work here,¡± I say. ¡°Started two weeks ago, actually.¡± That makes me smile. ¡°Which is why they¡¯re sending you up to interview me for thepany newsletter.¡± She frowns at me, like I¡¯ve just offended her. Like we haven¡¯t given each other much worse punches over text. ¡°You¡¯re the CEO,¡± she says, voice tense. ¡°You work for Acture Capital?¡± ¡°I¡¯m one of the co-owners, yes,¡± I say. ¡°We acquired the Globe a few weeks ago, though negotiations have been on-going for over a year.¡± She takes a seat in the chair opposite my desk and demonstratively opens her notebook. I sit back down. Despite the irritation etched on her face, her features shine more without the makeup she¡¯d worn in the bar. A smatter of freckles dance across her nose. An old phrase my mother likes to say shes through my brain. The kind of woman you earn, not charm. ¡°So,¡± Audrey says, picking up her pen. ¡°What made you want to acquire the Globe ?¡± Then, before I can respond, she puts her pen down again. ¡°How can you be the new boss of thepany I work for? How did this nevere up in text?¡± A Ticking Time Boss 9 ¡°We never spoke about our jobs.¡± ¡°We should¡¯ve,¡± she says. ¡°I can¡¯t believe this.¡± I rub the back of my hand over my mouth to hide my amusement. She¡¯s not impressed by this, then. Weirdly enough, it makes me like this sarcastic, funny, intelligent enigma of a woman even more. A lot of women like what I do. Never for what it entails, and they never want to hear the details, but they seem turned on by the SparkNotes version. I open my mouth, but she cuts in with an irritated sigh. ¡°I guess this means I can¡¯t ask you for advice anymore.¡± ¡°Of course you can,¡± I say. ¡°Excited for your date on Friday?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t talk to you about that, you¡¯re my boss! My boss¡¯s boss¡¯s boss, probably. It would be wrong.¡± ¡°We¡¯re the same people.¡± ¡°No, we really aren¡¯t,¡± she says, and opens her notepad again. This time, it seems like she¡¯s determined to keep it open, because she starts jotting down notes. ¡°I haven¡¯t said anything yet,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯ve said plenty,¡± she mutters. This time I don¡¯t try to hide my smile. ¡°What questions have you prepared?¡± ¡°None,¡± she says. ¡°I was told to head up as soon as I got the task, and that there¡¯d likely be pre-prepared talking points.¡± Technically, there are. I have them in front of me on the desk, a set of bullet points the editor-in-chief, Wesley, had given me. Aspects of my leadership he thought would be good forpany morale. I don¡¯t look at the paper. ¡°It¡¯s better if you conduct the interview,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re the journalist, right?¡± She shoots me a look that¡¯s dark with irritation. So she¡¯s annoyed that she can¡¯t keep texting me, then, or else she wouldn¡¯t have reacted this way. Oddly enough, that makes me d. Talking to her had be one of the highlights of my day. Odd, and unexpected, sure. At times a distraction from work. But fun in a way I hadn¡¯t had with a woman in years. Fun without expectations or pretense. ¡°Fine,¡± Audrey says. ¡°I¡¯ll repeat my first question, then. Why did you want to acquire the Globe ?¡± I lean back in the chair. I¡¯ll have to give her an honest, professional answer, even if the only thing I want is to keep riling her up. ¡°Acture Capital has been looking for an opportunity in the media sphere for years. The Globe fit the bill. It¡¯s a paper with a strong history, solid human capital, and prospects. It was also struggling in areas that Acture felt could be amended.¡± Audrey nods, her head bent over her notepad. ¡°Has Acture Capital, or yourself, worked with the media industry before?¡± She knows what questions to ask. ¡°It¡¯s a new foray for us,¡± I admit, ¡°but my partners and I are confident that the knowledge and capital we bring are up for the task.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Audrey murmurs, her pen working. ¡°Why were you the one elected to be CEO of the Globe ? If you have partners?¡± I put my hands on the edge of the ss desk. ¡°I¡¯m interested in the industry. It¡¯s worth preserving and protecting.¡± Audrey looks up from her notepad. I meet her gaze, seeing hesitation in hers. ¡°You believe that?¡± she asks. ¡°I do.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re not just here to turn a profit?¡± ¡°A good journalist knows how to make their subject feel at ease,¡± I say with a grin. ¡°I¡¯m feeling a bit attacked right now.¡± ¡°Attacked,¡± she mutters, shaking her head. ¡°You don¡¯t feel attacked at all.¡± ¡°Honestly? I want to turn a profit,¡± I say. ¡°Of course Acture Capital wants that. So does the Globe , in fact. It hasn¡¯t for a long time, which is no secret to any of the employees who might read this newsletter. Feel free to put it in there.¡± ¡°But you¡¯re shing departments,¡± she says. ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡± I pause. ¡°Where did you hear that?¡± ¡°Co-workers talk.¡± ¡°No decisions have been made,¡± I say. ¡°But you are firing people,¡± Audrey challenges. Her eyes are zing on mine. ¡°I saw Phil from the music section just earlier.¡± Ah. We¡¯re on tricky ground, here. I could exin my decision, but I won¡¯t do it if there¡¯s a chance it will be sted to apany where the employees number in the hundreds. ¡°Tough decisions have been made,¡± I say. ¡°More will have to be in the future. Acture isn¡¯t here to decimate the Globe , though. We¡¯re not picking it apart. We have no ns to sell it for parts. The end goal is to make the Globe slimmer, more efficient, and equipped to handle the ever-changing mediandscape. That¡¯s something I want you to put in the interview.¡± Dutifully, she notes it down. ¡°Is that something Acture does a lot? When you acquirepanies?¡±N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. ¡°Make them better? Yes.¡± The look she shoots me isn¡¯t impressed. ¡°Layoffs.¡± ¡°If necessary, yes,¡± I say honestly. ¡°It¡¯s not a part of the process we enjoy, but organizations often have vestiges of previous takeovers, projects, re-organizations. Often times those can be a drain on apany¡¯s potential growth.¡± Audrey cocks her head. ¡°Did you know? When we met at that bar?¡± ¡°Know what?¡± ¡°That I¡¯d just been at the Globe for an interview that very day?¡± This time, I can¡¯t hide my smile. ¡°Do you think I personally vet every person thispany hires? Because I can assure you, I don¡¯t have that kind of time.¡± It echoes the text I¡¯d jokingly sent her earlier, after I¡¯d tried coffee the way she¡¯d pestered me to, saying it was the best. It wasn¡¯t. Like so many things, we disagreed. She must hear it too, because her cheeks flush with color. ¡°Right. Of course you don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Go on,¡± I say. ¡°Ask me anything else for the newsletter.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 10 Her eyes meet mine. Flustered, challenged, annoyed. And intrigued. Try as she may to act aloof, she¡¯s interested, just as she¡¯d been standing next to me at the bar. I know what she says next will surprise me. She always does. ¡°What¡¯s your exit strategy?¡± she asks. Both my eyebrows rise. ¡°We¡¯ve just bought thepany. We¡¯re not thinking of selling it anytime soon.¡± ¡°But you will, one day,¡± she says. ¡°That¡¯s the strategy of venture capitalist firms, if I understand them correctly, Mr. Kingsley.¡± ¡°Mr. Kingsley?¡± ¡°We should be professional,¡± she says. ¡°We should,¡± I agree. ¡°I will lodge a formalint with HR about your atrocious taste in coffee.¡± Her eyes re. ¡°You should have used one and a half pumps. But don¡¯t deflect. What¡¯s your exit strategy?¡± ¡°Is that really a question on that little sheet of yours?¡± ¡°Mr. Kingsley,¡± she warns. ¡°You¡¯ve got the stamina to be a journalist,¡± I mutter, but I lean back in my chair and consider her question. It¡¯s a fair one. Perhaps not something I want to have announced to the world yet, though. ¡°There is one,¡± I say. ¡°Suffice it to say that Acture ismitted to seeing the Globe as a booming, one-stop source for news, a ce that has as solid a future as it has a renowned past, before we consider letting go of the reins.¡± ¡°Cashing in on your profits,¡± she trantes. ¡°Right?¡± I smile at her. She knows I can¡¯t answer that. Reluctantly, she sighs, looking down at her notepad. ¡°This interview doesn¡¯t contain much substance.¡± ¡°That¡¯s okay,¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s not what your co-workers are looking for right now.¡± She taps her pen against the notepad. ¡°They want reassurance, and information, and I don¡¯t have either of those things yet.¡± ¡°Yes, you do,¡± I correct her. ¡°Not in the way you want it, perhaps. But you can tell them that there is someone at the top who has a vision and a n. They¡¯re bound to be nervous after hearing about people getting fired.¡± Audrey pauses in her writing, eyes meeting mine. I can¡¯t decipher what¡¯s in hers. ¡°Wow,¡± she says. ¡°You really mean that, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yes. Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡± She shakes her head and keeps writing, and my fingers tap annoyedly at the ss desk. It had been a standard answer for me. ¡°You¡¯re young to be this sessful,¡± she says, head still bowed. ¡°Only thirty-two and CEO of thispany.¡± ¡°You remembered?¡± ¡°Unless it was a lie,¡± she says. ¡°You can¡¯t keep track of them all.¡± The reference to our earlier text conversation doesn¡¯t make me smile. I don¡¯t want to lose that. Being ridiculous with her, sending her texts designed to make herugh¡­ ¡°Wasn¡¯t a lie,¡± I say. ¡°And you¡¯re twenty-six.¡± ¡°In four months¡¯ time,¡± she adds. ¡°But that¡¯s not relevant for this interview.¡± ¡°Is my age?¡± ¡°Of course. I¡¯m introducing Carter Kingsley, thirty-two-year-old partner of Acture Capital and newly appointed CEO of the Globe, to all of your employees. Very few of whom, I should say, have ever seen your face.¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t called an all-hands meeting yet,¡± I admit, running a hand over my jaw. ¡°But I will.¡±Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. Audrey purses her lips. They¡¯re without lip gloss today, I see, a warm, dusky pink that looks natural and soft. ¡°Will you be essible to your employees?¡± ¡°essible?¡± ¡°If any should have questions, concerns or¡­ints about the way the changes are being implemented. Where should they go?¡± ¡°Ah. Well, they¡¯re always free to email me or Wesley, and we will do our best to answer their questions.¡± Audrey looks down at her notepad again. Probably surveying what she has, but judging from the faint crease in her brow, she¡¯s not happy. ¡°What are the odds of me getting an actual response from you about any future ns? What you¡¯re going to implement next?¡± ¡°Zero,¡± I say. ¡°Like I suspected.¡± She rises from her seat and smooths a hand over her cks. ¡°Thank you for your time, Mr. Kingsley.¡± ¡°Anytime, Audrey.¡± She pauses, hand on the back of the chair. ¡°Miss Ford.¡± ¡°Miss Ford,¡± I repeat. ¡°I will send the interview to you, with your assistant in copy, as soon as it¡¯s done,¡± she says. Her eyes aren¡¯t on me, but on the emzoned name te on my desk. Carter Kingsley, CEO, The New York Globe. Wesley had it made for me when I arrived. It had been an over-the-top gift from a suck-up, and I¡¯d known it. Now I wish I hadn¡¯t put it here on disy. Somehow, it didn¡¯t seem quite so ironic when she was looking at it. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll be pleased with it.¡± Audrey is halfway to the door before she turns around. Her eyes aren¡¯t challenging this time. They¡¯re hesitant. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°This won¡¯t affect my job in any way,¡± she says. ¡°Will it?¡± Something inside me sinks at the question. Of course she¡¯d wonder. And with that, the most normal interaction I¡¯d had with someone, the most casual, no strings-attached conversation, is gone for good. Nail in the coffin. She might not expect the same things my exes did, but she sure expects something. It¡¯s just not ttering. ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°It won¡¯t. You never have to worry about that.¡± She breathes out a sigh. ¡°Right. Okay, well¡­ thank you, then. Mr. Kingsley.¡± ¡°No, thank you¡­ Miss Ford.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 11 Kid had been on the tip of my tongue. Not that it suits her, but because it harkens back to the first time I¡¯d called her that in teasing. She¡¯d hated it. I¡¯d used it liberally in texting since. Audrey gives me ast nod and closes the door behind her. Leaving me alone in the too-big, too-bright office. I reach for the gold que with my name on it and shove it in the bottom drawer of my desk. The phone on my desk blinks and I press it down. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Colt Whittaker is here for you, sir. Should I send him in?¡± I close my eyes. That¡¯s another person I need to fire, and I hate it every single time. But I¡¯ll be damned if I¡¯ll make the decision and then send in someone else to make the kill for me. If there¡¯s one thing I¡¯ve learned in this business, it¡¯s that integrity matters. My father taught me that, by having absolutely none at all himself. ¡°Send him in,¡± I say. I leave my tiny apartment and the leaky sink-Old Man Pierce hadn¡¯t called a plumber after all. He¡¯d called one of his old friends from the post office, who hade and installed a temporary fix.Ccontent ? exclusive by N?/vel(D)ra/ma.Org. So temporary, in fact, that it onlysted two days. He¡¯s gotten mail again, although by the looks of it, it¡¯s just coupons. I shove them under his door and race toward the subway. My phone has been as good as dead this week. Not a text from Carter since the scene in his office, and I haven¡¯t reached out either. That avenue is closed. I can¡¯t believe the man I joked with is the same person who¡¯d sent three members of the junior trainee programme out the door yesterday. The decision had baffled everyone, including Booker, who told the entire newsroom not to overreact. But she¡¯d worn a tight look about the mouth that made me think she¡¯s as nervous as the rest of us. Is this the beginning of the end for the Globe ? Den has been frazzled all week, like he suspects he might be next. But he¡¯s been there for a year, and while he still has junior in his job title, there are reporters who are more junior than him. Like me, for example. There¡¯s a painful victory in it all. Carter had really been the slick, suit-wearing, profit-seeking businessman I¡¯d thought he was at first nce. Now that I¡¯ve seen him in his element, he reminds me too much of the man who¡¯d ripped off my father many years ago. That conman had worn polished suits and charming smiles too, his native tongue double-talk. And he¡¯d left my dad with empty college and retirement funds and broken pride. By the time I make it into the office, Booker is already handing out story beats. But she¡¯s doing it earlier than usual. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I whisper to Den beside me. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he whispers back. ¡°But all the higher-ups are on edge today.¡± I meet his worried gaze with one of my own. Is this ourst day at the Globe ? The shoe drops a quarter past eleven, when the announcementes through an email st. There¡¯s an all-hands meeting in fifteen minutes. The news goes through the office like a shot. People turn to one another in spection, while others turn a ghostly white at their desks. I hate it. I hate what it means, what it looks like, and most of all I hate how the Goliath in this situation is someone I know. Though I don¡¯t really know him at all, do I? There¡¯s only one spotrge enough to house the Globe ¡®s entire staff, and it¡¯s the newsroom with the apanying soundstage. It¡¯s where interviews are conducted in a studio setting before they go on our website. It¡¯s empty now. Wesley arrives first. As the editor-in-chief, he¡¯s Carter¡¯s right-hand man. ¡°Look at him smiling,¡± Den mutters at my side. It¡¯s the type ofment I¡¯ve heard several times about Wesley. People don¡¯t seem to trust him. Carter follows him into the room and the small talk quiets down. He looks like usual. Polished suit, no tie, hair pushed back. But there¡¯s no smile lurking in the corner of his mouth this time. He stops in front of the anxious group. ¡°Hello, everyone. I appreciate you taking time out of your day for this meeting.¡± Not like we had a choice, I think. ¡°I understand there have been significant changes made at the Globe over the past few weeks. I want you all to know that while there will be more changes toe, I, as well as the entire executive team, will always strive to be clear and direct with you about the decisions we take.¡± In the brief silence, the entire room holds its breath. ¡°Unfortunately, the reason I asked you all here today is because we have to offer a number of employees buyouts. Two departments of the Globe will cease to exist by the end of the month. A few select employees will be asked to stay on in other capacities.¡± The ripple over the room is instantaneous. Carter raises a hand, forestalling the murmured outbursts. ¡°It affects editorial and cirction.¡± I look around the room. While I don¡¯t know everyone¡¯s name yet, I¡¯ve been introduced to a few in the affected departments. They¡¯re huge. Surely he¡¯s just restructuring? I see Mona sitting with her head in her hands, covering her eyes. She¡¯d been so nice to me on my first day. Something twists inside my chest. He¡¯s destroying their careers. ¡°I understand this is difficult news,¡± Carter says. My eyes zero in on him. There¡¯s no kindness or yfulness on his face now, set in serious lines. It makes him look older than he is. At least he doesn¡¯t seem to be reveling in it. ¡°These decisions were a long timeing and were not made lightly. The relevant department heads will be your points of contact for severance and logistics. Thank you all, and if there are no further questions, I¡¯ll let you get on with your day.¡± He nods toward us and turns. Is he leaving? If there are no further questions, he¡¯d said. But he hadn¡¯t asked if we had any. I raise my hand. People around me turn to look, but I keep it up high, my heart pounding in my chest. If no one else is going to challenge him, then I will. Wesley notices me. ¡°Mr. Kingsley?¡± he says. Carter turns back to the crowd, his eyes searching. They widen when they stop on me. It¡¯s tiny, but it¡¯s there, the acknowledgement. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°You said this decision didn¡¯te lightly,¡± I say, my voice carrying across the room. ¡°Will you exin why it was made in the first ce? And why these two departments?¡± His eyes leave mine, traveling across the crowd of people, all turning toward him for answers. The air is thick. ¡°As many of you know, the Globe has been struggling for years. Thendscape for print media is changing, and we have to change with it. While the affected departments are important in their own right, cuts are necessary, and after doing the math¡­ these departments don¡¯t add up.¡± His gaze returns to mine. There¡¯s finally a challenge in it. Was that good enough? A Ticking Time Boss 12 ¡°Will there be more cuts?¡± I ask. Adrenaline is like a hypnotic beat beneath my skin, warning me about the danger here. But the wordse out without shaking. Carter shakes his head. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you that, Miss¡­?¡± He knows it, so he has to be pretending for my sake. ¡°Ford,¡± I say. ¡°Miss Ford,¡± he echoes, eyes lighting up. Like he¡¯s enjoying this. ¡°I understand the desire for more rity, but I assure you, as soon as I have more information I will share it with you. That will be all for today.¡± Judging from his tone, he means it this time. People disperse. There are hushed conversations, murmuredments. I watch one person race toward the bathroom, their steps hurried and a hand pressed over their eyes. It¡¯s carnage. I wander into the main corridor in a daze. People¡¯s jobs, gone in a heartbeat. Just like that. People shuffle around me, heading off in different directions, but I just lean against the wall. I¡¯d spent time with Carter. I¡¯dughed with him. The memories feel dirty, now. Tainted. Maybe I¡¯m overreacting, but all I can see is Mona with her head in her hands. I don¡¯t know how long I stand there. ¡°Hello.¡± It¡¯s Carter. I push off from the wall, looking around, but people aren¡¯t milling about. They¡¯ve fled this room. Fled from him, more likely. ¡°I read the interview you put together for the newsletter. Good job,¡± he says. The smile in the corner of his mouth is back. Like he hadn¡¯t just ruined people¡¯s lives. ¡°Don¡¯t patronize me,¡± I say. ¡°It was a puff piece.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°But it was a well-written one.¡± I turn to him and hate that I have to tip my head back to meet his gaze. ¡°All those people had jobs. Livelihoods. It¡¯s all gone, just like that.¡± His smile disappears. ¡°I¡¯m aware.¡± ¡°Are you?¡± ¡°Yes. You think I¡¯m not?¡± I shake my head. ¡°You¡¯re not even trying to turn this paper around, are you? You¡¯re just interested in cutting away the fat. Bleeding it dry, just like the other vulture hedge funds. We all know what¡¯s happened to newspapers all across the country.¡± Carter raises an eyebrow, but beneath the bemused expression, I see his clenched jaw. It gives me a small sense of victory that he¡¯s not as nonchnt as he pretends to be. ¡°This isn¡¯t the firstpany I¡¯ve turned around.¡± ¡°Not the first departments you¡¯ve shed, either,¡± I say. ¡°No, and they won¡¯t be thest,¡± he says. I re at him. He res at me. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t be talking like this,¡± I say, looking behind me. But I don¡¯t see anyone. ¡°You interviewed me for the newsletter. It¡¯s perfectly all right for us to be friendly.¡± Friendly, I think. I can¡¯t be seen as friendly with this man in front of the Globe newsroom, not while he keeps cutting people¡¯s jobs. And he wants our bantering friendship, if that¡¯s what we have, to continue? It¡¯s impossible. So I do the only thing I can think of. I turn and leave him there, leaning against the wall, and I don¡¯t look back. Late that night, when I¡¯ve just gotten cozy in bed with thetest monthly issue of The Reporter, my phone vibrates with a text. It¡¯s from him. Carter: I appreciated the way you stood up to me during the meeting. Good job, kid. Audrey: We shouldn¡¯t be texting. Carter: Nothing¡¯s changed. I look at his text. Two tiny words that couldn¡¯t be more wrong, even if I wished they were different. I picture Carter¡¯s smile and Mona with her head in her hands. Audrey: Everything¡¯s changed. It¡¯s three dayster, and people in my department still won¡¯t let my questions go. ¡°Spitfire,¡± Booker hadmented afterwards, even going so far as to pat me on the back. Den had given me a short, approving nod from his desk. It must be the equivalent to good job in Denese. My gumption even went so far as to be a joke during the newsroom staff meeting for Booker¡¯s Investigative team. She handed out all the story beats, and in the brief pause after, a man named Raymond raised his voice. ¡°Doesn¡¯t Audrey have something to ask?¡± People hadughed, and I¡¯d stood and pretended to bow, epting it. But it didn¡¯t feel earned. I¡¯d taken a risk, sure, and Wesley had looked at me with death in his eyes when I passed him in the hallway earlier. But something told me Carter would hesitate to fire me because of it. ¡°Bored?¡± Den asks me from behind hisputer screen. ¡°I know I am.¡±Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. I sigh. ¡°Yes. But I¡¯m trying to see the positive side.¡± ¡°Which is what?¡± ¡°We¡¯re perfecting our editing chops.¡± He doesn¡¯t respond, which shows just how poorly he thinks of my silver-lining skills. Since all of our solo-initiative projects were put on hold, our only tasks are doing research and transcribing for the reporters who don¡¯t have junior in their job titles. It means very little original thinking, but a lot of precision work. I¡¯m finding that I don¡¯t mind, though. I¡¯m at a cutting-edge newspaper that¡¯s been at the forefront of reporting for decades, regrly challenging authority across the world. I can do worse than handling research for some of the Pulitzer-winning journalists in my department. It¡¯s just before midday when a text lights up my phone. I angle the screen away as soon as I see the name. Carter: Want me to exin my ns for the paper? Have lunch with me at 23 Northbourne and I¡¯ll tell you. Off the record. I read the message three times. Is he serious, or is he just messing with me? This sounds like something he¡¯d send before I found out he was the new CEO. The off the record part makes me think he¡¯s joking about my job, investigative journalist and all. A Ticking Time Boss 13 But if he¡¯s serious¡­ This would be true investigative work. Talking to someone, learning their tells, pressing them for information. Luring someone with a hidden motive to share more than they¡¯d anticipated. Audrey: You¡¯re serious? Carter: Dead serious. I swear it on your beloved coffee creamers. Audrey: I¡¯ll be there. One o¡¯clock? Carter: Sounds good. I look over at Den in his tweed zer, as if he might somehow have seen. But he¡¯s focused on the monitor and not on me. The lunch ce Carter chose looks nothing like I¡¯d imagined. It¡¯s hardly even a restaurant, and with a neon sign askew outside, it looks ready to be demolished. I step inside to the scent of stale beer and fries. It¡¯s a dive bar, with a counter upying one half of the restaurant and old newspapers covering the walls. They look yellowed with age. ¡°Audrey,¡± Carter calls. He¡¯s sitting at a booth in the back, a vinyl menu syed out in front. I take a seat opposite him. ¡°This ce is¡­ interesting.¡± He looks down at his menu. ¡°It is. New York journalists have frequented it for decades.¡± ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Yes. It¡¯s got a fascinating history, you know. Secret meet-ups and off-the-record conversations.¡± He looks around the ce, jaw sharp beneath his five-o¡¯clock shadow. ¡°Scandals about congressmen and senators, a leaked sex tape, wire fraud. All of it has gone down here. There¡¯s a book about this ce, actually.¡± ¡°There is?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°It came out about a decade ago. Never made it big-it¡¯s a niche subject. I¡¯ll send you a copy.¡± ¡°Right¡­ thanks. And thanks for showing me this ce.¡± I y with the edge of my notebook. ¡°Why did you want to meet with me?¡± ¡°I told you,¡± he says. ¡°I want to tell you my real ns for the Globe .¡± ¡°With no strings attached?¡± I open my notebook. He reaches over and puts arge hand on the cover, shutting it firmly. ¡°No strings, but this is off the record.¡± ¡°Then why tell me?¡± His heavy gaze tells me I should already know. It clicks into ce a momentter. He still wants us to be friends, for some reason. ¡°Audrey,¡± he says, and his voice is low. ¡°Hear me out before you judge me.¡± I push my notebook to the far end of the table and put my pen on top of it. They¡¯re out of reach. ¡°Off the record,¡± I agree. ¡°I¡¯ll listen.¡± He leans back in the booth. ¡°You asked me if I¡¯d considered that all the people I fired the other day had jobs. Livelihoods. Entire careers, of which the Globe was the pinnacle.¡± ¡°I did, yes.¡± ¡°I had. Every single person I¡¯veid off at the newspaper was a well-thought-out decision. I promise you that. But,¡± he says, raising an eyebrow, ¡°the Globe is dancing at a knife¡¯s edge. Some of the department heads know just how bad it is, but not all.¡± ¡°A knife¡¯s edge,¡± I repeat. ¡°It¡¯s one of the biggest newspapers in the country. In the world, even. Good investigative reporting is the backbone of a country. A free and independent press is the fourth estate.¡± I can tell my voice is getting passionate, and I shake my head. ¡°It¡¯s worth so much more than just dors and cents.¡± Carter looks amused. ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°Free press being the key word. But the Globe is currently beholden to advertisers every single issue to keep it afloat.¡± I frown. ¡°I¡¯d noticed a lot of ads. But most print media has that now.¡± ¡°Yes, because all of print media is struggling. You haven¡¯t seen the numbers, Audrey, but if you had¡­¡± He shakes his head. ¡°This ce is a week, a month, from ruination. People don¡¯t read the news anymore. They certainly don¡¯t open their local newspaper to see which albums the music expert has reviewed when debating whether or not to buy a CD. Because they don¡¯t. We have to adapt.¡± ¡°By firing some of our greatest people?¡± ¡°Not all have been fired,¡± he corrects me. ¡°Some will work as independent contractors. Phil, for example, who you seemed so concerned about in my officest week. He will continue to write monthly op-eds for the newspaper. He doesn¡¯t need to have a full-time office space and be on the payroll for that.¡± ¡°That¡¯s job security,¡± I say. ¡°Only if the job continues to exist,¡± he says. There¡¯s a seriousness to his expression now, like he wants me to get this. To believe him. ¡°The Globe is a great paper, Audrey. I know it and you know it. But it will be a hard few months before this ce finds a way to right itself from the nosedive it¡¯s in.¡± I sigh. ¡°I didn¡¯t know it was that bad.¡± ¡°It is,¡± he says. ¡°What¡¯s worse, I don¡¯t like how much power the advertisers have. Itpromises the kind of stories your department gets to tell.¡± I lean back in my seat. His words strike me like a thunderbolt. I¡¯d never thought of that before, not deeply, even if it hade up now and again during my sses in J-school. If we¡¯re really in such dire straits¡­ ¡°It¡¯s hard to take in, that¡¯s all. That these drastic changes are necessary.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not trying to butcher the newspaper,¡± Carter says, and there¡¯s a quiet, passionate note in his voice I haven¡¯t heard before. ¡°In time, I hope the others will realize that too.¡± ¡°But more people will have to go?¡± ¡°It¡¯s either that,¡± he says, ¡°or the newspaper goes bankrupt.¡± I sigh, looking down at my menu without reading a single word. The letters might as well be in a different alphabet. ¡°I want to believe you,¡± I say. He has no reason to lie to me, no reason to get me on his side¡­ but he¡¯s every bit the moneyed, privileged, too-rich businessman I¡¯ve read about a thousand times, in a thousand articles, ughteringpanies for parts and not caring about the employees.N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. ¡°You should,¡± he says. ¡°Have I ever steered you wrong?¡± ¡°You have spectacrly bad judgement sometimes,¡± I say, unable to stop myself. ¡°Like when you suggested I go on a date at Cake.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a nice ce,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ve been on plenty of dates there. The guy you went out withst week, the insurance agent, he would¡¯ve liked it, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°Yes, but Cake has a two month waiting list. You live in an ivory tower.¡± He frowns at me. ¡°It does?¡± ¡°Yes. How do you usually book a table?¡± ¡°I call them, or my assistant does.¡± ¡°And you say your name?¡± A Ticking Time Boss 14 ¡°Of course,¡± he says. ¡°You have to, for them to hold a reservation, you know.¡± ¡°Right. Well, that¡¯s why you can get a reservation at Cake.¡± He crosses his arms over his chest. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean I have bad judgement.¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re just out of touch,¡± I say. ¡°At least I don¡¯t need sweeteners and creamers to drink a normal cup of java.¡± ¡°Low blow,¡± I say. ¡°One-and-a-half pumps.¡± He opens his menu, a smile on his lips. It transforms him into the man I¡¯d met at the bar all those weeks ago. The one who¡¯d teased me out of my nervous breakdown. ¡°Order something, kid,¡± he says. ¡°You only have an hour-long lunch break.¡± ¡°Are you pulling the boss card?¡± ¡°Boss¡¯s boss¡¯s boss, I believe it was,¡± he says. ¡°They have decent burgers here.¡± We order by the bar, and the food arrives a suspiciously short amount of timeter. It should stop me in my tracks, but I¡¯m too hungry to hold back, biting into the burger. ¡°Oh,¡± I murmur. ¡°This is decent. Delicious, even.¡± ¡°Told you,¡± he says, looking at me over his bun. His eyes glitter. ¡°You moan when you eat, you know. When it¡¯s tasty.¡± ¡°I do not.¡± ¡°You do.¡± I reach for my ss of water, self-conscious. ¡°You¡¯re being mean.¡± His eyebrows rise. ¡°Not the response I was expecting.¡± ¡°Why did you bring me here, really?¡± I ask. ¡°Just to tell me why the paper is doing so bad? That doesn¡¯t feel like information a junior employee is entitled to.¡± Carter takes another bite of his burger, his sharp jaw working. He doesn¡¯t seem in a rush to give me an answer.Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. So I put my food down and wait. He looks out at the empty dive bar. ¡°Couple of reasons,¡± he says finally. ¡°You see a different side of the Globe than I do. You¡¯re right there, talking to others as a colleague. You¡¯re in the newsroom.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t spy,¡± I say. His mouth quirks. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t expect you to. But if you¡¯re so concerned about this paper, then¡­ help me set it to rights, Audrey. You¡¯ll see what departments do the most work. You¡¯ll see what departments barely do anything at all.¡± I¡¯m already shaking my head. ¡°I can¡¯t be the reason people lose their jobs.¡± ¡°But can you be the reason dozens, if not hundreds of others, maintain their jobs?¡± he says. There¡¯s enthusiasm in his tawny eyes. ¡°You don¡¯t have to give me any information that makes you ufortable. But you clearly have opinions. I want to hear them.¡± ¡°Is this just because¡­¡± I trail off, unable to find the words I¡¯m looking for. Him and me, in a crowded bar, arguing over trivial things with dancing eyes. ¡°Because of what?¡± he asks. I shake my head. ¡°Never mind. I¡¯ll help you, if I¡­ if my opinions really can help.¡± ¡°They can,¡± he says. ¡°I need as many perspectives as possible into the Globe , the organization, the way it works.¡± ¡°Not happy with just Wesley?¡± I say dryly. ¡°He¡¯s good, but he doesn¡¯t know everything,¡± Carter says. Then he gets a gleam in his eyes. ¡°You know, I¡¯ll help you in return.¡± ¡°With what?¡± ¡°Men. Just like I did before.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°By suggesting Cake for one of my dates. You have to realize the men I go out with aren¡¯t like you.¡± ¡°They¡¯re men,¡± he says, ¡°and I am one. How hard can it be?¡± ¡°Dating is nerve-wracking enough for me without having your bad advice in my head,¡± I say, smiling now too. ¡°You¡¯ve seen just how worked up I get.¡± ¡°You have no trouble telling me what you think,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯re not nervous now.¡± ¡°Well, no. But you¡¯re my boss, we¡¯re working. It¡¯s not like you¡¯re serious about¡­ me, you know? It¡¯s not like that.¡± ¡°Right,¡± he says. ¡°Because you and I would never go on a date.¡± ¡°Of course not,¡± I say. Is he joking? A frisson of nerves bursts through my stomach, there and gone. He has to be. He¡¯s the CEO of the Globe , and he¡¯s also¡­ him, handsome as sin and charming and someone who dates models. Carter raises his ss to mine. It¡¯s ice water to ice water, nothing special, but the smile on his face says something else. ¡°To friendship,¡± he says. I touch my ss to his. ¡°To friendship,¡± I say, and think that this must be the weirdest, most unexpected one I¡¯ve ever had. It¡¯s rare for more than two of us to be at Acture Capital¡¯s offices at a time, and considering which numbers released today, it¡¯s my damn luck that two of my three business partners are in. ¡°The Globe is doing abysmally,¡± Victor says. ¡°Worse than we anticipated.¡± I¡¯m not surprised he takes the pessimistic view. ¡°So it¡¯ll be a challenge,¡± I say. ¡°We knew that going in.¡± On the other side of the table, Tristan runs a hand over his jaw, skepticism in his voice. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Carter. This might be more than we can handle.¡± ¡°The Globe has had a tough six months. If they didn¡¯t, we wouldn¡¯t have gotten thepany at such a steal.¡± ¡°If they tank,¡± Victor mutters, ¡°we¡¯ll be the ones who get robbed.¡± I brace my hands against the table. ¡°They won¡¯t tank. We¡¯ve cut the personnel costs by significant amounts already, overheads are shrinking, and two donors who said they were ready to back out have stayed their hand.¡± ¡°Because they can write it off on their taxes,¡± Tristan says dryly. ¡°Not because they believe in the Globe .¡± ¡°Look, I¡¯m not going to sugarcoat it. It¡¯s in a bad ce. Advertising prices are dropping at the same time as our subscribers are decreasing, but that¡¯s temporary,¡± I repeat. ¡°The newspaper is one of the most illustrious in the country.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 15 ¡°Reputations won¡¯t pay the bills,¡± Victor says. But he¡¯s flipping through the paper with interest. ¡°It has good bones, though. We could sell off the parts.¡± ¡°Not yet. Let me try to build something on those bones first.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t hurt to try,¡± Tristan says. ¡°We all knew the Globe would be amongst the hardestpanies we ever tried to turn. It¡¯ll be a damn feather in a cap if we do, though.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not like we bought a profitable consulting firm that we just expanded,¡± I say. It¡¯s a low punch, perhaps, but for the past years both Tristan and Victor have served separate terms as CEO of Exciteur Consulting. It¡¯s now the world¡¯s thirdrgest consulting firm. But it had already been the seventh when they began. Tristan snorts. ¡°Noted.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll attend the Reporters¡¯ Ball next weekend,¡± I say. ¡°We all know there will be plenty of traditional donors there. I¡¯ll schmooze, show them the new leadership. Might help us tide things over for a while.¡± ¡°Sounds like a good ce to start,¡± Tristan says. Victor crosses his arms across his chest. ¡°Anthony would be on my side, were he here.¡± ¡°Perhaps, but he¡¯s not,¡± I say. Our fourth partner has finally taken an overseas vacation with his fianc¨¦e Summer, and the two of them had gonepletely off the grid for three weeks. I know exactly which one of the two had been responsible for that decision. But I also know they¡¯re visiting Winter Hotels for his brother, inspecting a few of the hotel chain¡¯s new luxury locations. What a sacrifice. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Tristan says. ¡°Anthony¡¯s family has long supported the Globe as donors. He might be emotionally attached.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. Victor shakes his head like we¡¯re all idiots. ¡°We stay the course,¡± I say, ¡°for at least three more months. I¡¯ll keep you informed. But there are still changes to be made, and possible profit in the future, and I¡¯m not willing to give that up.¡± ¡°Fine by me.¡± Tristan pushes the papers with the Globe ¡®stest numbers away. Conversation finalized, he shoots Victor a smile. ¡°Freddie and I got the save-the-date.¡± Victor nods, looking toward the windows. ¡°Good. Well, if you¡¯ve got the time, you¡¯re wee.¡± ¡°Of course we¡¯ll be there,¡± Tristan says. ¡°You two cheated us all out of a proper wedding ceremony, so this is the least you can give us.¡± I grin at Victor. He¡¯s so obviously ufortable talking to us about this, try as he does to hide it, and it¡¯s hrious. The man has no ability to handle the public aspect of his marriage. But I¡¯ve seen him with his wife Cecilia. When he thinks nobody¡¯s looking, he¡¯s a different man entirely. ¡°I¡¯ll be there too,¡± I say, having already blocked off time in my calendar for their vow renewal. ¡°Have to make sure it¡¯s a real party.¡± Victor frowns. ¡°It¡¯s not a big thing. Small, just family and a few friends.¡± ¡°So much the better for my dance moves,¡± I say. He stares at me for a long moment before he sighs, realizing I¡¯m joking. Tristan chuckles and pushes back from the table. He¡¯s in the process of purchasing a medicalpany, although one that will require a little oversight. ¡°Gentlemen,¡± he says. ¡°Always a pleasure.¡± ¡°Likewise,¡± I say. Victor doesn¡¯tment, and I grin at him again. He rolls his eyes. I had no siblings growing up. It was me and my mother, living together in a one-bedroom in Queens, and the rtionship I have with my co-partners is something I value. Despite pretending not to care most of the time. I head out of the office soon after. The Globe needs more hands-on time than I¡¯d like in these early stages. Truth be told, the numbers had been awful. Abyss-level awful. But I¡¯d meant what I said. The paper has too much history for us to give up so soon. A brte with bouncing curls and blue eyes shes through my mind, too. Her sharp mouth and eyes that seem to look straight through me. This job clearly means a lot to her. I don¡¯t want to be the reason she loses it. Just thinking about her makes me smile. She¡¯s a paradox. A spitfire with me, but nervous to the point of hyperventting with others. I don¡¯t know why that makes me feel ten feet tall. She¡¯d agreed to being friends. Just friends, in fact, which is likely for the best. Not only is she an employee, but she¡¯s sweet, and ambitious, and passionate. Anything with her would be serious, and I don¡¯t know how to handle something that is. Never had it before. And yet, absolutely none of that stops me from texting her on my way to the Globe ¡®s offices. Carter: Do you have your date with the piano teacher tonight? She answers right away. She shouldn¡¯t, because it¡¯s during work hours, but I fully encourage this use ofpany time. Audrey: No, it was postponed until Wednesday. Carter: Who postponed? But even as I wait for her answer, I¡¯m pleased with her response. I shouldn¡¯t be, and I know that very well. But here I am regardless. She takes a long time to answer. Long enough that I return to work, swatting away the iing emails. They¡¯re always one missed swat away from overwhelming the inbox. An emailes up with a reminder for the Reporters¡¯ Ball. It¡¯s this weekend. Man, Audrey would have a field day. An entire evening of press-themed mingling, with the guest list a mile long and so illustriously decadent. She should go. But the invites are closely guarded, and coveted, and I doubt I have the clout necessary to pull some strings. To the best of my knowledge, only a few people from the Globe are attending, and they¡¯re all senior with a capital S. My phone chimes again. It¡¯s a distracting way to work, texting with her, but I wouldn¡¯t change it. Audrey: He did, he had to fill in for another teacher tonight. Huge sigh of relief for me. Carter: Still gets your nerves going, huh. What will you do instead? Go home and watch back-to-back documentaries about political scandals? Audrey: Lol. I know it doesn¡¯t seem like it but I have a few other interests outside of my job. Emphasis on ¡°a few,¡± though. Yes, and that¡¯s just it. She¡¯d love the Reporters¡¯ Ball. Fuck, I wish I could take her as my date. My invite includes a plus-one, but I can¡¯t ask an employee. And even if I could, I¡¯d mentioned the event to Ba weeks ago, a long-term friend with asional benefits. She¡¯d said yes before I met Audrey. But it was in a casual way, a mutually beneficial way. She loved fancy events and I liked having someone there to talk to who wasn¡¯t interested in my industry opinions. Now it seems like a waste of both our time. Audrey would appreciate it more. ¡°Spitfire,¡± Booker says. It¡¯s a weekter, and the nickname shows no signs of fading. ¡°Get the draft of the Decker story to me by lunch tomorrow?¡± ¡°On it!¡± I say. ¡°Den, how¡¯s the research for Emerying along? Give me an ETA.¡± ¡°Just dotting some i¡¯s,¡± he replies. ¡°I¡¯ll forward it to Emery before I leave for the day.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 16 ¡°Dot them faster,¡± she says, and then she¡¯s gone in a breeze of sensibly heeled shoes and determination. I watch her disappearing form, the queen of this office, the master of the story beats. She must keep the next day¡¯s edition of the newspaper in her head at all times. Moving stories around, editing, polishing, pushing and pulling to put together the best edition every single time. Just being near her makes me a better journalist. ¡°Dot them faster,¡± Den mutters by my side, but there¡¯s reluctant admiration in his voice too. It¡¯s hard not to have any for Booker, even if she can be mean and harsh when needs be. I¡¯ve lived at the office for the past few days. With less staff than usual, but with the same printing requirements and story beats to fulfill, the newspaper is struggling. And every single person knows who to me. Well, maybe not, I amend, watching as Tom Wesley walks through the investigative floor. There is little love lost between the staff and the Globe ¡®s editor-in-chief. He catches me looking and I quickly focus on myputer screen. The Decker story. It¡¯s an interesting one, and my fingers ache to write the article myself instead of just researching it for one of the senior journalists. From the corner of my eye, I watch hime closer. Damn. Where Booker is stern but encouraging, Wesley¡¯s voice is syrupy with falseness. ¡°Audrey,¡± he says. I meet eyes that hold no humor, despite the smile on his face. ¡°Mr. Wesley.¡± He leans against the edge of my desk and crosses his arms over his chest. ¡°Quite a performancest week. In front of our new CEO and owner, no less.¡± The all-hands meeting. I wet my lips, keeping my hands sped tight on myp. ¡°I felt we were owed answers, sir.¡± His smile widens and a shiver runs down my spine. ¡°How fitting, for a junior investigative reporter.¡±N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. ¡°Uhm, yes.¡± Wesley¡¯s eyes shift to my screen, evidence of my research. ¡°Well, good luck, Audrey. I hope the new owner looks as favorably on your¡­ spirit, as I do.¡± My lips part in shock, but not a single wordes out. Wesley knocks twice on my desk and saunters off without another word. Den meets my eyes, and for the first time, there¡¯s nopetition in them. No I-told-you-so, either. ¡°If the CEO cares about investigative journalism,¡± he says, ¡°then he appreciated your questions.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. He nods solemnly, like we¡¯ve just brokered peace between two warring nations, and returns to his work with frenzied typing. I spend the rest of the night working, fighting against the deadline. The story is good. But it¡¯s not great, and I want to impress Booker. I want her to turn me from someone junior into someone, well, not senior, but someone with a long-term permanent contract and preferably a little pay raise. I want her to read the article and be impressed. Perhaps that¡¯s not a reasonable goal to set for myself, but damn it, I was always the one who got As in J-school. I worked overtime at the school newspaper, I did every extra assignment, I aimed for valedictorian. So I¡¯m not about to stop a lifetime of overachieving when I¡¯m finally in a ce where it¡¯ll be rewarded. ¡°Spitfire,¡± Booker says. I startle in my seat. ¡°God, sorry. Yes?¡± She gives a half-crooked smile. ¡°It¡¯ste. What are you still doing here?¡± ¡°Working on the Decker story.¡± ¡°That piece is no more than seven-hundred-and-fifty words.¡± ¡°I know, but that doesn¡¯t make it less important.¡± A snort. ¡°You¡¯re so young.¡± I discreetly shut the screen to myptop. ¡°Thank you?¡± Booker looks over her shoulder at the near-empty newsroom. Den had left an hour ago, too. ¡°You love this job, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°It¡¯s all I¡¯ve ever wanted to do,¡± I say honestly. ¡°I can tell. Look, tonight is the Reporters¡¯ Ball. Have you heard about it?¡± ¡°Yes, absolutely,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s the biggest event of the year for journalists in the city. It¡¯s where-¡± ¡°I know what it is,¡± Booker says with an uncharacteristic smile. ¡°I¡¯ve been a few times, and was nning to go tonight before my sitter cancelled.¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry about that.¡± She shrugs. ¡°After one ball you¡¯ve been to them all. Want to go in my ce, Spitfire?¡± I stare at her. ¡°To¡­ the Reporters¡¯ Ball?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± She looks at her watch. ¡°The doors open in an hour and a half, so if you¡¯re interested, I suggest you head home right away.¡± ¡°I¡¯m interested,¡± I say. ¡°Definitely.¡± ¡°I suspected you would be,¡± Booker says. ¡°I¡¯ll send you the e-vite. And Spitfire?¡± ¡°You¡¯re a good enough writer, so learn when to stop polishing.¡± ¡°Thank you. Will do.¡± Booker gives me another nod and strides off, leaving me spinning in my chair. Metaphorically, despite the fact that it does spin. The Reporters¡¯ Ball in an hour and a half. And she thinks I¡¯m a good enough writer! I make it back to my tiny room in Queens in time to have a shower in the bathroom I share with the student across the hall. My hair is a lost cause of curls, and I pin most of it up, only bothering to style the tendrils that fall around my face. I have no idea how they dress at the Reporters¡¯ Ball. I know it¡¯s ck tie, though, and there is decidedly nothing in my wardrobe that looks ck-tie appropriate. It¡¯s also early fall and the evenings are chilly. My office attire wardrobe I¡¯d so painstakingly and expensively put together over the past year and a half had not included a beautiful floor length dress. Hesitatingly, I pull out my old prom dress. It had been an impulse decision to bring it with me to New York. As if I¡¯ll ever need a gown, I¡¯d thought, but just in case I do¡­ It¡¯s ck and long, with see-through lining over my shoulders. I¡¯d thought it was the coolest thing ever nearly a decade ago. It could work if I pair it with the sling-back heels I sometimes wear to the office. When I look in the mirror, I look just how I feel. Bewildered, excited, nervous, adrenaline pumping through my veins, with a flush to my cheeks. A Ticking Time Boss 17 I splurge on a taxi. It¡¯s an extravagant cost, taking me all the way to the city, but I spend the entire ride pretending this is normal for me. I¡¯ll arrive and talk to interesting journalists who are my peers and not my superiors. War reporters. Political correspondents. Pulitzer-prize winners. ¡°This is where you¡¯re heading?¡± the driver asks me as he pulls up outside the venue. ¡°Looks fancy.¡± ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s me,¡± I say. ¡°I think.¡± I feel like an imposter, walking up the steps to the security guard. Any moment now they¡¯re going to stop me. Toss me out. Remind me where I live and what my sry is and how much student debt I have. But the attendant only shes me a wide smile when I show my e-vite. ¡°Wee, Mrs. Booker. You¡¯ll find a coat check to your left and refreshments further inside.¡± My heels echo across the marble floor of the grand entrance. You¡¯re not in Kansas anymore, I think, and I¡¯ve never even been to Kansas. Two men in tuxedos pass me, engrossed in conversation. In the center of the room is a string quartet and a harp yer. I¡¯ve never seen an actual harp yer. A waiter stops by my side. He has an arm behind his back and extends a tray my way. ¡°A drink, miss?¡± ¡°Yes, thank you.¡±Ccontent ? exclusive by N?/vel(D)ra/ma.Org. I ept the ss of champagne and wonder how I got lucky enough to attend the Reporters¡¯ Ball as a newly hired junior reporter. All around me are people whose work I¡¯ve read hundreds of times. I see Dean Allen, a journalist who once guest-lectured at my university. He¡¯sughing with a colleague. And I¡¯m at the same party as him. It¡¯s a pinch-me moment. An I-can¡¯t-believe-I¡¯m-here moment. It¡¯s an- Carter Kingsley is here too. I spot him by the bar. He¡¯s taller than the men around him, his dark auburn hair looking almost ck in the dim lighting. All I can see is his profile, but I would make him out anywhere. My friend-turned-asshole-boss-turned-tentative-friend-again. He¡¯s in a tuxedo, the fabric clinging to him like a well-tailored second skin. It¡¯s impossible to see him like this and reconcile the man I¡¯d texted with for weeks, that I¡¯d shared dry jokes andmentary and nonsense with. He doesn¡¯t fit into a neat box in my head. ¡°First Reporters¡¯?¡± I jump, and the woman to my left gives me a quick smile. ¡°Sorry. Bad habit of mine. I¡¯m Juliette.¡± ¡°Audrey,¡± I say. We shake hands and I learn she¡¯s with the Chronicler . A few years older than me, perhaps, and chatty. Turns out she¡¯s also a killer at working a room. I lose sight of Carter somewhere amongst all the mingling, and soon forget about him, too. There are too many names to remember and people to meet. By the time I make it over to the bar for another drink, I have a parched throat and a smile on my face. I¡¯ll need a month to digest the conversations I¡¯ve had here tonight. A year. A decade. ¡°You look like you¡¯re enjoying yourself,¡± a man says, amused flirtation in his voice. He has sses and is holding on to a ss of red wine. He smiles at me. And I¡¯m instantly nervous. It hits me right in the gut, the same way it does with first dates, and my breathing grows shallow. ¡°I am,¡± I say. ¡°Absolutely.¡± He shifts closer. ¡°Haven¡¯t seen you around before. Where do you work?¡± ¡°The Globe ,¡± I say. He¡¯s cute enough. Very smiley. About my height, and probably simr in age. Clearly an option, which is why my insides feel like they¡¯re on fire, and not in afortable way. Exposure therapy, I repeat. Exposure therapy. ¡°Wow. Impressive,¡± he says, shifting closer again. ¡°Here alone?¡± ¡°Mhm, yes. Having a st, though. There are incredible people here.¡± ¡°They sure think so themselves, too,¡± he says beneath his breath. Then heughs and fits his arm next to mine on the bar top. ¡°You look new. Not from New York?¡± ¡°I¡¯m from upstate.¡± Heughs again, like I¡¯ve told a joke. ¡°Well, I know all the best spots in the city. Why don¡¯t I show you around one day? I think a connection at the Globe would be excellent. Doesn¡¯t hurt that you¡¯re easy on the eyes, either,¡± he says with a wink. I lean back. Everything about his charm is backwards. ¡°Where do you work?¡± ¡°The Quintessential ,¡± he says, naming an online-only publication. It¡¯s renowned for posting articles without citations or facts and not caring at all. ¡°Tell me something. Why is a girl like you here alone?¡± I grip my ss tighter. ¡°I think I¡¯m going to do a sweep of the floor now.¡± ¡°So soon? Why don¡¯t we-¡± ¡°There you are,¡± a familiar voice says from behind me. It¡¯s smooth and cultured, but there¡¯s no mistaking the masculine edge beneath it. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I waste, baby.¡± Carter puts a hand on my shoulder and I catch the scent of him, cologne and aftershave and something that¡¯s clean like soap. Creepy-guy¡¯s eyes drift between us. ¡°You two are a couple?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, leaning into Carter¡¯s side. ¡°Going on three years.¡± He puts his empty ss on the bar with a sharp twang. ¡°Shoot,¡± he says, all graceful subtlety, and stalks off. Carter takes his hand away and turns to me. ¡°You looked cornered.¡± ¡°A bit, yeah. Thanks.¡± ¡°Saving you from awkward situations with men seems to be my forte.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Didn¡¯t know you¡¯d be here tonight, kid.¡± ¡°Me neither, until about two hours ago. Booker had a ticket she couldn¡¯t use, so she very kindly gave it to me.¡± ¡°Very kind indeed,¡± he says. ¡°Enjoying yourself?¡± ¡°Yes. I can¡¯t believe who¡¯s here. I spoke to Eugenia Lee earlier. You know, the woman who reported from-¡° A Ticking Time Boss 18 ¡°The cartel wars,¡± Carter says. ¡°I know.¡± I smile up at him. ¡°You know a lot about this industry.¡± ¡°More than you expected me to?¡± ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t say that.¡± His voice is dry. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. ¡°I should have known better, after you showed me that dive bar.¡± He shrugs and looks out over the crowd. But he¡¯s angling toward me. ¡°Maybe I just read about that ce to impress you.¡± ¡°Impress me? Oh, thank you,¡± I tell the bartender, epting another ss. I should take it slow with this one. ¡°As if you¡¯d work to impress me.¡± Carter¡¯s gaze returns to me, eyes teasing. ¡°You¡¯re right. You¡¯re already suitably impressed. I¡¯m surprised you¡¯ve held off on asking for my autograph for so long.¡± I can¡¯t help butugh. ¡°Autograph? Who do you think you are?¡± ¡°The co-owner of a very sessful venture capitalist firm,¡± he says. ¡°Some people would be impressed by that, you know.¡± ¡°Oh, I know. How many people have tried to con you out of your money tonight?¡± ¡°A few,¡± he admits with a crooked smile. ¡°A nice woman spent a solid ten minutes trying to, subtly and very tastefully, get me to invest a couple of million in her arthouse newspaper before I told her it had absolutely no future.¡± ¡°Carter!¡± ¡°Well, I said it more delicately than that. Are you going to tell me off for being rude again?¡± ¡°I shouldn¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re my boss.¡± He shrugs with elegant ease. ¡°Not here, I¡¯m not. Besides, I let her know I¡¯m in more than enough trouble with the Globe , but thank you very much. You¡¯d have thought someone in the newspaper industry would do their research.¡± ¡°Again with the snark,¡± I say, but I¡¯m chuckling despite myself. It¡¯s hard not to around him. Leaning against the bar, he looks just like he had the night we first met. A man from a different world, a gode down to y with mortals, and I¡¯m somehow his chosen confidant. It¡¯s intoxicating. ¡°Admit it,¡± he says. ¡°You love it.¡± I take a sip of my drink to keep from answering, but he sees the answer in my eyes, because he smiles wider. ¡°Of course you do.¡± ¡°Do you know I called you peanut guy in my head the first night we met?¡± ¡°Peanut guy?¡± ¡°It¡¯s true.¡± ¡°Like the little guy with a top hat? Mr. Peanut?¡± I shrug. ¡°You offered me peanuts the first time we met.¡± ¡°It was a good ice-breaker,¡± he says. ¡°It wasn¡¯t intended to be a moniker. I hope you¡¯ve never thought of me as that again afterwards. Peanut guy,¡± he mutters. ¡°The indignity.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not bad, as nicknames go.¡± ¡°It¡¯s awful.¡± ¡°Somehow I¡¯ve gained one in my department.¡± His eyes dance. ¡°Have you, kid?¡± ¡°Ugh,¡± I groan. ¡°Not that one.¡± ¡°I love that you hate it.¡± ¡°I hate that you love it.¡± ¡°Touch¨¦,¡± he says. ¡°Now tell me what your nickname is in the newsroom.¡± I look down at my ss and trace the rim with my finger. My admission suddenly seems foolish. I¡¯d gained it, after all, for standing up to him. ¡°Spitfire,¡± I say. He chuckles. ¡°Do you tell your colleagues off for their manners too, Audrey? Or is it only your bosses?¡± A blush climbs up my cheeks. ¡°I don¡¯t know what came over me that first night when we met. Or at that all-hands meeting, for that matter. I¡¯m usually not as¡­ forward.¡± ¡°I think that¡¯s a lie,¡± he says. ¡°You probably get fired up all the time. I think you have to, to work as an investigative journalist.¡± ¡°I do, but it¡¯s mostly in my head. I rarely act on it. Not like these greats,¡± I say, sweeping my hand out at the mingling guests. ¡°Did you see that Dean Allen is here? He spent a year living with militia to get the most urate story. He was there, in the trenches and in the dirt, and he won the Pulitzer for it.¡± ¡°Is that what you want to do? Get down and dirty for your stories?¡± I nod. ¡°Yes. I haven¡¯t yet, not properly¡­ but one day.¡± ¡°Well, there¡¯s no shortage of wars to report from,¡± Carter says dryly. ¡°Although the idea of you camping with militia in a jungle for a year doesn¡¯t exactly put my heart at ease.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°As if you have time to worry about a lowly employee.¡± ¡°A single employee, no,¡± he admits. ¡°But a friend? Yes.¡± I smile at him. Maybe it¡¯s the champagne, and it¡¯s definitely the adrenaline from being in this beautiful ce, but my words flow freer than they should. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I judged you so harshly before.¡± Carter¡¯s face turns inscrutable. ¡°You¡¯re talking about the Globe ?¡± ¡°Yes. I still don¡¯t like your methods, and I¡¯m still¡­ worried, but I shouldn¡¯t have assumed you wanted the worst for the paper.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± he says, eyes meeting mine. The gold in them seems liquid. ¡°I¡¯ve recently found myself more interested in the investigative side of things, too.¡± ¡°Have you?¡± ¡°Yes. A friend told me investigative journalism was the fourth estate. A defender of democracy and crucial to civil society.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 19 I smile at him. ¡°A friend said that, did she? Sounds like a smart woman.¡± ¡°She has her moments,¡± Carter says. He leans against the bar on his elbows, turning toward the crowd. Standing elbow to elbow with me. ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to ask your thoughts about the Globe and some of the changes I¡¯m considering.¡± My palms immediately feel sweaty around the ss of champagne. ¡°Oh?¡± I don¡¯t want to be the reason anyone gets fired, and yet the chance to have an impact-to actually help change the face of the Globe -is more than any ambitious junior reporter can turn down. And I hate it, but there is dead weight around. I¡¯ve been there long enough to see it now. I open my mouth to admit that. ¡°But not right now,¡± Carter says. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be fair of me to pry business secrets out of you when you¡¯re three sses deep.¡± ¡°Two,¡± I say. ¡°Sure, kid.¡± Iugh this time, shifting so our elbows touch. ¡°So, which of the beautiful women here did you bring as a date?¡± ¡°What makes you think I brought a date?¡± ¡°Come on, Carter,¡± I say. ¡°Like you¡¯re attending an event like this on your own.¡± He snorts. ¡°You¡¯re right. I usually need a minder. A carer, perhaps. That¡¯s what happens when you reach my esteemed age.¡± ¡°You¡¯re six years older than me.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯ll reach my level of wisdom eventually.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t wisdome with humility?¡± ¡°That¡¯s amon myth,¡± he says. ¡°Happy to bust it for you.¡± My smile is on the verge of breaking intoughter, giddiness rising in my chest like the champagne bubbles in my ss. ¡°You¡¯re the silliest man I¡¯ve ever met.¡± ¡°A supetive, and so early in our friendship?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say, nudging his elbow again. ¡°It¡¯s all downhill from here.¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay. We had a good run,¡± he says. And then, spoken beneath his breath, ¡°Peanut guy.¡± ¡°So, no date?¡± He¡¯s quiet for a beat, but his voice is as smooth as always when he speaks again. ¡°I didn¡¯t say I came without a date. But she left a little while ago.¡± There¡¯s a brief pang of something in my chest. Disappointment, perhaps, even if it makes little sense. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m his only confidant or friend, and I¡¯m definitely not his date. ¡°You¡¯re good at cutting your dates short,¡± I say instead, my voice yful. ¡°You did it the night we met too, remember?¡± This time, his smile warms his eyes to amber. ¡°Only when you show up.¡±Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. Iugh at the absurdity. ¡°Right. You¡¯re too charming, you know. You¡¯re not allowed to exercise that on friends, not to mention employees.¡± ¡°Sorry. I don¡¯t know how to turn it off.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± I say, bumping his elbow again. He¡¯s big and solid by my side, taller than most and more handsome than all. ¡°It¡¯s good practice for me, you know. I don¡¯t lock up around you the way I do when I go on dates. If only I can get that way all the time.¡± Carter looks at me for a long moment. ¡°Isn¡¯t your date with the piano teacher tomorrow? You postponed.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, forcing down the nerves in my stomach. They¡¯re instinctual at this point,ing whenever I hear the word date . I wish they¡¯d call it something else. Something with less expectations. ¡°While I¡¯m more than happy to be your guinea pig,¡± he says, ¡°you really don¡¯t get nervous around me?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say with a grin. The idea of him, perpetually sarcastic and smiling, handsome and rich, ever dating me is ridiculous. He¡¯s so firmly outside of the box of romantic possibility. He grins and shes his dimple, proving my point. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I should be ttered or hurt by that.¡± ¡°Relieved, probably,¡± I say. ¡°Couldn¡¯t help you turn the Globe around if I was tongue-tied around you, now could I?¡± ¡°Valid point,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯re all business, spitfire. I admire that about you.¡± I drain thest of my champagne. His eyes widen, and then he gives a quietugh. It¡¯s dark and sensual, just like his voice, and sends shivers down my spine. ¡°Liquid courage,¡± I say. ¡°Think I can introduce myself to Dean Allen?¡± Carter takes my ss, our fingers brushing against one another, and sets it down on the counter. ¡°Of course you can, although I can make the introductions, if you¡¯d like.¡± ¡°You know him?¡± ¡°Not well,¡± he admits, ¡°but we sat next to one another at an industry eventst year. I was scoping the Globe and attended them all.¡± ¡°A year of just speaking to people like this?! How do I live your life?¡± He chuckles again and nods toward the crowd. ¡°Come on. Dean Allen awaits. Do you have your notebook?¡± ¡°Very funny,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m not going to write down his answers.¡± Carter bends to whisper in my ear. ¡°But admit it. You want to.¡± I grin, feeling fierce and free and confident, a woman in charge of her destiny. ¡°Yes.¡± It¡¯ste when I finally get my coat from the check. I don¡¯t know howte, exactly, because I haven¡¯t looked at my phone in hours. But judging by the rapidly thinning crowd, I¡¯m amongst the stragglers. Worth it. Carter¡¯s voice has the same dry humor as before. ¡°Had to pry you two away from one another,¡± he says. ¡°Thank you,¡± I tell him earnestly. ¡°Thank you, thank you, thank you for making the introductions. I think that was the best conversation of my life.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 20 He runs a hand over his jaw. ¡°Well, I¡¯m going to have to top that.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Never mind,¡± he says, holding up my left sleeve and helping me into it. ¡°Judging from the smile on your face, you two had a good time?¡± ¡°I did, at least. I think he enjoyed himself but he has that stoic face, you know? It¡¯s difficult to read him. Do you know what he said?¡± ¡°Tell me,¡± Carter says. ¡°That he¡¯d keep a lookout in the Globe for my articles.¡± My heart feels like it¡¯s fluttering as I say it. Dean Allen is a legend, working far past his retirement age, with more des than one can count. This event is ck tie and he¡¯d worn a tweed jacket with a hole near the sleeve. Den would have died and gone to heaven, seeing that. ¡°I¡¯m d,¡± Carter says, a small smile on his face. ¡°Okay, okay, I know I¡¯m fangirling, but I think I just had the best night of my life. God, I have to thank Booker for this. But how? Is it too much to get her flowers?¡± Carterughs, his arm finding mine. ¡°Come on, kid. You¡¯ve had too much champagne.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve had exactly the right amount. If I¡¯d had any less, I wouldn¡¯t have dared ask Dean Allen all those questions.¡± ¡°Think you can call him just Dean now?¡± I shake my head. ¡°No. You don¡¯t end up on first-name basis with a person like that. He¡¯s a bit like you, you know. Not for us normal people.¡± Carter snorts. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll address thatment in a bit. How are you getting home?¡± I stop our descent down the steps. The New York air is cold, and a faint drizzle hangs in the air. We¡¯re well and truly in fall now. ¡°I¡¯ll go¡­ in that direction,¡± I say, pointing to the nearby stop. ¡°You¡¯re taking the subway home,¡± Carter says. ¡°Yes. How else would I get there?¡± He takes a step back and gives me a once-over, from my ck work pumps to my prom dress. It hadn¡¯t looked too out of ce in there, but I doubted I¡¯d fooled any fashionistas. Maybe I should just start rocking tweed zers too. ¡°In that?¡± Carter says. ¡°You¡¯ll be osted.¡± I look down at my chaste dress with a frown. ¡°This was my prom dress.¡± He¡¯s quiet for a long moment. ¡°Your prom dress,¡± he repeats quietly. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Yes. I went with Sveinn, an dic exchange student, and we spent most of the night behind the bleachers. I got food poisoning.¡± ¡°Wow,¡± he says, and then has absolutely noeback. ¡°Are you speechless? This has to be a first.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°There¡¯s just so much to process. So many questions to ask. But first, you¡¯re not taking the subway. Come on, I¡¯ll drive you home.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve had champagne too,¡± I point out. ¡°And no one drives in New York.¡± ¡°Well, my driver for the night does.¡± That shuts me right up. A driver. I¡¯ve never met anyone who has a driver on standby. We walk down the steps in silence, him on his phone, me with my mind spinning. Every time I settle into the idea of being friends with him, despite our differences, they whop up to hit me over the head. ¡°It¡¯s not a big deal,¡± Carter says. ¡°Think of it as a taxi driver on retainer. My own Uber, essentially.¡± He¡¯d read my silence correctly. He does that a lot, I¡¯ve realized. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make it less weird, you know. You don¡¯t have a butler as well?¡±N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. ¡°I don¡¯t even know where you¡¯d get a butler in modern-day New York.¡± ¡°You can find anything on the inte.¡± ¡°Yes, well, I don¡¯t want to hire a middle-aged man who¡¯s watched too much Downton Abbey .¡± He slides his phone into his pocket and guides us to a spot on the sidewalk. ¡°We¡¯ll be on our way in no time. Now, something you said earlier.¡± The wind whips at the loose tendrils of hair I¡¯d artfully framed around my face hours earlier. No doubt they¡¯re out of ce, the lipstick smudged, my mascara runny. And I couldn¡¯t care less. Tonight was everything I¡¯ve ever wanted career-wise. ¡°Oh no,¡± I say. ¡°Being quoted is scary. What did I say?¡± ¡°That I¡¯m like Dean Allen. Not someone normal people get close to.¡± ¡°Oh, that. Well, I stand by it. Great statement. You could put it on a T-shirt.¡± His mouth twitches, but it¡¯s not with his usual charming smile. It looks like he¡¯s trying to stop a genuine grin. ¡°You really are drunk.¡± ¡°No, and even if I were, it would be very udylike of you to point it out.¡± ¡°Do you mean ungentlemanly?¡± ¡°Yes. What did I say?¡± He rolls his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re a normal person, and you¡¯re getting to know me.¡± ¡°Am I?¡± I ask. ¡°We¡¯ve texted about all kinds of things, but they¡¯re not real things. All we do isugh and joke. I like it. I mean, you¡¯re funny, Carter. Some of your texts make meugh so much my stomach hurts.¡± His smile shes briefly. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°But I don¡¯t know who you¡¯re dating, where you grew up, where you live¡­ I don¡¯t know. You¡¯re up here,¡± I say, raising my hand to the level of his corbones, before lowering it down to mine. ¡°I¡¯m here. You¡¯re not really for the likes of us normies. Tomorrow you¡¯ll fire an entire department of people again before buying Zanzibar over lunch.¡± ¡°Buying Zanzibar,¡± he repeats. ¡°Well, I usually do my nation-shopping at night.¡± ¡°Right. Are there infomercials for that?¡± ¡°Too many. I couldn¡¯t sleep one night and identally bought the entire Scandinavian penins, and I don¡¯t even have the space for it.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 21 Myughter is cut short by a ck town car pulling up beside us. Carter unbuttons his dinner jacket and opens the door to the back seat for me. ¡°Come on.¡± I take a deep breath, and then I step into the luxe interior and leather scent. He closes the door behind us and we¡¯re instantly in a world apart. Gone is the drizzle and wind. We¡¯re alone, side by side in a dark car. ¡°Your address,¡± Carter says. I give him the details and he rys them to the man in the driver¡¯s seat. Absurdly, I thought he¡¯d wear a hat, and then feel stupid when I think it. And all of a sudden my heart speeds up. Carter¡¯s nearby and he¡¯s a man and what if he has expectations, too? What if I¡¯ve misunderstood and despite the fact that he could never, ever date someone like me, he might- ¡°Tell me something honestly,¡± he says. ¡°Uh-huh?¡± ¡°Think you can be friends with your boss, despite his¡­ business practices?¡± I smile. Friends, of course. That¡¯s what he wants. I have nothing to worry about. ¡°I¡¯m considering it, yes. Even if it makes no sense and is definitely not advisable.¡± ¡°Wondering if I should be offended,¡± he says. ¡°Deciding not to be.¡± I bump his knee with mine. His legs are long, stretched out in the ample space of the town car. ¡°Then tell me something honestly in return.¡± ¡°Yes, I was born this handsome. My mother has been contacted repeatedly by the press, but there¡¯s no real exnation. I¡¯m just a beautiful ident of nature.¡± ¡°Are you ever serious?¡± ¡°Life forces me to be sometimes,¡± he admits, ¡°but I avoid it at all costs.¡± I chuckle. ¡°Tell me something, then. Someone like you-I don¡¯t mean someone as handsome as you, although you are, and you know it. But I mean someone as sessful and social¡­ why did you and I end up texting so much? What did you gain from it, you know?¡± He arranges the cuff of his jacket and I can¡¯t see his eyes. But his voice is the same confident drawl as always. ¡°Is it so crazy to imagine I wanted a friend?¡± ¡°You must have a hundred people in this city that are better friends than me.¡± ¡°No,¡± he says. ¡°I don¡¯t. People are intimidated by me, you know. It¡¯s the face.¡± Iugh again. It¡¯s hard not to, around him, and even harder when you¡¯re drunk off champagne and the best night of your life. ¡°The clothes, perhaps, the expensive watch, the town car, the easy wit¡­¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. Heated gold eyes meet mine. ¡°Compliments?¡± ¡°You were fishing for them,¡± I say, but I lean back in my seat. He smiles slowly, and his eyes drop down to my dress again. ¡°Well, kid, for being a grown woman in her prom dress¡­ you look fucking gorgeous.¡± My eyebrows climb all the way up to the sunroof of the car. ¡°What?¡± ¡°We¡¯re exchangingpliments, are we not?¡± ¡°Yes, but they have to be believable.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t think you¡¯re beautiful,¡± he says skeptically. ¡°Don¡¯t y that card. How many damn dates have you been on in the past month?¡± I shake my head. ¡°No, no, I¡¯m not trying to be falsely modest. I like how I look. It¡¯s not like a supermodel or anything, but I¡¯m happy with it. But I¡¯ve seen the women you date.¡± Just not the one you brought tonight. The thought immediately sours my thinking. Was he like this with them too? Like he wants nothing more than to make themugh? ¡°That¡¯s ament we¡¯ll dissect another day,¡± he says. ¡°You live in Queens.¡± I nod. Outside the windows, the streets are bing familiar. We¡¯re getting closer. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Rent your own apartment?¡± ¡°I rent a room in a house. The owner lives on the first floor.¡± Carter nods. ¡°Right. I grew up in Queens.¡± ¡°You did?¡± He runs a hand over the back of his neck. ¡°Yeah. So now you know where I grew up.¡± I recognize a tentative gesture when I see it, and through my drunken haze, I wonder if he¡¯d meant exactly what he¡¯d said earlier. If some of his jokes aren¡¯t jokes at all, the self-deprecation hiding things beneath the surface. ¡°I grew up in Alrich,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s a town upstate.¡± His smile is small and crooked. ¡°Nice to meet you, Audrey.¡± I extend my hand. ¡°You too, Carter.¡± He takes it in his. It¡¯s so much warmer than I expected. His fingers curl a moment longer around mine, long and firm, before he lets it go. ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± he says. ¡°Thanks for tonight.¡± I rub a hand over my eyes. Despite the sleep I¡¯d gottenst night, better than I had in weeks, I¡¯m bone tired. The Globe ¡®s poor financials are an antidote to any kind of rest. A man would have to be mad or inspired to take this project on. I¡¯d been inspired when I bought it, but increasingly I¡¯m wondering if I fall in the other category instead. All I need is a hat and I could host myself some tea parties. Wesley¡¯s quiet opposite my desk. He probably knows what¡¯sing, and I know it too, but I have to say it. ¡°Are you seriously telling me,¡± I say, ¡°that the Deckson ads ount for eight percent of our profit margin on the paper?¡± ¡°Unfortunately so,¡± he says. ¡°One of the previous board members was close with the Deckson family. Things escted from there, I suppose.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure that was well and good thirty years ago, but thepany is a PR nightmare today. We can¡¯t have their name stered across our pages.¡± Wesley takes off his sses and rubs them clean on his shirt with meticulous swipes. ¡°It would undermine confidence in our reporting.¡± ¡°The Investigative team is working on a deep expos¨¦ on their industry and the production methods. Undermine? We¡¯d lose any credibility we have left, running that piece on the front cover and having a Deckson ad on the next page.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Wesley says. I stare at the man. He¡¯s been nothing but helpful once I got here, quick to engage with my suggestions and even quicker to implement them. But this expos¨¦ had been in the works for over a year. He¡¯d been editor-in-chief all that time. A Ticking Time Boss 22 Had he never seen the sh? ¡°We can sell the ad space to other retailers,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ll have our sales department draft a list of possible candidates during the day.¡± I run a hand through my hair. The Globe shouldn¡¯t be this reliant on ads. It¡¯s stifling thepany¡¯s originality, credibility, and most of all, it¡¯s losing trust with the very people we want to reach.Ccontent ? exclusive by N?/vel(D)ra/ma.Org. ¡°Do that,¡± I agree, even if I hate the necessity. ¡°Investigative will have a part to y in this whole thing, you know. If we¡¯re to draw new subscribers to the Globe , we want to keep our reporting relevant. Break new stories.¡± ¡°I¡¯m with you on that, sir,¡± Wesley says. He leaves my office soon after, and I relish the closed door. No one to impress or charm, just me and my thoughts. This fucking mediapany is like a minefield. I make one department redundant only to discover some of the employees in it were actually pulling a load on the side for another. The man I thought waspetent enough to head a new department is poached by another newspaper with higher pay, and the bastard doesn¡¯t even confront me about it-or HR-to ask for amensurate raise in pay first. The internal structure of this newspaper is a disaster. But I can¡¯t me my mood entirely on the Globe , try as I may. There¡¯s a single, tiny little reason why I can¡¯t. It¡¯s the text I gotst night. I haven¡¯t responded to it yet, and it¡¯s lying on my phone, innocent and unanswered. Audrey: I survived the date!! It went so well. I think I¡¯ve nailed the art of small talk now. We¡¯re going on another one tonight. I¡¯m supposed to pick the ce. I want to suggest the movies, but does that have other implications for a man? Her date went well. As a friend, I should be happy about that. Hadn¡¯t I been the one to make the damn suggestion about helping her with dates if she helped me with thepany? So far we¡¯d done neither of those things. It would be cool by me if we kept it like that. Of course this guy wants a second date. Any man who wasn¡¯t an idiot could see the catch she is. Honest to a fault, beautifully optimistic without being naive, and true in a way I¡¯ve rarely met. There¡¯s no artifice to her. She¡¯s quick tough and quick to stand up for her beliefs. Audrey might give me ck for being a charmer, but mine is all bluff. Her kind of appeal runs deeper. The idea of her having trouble dating is ridiculous. I¡¯d understood that the second I met her. It¡¯s in her head, the nerves, the expectations, the build-up. I want her to realize that¡­ just not with some random guy from a dating app. I tuck my phone into my pocket and go searching for Wesley again. He looks up when I enter his office. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°You said you¡¯d introduce me to the investigative team. I want to do it now.¡± ¡°Right, okay. Let¡¯s go.¡± To his credit, Wesley never seems off bnce with my suggestions. Not even when I¡¯d shed half of the cirction department. We reach the newsroom and walk through the busy corridor. People fall quiet as we pass, the sound of animated voices quieting down to a hesitant murmur. They still don¡¯t trust me around here. I wonder if I have a giant sign over my head that says your job is in danger whenever they see me. One person I don¡¯t recognize actually ducks back into his cubicle, as if he¡¯s safe as long as he can¡¯t see me. Wesley stops in the center of the office. ¡°Anyone seen Booker?¡± he calls. A gangly man in a tweed jacket answers. He¡¯s sitting next to a wide-eyed Audrey, her eyes moving from me to Wesley. ¡°She¡¯s finishing up a phone meeting,¡± he says. Wesley clears his throat, but I step in. This is the team Audrey waxed poetically about. It¡¯s the kind of reporting that, I have to admit, she has a point about. It could put us back on the map. ¡°Sorry to disrupt your work,¡± I say, projecting my voice to the entire room. There has to be at least forty people working here. ¡°We¡¯ve met before, but not on a personal basis. I¡¯d like to get to know this department better and familiarize myself with the work you all do. I¡¯ll do ap of the room with Wesley here, and speak to each one of you.¡± Quiet murmurs break out as soon as I¡¯ve finished. The journalists are hesitant. A quarter of them aren¡¯t even in the office. But some tell me in open, excited terms about the stories they¡¯re working on. One man, older than most, informs me that he¡¯s working toward a deadline and doesn¡¯t have time to hold my hand. Wesley pales by my side, but I grin at him. ¡°Someone who understands the value of time. I appreciate it. I¡¯ll talk to you at a better time, then.¡± ¡°Looking forward to it,¡± he says with the enthusiasm of someone talking to their dentist. So this team doesn¡¯t like me very much. That¡¯s all right. As long as they produce great content for me, they can think me the devil and I¡¯ll be happy. Audrey¡¯s table is the veryst I visit. I speak to her deskmate first. ¡°Den, is it?¡± He nods. ¡°Yes. Nice to meet you, sir.¡± ¡°No sir here,¡± I say. ¡°Tell me what you¡¯re working on.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fact-checking some things for Emery¡¯s Sunday article.¡± ¡°Right. Junior investigative reporter, right?¡± ¡°Yes. Together with Audrey here, we mostly support the other journalists.¡± He reaches up and rearranges his sses. Despite the stern expression, there¡¯s a bead of sweat on his forehead. Audrey clears her throat. She¡¯s been following the conversation, and I¡¯ve been watching her from the corner of my eye. Her hair is pulled into a low ponytail and she¡¯s wearing a zer, no lipstick, a world away from the woman I¡¯d spent time with at the Reporters¡¯ Ball. She¡¯d been almost giddy then, filled with so much excitement for her job and life that it excited my own. ¡°Well, we used to work on our own stories,¡± she says. ¡°Before the freeze on our articles. Den¡¯s idea was fascinating.¡± He shoots her a re. ¡°Oh?¡± I ask. ¡°Tell me about it.¡± He does, reluctantly at first, but his eyes soon glow with enthusiasm. Audrey had been right. These people are self-starters, and assuming they can write, they¡¯re one of the paper¡¯s greatest assets. ¡°Don¡¯t forget to look into the other perspective,¡± I tell him. ¡°I want you covering both sides.¡± ¡°Will do,¡± Den says. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Anytime.¡± I turn toward Audrey. She meets my eye with a careful one of her own, her faceposed like she¡¯s sitting for an old-time portrait. The obvious attempt at casualness makes me want to smile. ¡°Audrey Ford,¡± I say. ¡°You interviewed me for the newsletter.¡± ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right,¡± she says. Even her voice sounds stiff. I crack a smile. ¡°It was a good interview. Well, what are you working on now?¡± She tells me about the three research projects she¡¯s helping with in short, professional tones. Even goes so far as to open the file on herputer, her voice heating up with excitement. ¡°Excellent,¡± Wesley says by my side. ¡°Mr. Kingsley, let me show you-¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to hear about what story you¡¯re working on,¡± I ask Audrey. She meets my gaze with a strong one of her own. ¡°The focus is on a bodega in Queens. The owners are being evicted by a constructionpany on false grounds. It¡¯s all an excuse to level the ce and build expensive condos.¡± ¡°You care about the area?¡± I ask. A Ticking Time Boss 23 She nods. ¡°We¡¯re a big-picture paper, but I think we¡¯ve lost sight of the customers at home over thest couple of years. The New Yorkers who are our true supporters. They care about their city and the things that happen in it.¡± A quiet apprehensionnds in the air. She¡¯s criticized the leadership of the newspaper to the current and former heads, and she¡¯d done it with an enthusiastic smile. And that, I think, is why she deserves to be called spitfire. ¡°It¡¯s a good story,¡± I say. ¡°The freeze on solo reporting will be lifted. I want you to find time to work on it.¡± She nods, and I can tell she¡¯s biting the inside of her cheek to stop a smile. ¡°Yes, sir. Excellent. I¡¯ll¡­ do that.¡± ¡°No sir,¡± I repeat. I leave her at her desk, the terrible actress with her glittering eyes. Wesley walks beside me on our way back to the executive floor. There¡¯s agitation in his silence. ¡°Just say it,¡± I tell him. ¡°Several of them overstepped,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ll speak to Booker tomorrow. Saying they didn¡¯t have time, sharing their unsolicited thoughts on the direction of the newspaper¡­¡± I frown at him. Is this how he usually runs the paper? ¡°I don¡¯t want sycophants, I want a functioning newspaper,¡± I say. ¡°You won¡¯t tell Booker a thing.¡± A brief re-up of irritation in Wesley¡¯s eyes, but then it¡¯s gone, and he¡¯s once more the helpful second-inmand. ¡°Noted.¡± As soon as I¡¯m back in my office, I reply to Audrey¡¯s text. Carter: You¡¯re a terrible actress. Well, reply is a loose term. I¡¯d promised her help with her dates. But I never promised to be prompt. Audrey: You terrified everyone in this room, you know. Announcing you wanted to get to know the department. I swear two people in the back fainted. I frown down at my phone. Carter: You¡¯re exaggerating. Audrey: Only slightly. What made you want to get to know Investigative better? She has to know it¡¯s her. Audrey¡¯s words and her burning enthusiasm for the topic. I still have ns for the other departments, not to mention the Globe ¡®s app. But her passion is contagious. Can great journalism really be the savior of this newspaper? Carter: Someone told me it¡¯s the backbone of this paper. Audrey: Someone very smart, right? Carter: Moderately, I¡¯d say. Audrey: I¡¯ll take it. Thank you for allowing solo initiatives again. You know, we all work on it on our spare time. It¡¯s what keeps a lot of these journalists¡¯ mes burning. I¡¯d never considered that. Booker handles the story beats, but all of them want to pursue their own stories. Like Audrey¡¯s bodega. mes burning. Christ, she has a way with words. I take another hour to answer her first text. It¡¯s a dick move, because it¡¯s already past five and she¡¯s likely left the paper already, but I couldn¡¯t bring myself to give her advice before. Half my text is a lie. Carter: d to hear about your date. The movies is a good suggestion. If you¡¯re wondering if he¡¯ll think about handsiness in the cinema, the answer is yeah, he might hope for it. But he¡¯s an asshole if he expects it. It¡¯s only half-an-hour before she texts me back. Audrey: Thank you, you¡¯re right. But he just cancelled ?? No movies for me! And with that single text, I see an opportunity. It should have bummed me out. On all ounts, Ben was great. A musician with a steady gig as a piano teacher, well-mannered, didn¡¯t seem like a closet psychopath. He was cute in that teacher kind of way, and I¡¯d always been a teacher¡¯s pet. His text to cancel had consisted of no less than three different ways of apologizing. I¡¯m sorry, forgive me, and I feel terrible.N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. But me? All I feel is relief. I don¡¯t have to go through with another nerve-wracking date, where half my brain spends the entire evening nervous about what he¡¯s thinking. I wish I didn¡¯t care. I wish I could be like Nina, my best friend, who throws herself off metaphorical dating cliffs with reckless abandon. I¡¯d texted her right after I texted Carter, and she¡¯s written me an essay in response. Nina: You can¡¯t let this one setback turn you off. He might have a legitimate excuse. But I want you to know I¡¯m so proud of you. How many first dates have you been on now? Who are you, and what have you done with Audrey?? She means well, and I smile at the double question marks. But these dates aren¡¯t leading anywhere. I¡¯m oveing my nerves of first dates, yes, but nothing more. The fifteen minutes I¡¯d spent re-doing my makeup feels like a waste now. I lift up my long hair and arrange it into a bun. Should I go out anyway? Eat at a restaurant alone, a woman empowered? But Lord knows I¡¯m not made of money. So I let my hair down and sit at my kitchen table instead. I have three separate notebooks open, filled with my sprawling handwriting. With the heavy pressure at work, I spend most of my evenings on the story about the evicted bodega owners and vited zoning regtions. I hit y on my recorder and listen to my interview with the owner. My voice is steady, if a bit nervous. His grows agitated as he describes how predatory gentrification is pushing them out of the area. I start transcribing. The owner has just finished describing the constructionpany in very colorful terms when my phone rings. Carter Kingsley, my phone screen informs me. We¡¯ve never spoken on the phone before. ¡°Hello?¡± I say. ¡°Your date remains cancelled?¡± ¡°Uh, yes. Nothing¡¯s changed since I texted you.¡± ¡°Come on then, I¡¯m downstairs.¡± I walk to my window. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I heard you were in need of a white knight.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 24 I push back the curtain and peer out. To my amazement, he¡¯s telling the truth. Carter¡¯s standing outside Pierce¡¯s brownstone, leaning against the stoop. ¡°Why,¡± I say, ¡°are you wearing a tux?¡± Down on the street, Carter runs a hand over the snugly fitted suit. It makes him look sharper, his edges clean and his form tall. ¡°White knights need their armor,¡± he says. ¡°I was at an event before. Come on, kid. Let me buy you dinner.¡± I can¡¯t stop myself from grinning down at him, so out of ce amongst the regrly dressed passersby. ¡°All right. I¡¯ll be downstairs in a minute!¡± I pull on my thick puffer coat and stick my feet in a pair of sneakers. We¡¯ll look like the world¡¯s most mismatched couple¡­ which we are. At least it¡¯s a truthful representation. I close the front door behind me. ¡°Hey.¡± ¡°Hello,¡± he says. His mouth pulls into a smile as he looks me over. ¡°Cold?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know how you aren¡¯t. Are you wearing thermals beneath that suit?¡± He puts a hand over his chest. ¡°A gentleman never reveals his secrets.¡± I make a show of looking around. ¡°There¡¯s a gentleman here?¡± ¡°Ouch,¡± he says. ¡°Hungry?¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. ¡°Starving.¡± ¡°Good. I know a ce.¡± He nods up the street and I fall into step next to him, shoving my hands into my pockets. I can¡¯t stop smiling. He¡¯d shown up, just to hang out, had he? For all the reasons why we shouldn¡¯t be friends, I can¡¯t help wanting to spend time with him. Somehow everything he says is intriguing. He could be talking aboutundry detergent or the national debt, and he¡¯d make it interesting. Maybe it¡¯s his voice or his turns of phrase. Maybe it¡¯s just him. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you just came from a dinner?¡± I ask. ¡°Now you want to eat again?¡± ¡°I did, but calling it dinner is an insult to the institution itself. The only thing they served was tiny quiches.¡± ¡°Ouch.¡± I look over at him, the strong line of his jaw, the crisp suit. ¡°But you went anyway? What was it?¡± He lifts a shoulder in an elegant shrug. ¡°Something I¡¯d epted a long time ago and couldn¡¯t get out of. It was aworking thing at the British Chamber of Commerce.¡± ¡°Must be tough being so popr. How do you sort through all the invitations?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a problem,¡± he says solemnly. ¡°My apartment regrly floods with them.¡± ¡°Poor rich businessman.¡± ¡°We¡¯re a struggling minority.¡± I roll my eyes, but I¡¯m grinning. ¡°You never answered my text about sending the newsroom into a panic today.¡± ¡°Honestly?¡± ¡°Yes. Coming down unannounced and dering you want to get to know the department better? Every single person there was thinking they¡¯d be fired.¡± He¡¯s quiet for a moment. ¡°Well, not you.¡± ¡°Not me,¡± I say. ¡°Well, I couldn¡¯t be quite sure, but I suspected you weren¡¯t there toy us all off. You didn¡¯t have your serious face on.¡± ¡°My serious face?¡± ¡°Well, now it seems a bit silly, saying it out loud.¡± I pull the sleeves of my jacket down to cover my hands. ¡°But I saw what you looked like when you gave the speech during the all-hands meeting. You didn¡¯t wear that expression today, you know. The one where you¡¯re bracing yourself against blowback.¡± We walk the length from onemppost to another in silence. ¡°You¡¯re observant,¡± he says. ¡°It¡¯s a good trait in a reporter.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure. So you weren¡¯t scared today, at any rate, seeing as you can apparently read my intentions from my face. How did people react after I left?¡± I shrug. ¡°People didn¡¯t know what to make of it. Most people assumed, and I think correctly, although let me know if I¡¯m wrong, that it was a good sign. Was it? Does this mean you¡¯re considering giving Investigative more resources?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t give up, do you?¡± ¡°Never.¡± Carter doesn¡¯t reply. He stops outside a restaurant instead. ¡°Have you ever eaten here?¡± I peer through the windows. The ce is Italian and kitschy, with a painted mural of the Colosseum on one of the walls. The tables have red stic tablecloths. ¡°Nope,¡± I say. He pushes the door open. ¡°Come on. They have the best pizza in Queens.¡± I don¡¯t move right away. I stare at him instead, tall and with a pressed tuxedo on, holding the door open for me. ¡°Vre¡± ys softly from the speakers. Carter¡¯s eyes are steady. ¡°Audrey?¡± I step past him into the warm restaurant. We¡¯re greeted by a smiling hostess in her mid-fifties and ushered into a booth in the back. Her gaze lingers on Carter. Probably wondering what a man dressed like him is doing in a ce like this. ¡°You¡¯ve been here before?¡± I ask. ¡°Might¡¯ve been, yes.¡± He pushes the menu across the table at me. ¡°Their calzone is delicious.¡± I open the menu without reading any of the items. Just when I think I have him figured out, he changes. But nothing about our friendship is normal. Why should I expect him to be? ¡°They have passable house wine as well,¡± he says. ¡°But I think the beer is a safer bet.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 25 ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not drinking around you anymore. I get too¡­ talkative when I do.¡± ¡°It¡¯s entertaining when you do, though.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°Christ, I¡¯m sure. But I can¡¯t stand by the things I say.¡± Carter¡¯s mouth stretches into a wicked smile. ¡°You remember what you told me at the ball?¡± ¡°I remember all of it,¡± I say, heat flooding my cheeks. ¡°And there was so much of it that I¡¯m not even sure which embarrassing thing you¡¯re referring to.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t embarrass yourself.¡± I look down at the pizzas on disy. Far too many for any mortal person to sort through. ¡°You¡¯re nice, but I definitely did.¡± ¡°Hmm. Would one of them be getting food poisoning at your senior prom?¡± ¡°Oh God. I really did admit to that, didn¡¯t I?¡± It had been one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, throwing up on the dance floor. The teachers threatened to call my parents about my underage drinking. It was mildly humiliating to have to exin to them, my hand sped to my stomach, that I¡¯d never tasted a drop in my life, because I¡¯d never been invited to the frequent house parties the cool kids threw. Carter¡¯s voice drops. It¡¯s soothing again, the deep register washing over me like a balm. ¡°Was the dic boy nice to you?¡± ¡°Yes. I think he was secretly a bit put out that I ruined his American prom experience, though.¡± I chuckle at the memory. ¡°But I told him to go inside and have fun, and he informed me sternly that he would never leave a sick friend.¡± ¡°What about your parents?¡± He reaches out to grab hold of the salt canister, twisting it around inrge hands. I¡¯d never really looked at them before, but I watch them now, long fingers moving with dexterity. There¡¯s a light dusting of hair across the back of his hands. ¡°Tell me about your family.¡± I smile at him, but he¡¯s looking down at the salt. Is this because of my stupidment about not really knowing him? Are we getting deeper? ¡°Well, my dad¡¯s a dentist and my mom¡¯s a chiropractor. Kevin is three years younger than me. He lives in Brooklyn now, in an art collective with six of his friends.¡± ¡°You have a brother?¡± ¡°Yeah. We were best friends growing up. I¡¯m a bit worried about him right now, though, but I think he¡¯s just finding his way.¡± I shrug, closing my menu. ¡°It¡¯s tough to be young and idealistic.¡± Carter raises an eyebrow. ¡°Speaking from experience, are you?¡± ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve noticed, but I might be a bit idealistic too.¡± ¡°You? Never.¡± I grin at him, and he smiles right back at me. Something flips over in my chest. It feels like the beating of a pair of wings, light and airy andunching into flight. ¡°Ready to order?¡± the hostess asks. I look away from Carter¡¯s golden eyes, breaking the magic, and we order. The food arrives quickly, almost suspiciously so, but Carter epts his giant pizza with a solemn thank-you. ¡°Better than a miniature quiche?¡± I ask him. He cuts into his pizza with strong, energetic moves. ¡°Kid, never get rich. It¡¯s all events and sir, would you please look at this? and tiny fucking food. People never stop trying to con you out of your money, either.¡± The words prick at my memories. I see my father¡¯s crestfallen face, the bone-deep disappointment in himself after the man in a suit had swept through his life with honey-sweet promises. My entire college fund, gone. My brother¡¯s, gone. A life¡¯s worth of savings gone. ¡°You don¡¯t have to be rich to have people con you,¡± I say. ¡°No, you¡¯re right about that,¡± Carter says, and there¡¯s a trace of bitterness in his own voice. ¡°Poor choice of words.¡± I shake my head. ¡°No, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re more likely a target. People always have investment schemes for you, don¡¯t they?¡± ¡°Yes. Ny-nine percent of them are pure bullshit.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what you do as a venture capitalist, right? Find the one percent that¡¯s worth your time? Like the Globe ?¡± He takes a bite of his pizza and chews slowly, eyes on mine. ¡°Are you interviewing me?¡± ¡°Part two of thepany newsletter,¡± I say. ¡°Got a lot of requests for a follow-up.¡± He snorts, reaching for his beer. It¡¯s all deceptively normal, but I can¡¯t look at him without seeing the well-fitted suit, the thick hair swept over a face that is, admittedly, unusually handsome. It¡¯s no less so while he¡¯s eating pizza and drinking beer. I shrug. ¡°Well, you¡¯re fascinating. You don¡¯t make sense to me, you know. I¡¯m still half-convinced you¡¯ll pull the rug out from under me one day and say ¡®what, you actually thought we were friends? I own thepany you work for!''¡± Carter nods, like this is a distinct possibility. ¡°Would Iugh maniacally as well?¡± ¡°Yes. Twirl your moustache.¡± He smooths a hand over his jawline, across the five-o¡¯clock shadow. It makes him look deliciously masculine. ¡°I could grow one for you.¡± ¡°That¡¯ll be the sign, then,¡± I say. ¡°If I show up to work one day and see you with a moustache, that means you¡¯ve decided I¡¯m beneath you. No more socializing.¡± His lips twitch. ¡°I¡¯ll bear it in mind. Don¡¯t hold your breath, though.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t. I rather like texting you,¡± I say, taking a bite of my pizza to avoid his gaze. It feels like a vulnerable thing to admit. To put into words the weird connection we have, this¡­ non-thing that¡¯s a thing all of its own. It feels safer to keep it in the gray zone. ¡°I like talking to you too,¡± he says. His voice sounds gruffer than usual. Not the smooth, cultured suaveness. I prefer this version.N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. We eat in silence for few minutes, the weight of our mutual revtion settling between us. Like sand sinking to the bottom of ake, shoring up the bed. He takes another deep sip of beer and meets my gaze. ¡°Will you finally tell me why dating is so scary for you? It wasn¡¯t the dic boy, then, but it was someone, right? Tell me who and I¡¯ll have him killed.¡± I burst outughing and have to put my pizza slice down. Carter¡¯s mouth quirks into a half-smile, eyes glittering. He likes to make meugh. The knowledge makes my chest warm. ¡°It wasn¡¯t anyone in particr,¡± I say. He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Audrey.¡± ¡°It really wasn¡¯t.¡± I run a hand through my curls. A flush creeps up my neck. ¡°I wasn¡¯t exactly¡­ popr in high school. And in college I spent all my time studying or at the school paper. I was the editor for one term, you know.¡± ¡°The newspaper was best that term, too?¡± I shrug, but I¡¯d loved being at the helm. Judging from the look in his eyes, he knows it too. Funny how I never have to hide my ambition around him. ¡°It ran like clockwork,¡± I say. ¡°But I also worked extra at the school¡¯s pretzel shop.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 26 ¡°The pretzel shop?¡± I clear my throat. ¡°Would you like your pretzel bites with a dipping sauce? We have cheddar cheese, curry and barbecue, or for a sweet touch, caramel, maple or chocte.¡± Carter chuckles. ¡°You still remember it?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll remember it until the day I die,¡± I say. ¡°God, I¡¯ve eaten enough of them tost me a lifetime.¡± ¡°Did you put yourself through college?¡± I look back down at my pizza. ¡°Partly, yeah.¡± And if it wasn¡¯t my father¡¯s greatest shame. I¡¯d only mentioned my student loans a few times at home, before the pained look in his eyes became too much. I hated seeing him beat himself up. ¡°That¡¯s impressive,¡± Carter says. ¡°But all that left little time for dating?¡± I chew the inside of my cheek. ¡°I¡¯ve never had a boyfriend.¡± His hands slowly lower to the te, pizza slice forgotten. ¡°Never?¡± ¡°No. Nothing¡­ confirmed. I haven¡¯t really been on dates, either. Before this past year.¡± Carter looks at me for a long, silent moment. Is he judging? I know the conclusions people draw. The ones that aren¡¯t true, not really, but sting nheless. ¡°That¡¯s a fucking disgrace, Audrey.¡± ¡°You called me Audrey,¡± I whisper. ¡°I¡¯m embarrassed on behalf of my sex,¡± he says. ¡°How the hell did none of the college boys scoop you up? Someone on the paper?¡± I rub a hand over the back of my neck. ¡°Well, my one college fling was with someone from the paper.¡± ¡°Ah. Here it is, the big scandal. Come on. How awful was he, and what was his social security number? I can have a SEAL team give you justice in four hours. Ten, if he¡¯s abroad.¡± Iugh, shaking my head. ¡°No, no, it was nothing like that. It was good. It was just not traditional. We never went out together. I never had to do that awkward first date dance where you¡¯re both pretending to be someone else.¡± ¡°There¡¯s an easy solution for that,¡± he says. ¡°Stop pretending.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°What, just be myself right off the bat?¡± ¡°Yes. You were yourself with me, from the first moment we met, and I¡¯m still here.¡± ¡°Well, I wasn¡¯t trying to impress you.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°And yet you have. Perhaps you don¡¯t have to pretend, kid.¡± I give him a teasing smile. ¡°If I stop pretending, you have to, too.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t pretend anything,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m not convinced. You¡¯re the biggest charmer I¡¯ve ever met. Were you yourself at that Reporters¡¯ Ball, with the date you brought? Or with the blonde I saw you with the night we met?¡± Carter leans back in his seat and gives me a calcting look. ¡°You¡¯ve been paying attention.¡± ¡°Of course I have. I don¡¯t know many venture capitalist billionaire CEOs.¡± ¡°I know too many,¡± he replies. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you agree, though? That you wear a mask?¡± He¡¯s quiet for another beat. ¡°Maybe I do,¡± he says, reaching for his beer. ¡°I get that it¡¯s probably safer for you in some cases,¡± I admit. ¡°With all the people trying to con you. If only they could see you now, eating twelve-dor pizza in a worn-down restaurant in Queens.¡± ¡°They¡¯d never stop calling,¡± he says. ¡°So, we¡¯ve psychoanalyzed me. I want to know the same things about you. What do your parents do?¡± His lips quirk in a half-smile. ¡°My mother¡¯s a teacher. She works at an elementary school right around here.¡± ¡°So that¡¯s why you grew up in Queens?¡± ¡°Yes. We lived just a few blocks over.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. ¡°Normal childhood?¡± ¡°Normal enough,¡± he says. ¡°No mini quiches, if that¡¯s what you mean.¡± ¡°No one really needs mini quiches,¡± I say. ¡°So, do you also have a sibling who answers your texts sporadically?¡± ¡°Not really,¡± he says. ¡°Not really? Isn¡¯t that a yes or no question?¡± His mouth twists into another one of his smiles, but this one feels more rehearsed. ¡°Not really,¡± he repeats, voice smooth. Iugh. ¡°Mysterious. I respect that.¡± ¡°It was mostly my mother and me,¡± he says. ¡°She still lives in the area, actually.¡± I put two and two together. ¡°You¡¯ve been to this restaurant a lot, haven¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Every other Friday, like clockwork,¡± he says with a grin. ¡°That¡¯s why the hostess recognized you!¡± He looks over at the woman, busy with showing a new party to their table. ¡°Fiona. She recognizes me, but isn¡¯t quite sure who I am, I think.¡± ¡°Wow.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 27 He gives me a level look. ¡°I¡¯m a normal person, you know. Even if I am your boss¡¯s boss¡¯s boss.¡± ¡°I¡¯m starting to realize that, yeah.¡± ¡°I have a question for you,¡± he says. ¡°Did you always know you wanted to be a journalist? All that work, college, the paper¡­ what put you on this path?¡± I chew slowly, drawing out the pause. The real answer isplicated, but I don¡¯t have to give the long one. ¡°I¡¯ve always loved to write,¡± I say. ¡°But I¡¯ve always been interested in the world around me too. My father, he reads the Globe every day. On Sundays he stretches it out into a half-day event. I¡¯d sit next to him and ask about articles. It seemed like a magical thing. Stories, information, hot takes. It felt like the whole world was contained inside those thin pages.¡± I shake my head, smiling. ¡°I know that sounds fanciful. But I grew older, and I learned that stories have power. They can mobilize. They can galvanize, prize. They can change a person¡¯s life, a person¡¯s business. Some are huge, like the whistleblower stories. Others are smaller. A construction halted because of a petition.¡± ¡°Idealistic,¡± Carter says softly. ¡°And young.¡± I smile at him, a bit sheepish. ¡°Yes. There¡¯s more to it, I know. Politics. Advertising. Propaganda. But the best of journalism is about people and change. It¡¯ll always be magic to me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m amazed you¡¯re sitting here with me,¡± he says, ¡°when I¡¯m the one rolling a bowling ball through the newspaper you love.¡±Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. I look down at my pizza again. ¡°True, I love it. But it¡¯s struggling. Has been for years, same as all print media. Your changes are hard to swallow sometimes. But I know you¡¯re doing it because you genuinely want to save this paper.¡± ¡°I do,¡± he says levelly. ¡°I have no doubt that you¡¯ll help me do it, too.¡± ¡°Right. You said you had some changes nned, right?¡± For the rest of the meal we talk about the Globe. Still teasing, because I can¡¯t seem to stop around him, and he makes meugh more often than I should. But we talk about the future of the newspaper and numbers and a tentative n to ramp up resources avable for the Investigative team. And the birdwings in my chest beat on. He insists on paying the bill, and I insist on splitting, until he finally sighs and puts arge hand on mine. He pins my card to the table and extends his own to the machine. ¡°Next time, then,¡± I say. He pretends like he doesn¡¯t hear me. ¡°Thank you,¡± Carter says to Fiona when we leave. ¡°Just as good as always.¡± Her face shines up in a smile. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m so d,¡± she says. ¡°Say hi to your mom for me, will you?¡± ¡°Will do.¡± We walk in a slow amble toward my apartment. I¡¯m full and warm and happy. I¡¯m nervous, too. Not a lot. Not like a proper date. But it tickles my insides with anticipation. ¡°You know,¡± Carter says, voice smooth. ¡°I wish I would have gone to the Reporters¡¯ Ball with you.¡± Those little tickles increase. ¡°We ended it together, at least,¡± I say. ¡°Did you really send your date away?¡± ¡°Will you berate me if I say yes?¡± I focus on the sidewalk. ¡°I should, perhaps, but¡­ What did you tell her?¡± ¡°It was booked weeks in advance,¡± he says. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to cancelst minute, so we went.¡± ¡°Right. That¡¯s nice of you. But what did you tell her, at the ball?¡± ¡°She seemed relieved, at any rate. I think she¡¯d expected an event where the median age wasn¡¯t forty-five. Told me thanks.¡± We stop outside the stoop to my house. I face him, forced as always to look up and up to meet his eyes. There¡¯s hesitation in them, and something else, a look that sets my stomach aze. ¡°What did you tell her?¡± I ask again. His mouth quirks into a half-smile. He reaches up and pinches a lock of my hair between his fingers. I can¡¯t breathe. ¡°I told her,¡± he says, ¡°that someone very special had arrived.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± We¡¯re silent on the sidewalk, staring at one another. ¡°Thank you for keeping mepany tonight,¡± I murmur. ¡°It was very nice of you toe all the way out here from your dinner.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wee,¡± he says. ¡°Were you nervous tonight?¡± ¡°No.¡± Just now , I think. I¡¯m nervous right now . ¡°Why would I have been? He smiles again. It¡¯s smaller this time, and something about it makes my heart hurt. ¡°You and I were on a date, spitfire.¡± Air feels stuck in my throat. ¡°We were?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°Had a good time?¡± I nod. ¡°Excellent food. Excellent¡­pany.¡± Carter¡¯s hand smooths from my hair to my cheek. Long fingers flit across my skin, fitting themselves to my jaw. Tilting my head up. I didn¡¯t think he liked me like this. I didn¡¯t think¡­ And then I can¡¯t think at all, because his golden eyes are burning on mine. ¡°d you had fun,¡± he says. ¡°But I¡¯m not going to ask you out again.¡± Oh. ¡°Good?¡± I whisper. He smiles. ¡°I know how you feel about dates, so I want you to think about this. Consider if you¡¯ll let me ask you out. Can you do that for me?¡± ¡°Yes. Yeah, I mean. I can do that.¡± ¡°Great.¡± Then he bends his head, and I close my eyes, heart pounding. But he only presses his lips to my cheek. The rough feel of his stubble against my skin sends a shiver down my body, all the way to my toes. ¡°And Audrey?¡± he says. ¡°The guy who cancelled on you is an idiot.¡± ¡°Right. Sure.¡± Carter straightens to his full height. His smile is cocky, full of himself. Every inch the man I¡¯d met in that bar weeks ago. ¡°I¡¯ll be out of town for a few days. Think about it until I get back,¡± he repeats. ¡°If you¡¯ll let me take you out for real.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 28 I nod, not finding words, and watch him disappear down the street. Hard to imagine I¡¯ll be thinking about anything else. I spin the pen around in my hand, the solid weight of the metal cool against my skin. ¡°With our budget constraints,¡± the speaker drones on, ¡°a gradual increase is the better option. But that would mean¡­¡± My mind wanders again. It¡¯s done that a lot this conference, and at damn inconvenient times, too. During meetings and panel discussions. Thank God I¡¯d managed to hold it together long enough to give the short speech I was required to. Tristan has asked me twice what¡¯s on my mind, and both times I¡¯d answered the Globe . Strictly speaking, it¡¯s only a half of a lie. Audrey is a Globe employee, after all. We haven¡¯t texted much since I said goodbye to her outside her apartment. She¡¯d looked shocked and flushed and wide-eyed, like I¡¯d taken herpletely by surprise, drowning in that oversize coat. It had hurt to kiss her cheek instead of her lips. It had hurt to turn and walk away from her. To put the power in her hands. Tell me, I¡¯d wanted to ask, what you need from me. I¡¯d wanted to make herfortable, to banish the nerves, to coax her into telling me the real reason dating scares her. But I¡¯d swallowed every single one of those traitorous words. Audrey wants it all. A boyfriend who cooks her dinner and reads the paper with her on the weekend. And she deserves it all. And I can feel myself standing at the ledge-wanting to give her that. Wanting to be the man she turns to for all of it, and doubting I¡¯ll ever be able to live up to it. It would kill me to be less than she needs, I think. I spin the pen faster. What do I know, anyway? About loyalty and family and being a man who keeps his word? Tristan leans in closer. ¡°You bored?¡± I force the pen down. Leave it abandoned on the table. ¡°To death,¡± I lie. Truth is I could be anywhere and thinking about her right now. Whether or not I blew the whole fucking thing by crossing the line between us. He chuckles. We¡¯re far enough from the speakers, sitting opposite the long conference table. Both of us don¡¯t have to be here, strictly speaking, but it was clear the organizers very much wanted two-fourths of Acture Capital here. No doubt there¡¯d be a photo op with the speaker after this. ¡°The Globe could benefit from his budget theory,¡± Tristan says. ¡°If you can convince Anthony and Victor it¡¯s still worth keeping intact.¡± I nod, jaw working. A few more months to turn the ship around in the eyes of my partners, or they¡¯ll want to sell it for parts. If the roles were reversed I¡¯d probably advocate for the same exact thing. But they¡¯re not. And I¡¯ve promised to save the paper. I run a hand through my hair and re-focus on the speaker. Whatever happens with Audrey, I know one thing. I can¡¯t be the reason her dream job falls through.N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. When the talk¡¯s over, Tristan and I are carefully asked if we¡¯ll consider taking a picture with the speaker. ¡°For posterity¡¯s sake,¡± the organizer says with an artful chuckle. For your PR team, I think. But I give him the charming smile I¡¯ve perfected over the years, the one that never fails me. The one that Audrey seems to see right through. ¡°Definitely a moment to preserve,¡± I say. His smile falters a tiny bit. My cynicism had bled through, and damn it, I¡¯m turned all the way inside out. Tristan and I make our way down to the social afterwards. The hotel is filled with people already, a sea of suits and zers. We¡¯re escorted straight past the line for the open bar to the section where the other keynote speakers and investors are waiting. ¡°Here we go,¡± Tristan mutters at my side. He¡¯d always been good at this too. It had been him and me ying good cop with investors, and Anthony and Victor ying bad cop. We¡¯d been a team. But it seems like neither of us are feeling the charm tonight. Tristan has bigger things to concern him now. He¡¯d married his longtime girlfriend earlier in the year, and together with his young son, his interest inworking has dwindled. It takes time from the people who matter to him. I ept a ss of bourbon and have a seat. It burns going down. What would it feel like? To know you have a wife and child at home. A family waiting for you, a puzzle where you¡¯re one of several pieces fitting perfectly together? I imagine going home to a wife after this. The image in my mind is of a woman curled up on my couch, a nket around her knees. She¡¯s reading a book. Maybe she¡¯d even look up at me with warm eyes, eyes that are happy I¡¯m home, eyes that don¡¯t expect me to perform. I take another deep sip of my bourbon. My mind has given her Audrey¡¯s looks, and I like the image a little too much. ¡°Mr. Kingsley,¡± the man to my left says. He¡¯s giving me a courteous smile. ¡°Of Acture Capital, is that right?¡± ¡°Just so,¡± I say, extending my free hand. ¡°A pleasure.¡± ¡°Likewise. Jacob Finch of Rosen Investing. We¡¯ve heard about your purchase of the Globe and have been following the development closely.¡± I push all thoughts of Audrey down. Of a life outside of this. This is what I know, this is what I do. Iwork and I perform and I talk. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± I say. ¡°Care to hear more?¡± I¡¯m three bourbons deep when I step away from the VIP area. It¡¯s guarded off by a pathetic little rope, more to signal to the other minglers to stay out than for any security reasons. When did I start living my life in roped-off areas? I click her name on my phone. We haven¡¯t texted at all in three days. Not a word, my phone quiet in my pocket. Carter: Having a fun night? Tell me about it, I think. Tell me about anything that¡¯s not here and anything that¡¯s about you, so I can pretend I¡¯m there too. When Tristan calls the night to an end, I do the same. We shake hands with the people who haven¡¯t gotten to us yet. Our joint Acture assistant gives us a tired thumbs up. ¡°Only one more day,¡± she says. Tristan rolls his neck. ¡°I¡¯m heading out after lunch tomorrow. Carter, you¡¯ll handle the dinner tomorrow?¡± ¡°If by handle,¡± I say, ¡°you mean I¡¯ll gain Acture thirty new potential investors, then yes.¡± He smiles. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡± ¡°Good night.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 29 ¡°You too, man.¡± He holds up his phone and gives it a little shake. ¡°Gotta call Freddie. We¡­ well.¡± I raise an eyebrow, my hand stilling on the door handle to my hotel room. ¡°You what?¡± Tristan looks sheepish, at odds with his usualpetence and calm. ¡°We¡¯re not telling anyone yet.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I say. And then I understand what he¡¯s saying. ¡°Jesus. Is she¡­?¡± He nods, and the sheepishness dissolves into a grin. ¡°Six weeks.¡± I reach for his hand and he lets me pull him in for a half-hug. ¡°Christ, man. You¡¯ll be a father of two.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He shakes his head, still grinning. ¡°Don¡¯t know how I¡¯ll manage.¡± ¡°You have a decade of experience as a father,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯ll be fantastic.¡± He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. ¡°It was never like this with Joshua, you know. It was never my wife pregnant, I wasn¡¯t in the delivery room¡­ and I never had him as an infant. There are so many things that could go wrong.¡± ¡°But so many things that could go right,¡± I say. ¡°Congrats, man. To both you and Freddie. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll still act surprised when you tell us all.¡± Tristan¡¯s smile widens even further. He looks like he¡¯s lit up from within with joy. ¡°Thanks. I¡¯d better call. I¡¯m driving her insane, probably, asking her to report how she¡¯s feeling several times a day.¡± I chuckle and nod toward his hotel room across the hall. ¡°Go, then.¡± ¡°Thanks. Night, man.¡± ¡°Goodnight.¡± I close the hotel door behind me and lean my head against it for a long moment. He¡¯s having a second kid. The first with his wife, and the two of them-the three of them-will go through that together. I look around the hotel room. It¡¯s nd and beige and about as personal as a franchise chain can be. The bed is huge and doesn¡¯t look slept in. I haven¡¯t felt lonely in years, but here it is, elegantly decorated and acidic. My phone vibrates in my pocket. It¡¯s Audrey. Audrey: It was all right. I was actually out on a date. The guy who cancelledst week, you remember? Fuck. My mouth tastes like ash, the pleasant aftertaste of bourbon long gone. Is this her answer to my question, then? If she¡¯d consider letting me ask her out. Defeat feels like a poison in my blood. She¡¯d gotten ready for him. Done her makeup and hair. Sat across from someone who didn¡¯t know her, didn¡¯t understand her, and made pleasant small talk. Three little dots appear on the screen as she types another message. I stare down at them. Waiting for the verdict to fall. They disappear. One second. Two seconds. Then they appear again. She¡¯s writing for so long that I¡¯m half-expecting an essay, and if it¡¯s a polite no-thank-you, I don¡¯t know what I¡¯ll do. The dots disappear. Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake. My finger hovers over the call button. The one we¡¯ve rarely used. I hit call. Audrey takes four long signals to answer. Maybe she¡¯s looking at her phone, just like me, wondering why I¡¯m calling. ¡°Carter?¡± she says. I close my eyes at her voice. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s me.¡± ¡°Is everything all right?¡± ¡°As good as I can be,¡± I say, ¡°after a day of back-to-back meetings.¡± There¡¯s an edge to my voice. I can hear it, and I can¡¯t stop it, not when I think of her and her date. Still looking for the man she¡¯d told me about, the one who would cook her dinner and share the newspaper with her. On the other end, Audrey¡¯s voice softens and turns teasing, all at the same time. ¡°Poor little CEO.¡± ¡°Someone pulled out my chair for me at dinner.¡± ¡°How dare they?¡± ¡°Nearly had them fired on the spot,¡± I say. For a few seconds neither of us speaks. The tension in my shoulders drops, just a tad. ¡°Did you just get back to your hotel room?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, and reach up to undo my tie. ¡°And you just got home.¡± She¡¯s quiet for a beat, and I hear rustling on the other line. Is she lying in bed? I wish I¡¯d have seen her apartment, to imagine where she¡¯s sitting now. ¡°I did,¡± she says quietly. ¡°It was with the guy fromst week. When you and I went for dinner instead.¡± I push away from the hotel door and walk through my suite. Toss my tie in the direction of my suitcase. ¡°Right. The one who cancelledst minute.¡± It takes her a moment to answer. ¡°Yes. I didn¡¯t¡­ know how to respond when he asked for a rain check that night, so I said yes.¡± Her voice sounds apologetic. Fuck, I can handle being turned down, but I can¡¯t handle her walking on eggshells. ¡°And how was it?¡± I brace my hands on the desk, wondering how I¡¯ll sleep after this call. ¡°The date?¡± ¡°It was okay. Not bad or good, really,¡± she says. ¡°At least I¡¯m not getting so nervous anymore, beforehand. It¡¯s getting¡­ easier.¡± ¡°Good,¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± ¡°Yeah. I think that means I¡¯ll be less nervous when I go out with someone I¡¯m genuinely interested in.¡± I reach for the buttons of my shirt. I feel too hot, my skin scorching to the touch. Maybe it¡¯s my pride burning up inside of me, because I¡¯m seconds away from asking if she¡¯s given any more thought to my question. ¡°Great,¡± I say. Another quiet beat. We¡¯re never quiet this much, but if there¡¯s a joke to crack here, I can¡¯t find it. Can¡¯t make my way to the banter that will make it feel okay. ¡°Did he kiss you?¡± ¡°No, God no,¡± she says. Instant relief floods through me. ¡°We¡¯re not going on another one either.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. ¡°And why not?¡± ¡°Well, I¡­¡± She sounds embarrassed, voice soft. ¡°Audrey,¡± I say. ¡°You can tell me.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 30 ¡°I don¡¯t want to go on any more dates while I¡¯m considering, you know. The thing you told me to think about? I only went out with him because I¡¯d already agreed to the rain check.¡± Something speeds up in my chest. I can¡¯t remember feeling nervous, not for years, but around her it¡¯s like an ever-present thing. She¡¯s in my ear and so close and yet wildly out of reach. ¡°Sounds like you¡¯ll need more time to think about it, then,¡± I say. My voicees out smooth. A miracle. ¡°A bit,¡± she admits. Another rustle and yes, she has to be lying down. I stretch out on the hotel bed and imagine her doing the same on hers. ¡°Want to talk me through your thought process?¡± I ask, sounding like I¡¯m asking about the weather, and not if she¡¯ll let me ask her out. ¡°No worries if not.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± she says. ¡°Well¡­ you and I are friends. Weird ones, maybe, and definitely new, but friends. I like that, and we might lose it.¡± I close my eyes. She sounds like she¡¯s made a pros and cons list, and the idea of Audrey sitting down and attacking this like a story she wants to write makes me smile. ¡°We might, yes. But we might have more fun.¡± ¡°Right. Well, that¡¯s another issue. Fun. At some point we¡¯d stop having it, and you¡¯d still be my boss.¡± ¡°I¡¯d never interfere in your career. I should have made that clearer, spitfire. Would never happen. You could do anything to me and I wouldn¡¯t.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. ¡°I believe you,¡± she says, yet there¡¯s a but in her voice. Of course there is. Because it¡¯s her livelihood and her dream, and what am I put up against that? There are too many cases of men who abuse their power over women in the workforce. ¡°You can say no,¡± I say, ¡°or you can say yes, and there will be no repercussions.¡± ¡°I know. Carter, I don¡¯t¡­ I know. But the idea is still scary. What if someone at work found out?¡± I¡¯d researched it. It¡¯s not an HR vition, isn¡¯t mentioned anywhere in thepany¡¯s policies. But telling her that feels like admitting to how much I¡¯d thought about this, so I don¡¯t. ¡°All good thoughts. Great ones, even. You keep thinking them. But I want you to remember that I won¡¯t be in charge of the Globe forever.¡± I reach down and rest my hand on the belt of my cks. ¡°You can consider it for a long time.¡± ¡°Hopefully I won¡¯t need a long time,¡± she says. The silence stretches out between us. It¡¯s not heavy. I hear her breathing faintly on the other line and wonder what it would feel like to have her resting on my chest instead. Audrey speaks again. ¡°Carter. Would it be like it wasst week?¡± ¡°You and me, you mean? Yes. I think so.¡± ¡°We had fun.¡± ¡°We always have fun.¡± This time, I can hear the smile in her voice. ¡°You make meugh so much. It¡¯s ridiculous, actually.¡± ¡°And you use me of being charming,¡± I say. ¡°You are that, too. Nothing like how I expected a CEO to be, and especially not when I saw all the changes you brought.¡± The massyoffs. They¡¯re still ufortable to think about, even if they¡¯d been necessary. Upending so many lives. ¡°I live to surprise,¡± I say. ¡°Well, you surprise me,¡± she replies. ¡°Regrly.¡± Maybe her words give me the inspiration, or it¡¯s still the lingering image of Audrey out for dinner with her date, her cheeks flushed with life and eyes glittering as sheughed at his fucking jokes. But I ask the question anyway. ¡°Did you want him to kiss you tonight?¡± ¡°No,¡±es the soft answer. ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°We never spoke about that.¡± ¡°About what?¡± ¡°Intimacy,¡± I say. ¡°Where it fits into the equation for you, in rtionships and dating. With your nerves.¡± The silence between us feels heady this time. I could take back my words. But I don¡¯t, letting them hang there, my stress like prickles beneath my skin. I hear a soft click on the other end and I know, without knowing how I know, that Audrey has turned off her bedroom light. Cast her room into darkness. ¡°It¡¯splicated,¡± she says. ¡°I do want someone to be intimate with. Just not him. None of the men I¡¯ve been on dates with, really.¡± ¡°That¡¯s terrible luck,¡± I say. ¡°Maybe, or maybe it¡¯s me,¡± Audrey says. ¡°I think I need more than just some polite small talk to know if I want to be¡­ close to someone.¡± I smile at my ceilingmp. You and every woman, I think. ¡°That¡¯s not odd.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not? Feels like it is.¡± There¡¯s a shuffle on the other end and I imagine her turning over. Tucking her arm under her head. ¡°Say you met someone you connected with. You went out with them, had a great time. You found out he read the newspaper, and not just digitally.¡± ¡°You remember?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I say. Her criteria for men. ¡°What would you want him to do?¡± Her voice is low. ¡°Kiss me.¡± ¡°You like being kissed,¡± I say. The words feel hot on my tongue, and I know what I¡¯m doing, and I know I should stop. I¡¯m also more likely to be hit by a meteorite or be nominated as a presidential candidate. But then Audrey takes it one step further. ¡°I love being kissed,¡± she says. ¡°I like having sex, you know. I don¡¯t want you to think I don¡¯t, just because I¡¯m not¡­ experienced with rtionships.¡± She said sex, she brought it up, and my mind floods with images. It¡¯s not like I haven¡¯t imagined it before. How she¡¯d look beneath me, my arms on either side of her face. How the soft insides of her thighs would feel clutched around my head. If she¡¯d whimper when I pushed inside. ¡°You like having sex,¡± I repeat. The words send an instant ache up my thighs. ¡°I do,¡± she whispers. ¡°Don¡¯t you?¡± Banal conversation. Banal, and absurd, and my hand glides down to stroke the hardening outline of my cock through my pants. ¡°It¡¯s one of my favorite activities,¡± I say. With you, though, it would be worship. ¡°Think we¡¯d have good sex?¡± Audrey asks. Her voice is small, but also determined, and I go rock hard in a second. It happens so fast I get a brief sh of lightheadedness. I can¡¯t believe she¡¯d brought up us and fucking. A Ticking Time Boss 31 ¡°Carter?¡± she says. ¡°Ignore me.¡± As if I could. ¡°I think we¡¯d have great fucking sex.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. Her breathing catches on the other line and I close my eyes. Imagine her sitting across from me, watching the flush creep up on her cheeks. ¡°We would, wouldn¡¯t we,¡± she murmurs. ¡°Even if it might be awkward at first.¡± I chuckle darkly. ¡°It won¡¯t be awkward.¡± ¡°It often is, the first time,¡± she says, and I experience a brief and violent impulse to kill every man she¡¯s referring to in that statement. It passes, and what I¡¯m left with is a burning desire to prove her wrong. ¡°It can be. Won¡¯t be for us, though.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± Her voice is a caress in my ear. ¡°What do you think we¡¯d do?¡± ¡°If you want me to go there, I will. But fair warning.¡± ¡°Wait,¡± she says. ¡°Just give me a minute, okay?¡± I can¡¯t believe she didn¡¯t stop me. Adrenaline and something else, something darker, pulses through my veins. Her voice is a whisper in my ear, along with the rustling of fabric. ¡°I¡¯m back.¡± ¡°Did you just get into bed?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°Is that¡­ okay?¡± I run a hand through my hair. ¡°Fuck yes, that¡¯s okay.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m ready, Carter. Tell me what it would be like.¡± ¡°I know what I¡¯d like to do,¡± I say. ¡°If you were here with me at this conference. We¡¯d go out to eat, like we didst week. Just the two of us.¡± ¡°Would you be in a suit?¡± ¡°You like me in one?¡± A brief pause. ¡°Yes. You look handsome.¡± I haven¡¯t started touching myself properly yet, and I¡¯m already edging closer to the finish line. Her words are too sweet. Sweeter still, knowing that she¡¯s in bed, that she¡¯s considering this. Considering us. Actually asking me to tell her what we¡¯d do. I could tell her I¡¯ve fantasized about this, but I don¡¯t want her to run. ¡°Well, then. I¡¯ll be in a suit. You¡¯ll have your curls out, the way you didst week. We¡¯d talk. I¡¯d tell you how beautiful you look, and I¡¯d mean it, too. I¡¯d kiss you right there at the table.¡± ¡°In the restaurant?¡± ¡°Where anyone could see,¡± I say. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be able to stop myself.¡± Had a damn hard enough timest week, when I¡¯d dropped her off. ¡°Oh,¡± she breathes. ¡°We¡¯d kiss for a long time.¡± I grin. ¡°Would we?¡± ¡°Yes. I love kissing. Slow, teasing¡­ not too much tongue.¡± ¡°Are you giving me tips here, Audrey?¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± Her voice sounds flustered. ¡°Is that okay?¡± ¡°I thrive on critique,¡± I say. ¡°So I¡¯d kiss you a long time. Draw it out. Make you beg for more.¡± ¡°Beg,¡± she repeats. ¡°Beg for you to take me back to the hotel, you mean?¡± ¡°Yes. Would you?¡± ¡°If you kiss me good enough, I just might.¡± It instantly bes a goal. ¡°Then I will. We¡¯d get back to my hotel room. It would be slow at first. I¡¯d get you a drink. Kiss your neck.¡± Even though I¡¯d want to go very, very fast. But from herments, it¡¯s been a while for her. She needs trust and friendship and I can¡¯t think of anything worse than wasting the chance to fuck Audrey properly because I get too eager. ¡°This is going very slowly,¡± she says. I make my voice mock stern. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say that¡¯s what you liked? Are you critiquing my phone sex skills too?¡± ¡°So that is what we¡¯re having,¡± she says. ¡°It feels different to hear you say it.¡± ¡°We¡¯re heading in that direction, at any rate,¡± I say. My voice feels hoarse. ¡°It¡¯s a poor substitute, but¡­¡± ¡°Good preparation,¡± she says, and I bite my tongue to stop from groaning. So she¡¯s saying we¡¯ll have it one day. ¡°I think I¡¯d take off your shirt. Before you take off mine, I mean.¡± ¡°That¡¯s allowed,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯d want you to unzip my dress slowly. Run your hands over me. Make me feel¡­¡± ¡°Make you feel what, Audrey?¡± ¡°Wanted,¡± she whispers. I close my eyes. ¡°I could do that. Wouldn¡¯t be difficult at all.¡± ¡°I¡¯d show you just how much I wanted you, too. Tell you how fucking hard you make me.¡± ¡°I¡¯d make you hard?¡± ¡°You already do,¡± I say, and tuck my phone against my chin to undo my belt buckle. My pants feel ufortably tight, stretched over my cock. ¡°Did you¡­¡± Audrey says, then clears her throat. ¡°Did you just undo a zipper?¡± A Ticking Time Boss 32 ¡°Yes. Wanted to make it clear just how hard you make me.¡± ¡°Right now? You¡¯re hard right now?¡± ¡°I¡¯m thinking about fucking you, aren¡¯t I? In this hotel room, if you were here.¡± There¡¯s a breathy sigh on the other end. ¡°I¡¯ve never done this before.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not hard,¡± I say. ¡°Well, one thing is. But it¡¯s just you and me talking. We¡¯ve done it plenty of times before.¡± Her voice is low. ¡°I¡¯d want to take you in my mouth. Right there, in the hotel room, after you undo your zipper.¡± ¡°Jesus Christ.¡± I wrap my hand around my liberated cock, imagining my familiar fingers are her warm mouth, and start to stroke slowly. ¡°You¡¯d groan just like that, too.¡± ¡°I¡¯d have to stop you eventually, too. Or I¡¯de from that alone.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. ¡°That would be okay,¡± she says. I stop my stroking, biting the inside of my cheek to hinder the dizzying sensation at the base of my spine. She can¡¯t talk about me finishing in her mouth. Not when I haven¡¯t even undressed her in this fantasy yet. ¡°Spitfire,¡± I say, ¡°if you think I¡¯m not worshipping your body the first time we fuck, you have another thinging.¡± ¡°Oh. Wow.¡± ¡°I¡¯d undress you slowly. Kiss my way down your body. Suck on your nipples. Fuck, I¡¯d do that for a very long time too. Slide a hand inside your panties. Would you be wet?¡± ¡°Yes. I¡­ yes.¡± ¡°Are you wet now?¡± The line goes quiet on the other end, nothing save for her breathing. It¡¯s heavier than before. The single-word answer I receive makes my hardness twitch. ¡°Fuck.¡± ¡°Carter?¡± ¡°Yes, Audrey?¡± ¡°You¡¯re touching yourself right now. Aren¡¯t you?¡± I chuckle. ¡°Yes. I want you to do the same, if you¡¯d like.¡± ¡°All right. I¡¯m¡­ okay.¡± ¡°Tell me what you¡¯re doing.¡± Her voice is like velvet, smooth over my skin and sending goose bumps down my arms. I pump myself harder. ¡°You go first,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m stroking myself, thinking about you,¡± I say. ¡°What I¡¯d do if you were here in this bed with me. How incredible you¡¯d look, after I¡¯d slide your panties down your legs. How good it would feel when you¡¯d let me fuck you for the first time.¡± ¡°For the first time,¡± she repeats. ¡°There¡¯d be many?¡± ¡°Do you doubt that?¡± Her breathing speeds up. ¡°No. I can see it.¡± ¡°You can, can¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Well¡­ I¡¯m touching myself too.¡± ¡°Where?¡± I demand. Something hovers at the edge of my vision, threatening to turn it dark, I¡¯m so turned on. Images of her flicker in my head. In that dress at the ball. Teasing me in the back of my car. Eyes burning with passion as she tells me off forying off her colleagues. The shape of her in that dress. What she¡¯ll look like underneath it. And most of all, how it¡¯ll feel to have her beneath me. To be inside her. ¡°I¡¯m touching my clit,¡± she says, and there¡¯s just a tiny hint of embarrassment. It heightens everything. She hasn¡¯t done this with anyone. Doesn¡¯t do it often. And here she is trusting me with it. I groan, my fingers gripping my cock so hard it¡¯s almost painful. ¡°That¡¯s it. Do you have your legs spread?¡± ¡°Yes. Knees bent, too.¡± ¡°Did you take your panties off or just slide them to the side?¡± ¡°To the side,¡± she murmurs. ¡°God, Carter, I can¡¯t believe we¡¯re doing this.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t think at all,¡± I tell her. ¡°Just close your eyes. Can you do that for me?¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± ¡°Imagine it¡¯s me between your legs. My tongue against your clit. I¡¯d push you down on this hotel bed and I wouldn¡¯t let you up again until you¡¯re screaming my name.¡± ¡°Oh my god.¡± ¡°Slide your finger down. Fuck yourself for me.¡± We¡¯re quiet for a few long beats, if quiet is the right term. My breathing isbored and herses in small pants. The sound is right there, in my ear. I imagine she¡¯s panting against my cheek as I drive into her. She¡¯d have her legs around me. Fuck, and she¡¯d be sweet, and mine, and I¡¯d- ¡°Carter,¡± she whispers. ¡°I cane.¡± She says can, not will, and something tightens in my chest. ¡°Thene.¡± ¡°Will you stay on the line?¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather die than hang up.¡± ¡°Talk to me,¡± she says. A Ticking Time Boss 33 I¡¯m more than happy to. ¡°You have no idea how much I want you. How badly I want to taste you. You¡¯d be sweet against my tongue, I know you would. I want to see you so fucking bad. Want you here right now. My cock¡¯s about to burst, I¡¯m so hard, and the only ce I want toe is inside of you. To feel your sweet pu-¡± ¡°Oh my God.¡± Her breathing catches on the other end, and then catches again, before she moans softly in my ear. It¡¯s long and drawn out and I can¡¯t bear it for a second longer. Pleasure explodes from my spine, down my thighs and through my cock. I spill onto my stomach, pumping myself in hard strokes. Behind my closed eyes is only starlight and Audrey. ¡°Fucking hell,¡± I curse. She gives a breathlessugh. ¡°Wow.¡± My tired right hand falls to the bed bedside me. I stare up at the ceiling, trying and failing to catch my breath. ¡°I haven¡¯te that hard in ages.¡± ¡°You came?¡± Iugh. ¡°Only with the force of a thousand suns, yeah.¡± ¡°I like that,¡± she says, and she sounds pleased. Almost proud. ¡°I did too, actually.¡± ¡°I noticed. I liked that, too.¡± I smile at the ceiling. I feel ten feet tall. A hundred. I wonder if I could ask her now if she¡¯d go out with me and if she¡¯d say yes. If she¡¯d ask me the same, I¡¯d give her anything. ¡°When do you get back? To New York?¡± ¡°Saturday evening,¡± I say. ¡°Oh. That¡¯s good to know,¡± she says. ¡°Carter, I don¡¯t know¡­ what happens now? Will this make it awkward?¡± ¡°You and awkwardness,¡± I say. ¡°No. It won¡¯t. You and I are the same as we were before.¡± ¡°Friends. And potentially daters,¡± she says, and then she giggles. It¡¯s a very un-Audrey sound and it makes me smile. ¡°God, I can¡¯t believe I just did this with you. The wine definitely helped.¡± ¡°You¡¯d been drinking before this?¡± ¡°Yes. Just a bit. We went to a wine bar.¡± I close my eyes, and it¡¯s not in pleasure this time. She¡¯s been drinking. Did I pressure her into this somehow? And that fucking date. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°Thank you, Carter. I don¡¯t¡­ wow. I think I¡¯ll sleep like a baby after this.¡± ¡°Good. I¡¯ll see you when Ie back.¡± ¡°I look forward to it,¡± she says, and the shyness in her voice cuts straight through my chest. I don¡¯t know what to think. Don¡¯t know what to do. ¡°Good night, Carter.¡± ¡°Night, kid.¡± ¡°Heading out already?¡± Den asks dryly. He¡¯s looking at my jacket with a frown. The zer he¡¯s wearing today isn¡¯t tweed, but it has elbow patches. His hair looks like it¡¯s been in a wind turbine and I bet it¡¯s a hundred percent intentional. ¡°Yes,¡± I say, tying the waistband of my coat. ¡°I have a dentist¡¯s appointment, and I¡¯ve already run it by Booker.¡± His frown turns into a sympathetic smile. ¡°Oh. I¡¯m sorry. Good luck.¡± ¡°Thanks. Two wisdom teeth, and then an evening spent working at home. It¡¯ll be fantastic.¡± ¡°Think you¡¯ll be able to work on that anaesthesia? Send me a copy of the article you write, will you? I need augh.¡± ¡°Very funny,¡± I tell him, but I¡¯m smiling, and he gives me a little wave. He¡¯s warmed up to me, it seems. I leave the frenzy of the office behind. The newsroom has two new staff members, which raised more than a few eyebrowspany-wide considering the general hire freeze. Both are former private investigators. ¡°Snakes,¡± Booker had called them, but her tone had been admiring. Carter is beefing up this department. There was an email justst week to the entire department that encouraged all personal projects. Pitches wee, it had said.Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. Carter. Just thinking about him sends a shiver down my spine, and it¡¯s not ufortable. I can¡¯t believe what had happened on Friday evening. It¡¯s Monday today, and we haven¡¯t spoken since. Not a single text. I¡¯ve written three different ones and then deleted every single one. Nothing feels normal. Nothing feels the same. There had been something so freeing about our conversation¡­ and about what had happened. He gave me the feeling that I could say anything, do anything, and he would be on board. He¡¯d neverugh or reject me. But he¡¯s also my boss¡¯s boss¡¯s boss, the man who quite literally owns the newspaper I work at, and a rtionship is so beyond inappropriate that it¡¯s practically a crime. My colleagues would never respect me. Booker would¡­ I don¡¯t want to think about what Booker would say. Wesley would look at me like a bug. None of that matters, though, when it¡¯s just him and me. When he¡¯s sitting across from me in a diner in Queens or on the other end of the phone, his deep voice hoarse with the sound of his pleasure. The elevator is empty as I ride it down. It¡¯s only a little after lunch, and people are still hard at work. The lobby is mostly empty. I tug my bag up higher on my shoulder and look at my watch. I should make my appointment if the C-train isn¡¯tte. A group of suit-d men enter the lobby. I pause to the side, waiting for them to pass through the revolving doors. ¡°Thanks,¡± one of them tells me. ¡°Of course,¡± I say. At that, a tall man looks up. Auburn hair. Tawny eyes. Carter is among them, and he turns his head to meet my eyes as they pass. My cheeks heat up with memory. He raises an eyebrow, and I give a tiny, teeny shake of my head. Not here. Not now. Not in front of other members of the executive team. He turns his head forward and keeps walking. Disappears with the others into the elevators. I breathe a sigh of relief. He¡¯d looked just like he always did. Larger than life, impossible to understand, an enigma in a suit. Handsome and powerful and very clearly not for me. I¡¯ve almost convinced myself Friday was a fever dream when my phone chimes. Carter: Leaving your post? It¡¯s the middle of a work day. My fingers shake just a little as I answer. Wasn¡¯t he heading into a meeting? A Ticking Time Boss 34 Audrey: Keeping track of your employees, are you? Carter: Someone has to. Are you following a lead? Audrey: Yes. It¡¯s leading me all the way to the dentist¡¯s office. I have the honor of losing two wisdom teeth. There¡¯s a two-minute break before he replies, and I imagine him listening to someone pitching ideas, to Wesley talking in his ear, fingers tapping against a desk. Carter: I¡¯d make a joke about that, except nothing about it is funny. Sorry, spitfire. Taking tomorrow off too? Audrey: Working from home. Or I¡¯ll at least attempt to. Carter: The paper will survive without you. Carter: I realize how that just sounded. You¡¯re crucial for the Globe ¡®s sess, but not so crucial that you can¡¯t rest after surgery. Audrey: Not offended. Just determined to cut your negativity out of my life. Don¡¯t text me again. I¡¯m grinning as I write that, standing on the subway tform. This, I know how to do. Talk about nothingness with him until I can forget the sound of his hoarse breathing in my ear. Even if it feels burned into my memory and stamped on my bones. Carter: Fair. This is the final text before I leave you alone forever. Is someone picking you up afterwards? You get pretty out of it from the drugs they give you. Audrey: My brother was supposed to, but he just cancelled. Carter: Damn. Tell me the name of the clinic, at least? Just in case. Someone should know. I consider it for one whole subway stop. Is it a good idea? But he¡¯s right. I¡¯d wanted my brother there, but he couldn¡¯t make it now. Nina, my best friend, is still painfully far away after her job transfer to DC. My other friends in the city are all at work. So I text him the address. Just in case. Muchter, a kindly nurse leads me into the waiting room. ¡°Have a seat for a while,¡± she tells me. Her voicees from far away. ¡°I¡¯ll get you a ss of water. It says on your sheet that your brother ising to pick you up?¡± ¡°Oh, he¡¯s not,¡± I say. My voice sounds bouncy. I say the words again, just to hear them soar. ¡°I¡¯m sorry? He¡¯s not?¡± I shake my head, and the sensation feels weird. Even bouncier than my voice. ¡°He had a gig in Hoboken. It was only a lunch gig, but his entire band is counting on him. Even though I counted on him first.¡± Iugh, because that almost rhymed. ¡°Why? I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Miss,¡± the nurse says, and now her voice sounds sharp. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have proceeded with the anaesthesia and surgery if we knew you didn¡¯t have anyone to escort you home.¡± It¡¯s difficult to parse her words. Too many of them. ¡°You speak very sharply,¡± I tell her. ¡°You sound like¡­ a squid. Every direction. They¡¯re pointy, too, their tentacles. God, I want ice cream.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t eat any solids for another twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Honey, please let me call someone for you. A friend or a colleague? Maybe a neighbor?¡± I close my eyes at the waiting room¡¯s bright lights. It¡¯s hard to focus on them and her voice at the same time. How do other people do both? ¡°I¡¯m here to pick her up,¡± a voice says. The nurse releases my arm. ¡°Oh, thank goodness. Honey, your boyfriend is here.¡± That makes me giggle, and then I can¡¯t stop, even though my mouth feels round and cottony and like I¡¯ve swallowed a hippo. Carter is standing in front of me, with an oddly concerned look on his face. I¡¯ve never seen him look concerned before. ¡°Audrey,¡± he says. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡± I giggle harder, until it wheezes out of me. As if I wouldn¡¯t recognize him. But he seems to be waiting for something, and the nurse peeks around his shoulder too. I form words. ¡°Hello. You¡¯re skipping work too.¡± His mouth softens at the corners. ¡°Yes. Don¡¯t tell my boss.¡± It takes a few seconds to make sense of the words, but when they prate I dissolve intoughter again. He means himself. ¡°You¡¯re funny. Why are you always so funny?¡± Carter¡¯s arm slides around me, and then we¡¯re walking. ¡°And you thought you¡¯d be able to get home by yourself,¡± he mutters.N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. But I¡¯m still on hisst joke. ¡°Stand-up,¡± I tell him. ¡°Stand up?¡± ¡°I¡¯m already standing. So are you.¡± ¡°No, you and stand-up! People would love it. I¡¯d be¡­ I¡¯d sit¡­ front row.¡± Carter snorts. It makes him sound like a horse, and my mind races to the memory of a family vacation. We¡¯d been in Arizona and Kevin had begged, so we¡¯d all gone on a horse tour along the canyon. Wide-open spaces. It had been so beautiful. ¡°I prefer to perform myedy in private,¡± Carter says. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll always save you a front-row seat.¡± I shake my head. ¡°We need to go to the canyon.¡± ¡°The¡­ canyon?¡± We¡¯re moving. An elevator, I think, and then a lobby. His arm is strong around me. ¡°This way,¡± he says. ¡°Now what¡¯s this about a canyon?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have one,¡± I say, and the thought makes me sad. They are so far away. ¡°It¡¯s been forever since I saw the red earth. The desert wind.¡± ¡°Okay, you hippy. If you really want to visit a canyon we can go to one.¡± I shake my head. ¡°They¡¯re all disappearing.¡± ¡°They are? Where are they going? Come on, this is my car. Let¡¯s get in.¡± I duck my head and settle in the leather backseat of his car. The smell feels sharp in my nostrils. I lean back against the seat and close my eyes. Wow, I¡¯m tired. Exhausted. Can¡¯t feel my mouth either. ¡°Miss Ford¡¯s apartment,¡± Carter says. Then he says my address. A Ticking Time Boss 35 ¡°Got it,¡± a voice says from the front seat. I crack my eyes open. ¡°How do you know that ce?¡± I ask him. Carter chuckles. ¡°That¡¯s where you live.¡± ¡°I know that. How do you?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve dropped you off there before. I¡¯ve also picked you up from there,st week. Remember? When we went out and ate pizza?¡± Pizza¡­ pizza¡­ delicious cheese. ¡°I want pizza.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll have to wait for a bit, kid. Can¡¯t eat for a while.¡± I lean back against the seat. ¡°Why? And why does my mouth feel weird? Does it look weird? I feel like I¡¯ve lost it.¡± But when I reach up to touch the cottony area, something closes around my wrist. A warm hand.Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Carter says. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t touch it.¡± ¡°But I¡¯ve lost my mouth.¡± ¡°No, you haven¡¯t. It¡¯s still there. I can see it.¡± ¡°You might be lying.¡± ¡°Would I lie to you?¡± he asks. ¡°I¡¯ve been more honest with you than I have with anyone for years.¡± It takes me a few seconds to process the words. Honesty. Okay. If he says I still have a mouth, I probably do. So I twist my hand over and grab a hold of his instead. ¡°Fine,¡± I say. ¡°Great,¡± he murmurs, and our intertwined fingers drift to myp. I lean my head back and close my eyes. Nothing feels real, nothing feels tangible, except the seat beneath me and the tight grip around my hand. For a long moment I just let myself drift. But maybe it¡¯s more than just a long moment. ¡°Spitfire, we¡¯re here. Can you get out of the car for me?¡± I blink my eyes open. It¡¯s bright again. Why is it so bright? ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Come here, then. Let¡¯s get you home.¡± I emerge on shaky legs on the sidewalk. It¡¯s cracked beneath my feet, and I stare at the crack for a long time, daring it to move. It feels scary. What if the asphalt breaks apart? Carter¡¯s hand squeezes around mine. ¡°Ready to go inside?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, and give the crack in the sidewalk ast look. ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± I warn it. ¡°Well, we have to,¡± he says. ¡°Do you have your keys?¡± I reach inside my jacket, searching for the inner pocket. My arms feel heavy. They weigh tons and tons, but I finally find it. Carter takes it from me. ¡°Great. Come on, up these stairs.¡± I catch sight of a curtain on the first floor shifting. Old Man Pierce watching mee home, no doubt. He keeps his eagle eyes trained on the stoop most days from thefortable perch of his century-old armchair. ¡°He¡¯s watching,¡± I tell Carter. Carter¡¯s focused on unlocking the front door. ¡°Interesting,¡± he says. ¡°Are you referring to God? Bute inside.¡± ¡°Not God. Landlord.¡± The front door clicks closed behind us and I¡¯m just about to point toward the stairs, up to my room, when the door to Pierce¡¯s apartment swings open. He¡¯s standing there, dressing gown on and sses perched on his nose. He looks like a turtle. Or a vulture. A giggle escapes me and I press my entire hand against my mouth to stop it. It hurts. ¡°Audrey?¡± he says. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± ¡°She¡¯s had her wisdom teeth removed,¡± Carter replies. He sounds like he does at work. Cool and slippery, like rocks beneath a stream. Distant somehow. ¡°I¡¯m helping her home from the dentist¡¯s.¡± ¡°Oh. I¡¯ve seen you around before,¡± Pierce says. ¡°Good, good. Always told you to get a boyfriend, Audrey.¡± I giggle harder. As if. Pierce gives me a final nod and closes the door again, retreating back into his apartment. The door closes and only the smell of mothballs remains. ¡°Boyfriend,¡± I whisper. ¡°Everyone thinks that.¡± ¡°Yes, well, it¡¯s a logical conclusion. You live up here?¡± Carter asks. There¡¯s a hint of disapproval in his voice. He doesn¡¯t sound smooth anymore. He sounds raspy, like sandpaper. I walk after him up the stairs. ¡°You don¡¯t want people to think that. Of course you don¡¯t. I get it. I geeeeeet it,¡± I say, drawing out the word. ¡°Kid, I have no problem with people thinking we¡¯re in a rtionship. But I don¡¯t like you living in a ce that smells like mold.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I look down at the carpeted stairs. ¡°There was a leak¡­ a few years ago. Ergo, mold. People don¡¯t use ¡®ergo¡¯ enough. I should start adding it to my articles.¡± ¡°No, it sounds pompous,¡± Carter says, ¡°and why hasn¡¯t the mold been fixed? You breathe this on a daily basis.¡± I grip his arm to get him to look at me, to tell him off aboutining. But his arm feels huge in my grip, and I¡¯m distracted by the width of his bicep. Bicep. Also a weird word. Bi-cep. ¡°Audrey?¡± ¡°You never call me Audrey.¡± He looks down at my hand on his arm. ¡°Sometimes I do. When I need you to take me seriously.¡± ¡°I always take you seriously. When you¡¯re not being silly.¡± ¡°I¡¯m never silly,¡± he says solemnly, and I break intoughter again. I¡¯ve never met anyone who¡¯s sillier. ¡°Is your room on the right or the left?¡± ¡°Left,¡± I say. ¡°The right one belongs to Jonah. He smokes pot all the time.¡± Carter mutters something under his breath and reaches for the knob to my room. Then he pauses. ¡°Where¡¯s the lock?¡± A Ticking Time Boss 36 ¡°I don¡¯t have one.¡± ¡°Fucking hell, you live in this ce?¡± I push past him and open the door to my little pce. My home. It smells softly ofvender from the essential oil dispenser I¡¯d splurged onst week, and that¡¯s about the only great thing about it. But it¡¯s mine. In all of its tiny glory. ¡°This is me,¡± I say, and head straight for my bed. The world is swimming and I sit down heavily. Close my eyes again. Right. I had two wisdom teeth removed. Two. That¡¯s why my mouth is starting to ache. ¡°You don¡¯t have a proper kitchen,¡± he says. He sounds vaguely offended by the notion, and I smile. I instantly regret it when a sharp stab of pain ricochets through my jaw. ¡°Just a microwave and a sink,¡± he says. ¡°A mini-fridge, too,¡± I correct him. ¡°Yourndlord has clearly just put this in as a way to make money. And you¡­ where¡¯s your bathroom?¡± ¡°In the hall.¡± ¡°You share it with your pot-smoking neighbor.¡± ¡°Mmhm.¡± I lean back against the bed and watch him move around my space. It feels much smaller with him in it. Like he¡¯s too much human for a poorly decorated mini-apartment. I wish I¡¯d gotten around to cleaningst weekend. Carter stops at my table-turned-desk. He reaches for some papers and leafs through them. ¡°You¡¯re writing articles in your spare time.¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± Concentrating on this conversation is difficult and I lie down on my bed. If the world would only stop spinning softly on its axis, I¡¯d be all right. ¡°Hold on,¡± Carter says, and then he¡¯s there. Untying my shoces. ¡°Want your jacket on?¡± I run my fingers over the slick material of my coat. It had been an investment piece. Nina had been with me when I¡¯d bought it, and we¡¯d said it back and forth to one another until the word was meaningless. You¡¯re investing, Audrey, she¡¯d said. I¡¯d twirled around in it. Look at my investment piece! ¡°Keep it on,¡± I say. ¡°It was expensive.¡± ¡°Great logic. Lie down for a while, will you?¡± ¡°But your clothes look expensive. You look so handsome in your suits.¡± Heughs. ¡°You¡¯re making me want to ask you for more honesty here than I should. Did you stock up beforehand with food?¡± ¡°I have food,¡± I say and close my eyes. My bed seems to rise and fall beneath me. Carter opens my mini-fridge and curses. He¡¯s done that a lot today, it seems. ¡°You have apples, carrots and half-a-box of takeout.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± I say, pleased. Should get me though the next twenty-four hours. ¡°You can only eat soup or ice cream. What were you thinking?¡± He sighs, and then I hear the sound of a keychain. ¡°I¡¯ll be right back. Don¡¯t go anywhere, okay?¡± I have no intention of ever moving. ¡°And I can¡¯t even lock the door to keep you safe,¡± he mutters. Then it closes behind him and I drift away on a magical carpet of anaesthesia. When I finally wake up again, my head is pounding. My mouth tastes bad and I feel like I¡¯ve had my first ever drunken night. Still a little bit inebriated and a lot hungover. It¡¯s awful. Carter is sitting by my table, on the single chair in my apartment. He puts down the newspaper he¡¯s reading when he sees me. ¡°Hey.¡± ¡°Hi,¡± I say. ¡°Where¡¯d you go?¡± ¡°Stocked your fridge. You have four different kinds of soup now and five ice cream vors. Lots of juice too.¡± I blink at him. ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°Wasn¡¯t sure which one you liked.¡± He leans forward, golden eyes on me. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been better,¡± I say and cautiously move my jaw. ¡°Oh my goodness.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t believe you would have gone home alone. I¡¯d be mad at you, if you didn¡¯t look so battered right now.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Then I remember what we¡¯d done, what we¡¯d spoken about thest time, on the phone, and I squeeze my eyes closed. ¡°There it is,¡± Carter murmurs. ¡°You just remembered, didn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yes. I can¡¯t believe we¡­ that I actually¡­¡± ¡°It was great,¡± he says. ¡°I won¡¯t let you feel awkward about it.¡± I press my hands against my eyes. ¡°God.¡± ¡°Do you regret it?¡±N?velDrama.Org holds text ? rights. It takes me a few deep breaths to answer. ¡°No. Maybe I should, but I don¡¯t.¡± The faint sigh from his direction sounds like it holds relief. ¡°Well, then. We¡¯re both adults. We can do whatever we¡¯d like, or not do.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t believe I came,¡± I say, and then immediately regret it. My head still feels loose. ¡°God. Ignore that, will you? Please. Please.¡± Carter chuckles. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear anything. And even if I did, the thing I didn¡¯t hear wouldn¡¯t displease me, you know.¡± ¡°Never mind.¡± I lower my hands and look at him. Folded onto the chair, long legs stretched out in front. Still in the same suave suit I¡¯d seen him in earlier. His dark auburn hair looks almost brown, and it¡¯s ruffled from where he¡¯s run his hands through it. ¡°You came from work,¡± I say. ¡°You¡­ left your meetings? What time is it?¡± He shakes his head. ¡°Didn¡¯t want to be there anyway.¡± ¡°But you have things to do. I didn¡¯t mean to force you to be here.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t feel forced,¡± he says. A Ticking Time Boss 37 ¡°Carter, I¡¯m sorry.¡± He rises from the chair, stretching to his full height. ¡°One of the perks of being the boss,¡± he says. ¡°Don¡¯t think about it.¡± I grip the edge of myforter. Why am I still in my jacket? The thoughtes and goes, slippery, my mind unable to hold on to too many things at once. But one thing is important. The most important. ¡°Thank you,¡± I tell him. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I would have done without you today.¡± His lips twist into a half-smile, and I lose myself in his steady eyes, looking down at me. ¡°My pleasure, kid.¡± I reach for his hand. He realizes what I want and captures mine with his. Warm fingers twine with my own. My pulse thunders through the simple contact and up through my head. It¡¯s not the first time we¡¯ve touched, but it feels like it. ¡°I¡¯ve thought about it,¡± I say. Carter goes still. ¡°Ah. About what I asked you?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯d very, very much like it if you asked me out, I mean.¡± His thumb moves in a slow arc over mine. ¡°I¡¯d be happier about this if you weren¡¯t drugged. When we spoke on the phone you were drunk, too.¡± I don¡¯t smile-I¡¯ve learned my lesson-but I want to. ¡°This isn¡¯t the anaesthesia speaking.¡± He looks down at my hand in his, but there¡¯s no hiding the brilliant smile spreading across his face. ¡°I¡¯ll ask you tomorrow, then. When I¡¯m sure you¡¯re not under the influence.¡± My heart stutters in my chest. ¡°I¡¯ll say yes.¡± It wasn¡¯t a dream. That¡¯s the first thing I realize the next day, when I wake up clear-headed. The second thing is that my mouth really, really, hurts. I take care of the second thing right away by way of aspirin and orange juice. He¡¯d bought the fancy, organic kind. Carter had been here. In my apartment. I look at my jacket, thrown on the floor. My shoes spilling out from the too-small closet. There¡¯s a grim-looking avocado that¡¯s, inexplicably, resting on an old copy of the Globe like a sad paperweight. He¡¯d been here. I smile down at my orange juice, ignoring the tug in my cheeks. He¡¯d showed up to my dentist appointment. He¡¯d called me when he was out of town. And somehow, some way, I¡¯m not nervous about going on a date with him. Correction-I¡¯m nervous as hell. But it¡¯s the excited kind, the one that makes me feel so alive it¡¯s like my soul is abuzz. I spend most of the day workingzily from bed and watching old re-runs at the same time. Try as I may, concentrating is difficult, and the double dose of painkillers knocks me out every so often. He texts me after lunch to ask how I¡¯m feeling. The conversation is quick as usual, texts that make me smile down at my phone. Until it includes the thing we¡¯d spoken about. Carter: Is your head clear today? Audrey: Yes. Clear enough to know that I meant what I said yesterday. Before you left. He calls me a few seconds after I send my answering text. ¡°Hi,¡± I say. ¡°Hey. Sleep well?¡± ¡°Surprisingly, yes. I guess being knocked out does that to you.¡± ¡°Hurting today?¡± ¡°A bit. Feeling significantly less wise, too,¡± I say. Carter¡¯s voice warms. ¡°Listen to you, joking. You¡¯re in a good mood.¡± ¡°I am, yeah.¡± ¡°A definitely clear-headed one?¡± ¡°Exceedingly so. I¡¯ve never been more in my right mind than I am right now, this very second.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± he says. ¡°Exactly what I want to hear.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Mhm. So. Will you let me take you out this weekend?¡± Hearing the words makes it real, and that reality is terrifyingly exciting. ¡°Yes, I will.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Carter says. And then nothing else. I smile. ¡°No quip about that? No joke?¡± ¡°I¡¯m searching for one,¡± he says. ¡°Give me a few minutes.¡± ¡°Speechless. That¡¯s a first.¡± ¡°Are you free this Friday?¡± ¡°I am, yeah. Hopefully the swelling will have gone down by then,¡± I say, biting my lower lip. A date. I have a date, and for the first time in months, it¡¯s one I¡¯m truly excited about.Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. ¡°If anyone would look good with swelling, it¡¯s you,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ll have to figure out a way to impress you. What about-¡± There are muffled voices on the other end, and then I hear the distinct words of Mr. Kingsley. He¡¯s working. Of course he is, I¡¯m the one taking a day off. When his voice is back, it¡¯s professional in tone. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I have to go. Sorry to cut this short.¡± ¡°Were you in a meeting when you called me?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°Just stepped out. I¡¯ll talk to youter.¡± ¡°Okay. Well¡­ good luck at work today, honey,¡± I say, my voice teasing. He gives a surprisedugh. ¡°Spitfire,¡± he says fondly, before hanging up. A Ticking Time Boss 38 I rock back on my heels, bag in hand. He¡¯d said wait outside my house and dress nice, whatever that means-is it nice enough for a ball? Or we¡¯re going to a bar? Theck of specificity feels like a very masculine oversight.Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. He¡¯s alsote. Well, two minutes, but it¡¯s given the nerves in my stomach ample time to go crazy. They multiply at the speed of light, and if the graph is exponential, I¡¯ll be in trouble in ten minutes. But I don¡¯t have to wait long. A familiar ck car pulls to a stop in front of the curb. My heart explodes with nerves, and I bite the inside of my cheek. Carter steps out, and the moment I see him, something inside me stills. It¡¯s him. I can do this. I have done it many times before with him. ¡°Hello,¡± he says. He¡¯s wearing a suit, no tie, topped with a crooked smile. ¡°How do you feel?¡± ¡°Much better than when you saw mest. My teeth feel all better now.¡± He bends to kiss my cheek. ¡°d to hear it. Ready to go?¡± ¡°Where?¡± ¡°I think I¡¯ll keep that a surprise.¡± ¡°Sneaky.¡± We get into the car and it takes off, weaving through traffic and back toward the city. Neither of us speaks. Carter shifts closer. ¡°I¡¯d tell you that you look beautiful, and I¡¯d mean it, but I don¡¯t want to set off those nerves of yours.¡± I chuckle. Acknowledging them feels better. ¡°They¡¯re already set off,¡± I say. ¡°But strangely enough, it¡¯s not that bad.¡± ¡°A resounding sess. Does that mean I can say it?¡± ¡°You can.¡± I nce toward the driver, but he has his eyes on the road. Is he listening? Carter doesn¡¯t seem to care. ¡°You look stunning,¡± he says. ¡°Far better than nice.¡± ¡°Nice is hard to shoot for,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s a moving target.¡± His eyes dip to my lips. ¡°Well, you overshot it. But I¡¯m notining.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you nervous at all? About us and¡­ dating?¡± ¡°I¡¯m terrified inside. Shaking like a leaf, kid.¡± It¡¯s so obviously an exaggeration, with him sitting there his usualposed self, that it makes meugh. The car pulls to stop outside a bar. It takes me a moment to recognize the ce. ¡°Wait. Is this¡­?¡± ¡°Where we met, yeah,¡± Carter says. ¡°I thought it would be poetic to have our first date here.¡± Something warms in my chest. ¡°Our first?¡± ¡°Yes. Is that okay?¡± ¡°It¡¯s more than okay.¡± He leads me inside, his hand light on my lower back. I lean into his side and breathe in the familiar scent of his cologne and soap and something else, something that¡¯s just him. We have a seat in the back. It¡¯s far away from where I sat with my obnoxious blind date, and even further from where Carter had lounged at the bar. ¡°Did you really watch my date?¡± I ask him. ¡°Last time we were here?¡± ¡°Of course. Someone had to make sure you weren¡¯t meeting a serial killer on that blind date of yours.¡± ¡°I saw who you were meeting, you know. The blonde.¡± He gives a half-shrug. ¡°It wasn¡¯t serious.¡± ¡°No, that much was clear,¡± I say, and throw caution to the wind. ¡°Do you ever date seriously?¡± ¡°Not if I can help it,¡± he says with a wink. Iugh. It¡¯s what I expected, anyway, and having it confirmed feels good. Safer, somehow. Whatever happens, I know we can bow out with augh and a smile. ¡°Right. So how long will I keep your interest on this date?¡± I say. ¡°Until dessert, at least?¡± Carter tilts his head, considering. ¡°Yes, but give or take a decade, probably.¡± We talk about everything, drifting from one topic to the other with a fluidity that feels preordained. The Globe , journalism, movies we¡¯ve seen, his business trip, his hotel room, and then inevitably, the call. I ignore the heat in my cheeks. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect it,¡± I admit. ¡°No,¡± he says. ¡°Neither did I. It wasn¡¯t what I called you for, you know.¡± ¡°Why did you call? Not that I minded.¡± He leans back in his chair and gives me a studying nce. ¡°Come on,¡± I say. ¡°Tell me. I can take it. Had you been drinking?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t call you because I was drunk,¡± he says. ¡°I called you because I was jealous.¡± ¡°Oh. Really?¡± He runs a hand over the back of his neck. ¡°Yeah. Not very chivalrous, perhaps, but that¡¯s the truth. I¡¯d promised to talk to you about dating, to give you a male perspective, but truth be told I stopped enjoying that a while back.¡± The world tilts on its axis. Had I misread things from the beginning? Had he always¡­ was this¡­ ¡°Oh,¡± I say again. ¡°You look shocked,¡± he says. ¡°Can¡¯t be the first time a man admits to wanting you?¡± No, I think, but it¡¯s the first time in forever I¡¯ve wanted him back. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to talk your ear off about my dates. I had no idea you minded,¡± I say. The memories feel awful now, somehow. Forcing him to listen to things he didn¡¯t want to hear. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Carter says, his half-smile back. ¡°I know you had your reservations about me. shing jobs and all that.¡± I shake my head. ¡°No, I just didn¡¯t know it was an option. Didn¡¯t really consider it, even. You seemed so far above me. And you always wear a suit.¡± His eyebrows rise. ¡°You told me I looked handsome in suits.¡± ¡°I did? Oh. The anaesthesia.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 39 ¡°Yes. You were lovely, by the way. You mentioned canyons for some reason, and never told me why.¡± ¡°Canyons. Like¡­ the Grand Canyon?¡± ¡°I assumed, but who knows what went on inside your brain.¡± Iugh and reach for my ss. ¡°You do look handsome in suits,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t need to be drugged to think that.¡± He gives me a wide smile. ¡°What apliment. But why did that make you hesitate in the beginning?¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s¡­ I suppose it¡¯s a long story.¡± I say. ¡°But the world of businessmen and briefcases and suits has always struck me as kind of fake.¡± ¡°Fake,¡± he repeats. ¡°Yeah. Like, snake-oil charmers and Wall Street bankers. People who can¡¯t work with their hands, who don¡¯t know a trade, you know. I realize this is all pretty insulting, and I really don¡¯t mean it that way. I know you¡¯re not like that.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Well, others might disagree. I help buildpanies and asionally dismantle them. It¡¯s a trade but it¡¯s not a very visible one. I don¡¯t get calluses from it.¡± I shake my head. ¡°It¡¯s definitely a job, and an important one. It was really my own prejudice that got in the way. Andbined with all theyoffs in the beginning, well¡­¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t have a high opinion of me,¡± he says softly. ¡°Not in the beginning, no.¡± I hesitate for a moment, meeting his eyes. The oddly golden eyes, so often dancing with humor. They¡¯re serious now. ¡°You asked me why I wanted to be a journalist a while back. Didn¡¯t you?¡± He nods. ¡°You spoke about reading the newspaper with your dad.¡± ¡°Yes, and that¡¯s definitely part of it. But something else happened to my family when I was fifteen.¡± I twist my ss around, looking at the red liquid. ¡°My dad¡¯s a dentist, right? And he was approached by a businessman with a great investment opportunity.¡± Carter¡¯s voice is hesitant. ¡°Ah.¡± ¡°Yes. It was a textbook con, but the man knew so much about Dad¡¯s industry. Had statistics and books and could show why this dentalpany would revolutionize the industry. Several dentists in the area had already signed on.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Carter says. He¡¯s already caught on. I nod. ¡°Well, Dad invested way too much. College funds, retirements. Thank God he didn¡¯t take out a second mortgage on the house, at any rate. And the businessman-a con man, really-took everything.¡±Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Did you try to press charges?¡± ¡°Yes, but there was nothing to tie him to. The name was an alias. The addresses were PO boxes. The ounts were cleaned.¡± ¡°Let me guess,¡± he says. ¡°He wore suits?¡± ¡°Impably tailored ones, yes. He had dinner with us all a few times too. Really wined and dined my parents.¡± I¡¯ll never forget him, for the rest of my life. Nearly as tall as Carter and with dark hair. Lines around his eyes that crinkled when he smiled. A man who radiated warmth and trustworthiness. A shiver of unease runs through me, as it always does when I think about him. To haveughed with someone who, all the while, was nning on stealing everyst cent my parents had worked so hard for. ¡°Audrey, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Carter says. I shake my head. ¡°It was a decade ago. My family¡¯s recovered. Dad still¡­ smarts from it, but no one got physically hurt at least. That¡¯s what matters.¡± ¡°And you never trusted a man in a suit after that,¡± he says, fingering thepel of his jacket. ¡°I¡¯ll burn every single one I own.¡± Iugh and reach across the table, finding his hand. It¡¯s warm beneath mine. ¡°Absolutely not. You¡¯re not the same as him, I know that. I knew that from the first time we met!¡± ¡°What was his name?¡± Carter asks. ¡°Did you ever manage to find him? Get justice?¡± I shake my head. ¡°Will C. Jenner was the alias he used. We didn¡¯t find anyone who matched his description with that name.¡± ¡°Fuck. What a scoundrel,¡± he says. ¡°Yeah. We tried talking about it to the papers, too. Dad didn¡¯t have a picture of him, but he could describe him very well. But no one was interested in running the story,¡± I say. It still feels like an insult. A good investigative journalist could have followed a trail. Found other families devastated by this man. Made it into a bigger story of con artists in the country. But no one was interested. ¡°I guess only the Bernie Madoffs attract national attention.¡± Carter¡¯s voice is low. ¡°That¡¯s why you want to be a journalist. Why you¡¯re working on the story of that constructionpany evicting tenants in Queens.¡± ¡°Yes, I think so. A problem can¡¯t get fixed if people don¡¯t know about it, you know? That¡¯s my job as a journalist. Our job as a newspaper. Equip people with knowledge.¡± His mouth curls into a small smile. ¡°Do I sound naive?¡± I ask. ¡°I know the Globe ¡®s numbers aren¡¯t the best.¡± ¡°No,¡± he agrees, ¡°they aren¡¯t. But you keep makingpelling argument after argument to keep it running.¡± ¡°Am I convincing you?¡± ¡°Kid, you convinced me a long time ago,¡± he says. ¡°I just have to get the numbers to add up.¡± It¡¯ste when we leave the bar. Late enough that the bartender is cleaning off the counter, and only a few stragglers are left. The drinks have left me happy and lightheaded and a little brave. A lot brave. ¡°I¡¯ll drive you home,¡± Carter says. His hand brushes against mine as we walk along the curb. ¡°Say goodnight outside your deathtrap of a house.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not so bad. It has¡­ charm.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have a lock on your door,¡± he says, like that¡¯s the end of the conversation. I shrug. ¡°I guess I¡¯m just more of a trusting person than you are.¡± ¡°Probably, but I wouldn¡¯t say that¡¯s a good thing.¡± We pause on the sidewalk and wait for his ck town car to arrive. I rock back on my heels, butterflies dancing inside my throat. ¡°Well¡­ it¡¯s got one redeeming feature.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Carter says. ¡°Its tenant.¡± Iugh. ¡°Thank you. But I was referring to something else. The fire escape.¡± ¡°A way to leave your apartment in case of a fire isn¡¯t a redeeming feature. It¡¯s a legal requirement.¡± I nudge his shoulder with mine. It¡¯s solid, a brick wall. ¡°But it¡¯s so New York. For a girl from out of town, I feel like a character in a si.¡± ¡°You sit out there?¡± A Ticking Time Boss 40 ¡°Sometimes. It has a pretty good view. And well¡­ I have a bottle of wine at home.¡± Tawny eyes look down on me. There¡¯s a light in them. ¡°Are you inviting me in for a ss?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°Well then,¡± Carter says. ¡°I¡¯ve never been more excited to see a fire escape.¡± Carter¡¯s legs are almost too long for the cramped space outside my window. He extends them, the tips of hiscquered suit shoes emerging through a b of bars. ¡°Isn¡¯t this a great balcony?¡± I say. I climb out after him with a bottle of wine and a nket tucked under my arm. Despite the unusual warmth, it¡¯s still night in New York, and we¡¯ll need to keep our jackets on. ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°Fantastic. It¡¯s definitely a reason to overlook the fourteen other health hazards.¡± ¡°No ragging on my ce while you¡¯re a guest,¡± I inform him sternly. He holds up his hands, a half-smile on his face. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯ll keep my thoughts to myself.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t even think them.¡± I hand him the bottle and sit down opposite him, struggling to fit my legs into the space. He reaches down and, as if it¡¯s nothing, as if we¡¯ve been intimate before, lifts them across hisp. ¡°Better?¡± ¡°Yes, thanks.¡± The railing is lit with tiny fairy lights, the one decoration I¡¯d added to the fire escape. It¡¯s most definitely not up to code and I don¡¯t care. Carter unscrews the wine and doesn¡¯tment on the poor quality. I¡¯m treating the owner of one of America¡¯s oldest newspapers to a bottle of six-dor wine. I lean back against the bars and watch him fill up two winesses. The impossibility of him, here, makes me smile. He notices. ¡°Why are you looking so happy?¡± he asks, handing me one of the sses. But his eyes dance in the dim light. ¡°I don¡¯t know. You being here, drinking this awful wine with me.¡± ¡°It¡¯s awful?¡± ¡°My best friend bought it for me when I moved in and we never ended up drinking it. It¡¯s cheap.¡± He takes a deep swig, and then raises an eyebrow. ¡°It¡¯s drinkable.¡± ¡°Wow. I was aiming for oaky undertones or full-bodied, but I¡¯ll take it.¡± ¡°Smart-ass,¡± he says, He rests his right hand on my calf, still draped across hisp. Connecting us even further. ¡°Was it okay that I took us to the same bar where we met tonight?¡± I nod. ¡°We kinda came full circle, didn¡¯t we? Returning to the ce where it all started.¡± ¡°That was the idea,¡± he admits. ¡°I also thought that¡­¡± ¡°That what?¡± I nudge him with my leg, and his hand shifts. Moves to my knee. ¡°Tell me.¡± ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be intimidating. You know, I didn¡¯t want you hyperventting at a bar and needing some handsome stranger to save you.¡± I grin. ¡°That happens, does it?¡± ¡°It happened to a friend of mine quite recently, actually,¡± he says. ¡°Tonight was just you and me and alcohol, and I figured there was no way either of us wouldn¡¯t enjoy it.¡± ¡°It was a good date. Great, even.¡± I feel brave, filled with liquid courage. ¡°I invited you up for a nightcap, didn¡¯t I?¡± His eyes sh with heat. ¡°You did. I¡¯m grateful.¡± ¡°Grateful?¡± ¡°Maybe the wrong choice of words. Intrigued, perhaps. Definitely encouraged.¡± He looks down at my legs over his, thumb moving slowly over the edge of my knee. I feel it, even through my stockings. ¡°So you thought I was awful when we met, then. My suit gave me away as a man who couldn¡¯t be trusted.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°I wasn¡¯t thinking clearly at all. I was just trying not to throw up from nerves.¡± ¡°Right. Peanuts, water,¡± here he points to himself, ¡°savior. I should be grateful to your panic attack, I guess. It meant you gave me a shot.¡± ¡°But you weren¡¯t aiming for a shot,¡± I say. ¡°Were you? I mean, what did you think of me when we first met? Be honest.¡± I¡¯d been a wreck at that bar, and not particrly kind to him either. I remember berating him for the way he spoke to the bartender when ordering another drink. Carter¡¯s smile is intimate. ¡°You don¡¯t see yourself particrly clearly. I¡¯ve noticed that before.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°You¡¯re fucking gorgeous.¡± I scoff. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°I mean it. You were that night, too, you know. All big eyes and smart mouth and this long, curly hair. You didn¡¯t know me, but you spoke to me like you did. I liked that.¡± I¡¯ve never been one to suffer from false modesty. My looks are good if I put some effort in, but I know my limitations. I¡¯m pretty average. Carter seems to read my thoughts. He takes another deep sip of his wine, eyes still on mine. ¡°You don¡¯t believe me.¡± ¡°It just seems¡­ excessive. You¡¯re you. Handsome, tall, rich, capable. I was panicking at a bar.¡± ¡°You saw me,¡± he says. ¡°Even back then.¡± The words fill up the space in my chest, warm me from the inside out. It could be snowing right now and I¡¯d still be hot, on this fire escape with him. ¡°Oh.¡± He reaches for my ss of wine and puts both of them to the side. ¡°You still do, you know. I¡¯m myself with you in a way I haven¡¯t been in over a decade.¡± ¡°I¡¯m d,¡± I say. ¡°Don¡¯t ever be anyone else around me.¡±Ccontent ? exclusive by N?/vel(D)ra/ma.Org. His lips curve. ¡°I don¡¯t think I could be, even if I tried.¡± My fingertips feel cold, curving around the steely roundness of a bar. ¡°What are we doing, Carter? Really?¡± He captures a curl of my hair and watches it slip through his fingers. ¡°We¡¯re spending time together,¡± he says. ¡°We¡¯re getting to know one another.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 41 ¡°But what about work,¡± I breathe. He smiles. ¡°I¡¯m trying my damndest to seduce you, and you think of the Globe. I love how your brain works.¡± ¡°Not the paper,¡± I say. ¡°But us¡­ and my job. Our colleagues.¡± ¡°No one will know,¡± he says. ¡°Your job won¡¯t be affected.¡±Ccontent ? exclusive by N?/vel(D)ra/ma.Org. ¡°We won¡¯t tell anyone?¡± His breath ghosts over mine. ¡°What happens between us is nobody¡¯s business.¡± Carter slips a hand under my chin and tilts my head up. Forces me to meet his eyes, and there¡¯s a question in them. I give the tiniest nod and lean closer. My heart is racing like it¡¯s trying to run away. He closes the distance between us. The kiss is a soft brush of his lips against mine, once, twice, controlled and steady. I blink my eyes open to find him watching me with a half-smile. ¡°What I should have done,¡± he says, ¡°before I called you from that hotel room.¡± I shake my head. My hands find thepels of his suit, curling around the stiff fabric. ¡°I don¡¯t regret it.¡± ¡°Christ, me neither.¡± I kiss him this time. Press my lips to his, my fingers sliding back to find the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Carter groans into my mouth and deepens the kiss, the hot tip of his tongue meeting mine. The brief touch feels like a shot of electricity through my body. His hands slide down my sides, smoothing over my body through the fabric of my coat. He kisses me like he¡¯s thought long and hard about it. Like it¡¯s an extension of our banter, another match of wits. Deep and soft, quick and slow, he varies the pace. I grip him tight and melt against the onught. Just when I think I can¡¯t take any more, he shifts his lips to my cheek and kisses a line down to my neck. ¡°Audrey,¡± he says, voice so thick as to be almost unrecognizable. ¡°This is a great fire escape.¡± Iugh. It turns breathless when he finds that spot, right beneath my ear, and my hands tighten on his shoulders. It¡¯s a long few seconds before I can form words. ¡°Mhm,¡± I say. ¡°Redeeming feature.¡± His mouth returns to mine. ¡°No,¡± he says against my lips. ¡°I told you, it¡¯s the tenant.¡± ¡°You¡¯re biased,¡± I tell him. ¡°And proud of it.¡± We kiss for a long time, and with every delicious touch I feel myself sinking deeper into lust with him. My mind feels heady, almost drugged, joy flooding through me. Skilled fingers find the waist tie to my coat and tug. He slides a hand inside, touching my waist through the thin fabric of my dress. A frisson of nerves run through me, just faint enough to heighten the anticipation. But the hand stays there. ¡°You know,¡± I murmur. ¡°The fire escape is nice and all, but we can also go inside.¡± He closes his eyes. Darkshes fan out against his cheeks, flushed with color. ¡°Dangerous idea,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m trying to behave.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t behave inside?¡± ¡°It would be harder to. I¡¯m not domesticated.¡± I press my lips to his cheekbone. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s a good thing.¡± ¡°It¡¯s our first date,¡± he says, ¡°and I¡¯m angling for a second.¡± I climb onto hisp. He lets me, hands steadying my hips inside my coat. I settle a thigh on either side of him and grip the railing behind him. ¡°What if I told you that a second date is already guaranteed?¡± ¡°Then I¡¯m a lucky man indeed,¡± he says and draws me up for a kiss. I press my chest against his and when he groans, I feel it reverberating through his chest. We spend another eternity kissing. Eventually he breaks away from my lips and leans his head back against the cold railing, closing his eyes. ¡°Fuck,¡± he mutters. I run my fingers inside the cor of his shirt, touching hot skin. ¡°Did I break you?¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯ll reboot in a second.¡± I shift in hisp and notice the long, hard length beneath my thighs. Once I¡¯ve felt it, it¡¯s all I can focus on. Red-hot nerves race through my body and leave me breathless. I circle my hips once, tentatively. His hands tighten on my hips. ¡°Spitfire,¡± he warns. ¡°Let¡¯s go inside.¡± ¡°I could kiss you forever,¡± he says. ¡°Would be happy to.¡± I lean back in his arms. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to?¡± He chuckles darkly and looks down at me straddling him. ¡°Clearly. But I remember what you told me the other day. About you and rtionships.¡± And myck of them. I tighten my hands around his neck. ¡°I¡¯ve had sex before. Been intimate with men.¡± ¡°I know,¡± he says. ¡°But not very often, I¡¯m guessing.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Why are we talking about this?¡± He smiles and kisses me, three urgent brushes of his lips. ¡°Because I don¡¯t want to rush you. At all. Ever. And because you have me wound so tightly that I¡¯m not sure I can go as slow as I¡¯d want to for our first time.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t feel rushed.¡± He grips my thighs and pulls me up against him, melding our bodies together. His erection is a rough, intractable object beneath me, making it hard to think. ¡°When was thest time?¡± he asks me. I bend my face to the warm skin of his neck. He smells like soap and man and the leather seats of his town car. ¡°Audrey?¡± he says. The truth is embarrassing. ¡°A little over a year and a half.¡± Even then, it had been a weekend thing with a guy I¡¯d known in college. He¡¯d been back in town and we¡¯d met up. Before that¡­ seven months, I think. At least. Carter¡¯s eyes are serious on mine. ¡°A year and a half,¡± he repeats. He doesn¡¯t mock me for it, he doesn¡¯t smile, he doesn¡¯tugh. He just kisses me again, and it¡¯s softer this time. It sends butterflies careening through my stomach, colliding and multiplying. ¡°Spitfire,¡± he murmurs, a hand sliding over my hair, ¡°we¡¯re not rushing this, then.¡± I don¡¯t know whates over me. If it¡¯s the clear need in his voice, the way his fingers grip me, but everything about him makes me feel wanted. Powerful. So I slide my hand down to where he¡¯s hard and run my fingers over the length. A Ticking Time Boss 42 He groans and leans forward, forehead against my shoulder. ¡°Audrey,¡± he mutters. I move my hand away and smile into his hair. Whatever this is, whatever we¡¯re doing, isn¡¯t just a one-time thing, then. It¡¯s a bad idea for all sorts of reasons, but none of theme close to how happy I feel in this moment. ¡°Until next time,¡± I say. Carter nods, but his hand slides up to graze the underside of my breast. It¡¯s brief, and he groans, and then he locks his hands safely around my waist. ¡°Next time,¡± he says, and his voice is a promise. ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t need anything else?¡± I ask. Mom shakes her head. She¡¯s leaning against the kitchen counter, vivid against the yellow cabs. I remember her painting them over a decade ago, singing to the radio, during one of my father¡¯s many absences. ¡°No, no, I¡¯m perfectly all right,¡± she says. I cross my arms. ¡°The new construction down the street will go on for years,¡± I say. ¡°But you¡¯re absolutely sure?¡± Sheughs, the wrinkles by her eyes fanning out. She¡¯s always been quick to smile. ¡°I can handle a bit of construction noise.¡± ¡°Sure. But at least look at the brochure I sent you. Please.¡± They¡¯re opening a state-of-the-art apartment building right next to mine in the Vige, and she¡¯d have ess to a pool and a gym. ¡°I looked at it,¡± Mom says. ¡°It looks like a lovely ce, although they need more greenery.¡± ¡°You could add that,¡± I say. ¡°Be in charge of the condo nts.¡± She gives me an appeasing smile. ¡°That would be nice, sweetie.¡± ¡°You just won¡¯t leave this ce, will you?¡± ¡°It¡¯s my home,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s where I raised you. Do you really want me to sell your childhood home?¡± ¡°You know I do. I can¡¯t believe you don¡¯t.¡± The apartment is hers, yes, but it had been bought by my father. The man we both washed our hands of years ago. ¡°It¡¯s filled with good memories, too, Carter,¡± she says. ¡°You grew up inside these walls. Besides, it¡¯s close to work. I can walk to the school and I can make sure the students behave when I see them in the grocery store.¡± I sigh. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll drop the subject.¡± ¡°Thank you. Although you won¡¯t like the subject I have to bring up,¡± she says. She reaches up and rearranges her auburn hair. It¡¯s pinned up in a braid, silver hinting at the temples. I sink down onto the kitchen chair. ¡°You¡¯re moving to an apartment in a worse neighborhood.¡± She smiles at my bad joke. ¡°I¡¯d never. No, sweetie, I got a call from your father yesterday.¡± The world goes still. ¡°He called you out of the blue?¡± Anger rises through me like a tidal wave. How dare he, after everything. To open old wounds and force himself-Exclusive content from N?velDrama.Org. ¡°He apologized,¡± Mom says. ¡°Profusely, actually.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t believe him.¡± She shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m not ready to believe him. But I¡¯m not ready to not believe him, either. He has nothing to gain from asking for our forgiveness.¡± ¡°He always has something to gain,¡± I say. ¡°He hasn¡¯t done a selfless thing in his life.¡± ¡°He gave this apartment to me with no strings attached.¡± ¡°Yes, when he knew he was going to prison, and they were seizing all his assets,¡± I say through gritted teeth. The past couple of years I¡¯ve spent considerable amounts inwyer fees to make sure Mom waspletely and thoroughly protected from any of his illegal dealings. And oddly enough, because their marriage was never actually legal, she¡¯s off the hook. Another one of his lies that worked out in the end. ¡°I¡¯m not making excuses for him,¡± she says and sinks down on the chair opposite me. Her eyes are imploring. ¡°I¡¯m thinking of you.¡± ¡°Of me? Mom, he-¡± ¡°I know what he did,¡± she says. ¡°He hurt both of us. I know you like to focus on me. But he lied to you too.¡± I look at the mustard-yellow cupboards and the seashell knobs. Another feature she¡¯d installed, right after we got back from our trip to Florida. It was the one proper vacation we ever went on with him. ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± I say. ¡°He¡¯s out of prison and mentioned that he wants to see you, but doesn¡¯t know if you¡¯d want to.¡± ¡°I absolutely don¡¯t want to,¡± I say. ¡°He has no space in my life.¡± Her handnds on mine. ¡°That¡¯s your right, sweetheart. You never have to see him again for as long as he lives. But, and don¡¯t get angry, I wonder if maybe you have things you want to say too. Things you want to ask. Everything happened so fast there at the end, when all his¡­ lies unravelled. If you met him, it would be on your terms. You could tell him anything you wanted.¡± ¡°You mean I could yell at him for a solid hour and then leave.¡± She chuckles. ¡°Yes. You¡¯re very forceful when you yell, you know. You were always the most intimidating ser yer.¡± ¡°In little league,¡± I say, but her idea sinks in. ¡°I get what you¡¯re saying, but nothing good cane of it. I¡¯m not going to meet him.¡± Mom lifts her hand from mine. ¡°Okay. That¡¯s your right, sweetie. I just wanted to ry the offer to you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want him calling you all the time either.¡± She folds a kitchen towel, hiding her face from view, but I can hear the smile in her voice. It¡¯s infuriating that she¡¯s so calm about this. ¡°Calling once in ten years isn¡¯t exactly harassment. I have no love lost for your father, except for the fact that he gave me you.¡± I rub a hand over my neck. Mom is too good at this, too kind. I can¡¯t see it the way she does. She has an easier time forgiving the slights hemitted against her than I do. Having a real wife, other children, a white-picket fence and house in suburbia¡­ living a double life. I¡¯d driven past his other house once. I¡¯ve never told her about it, and I never will. But I¡¯d been twenty-three, and furious, and sitting in a rented car outside a house that looked like it belonged in amercial for house insurance. A dog had barked from somewhere inside the house and a teenage girl had appeared in the window. Younger than me. A half-sister? I¡¯d floored the gas so fast I left tire marks on the street. ¡°There¡¯s no way I could trust him or anything he says,¡± I finally say. ¡°Especially not now, when I¡¯m¡­¡± A Ticking Time Boss 43 ¡°So wildly sessful?¡± Mom says teasingly. I roll my eyes. ¡°Yes. Why is he reaching out now?¡± She shrugs. ¡°I have no idea. I¡¯m not on his side, sweetheart, I¡¯m on yours.¡± ¡°I know,¡± I say. Because if there¡¯s one thing I¡¯ve never doubted, it¡¯s that. Every time he disappeared we¡¯d be a single-parent household, with a single-parent ie. And she¡¯d picked up extra shifts without everining. And now that I¡¯ve made sure she never has to work again, she infuriates me by refusing to stop. Mom¡¯s voice changes in pitch, and she crosses her arms over her chest. ¡°You¡¯ve looked at your watch three times while you¡¯ve been here. Where are you running off to after this?¡± ¡°I¡¯m in no rush.¡± ¡°Pah, I know when my son has ants in his pants. Is she anyone special?¡± I shake my head. A grown man, and she can still treat me like I¡¯m eight years old. ¡°She might be.¡± ¡°Anyone you can tell me about?¡± ¡°It¡¯s early days still,¡± I say. ¡°But she lives around here actually. In the area.¡± ¡°I like her already,¡± Mom says. ¡°You need someone serious. Someone with a proper job.¡± I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Is this ament on other women I¡¯ve dated?¡± ¡°Yes. You¡¯re a smart man, and with just as much charm as your dad. I know you could have any woman you wanted, but the real question is, which woman do you want? You deserve the best, sweetheart.¡± I sigh. Of course she thinks that. But I see Audrey¡¯s eyes in front of me, her hopes for the future, her idealistic dreams about the world, and I know it would kill me if I broke that innocence. And I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m capable of not breaking it. ¡°You think too highly of me,¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s my job. Go on, then. Go woo her and bring her home for me to meet.¡± Iugh. ¡°You¡¯re that eager for a daughter-inw?¡± ¡°Yes. You work too much. Bnce, Carter. It¡¯s all about bnce.¡± I¡¯m still shaking my head at her words when I walk the surprisingly short distance to Audrey¡¯s crumbling deathtrap of a house. Dad had called. Out of the blue. I don¡¯t know how I¡¯d react if he did the same thing to me. Christ, will I have to start screening my calls? I can¡¯t be responsible for what I say or do if I answer the phone only to hear his voice on the other end. For the past decade, I¡¯ve pushed his existence to the bottom of my mind. But I should have known he¡¯d refused to stay buried. I wait outside Audrey¡¯s house, texting both her and my driver to coordinate the pickup. Tonight¡¯s date will be different. Anticipation and desire mingle inside of me. It¡¯s been a year and a half, for her. A year and a half. I have to make it fucking spectacr. Audrey opens the front door and stops when she sees me. A giant smile lights up her face, setting her eyes aze. Something falters in my chest. It¡¯s criminal, to stare at a man like that. Like he¡¯s your favorite person in the world. ¡°Hello,¡± she says. ¡°Hi, kid.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. ¡°Thanks for picking me up. What are we doing tonight?¡± ¡°Something you once told me was necessary in a rtionship. I figured you should be given a chance to take me for a test run.¡± Her mouth falls open. ¡°Oh. I mean¡­ yes. Good. I¡¯d like that.¡± I chuckle and reach out to clip her softly under the chin. ¡°Not that, spitfire. Though it can be arranged.¡± Definitely, absolutely, willingly arranged. She blushes. ¡°Right.¡± The car takes us through the city, back into Manhattan and toward the Vige. She seemed like the type to want lowkey dates. Ones where we could get to know one another, ones where we didn¡¯t risk anyone seeing us. She catches on as soon as Tom stops outside my building. The doorman, recognizing the car, opens her door. ¡°Carter¡­?¡± she asks. I put a hand on her lower back. ¡°Remember how you wanted a man to cook dinner with?¡± ¡°Vaguely, yes. I said that, right?¡± ¡°You definitely did. Well, tonight¡¯s your night.¡± ¡°We¡¯re going to your apartment,¡± she says in a half-whisper. ¡°Either that, or I¡¯ve rented an impressive hotel room to impress you. You¡¯ll have to guess when you see it.¡± She ps me softly on the chest. I almost reach up to grab her slim hand and press it there for good. ¡°Fool,¡± she says. ¡°Always. Come on. The elevator is this way.¡± She¡¯s quiet on the ride up and the silence turns expectant. I haven¡¯t invited someone into my apartment in a long time. There was a time when afterparties weremon. Even a time when I¡¯d give women I was seeing ess recklessly, relentlessly, asking them to be there waiting for me after I came back from work. I think we¡¯d both enjoyed the ridiculousness of the notion. The fake sophistication and the y at a rtionship both of us knew wasn¡¯t real. Those days are long gone. It was superficiality and recklessness, and Audrey deserves neither of those things. This, in contrast, feels so real it threatens to break me. ¡°Oh,¡± she breathes, stepping into the hallway. She looks small beneath the high ceiling. ¡°You have a loft apartment.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a bit industrial, perhaps, but it has great lighting.¡± Her voice is filled with awe. ¡°There¡¯s no way to undersell this ce, you know.¡± ¡°So I shouldn¡¯t bother trying?¡± A Ticking Time Boss 44 ¡°No.¡± She stops in the center of the grand space and spins around slowly, taking in the giant windows, the curved couch, the open-nned kitchen. It would probably fit ten of her apartments. ¡°Like it?¡± I ask. Her smile is teasing. ¡°It¡¯s okay. But there¡¯s no scent of mold, and Carter, you don¡¯t have a fire escape.¡± I shake my head at her and cross the space. Her smile turns into a grin and she backs up, trying to escape, but my couch expertly blocks the way. It¡¯s a two-yer effort. She¡¯s stillughing when I kiss her, like wildfire in my arms. I¡¯m dazed when I finally raise my head and there¡¯s a pit of heated need burning in my stomach. Every luscious curve of her in my arms is like holding a live ember¡­ One about to ignite. Audrey¡¯s hand slides down to curve around mine and she pulls me toward the kitchen. ¡°Can I get a full tour?¡± ¡°Uh, yeah. Yes. Let me show you around.¡± ¡°So this is the living room.¡± ¡°Yes. This here is a kitchen. I think, but I¡¯m rarely here.¡± She snorts. ¡°Of course not.¡± ¡°Home office is in there,¡± I say, pointing to one of the rooms off the corridor. ¡°Guest bedroom, guest bath, and here¡­¡± ¡°Your bedroom.¡± She stands on the threshold, peering inside therge room. Seeing my bed sends another jolt of heat through me. It looks like it always does,rge and made, but her presence changes everything. The air feels electric. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°Your bed is so big.¡± Several inappropriate replies flit through my mind. One even hovers on my tongue, but I don¡¯t want her to feel pressured. Not ever. Audrey looks up at me with a grin. ¡°That was a very tame response?¡± ¡°I fought against my impulses, believe me.¡± Sheughs, her hand finding mine again. We head back to the living room and leave my bed, with all of its tantalizing promises, to itself. She jumps onto one of the stools by the kitchen counter. ¡°So?¡± she says. ¡°What is this thing that I apparently said a rtionship has to contain?¡± I start rolling up the sleeves of my shirt. ¡°Cooking dinner.¡± The smile that spreads across her face makes it all worth it. ¡°We¡¯re cooking?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°I mean¡­ you¡¯re cooking?¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°How hard can it be?¡± ¡°That depends entirely on what you want to make.¡± She makes to slide off the chair, and I raise a hand to stop her. ¡°I remember you specifically mentioning having a man cook for you.¡± ¡°But I want to participate.¡± I rummage through one of the cabs for a cutting board. ¡°You can chop the potatoes.¡± ¡°Potatoes,¡± she repeats. ¡°What are we making?¡± It¡¯s been years since I was nervous around a woman. Since I fretted about dates, or doubted my ability to charm. But here with her, I don¡¯t know if what I¡¯m offering is enough. ¡°Steak and potatoes.¡± ¡°Very homey,¡± she says, epting the knife and cutting board I give her. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting this.¡± ¡°Bad surprise?¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Not at all. It just goes to show that more and more of my assumptions about you are wed.¡± ¡°Maybe not all that wed. This will be the first time in¡­ a while, that I¡¯ve cooked in this kitchen.¡± ¡°I¡¯m d I¡¯m a part of this momentous asion, then.¡± I grin. ¡°Yes, you should feel honored.¡± She sits at the kitchen ind and asionally chops, asionally gives helpful pointers, as I prepare our food. Her chin rests in her hand, her smart mouth teasing and encouraging, and quick toughter. A deep sense of contentment spreads through me. It¡¯s heady, stronger even than the lust. She¡¯s here in my space with me. We eat at my kitchen table. The lit candles send flickers of me across her skin and her curls fall softly around her face. ¡°This,¡± she says, ¡°is really good.¡± I look down at our food. Potatoes and meat. It looks bare, somehow¡­ I hadn¡¯t made a sd. No vegetables. And-oh Lord. ¡°I think I forgot sauce.¡± She chuckles. ¡°It is a little bit dry, perhaps. But not bad.¡± I curse and push my chair back. Open the door to my fridge. ¡°You can have¡­ ketchup? Or BBQ sauce. No, it¡¯s expired. It¡¯s ketchup or ketchup.¡± Audrey¡¯s voice is soft. ¡°I don¡¯t need anything, Carter.¡± ¡°No sauce,¡± I mutter, taking a seat opposite her again. ¡°Should have thought about that.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t do this often, then? Cook for the women you date?¡± I reach for my winess. ¡°God, no.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. A tiny smile spreads across her lips. ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°Very few have been here, too,¡± I say, extending my hand to epass the entire room. ¡°It usually feels a bit¡­ I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s rare, anyway.¡± ¡°But you do date a lot,¡± she hedges. ¡°I have in the past,¡± I admit. ¡°Less and less, now. Some, like my date to the Reporters¡¯ Ball, aren¡¯t really dates. We¡¯ve been friends for a few years and meet now and then.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 45 Audrey¡¯s lips quirk, like she¡¯s heard the subtext. That I haven¡¯t had rtionships as much as friends with benefits for years. There¡¯s a question in her eyes, but none emerges. I take another sip of wine and wait. But there¡¯s only silence. ¡°You can ask it,¡± I say. ¡°It feels presumptuous,¡± she says. ¡°Asking where you and I fall on the spectrum. I mean, we work together. Or not really together, together, but¡­ you know.¡± I bite my lip to keep from smiling. ¡°I know.¡± ¡°We went out on a datest weekend. We text all the time. We can¡¯t tell anyone about us, of course, and yet here we are. In your apartment.¡± Ignoring the half-eaten food on the tes in front of us, I reach out to tip her head back. ¡°I¡¯m not looking for another friends with benefit situation,¡± I say. ¡°Although I would call us friends.¡± ¡°And hopefully there will be benefits?¡± ¡°There have been plenty already. I would have burned the steak if you didn¡¯t intervene.¡± She gives a breathless chuckle. ¡°You make it very hard to keep my guard up.¡± ¡°Do you need it up?¡± I ask. Her eyes are bottomless on mine, like two pools of water where I can¡¯t see the bottom. I think I might die if I can¡¯t have her in my arms soon. Audrey shakes her head. ¡°Maybe. But even if I did, it¡¯se down.¡± It should scare me, perhaps. The honest confession. And the feelings inside of me do. It¡¯s been a long, long time since I felt out of control. Since words failed me and I couldn¡¯t justugh something off. But her confession makes something inside me ache. ¡°Christ, I want you,¡± I murmur. Sheughs, two spots of color appearing on her cheeks. ¡°Already told you. Guard is down.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯ll stopplimenting you,¡± I warn. We clear the table and I watch her move through my space, the tight curve of her shirt around her chest, her body¡¯s sinuous movements. The temperature rises inside by degrees. Audrey notices. She puts her te in the sink and turns slowly, catching me. ¡°Well,¡± she says. I swallow. ¡°What do you want to do now?¡± She smooths a hand over her skirt, curving down her hip. ¡°Um, your TV looks gigantic. We could watch a movie?¡± ¡°Yes. Sure.¡± When I sit down on the couch, she takes a seat a solid few feet away from me. Tension is strong in the air and it¡¯s strung me tight. But I fight to keep my voice casual. ¡°I have all the streaming services. Choose whatever.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s almost harder when there are so many choices.¡± ¡°Then I¡¯ll give you none. Put on diator .¡± It works-Audrey smiles. ¡°That was fast. Also, it¡¯s too gory for a date. What about¡­ this one?¡± She uses the remote to hover over a romanticedy. I vaguely remember seeing it on a flight, years ago. ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll mostly be watching you.¡± Sheughs and hits y. ¡°Honest to a fault.¡± ¡°Sometimes, at least.¡± Audrey grabs a pillow and tries to getfortable. Slides a leg up underneath herself on the couch, curling up, eyes on the opening credits. ¡°How did you get a TV so big?¡± she asks. ¡°It arrived in a box.¡± She snorts. ¡°Do they even make TVs this big?¡± I rub a hand over my neck. Truthfully, it¡¯s a bit toorge. Ostentatious. ¡°It was a gift.¡± ¡°From an engineer who made it themselves?¡± ¡°An investor, actually. After we made a deal. He also owns a Korean electronics firm.¡± Audrey looks over at me. Her lips look soft, and warm, and too far away. ¡°So it¡¯s a bribe.¡± ¡°Consider it more of a gift-in-the-hope-of-future-good-rtions.¡± ¡°Which is the definition of a bribe,¡± she says.Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Can¡¯t fool you, can I, reporter?¡± She scoots closer. ¡°Never.¡± ¡°Are you recording this whole conversation?¡± I reach out and drape my arm over the back of the couch. Letting my hand brush over her shoulder. ¡°Will I be exposed on the front page of the Globe ?¡± ¡°Watch out.¡± She leans into my arm, her voice a bit breathless. ¡°I might be wearing a wire.¡± I raise an eyebrow. ¡°That sounds like something I should investigate.¡± Her handes to rest on my chest, fingers curling around the cor of my shirt. ¡°I think you should,¡± she murmurs. I kiss her. My intention is to go lightly, to tease, but those thoughts derail when she parts her lips. Something short-circuits in my brain and I slip my tongue inside her mouth. My hands find her hips and twist her toward me. Away from the stupid TV and the joyous tones of a pop song. Audrey¡¯s hands slide into my hair again, the way they had just a few days ago, and I groan against her neck. The gentle tugging sends shivers down my body. ¡°There¡¯s something different,¡± she whispers, breathless, ¡°when we¡¯re not doing this on steel bars two stories up.¡± I grip her thighs, fitting her more snugly against me. ¡°Yes. It¡¯s even better.¡± She chuckles, but the sound dies when I find the spot beneath her ear. It had made her tremblest time. I close my lips around it and lick softly, and as if on cue, she trembles. I¡¯m rock hard, near bursting in my cks, and neither of us is undressed yet. I¡¯m such a fucking goner for her. She moans into my ear. It¡¯s a quiet, wanton sound, and my hands tighten around her thighs. ¡°Fuck,¡± I say. ¡°I can¡¯t believe the first time I heard you make that sound was on the phone.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 46 Audrey¡¯s hand grips my shoulder. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I came with you listening.¡± ¡°Best goddamn phone call of my life.¡± I slide my hand up, brushing past the soft curve of her breast. Needing to see it bared. ¡°I¡¯m looking forward to listening to it again.¡± She rests her head against my shoulder. ¡°Carter,¡± she whispers. But I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s in approval or admonition, a plea or a question. She¡¯s breathing fast, and my fingers ache to reach for the hem of her shirt. I reach for the buttons of mine instead. Audrey leans back and watches as I undo one after the other. ¡°Oh,¡± she breathes. She reaches out and runs a hand over my chest, through the faint hair there. Down to my stomach, and the muscles tighten instinctively. Pleasure so intense it¡¯s almost pain makes my cock twitch. Her hand is so close. ¡°You work out,¡± she says. It¡¯s thest thing I expected her to say, and I look down to see her fingers trace the outline of my abs. ¡°Yeah.¡± Her hands move, and it¡¯s divine, feeling their warmth over my skin. She tugs at my shirt and I shrug out of the sleeves, tossing it away. Her eyes are wide and a bit zed and I cup her face, making her look at me. ¡°You¡¯re so beautiful,¡± I say. ¡°We could do anything, or nothing at all, and I¡¯d be happy with tonight.¡± Her lips curve into a smile. ¡°You¡¯re good.¡± ¡°Just being honest.¡± But she surprises me, then. Leaning back on the couch and reaching for the hem of her shirt, she drags it up and off. Her skin is so pale it¡¯s almost luminescent in the light. The curve of her waist begs for my hands. She¡¯s wearing acy bra, and Christ, her tits are the perfect size. A pulse of desire sweeps through my body so strong it makes me lightheaded. Audrey shakes her hair out and gives me a smile. I¡¯m on her the next second, and sheughs, falling onto the couch beneath me. I kiss her forever. Time stops, and the movie fades into nothingness in the background. The scent of her skin is warm woman and faint perfume and something else, something all her, and I drown in it. I tease the cups of her bra down, revealing sliver after sliver of soft skin. Her nipples are rosy and taut, and for a second I can¡¯t breathe. She¡¯s too beautiful. I close my lips around a pink peak and she sighs in soft contentment. I¡¯m in heaven. And God, I hope I never have to leave. I remove her bra entirely and dedicate myself to worship. Her hair tickles my forehead, and her hands move through mine, clutching me close. Then she does something that short-circuits my brain. Again. She shifts her hips and opens her thighs to cradle me. And now the only thing between us, between me being inside of her, is a fewyers of fabric. My cock is so hard it¡¯s begging to be released from my tight zipper, though that¡¯s not the only kind of release I need. I rest my head against her stomach and breathe deeply. But Audrey isn¡¯t hampered by raging erections, not even mine, and lifts her hips up. Like she¡¯s egging me on. My fingers dig into her skirt. It¡¯s tight, and it¡¯s in the way, and I meet her eyes. They¡¯re dark blue on mine. I tug it down to reveal light purple,ce-edged panties with a tiny bow at the front. Fucking hell. She¡¯s trying to kill me before we¡¯ve even started. She reaches down and puts her hand on my shoulder. ¡°Carter,¡± she says, and there¡¯s a thread of uncertainty through her voice. I force my heart to still. ¡°I have an idea,¡± she says. His tawny eyes are deeply golden, his hair falling over his forehead from where I¡¯ve run my hands through it. Half lying above me, he seems enormous. All wide shoulders and muscled torso. ¡°Yes,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Anything.¡± My sudden nerve in asking falls t. It¡¯s a crazy suggestion. Only, something in me is frightened of going first. Of having it be all about me, of taking off my panties, of lying here naked when he¡¯s not. ¡°Audrey?¡± he prompts. He so rarely says my name, and there¡¯s soft seriousness in the tone. It reminds me that it¡¯s him, the same man who¡¯d made it a sport to make meugh, who texted me about how he drank his coffee, who¡¯d picked me up from my dentist¡¯s appointment. I push myself into sitting. He follows suit, not trying to hide the erection that¡¯s clear through his pants. ¡°I want to see what you did when we spoke on the phone.¡± Carter¡¯s mouth falls open. Then he grins, and it¡¯s filled with so much heat that it sends an aching pang through my stomach. ¡°Not what I expected you to say.¡± ¡°Only if you want to, of course.¡± ¡°If I want to?¡± He palms himself through his pants. ¡°Yes. I do.¡± I reach for the belt buckle and he lets me, strong hands resting beside mine on hisp. I undo the button of his pants and slide the zipper down. There¡¯s something reassuring about focusing on him and the inescapable evidence of his arousal. Carter tugs his pants down and pulls himself out. He¡¯s long and hard and thick and dear God I can¡¯t look away. Especially not when his hand closes around the shaft and starts to stroke in slow movements. I¡¯m mesmerized. ¡°This is what I was doing,¡± he says. ¡°When we spoke on the phone.¡± His voice is hoarse, head leaning back against the couch. His eyes move across my corbones, my face, my bare breasts. Down to my panties. ¡°Imagining you just like this. How beautiful you¡¯d look beneath your clothes.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve thought about that?¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°About thirty seconds after we met.¡± ¡°No. In the bar?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he says hotly. My words form and die on my tongue, over and over again, and I can¡¯t look away from his hand gripping himself. The long fingers wrapped around rock-hard flesh. ¡°Well,¡± I finally murmur. ¡°I¡¯d better not disappoint.¡± Carter¡¯s hand strokeszily. ¡°That would be impossible.¡± But the real impossibility is for me to remain a spectator. I reach out, and his own hand falls to the side, letting me take over. His skin is hot against my hand and moves like silk over the hardness. I echo his previous movements, stroking slowly from base to tip.Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. A Ticking Time Boss 47 Carter rests his head against the couch and swallows thickly. The muscles of his throat work with the movement. ¡°Christ,¡± he mutters. ¡°You feel good,¡± I say. ¡°Oh yes, I do,¡± he says with a sh of his grin. It disappears when I trail my fingers around the sensitive head. A groan escapes him.Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. I don¡¯t know how long I touch him. Teasing, exploring, getting to know the man who is sofortable sitting naked on his couch and letting me do what I want. It¡¯s tantalizing. He looks big, and thick, and I ache inside with the knowledge that I¡¯ll soon feel every inch. ¡°Spitfire,¡± he finally says, voice hoarse. ¡°As much as I¡¯m enjoying this, I wasn¡¯t the only one touching myself during our phone call.¡± I meet his eyes, heavy-lidded and heated, and thest shred of my inhibition slips away. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I say. I give his erection ast, lingering stroke before I reach for my underwear. It¡¯s now or never. I lift my hips and slide them down. Carter doesn¡¯t seem to be breathing. Arge handes to rest on my knee, and I let him spread my legs. One hooks over his, my bare foot resting against his knee. ¡°I was lying like this,¡± I whisper. ¡°But under the covers.¡± ¡°How modest.¡± His warm hand rests on my inner thigh, his voice hoarse. ¡°But what were you doing?¡± I touch myself tentatively. Fingers moving in a familiar pattern. I¡¯m already wet, and it¡¯s embarrassing, but then I hear the soft murmurs in my ear. ¡°Fucking hell, do you know how hot you are? Doing this?¡± His left arm curves around my waist, tugging me firmly against his body. Long fingers brush over my nipple. ¡°Do you usually tease yourself for a long time or make yourselfe fast and hard?¡± ¡°It depends,¡± I whisper. ¡°If I¡¯m in a rush, or if I¡¯m¡­ very turned on.¡± He bends over my shoulder to see what I¡¯m doing and strands of his hair tickle my bare skin. His hardness is a heavy, warm weight against my leg. ¡°Look at that,¡± he mutters, watching my fingers circle. ¡°That¡¯s it.¡± I lean my head against him and focus on the feelings. On the pleasure radiating from my own touch and from the erotic pinch of his fingers on my nipple. I¡¯m breathing hard, but I¡¯m keeping it together. Until he kisses my neck. I moan and a full-body shiver rushes over me. I have to pause my fingers or risk falling over the edge too soon. Carter¡¯srge hand slides up my inner thigh until his fingers brush my own. Asking to take over, just like I¡¯d done with him. I let him. Oh, it¡¯s so different when it¡¯s not your own hand, and by God, had I forgotten that? It¡¯s been too long, far too long, and I can¡¯t wait- He slides a finger inside. We¡¯re both breathing hard, and when he adds his thumb, circling, I surrender entirely. Close my eyes and focus on breathing. ¡°You¡¯re not watching the movie,¡± he murmurs against my cheek. ¡°Pay attention.¡± I turn my face toward his. ¡°Asshole,¡± I say. Heughs darkly and presses a kiss to my lips. With his fingers moving, pressed against him, it doesn¡¯t take long until my pleasure turns into a coil ready to spring. ¡°Carter,¡± I breathe. ¡°I can¡¯t-I¡¯m not-¡± ¡°Let me hear it,¡± he says. ¡°Let me feel it.¡± Pleasure rushes through my body and makes my back arch. My legs close on instinct, his hand trapped between them, still moving. Drawing out thest of my orgasm. I feel weak when I finally copse back against him. My thighs are weak, and I¡¯m sensitive, which he seems to know, because his hand just gently cups me. ¡°Fuck, you¡¯re sexy,¡± he says in my ear. ¡°Watching youe nearly made me explode.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t believe that just happened.¡± He kisses my neck again. ¡°I can. You felt so good around my finger. Clenching, and unclenching, like you were squeezing my cock.¡± ¡°Oh God.¡± ¡°Too much?¡± His hands move reverently over my body. ¡°I¡¯ve wanted you for weeks. When we¡¯ve argued, when we¡¯ve joked. I thought of this. The phone sex the other night nearly drove me mad.¡± I twist in his arms and reach for his neck, kissing him. My enthusiasm seems to take him by surprise, but he reciprocates, hands bracing my waist. ¡°To bed,¡± I tell him. ¡°Now.¡± In one swift movement he stands with me still in his arms. He walks and I kiss his neck and shoulders. It¡¯s a great division ofbor. Carterys me down on the bed and stretches out above me. He¡¯s breathing hard, an arm on either side of my head, and the color of his eyes looks near-ck in the dark room. ¡°Can I fuck you?¡± I¡¯m nodding, my hands finding the silky strands of his hair again. He¡¯s a heavy weight between my thighs. ¡°Yes, yes, God yes.¡± He reaches down, stops, and curses. ¡°Condom,¡± he says and reaches for the bedside table. I close my eyes and breathe in and out, arousal like adrenaline through my veins. Carter rolls it on, still kneeling between my legs. No fumbling and no hesitation. We both watch as he grips himself and pushes inside, inch by inch. I gasp when he¡¯s halfway in. There¡¯s a faint burning right at the entrance. He¡¯s thicker than I¡¯m used to. His handes to rest on my hip. ¡°Rx, Audrey,¡± he murmurs. ¡°You okay?¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°Yes. Keep going.¡± Carter eases inside with his hand still on my hip. His hoarse voice showers me with murmuredpliments, words of encouragement, the sexiest kind of dirty talk. ¡°You feel so good, that¡¯s it¡­ Jesus fuck, Audrey, you¡¯re sweet. So beautiful too, the way you¡¯re spread around me¡­¡± My body amodates, and then he¡¯s fully in, a weight in my stomach. It¡¯s deep and it feels earth-shattering, earth-changing, and I¡¯d forgotten how intimate this is. ¡°Holy shit,¡± he mutters. I lock my legs around him. Forcing him even closer, until his chest hair tickles my nipples and his mouth brushes across mine. ¡°Told you it had been a while,¡± I say. He seems at a loss for words, and when he starts to move, the low groans in my ear sound like music. Just like they had on the other end of the phone. I run my hands over his back, fingers tracing smooth skin and rippling muscles. His hips roll into me in a steady motion, deep and slow, and my entire body besnguid with it. Carter bends to his elbows, mouth at my ear. He¡¯s covering mepletely and I never want him to stop doing it. ¡°Stay the night,¡± he murmurs. A Ticking Time Boss 48 ¡°As if I¡¯d leave after this.¡± He chuckles. The sound stops abruptly as I flex my muscles around him, experimenting. ¡°I¡¯m trying to perform here,¡± he tells me. ¡°Note before I¡¯ve hardly begun.¡± I run my hand down to his hip, fingers curving over his strong muscles. They flex with each thrust. ¡°I thought I was staying the night?¡± He makes a low groan and speeds up. There¡¯s no more talking after that, only our bodies moving, and I¡¯m so attuned to his pleasure and the rapid beating of his heart that I¡¯m right there with him when he falters. His body bes taut, a bow strung tight, and I lock my arms and legs around him. After a few deep breaths, he rises on to his arms as if to move away. I pull him down again. He chuckles weakly. ¡°That¡¯s the way it is, huh?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I close my eyes against his shoulder. He¡¯s warm, and big, and the weight isfortable. ¡°You know, I¡¯ve been reading about those weighted nkets people use to sleep better? I think I understand the hype now.¡± Carter breaks my hold and lifts himself up, golden eyes meeting mine. He grins. ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯re thinking about right now?¡± ¡°The thought just hit me.¡± He kisses me for a long while, and when he leaves, I don¡¯t stop him. He walks into the ensuite with the condom and I turn over on my side, watching him. ¡°Your mind is a mysterious thing,¡± he says. ¡°That¡¯s why you like me, isn¡¯t it? Because I¡¯m mysterious.¡± ¡°Tall, dark and handsome,¡± he says with a wink and settles back on the bed. ¡°Come here and let me weigh you down a bit more.¡± My first thought when I wake up is that I¡¯ve overslept. I¡¯mte for work, and I¡¯m going to have to run for the subway. The second is a prayer that Jonah isn¡¯t hogging the shower. But then I register the softness of the sheets, and my sprawl on a much-too-big bed. The room I¡¯m in is beautiful and only faintly familiar. Dark gray colors with arge wooden dresser in a corner. An art piece hangs above it that vaguely resembles steel bars. I¡¯m in Carter¡¯s bedroom.Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. He¡¯s not in bed, either, but the sheets smell like him. I pull them up to my nose and take a deep breath. Linen, soap, and cologne. Beneath the fluffy downforter, I wiggle my toes. We¡¯ve slept together. Twice, too. And it had been some of the best sex of my life. I smile beneath theforter, feeling giddy and shy and well-rested. I hear a sound from the ensuite. A tap turns on, and then off. The door opens and Carteres into view. He¡¯s running a towel over his hair. He¡¯s only in a pair of cks, his wide chest and abs on fully disy. He looks even better in daylight. He catches me watching him. ¡°You¡¯re awake?¡± I nod. ¡°Slept well?¡± I nod again. ¡°Lost your voice there too, kid?¡± I pull down theforter and shake my head. ¡°No. Just overwhelmed.¡± ¡°Overwhelmed,¡± he says with a smile. ¡°By my handsomeness?¡± That makes me chuckle. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Well, when you feel like you¡¯vee to your senses, I¡¯ll be in the kitchen with breakfast.¡± His smile turns crooked and he nods to the bathroom. ¡°There are fresh towels in there. Help yourself to anything you find.¡± After my shower, I steal one of his shirts. My clothes are in his living room and while I don¡¯t think he¡¯d mind, I¡¯m not about to parade through his apartment stark naked. Carter is sitting at the kitchen table. He¡¯s reading the newspaper, spread out in front of him, arge hand gripping either side. His hair is half-dried and his eyes focused on the article in front of him. My heart squeezes painfully at the sight. Mine, I think. He lowers the paper. A slow smile spreads across his face when he sees what I¡¯m wearing. ¡°You said I could help myself to anything,¡± I say. ¡°So I did¡­ I approve wholeheartedly.¡± I catch sight of the spread on the kitchen table. Croissants, fresh orange juice, a fruit tter, fried eggs, bagels. Something that looks like¡­ an a?ai bowl? ¡°What¡¯s all this?¡± ¡°Breakfast,¡± he says. ¡°You didn¡¯t¡­ did you make this?¡± He chuckles. ¡°What, you doubt my skills? After the gourmet meal I served you yesterday?¡± I sit down on the chair opposite him. ¡°I doubt.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right to. This is from a brunch ce down on Seventh Avenue. I ordered in.¡± ¡°It looks delicious.¡± He folds the newspaper into a neat square and sets it down. He has two of them, I see now. The Globe and its sister publication in DC. ¡°Dig in,¡± he says and reaches for his cup of coffee. I pour myself a ss of orange juice and pull my knees up beneath me. Rest my head in my hand and just look at him. An odd shyness creeps over me. Seeing each other like this, the day after, feels intimate in a different way thanst night had. I watch him, the casual T-shirt, the strong arms. He¡¯s cutting a bagel in two and it¡¯s so ordinary, yet so extraordinary, that Iugh. Carter looks up. ¡°What?¡± he says, but he¡¯s smiling too. ¡°I can¡¯t believe we had sexst night.¡± ¡°As in, I¡¯d never do it again?¡± he asks, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Or as in-¡° A Ticking Time Boss 49 ¡°You know exactly the kind of way I mean it in.¡± He chuckles. ¡°Yes. I do. I¡¯m pleased with it.¡± ¡°You look it, too,¡± I say. ¡°Says the woman wearing my shirt and a newly-fucked smile.¡± Iugh, covering my face with the wide sleeve. ¡°Guilty.¡± ¡°Come on. Eat. There¡¯s good stuff here.¡± ¡°Did you buy the entire menu?¡± ¡°Pretty much,¡± he says. ¡°Oh, and there¡¯s ketchup in the fridge if you need sauce.¡± Iugh and grab one of the grapes from the fruit te, tossing it at him. He deflects with a butter knife and shakes his head. ¡°An animal,¡± he says. ¡°The younger generations are so uncivilized.¡± ¡°I¡¯m still only six years younger than you, kiddo.¡± He nods sadly. ¡°And boy does it show.¡±Content from N?velDr(a)ma.Org. I roll my eyes and dig into my food. Happiness is bubbly inside my chest. I¡¯ve be a bottle of champagne. ¡°But you are getting older soon. I did some research on you, after the interview for thepany newsletter. Isn¡¯t your birthday next week?¡± ¡°You,¡± he says, ¡°have too good of a memory.¡± ¡°So it¡¯s true?¡± ¡°What are the big birthday ns? Private ne for your hedge fund friends? Hookers and cocaine? Strippers?¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Good morning, Miss Stereotype.¡± That makes meugh. ¡°Sorry.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be working, mostly. Might have dinner with my mother in the evening.¡± He pauses, like he¡¯s considering something. His voice is measured when he speaks again. ¡°Actually, I¡¯m having some friends over this weekend. There won¡¯t be any hookers or cocaine, I¡¯m afraid, but you¡¯re wee toe if you¡¯d like.¡± My butter knife pauses over the bagel. ¡°To meet your friends?¡± His smile turns crooked. ¡°If you want to, yes.¡± I nod slowly. ¡°I do. Actually, it would be¡­ I don¡¯t know. But I would, yeah. Except I¡¯m going back to Alrich this weekend.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± he says. ¡°No worries.¡± ¡°It¡¯s for my dad¡¯s retirement party. It was booked a long time ago. But I can-¡± ¡°Absolutely not,¡± Carter says. ¡°You¡¯re going.¡± ¡°But I¡¯ll miss the strippers emerging from cakes.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll pop one in the fridge for you.¡± I pretend to wipe sweat from my forehead. ¡°Whew.¡± He snorts and reaches across the table for a croissant, like he hasn¡¯t just asked me to meet his friends. Maybe it¡¯s a huge party and I¡¯d barely get two seconds alone with him¡­ but it means a lot, regardless. I wish I wasn¡¯t double-booked. ¡°We¡¯ll celebrate before,¡± I say. ¡°On the day.¡± He smiles. ¡°We don¡¯t have to do anything special.¡± ¡°Of course we do. I¡¯ll think of something,¡± I say brightly. ¡°What do you usually do on Sundays?¡± ¡°Catch up on work,¡± he says. ¡°It¡¯s a good day to clear the decks before the week.¡± I shake my head at him. ¡°That¡¯s a terrible view of the best day of the week.¡± ¡°Using it productively?¡± ¡°Yes. You should lounge on the couch or go to a museum. Eat a breakfast like this for a few hours.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what you usually do?¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯ve seen my kitchen. I rarely have this kind of spread.¡± ¡°Kitchen,¡± he says with a snort. ¡°Hey,¡± I warn him. ¡°Be kind.¡± Carter rolls his eyes, but he¡¯s amused. ¡°Fine, fine. Your apartment is a pce.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± I wrap my arms around my raised knee, watching him. My hair is wet down my back and I can feel it leaving damp circles on his fine shirt. ¡°What are we going to do at work?¡± His lips twist into a half-smile. ¡°Work, I imagine.¡± ¡°It¡¯ll be weird to see you,¡± I say, ¡°walking down a corridor with Wesley and your other retainers, and not be able to say hi. To know you¡¯re just a few floors above me.¡± ¡°My retainers? I¡¯m not a king.¡± ¡°You wield about as much power at the Globe , you know. You can make oceans rise and fall with your buyouts,yoffs and re-organizations.¡± Carter meets my gaze, and he doesn¡¯t look troubled by my words. But faint color rises on his cheeks. ¡°I suppose, yeah.¡± ¡°Does it bother you? Having to make decisions that affect so many people?¡± I¡¯m genuinely curious about this one. I sometimes spend thirty minutes agonizing over the opening sentence of an article I¡¯m writing. I can¡¯t imagine having to consider firing someone. He takes a moment to answer. ¡°Yes,¡± he says finally. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t, perhaps. I know it doesn¡¯t bother my business partners. Two of them, anyway. But it¡¯s still an awful day when you have to look someone in the eye and tell them they¡¯re out of a job.¡± I dig my nails into my palm, thinking of the line of people who had been let go during the first few weeks. I¡¯d been so angry, then. Everyone had been angry. A Ticking Time Boss 50 ¡°People understand, of course,¡± he says. ¡°That you have to cut costs. Sacrifice a limb to save the body. But that doesn¡¯t mean people enjoy being the limb in question.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Not to mention there are plenty of hedge funds who don¡¯t have the same ambitions you do.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°That I do?¡± ¡°Yes. To save the paper, I mean. You genuinely believe in the importance of newspapers, of local reporting. But there are others-you¡¯ve heard of them, haven¡¯t you? They buy newspapers and bleed them dry, emptying the newsroom journalist by journalist, and rack up prices for subscribers.¡± ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± Carter says. ¡°I¡¯ve met some of them.¡± My fork drops. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°They never grant interviews.¡± ¡°Not surprising,¡± he scoffs. ¡°They don¡¯t want to be pushed on what they¡¯re doing. As far as business models go, theirs is profitable. They live off the goodwill the newspaper has garnered over the years, until dwindling subscriber numbers force it into bankruptcy.¡± ¡°Vulture funds,¡± I say. ¡°Everyone feared the worst when yourpany took over, you know. That the Globe would go down the same route.¡± Carter¡¯s eyes meet mine. ¡°I figured. It looked simr in the beginning.¡± ¡°I was so angry at you,¡± I say, looking down at my bagel. ¡°When I went up to interview you for the newsletter. To tell you the truth, I¡¯d even prepared a bunch of questions to press you on the issue. I knew I¡¯d be fired, but¡­ I figured you¡¯d probably gut the newsroom anyway.¡± He grins. ¡°You were going to grill me?¡± ¡°Yes. But then I opened the door and you were, well, you. Peanut guy.¡± ¡°That fucking name,¡± he groans. It makes me smile. ¡°Yeah. Threw me off my game.¡± ¡°Even thrown, you were a formidable opponent,¡± he says. ¡°I had to hold my own during our lunch.¡± I shake my head. ¡°I wanted to believe you, even then. Have since the first time we met.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± Carter grins, all charm and confidence. ¡°You wanted me from the first time you saw me. Admit it.¡± Iugh and take a bite of my bagel to keep from answering. His smile deepens, eyes dancing on mine. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s what I thought.¡± ¡°I plead the fifth,¡± I say. There¡¯s no reason to admit that I¡¯d thought he was so wildly out of my league that I¡¯d never entertained the thought. Carter sorts through the newspapers and hands me one. The paper crinkles in my hands as I unfold it, watching over the edge as he returns to his article. Sunday morning, in a beautiful New York apartment, eating brunch over the newspaper. My chest feels tight with a sudden burst of joy. ¡°So we¡¯ll see each other outside of work,¡± I say. ¡°Weekends¡­ evenings?¡± He flips a page and looks across the table at me. There¡¯s a promise in his eyes. ¡°As many as you can spare, kid,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯re not getting rid of me.¡± The day started good. Great, even. Audrey had texted me a minute past midnight with Happy Birthday, and the gesture-I know she likes to go to bed early-had made me smile. It¡¯s been ages since someone did that. My mother calls at breakfast and sings. She¡¯s done it every birthday morning for as long as I can remember, even during the college years when I asked her not to. I put her on speaker in the car to work and catch Tom¡¯s smile from the front seat. So it¡¯s a great day, all in all. Even better is the prospect of Audrey spending the night at mine tonight. She¡¯s going for drinks with her colleagues first, and I¡¯m having dinner with Mom. Couldn¡¯t ask for a better Wednesday, not to mention birthday. But then I see the text on my phone. It was from an unknown number. Just a few innocent lines that fall like a cannonball through my day. Happy birthday, son. Hard to believe it¡¯s already been thirty-three years since you blessed your mother and me by arriving. If you ever want to talk, on the phone or in person, I¡¯m here. Would love the chance to catch up. Dad. The main question I have is how he found my number. Not what he wants, no, because I¡¯m not a fool. He wants money. He wants to hustle me like he has so many other people, to nestle himself into my life. And he¡¯ll say whatever he has to to get there. My mood is suddenly ck. Pitch-dark, a night without sun. And I hate that too. That he still has the ability to anger me after all these years. I¡¯d pushed him to the very bottom of my mind for a reason, because I fucking hate feeling like this. I hate feeling anything at all where he¡¯s concerned. There¡¯s a timid knock on my door. ¡°What?¡± I bark. If it¡¯s Wesley again, with an obsequious smile, I swear to God I¡¯ll- ¡°It¡¯s Tim,¡± my assistant says. ¡°There¡¯s a journalist here from Investigative for a meeting. She says it¡¯s been scheduled?¡± It has to be Audrey. I run a hand through my hair, forcing my voice to rx. Battle it back into the charming, smooth mannerisms I¡¯ve perfected over the years. Even that¡¯s a remnant of my father. ¡°Send her in!¡± The door opens and there she is, stepping in with a giant box in her hands. ¡°The files you asked for,¡± she says. Her eyes widen with meaning. Urging me to y along. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± I tell Tim. ¡°Thank you. Push my meeting after this by ten.¡± ¡°Yes, of course,¡± he says, shutting the door behind us. I stand. ¡°Kid?¡± ¡°Happy Birthday.¡± She¡¯s grinning as she crosses the space to me. ¡°I brought you something.¡± ¡°I can see that. Files, apparently.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. She chuckles and puts the box down on my desk. Right on top of the documents I¡¯d been reviewing. ¡°It took me a lot of sneakiness to get this up to you. Even now, I¡¯m sure someone¡¯s going to bust me for it. Ask why I¡¯m on the executive floor.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll cover for you,¡± I say. It will be easy to add this to my calendar retroactively. Her smile shes again. ¡°I hoped you would. Look¡­ ta-da!¡± She pulls off the top piece of cardboard to reveal a tiny pastry box. Inside is a single cupcake with a candle. ¡°It¡¯s not lit. I was nning to, but setting off the fire rm would not be particrly sneaky.¡± ¡°Good call.¡± I look at the cupcake, and her wide, expectant smile, and reach for her. She fits into my arms like she belongs there. Because she does. I kiss her thoroughly, as if I can forget the text on my phone and the feelings whirling inside of me. Disappear, I tell them. Not here. She looks dazed when I lift my head. ¡°Well,¡± she whispers. ¡°Happy birthday indeed.¡± I chuckle and reach for the cupcake. ¡°You really brought this to work today for me?¡± ¡°I snuck out during my lunch break. Had to bring an extrarge bag to bring it back in without Den noticing.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 51 ¡°Den?¡± ¡°My deskmate,¡± she says. ¡°You spoke to him, remember? He notices everything.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I vaguely recall anky man in sses. There had been a lot of names that day. ¡°It¡¯s a carrot cake muffin,¡± she says, and she looks so proud of herself that I kiss her again. ¡°I did. It¡¯s your favorite type.¡± She looks over her shoulder at the closed office door, her cheeks rosy with excitement. ¡°Gosh, I feel like I¡¯m doing something I shouldn¡¯t.¡± I lean against my desk. She fits in between my legs, her hands resting on my chest. ¡°A crime against humanity,¡± I say. ¡°Visiting the man you¡¯re dating.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s also my boss,¡± she reminds me, smiling. Second by second with her in my arms, tension leaks out of me. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wee. Just sending a text wasn¡¯t enough.¡± She rises up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine in a quick kiss. ¡°Can I ask about your bad mood, too, or will that set it off?¡± I rest my head atop hers. ¡°You noticed?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she says, ¡°but you made a valiant effort to hide it.¡± ¡°You just helped a lot.¡± ¡°Mhm. I¡¯m d.¡± But Audrey doesn¡¯t leave it at that. She leans back, her hair lightly tousled from my touch, and meets my gaze. There¡¯s kind curiosity there. ¡°Did Wesley upset you?¡± I snort. ¡°No. He¡¯s as meek as amb.¡± She frowns. ¡°He is?¡± ¡°Yes. No, it¡¯s not him. Or the Globe at all.¡±Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Then what? Do you not-so-secretly hate your birthday?¡± ¡°No.¡± I run a finger over her jaw and find the edge of her bottom lip. She¡¯s soft, but deceptively so. There¡¯s strength beneath it. ¡°My dad sent me a text.¡± ¡°It¡¯s the first time we¡¯ve had contact in years.¡± Her mouth parts beneath my finger. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Carter.¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± I repeat. Perhaps that is something to be sorry about, but I can¡¯t find the emotion. ¡°There¡¯s a good reason we haven¡¯t spoken.¡± Audrey¡¯s hands find the cor of my shirt, fingers curving around the fabric to rest against my skin. ¡°Want to tell me about it?¡± The smart answer is no. Especially not here, in my office, and not when I¡¯ve barely leashed the irritation ring up inside me. But apparently I¡¯m not smart today. ¡°He recently got out of prison.¡± Audrey¡¯s eyes widen, and there¡¯s such shock on her beautiful face that I gently pull her hands away from my shirt. Grip the edge of my desk instead and put some distance between us. ¡°In prison?¡± she says. ¡°You¡¯ve never mentioned him before. Is that why?¡± I think of her descriptions of her family. Of dentists and chiropractors and a brother she worries about. Retirement parties and vani ice cream. How different my story must seem to her. ¡°It¡¯s one of the reasons, yes. He¡¯s not a good man,¡± I say. Audrey says nothing, just looks at me with those big eyes of hers. My teeth grind together. ¡°He travelled a lot for business when I was a kid. Onlyter did we realize, my mother and I, that he had another family. And that most of his business dealings were illegal.¡± ¡°Oh my God,¡± Audrey says quietly. I run a hand through my hair. Of all the things I thought I¡¯d be doing today, exining my father¡¯s sordid past was low on the list. ¡°We haven¡¯t met in almost a decade. Spoken only once, during his time in jail. And now he¡¯s out.¡± ¡°Did he wish you a happy birthday?¡± I snort. ¡°Yeah. Probably the first step in his master n of getting back in my good graces.¡± ¡°Hmm,¡± Audrey says. Her eyes are troubled, and there¡¯s more on her tongue, but we¡¯re not going into more detail here. I pull her close and kiss her instead. ¡°Thanks for the cupcake,¡± I tell her. ¡°You should head back downstairs before my next meeting.¡± Her smile widens. ¡°Right, I should. I¡¯ll have to sneak again.¡± ¡°Felt naughty, did you? Coming up to this floor.¡± ¡°Wildly so.¡± She looks over her shoulder toward the door, but it remains closed. ¡°At first I nned a different surprise.¡± ¡°Did you?¡± She nods and reaches for the neckline of her blouse, tugging it down to reveal the red,cy detailing of her bra. ¡°It¡¯s a matching set,¡± she whispers. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. ¡°Go,¡± I say. Sheughs and heads to the door. ¡°I¡¯ll see you tonight,¡± she says. ¡°And happy birthday again.¡± The door closes behind her and leaves me alone in the office, but with a gift on my desk. A cupcake. I push back my meeting another five minutes so I can eat the entire thing before they arrive, the memory of her smile and redce bra burning behind my eyes. ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°Please tell me that¡¯s a joke.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Audrey insists. Her hair is a beautiful mess around her head, her eyes glowing. ¡°I went a full ten minutes thinking he was the owner.¡± ¡°And you asked him questions like he was, too?¡± ¡°Yes! How long have you had this business, sir.¡± She groans, but she¡¯s grinning. ¡°How will this affect your family, sir?¡± Iugh and put my arm beneath my head. There¡¯s no looking away from her stretched out on my bed, naked andughing. ¡°When did you realize you were talking to the son?¡± ¡°Embarrassinglyte. He made a remark about college, and I thought that was odd, and then I saw his shoes. They were the kind of sneakers I¡¯ve seen my brother wear. By the time his actual father walked in, the man I¡¯de there to interview, I¡¯d manoeuvred my way out of the conversation.¡± ¡°Very slick,¡± I say. ¡°But how could you confuse a twenty-one-year-old with a forty-five-year-old?¡± A Ticking Time Boss 52 She raises a finger my way. ¡°Oh, you would have too, my sarcastic friend. He had a moustache and was at least your height. Plus, they had the same name!¡±Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°He didn¡¯t mention the Junior when he introduced himself, did he?¡± ¡°Nope,¡± she says. ¡°He very conveniently left it out.¡± I can imagine the young guy had seen Audreye into his shop, beautiful and incandescent with curiosity about their struggling bodega, and seized the opportunity. Couldn¡¯t me the guy, really. ¡°Did you get what you needed for the story?¡± She nods and reaches for the edge of myforter, letting the fabric run through her fingers. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m going to send it to Booker next week.¡± ¡°Nervous?¡± ¡°Terribly. It¡¯ll be my first solo piece for the Globe , one where I¡¯ve pitched the topic myself.¡± She buries her face against theforter. ¡°It¡¯s good. I know it¡¯s good. So why am I so nervous?¡± ¡°Because it matters to you. Because you¡¯re secretly hoping that Booker will read it, think you¡¯re a genius, and promote you to senior reporter instead.¡± Sheughs, the sound muffled. ¡°Yes. How do you know what I¡¯m secretly hoping for?¡± ¡°Because we all do it when we¡¯re starting out. You think I didn¡¯t hope the firstpany I worked on would join the Fortune 500 listing as a big cap?¡± ¡°Did it?¡± ¡°It did not,¡± I say with a grin. ¡°It turned a profit, but only barely, and then I sold it on. I was sweating through the whole negotiations. If the other investment firm hadn¡¯t taken it on, I had no backup n. I was several millions of dors in and had no other buyers.¡± ¡°Jesus,¡± she says. ¡°How do you handle the pressure?¡± ¡°You get used to it. I couldn¡¯t imagine interviewing strangers every day for a living.¡± ¡°Well, that part can be nerve-wracking, I admit. But it¡¯s not every day. And most people want to tell their story. All I have to do is get the ball rolling and they supply the rest.¡± She rests her head on her hand, watching me just like I¡¯m watching her. The best evenings are the ones she spends at mine. We still haven¡¯t been out much, and I know it¡¯s because she¡¯s afraid of someone from the paper seeing us. ¡°Would it be a conflict of interest if I ask you to read it?¡± ¡°Your article?¡± She nods. ¡°Yes, before I send it to Booker. I want another set of eyes on it, you know.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll read it,¡± I say. ¡°Just send it over.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± I raise an eyebrow at her. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m absolutely sure.¡± Audrey smiles and shifts closer on the bed. I can see the soft curve of her breasts, her cleavage made deeper by the angle. The stunning view is made even better by her free hand moving over my chest. She traces patterns across the skin. ¡°Thank you,¡± she says. ¡°Wait to thank me until after you¡¯ve seen my notes.¡± ¡°Think you¡¯ll have many?¡± I pretend to consider that. ¡°Probably none, but I can¡¯t let you think I¡¯d go easy on you, so I¡¯ll have to manufacture some. Tell you off for not using an Oxfordma or rmend a stronger synonym.¡± Her fingers y with my chest hair. ¡°You always have notes,¡± she says. ¡°Especially about my ce.¡± ¡°They¡¯re entirely justified when ites to your living situation.¡± ¡°So bringing a new lock to my ce wasn¡¯t heavy-handed?¡± ¡°It was,¡± I say, entirely without remorse. ¡°But it¡¯s to stop heavy-handed people from getting in, you know. Including me. Did you talk to yourndlord about installing it on your door?¡± ¡°I mentioned it, yeah. I think he pretended not to hear me.¡± ¡°Tell him we¡¯ll handle the instation. I can have a guy there within the hour to put it up on your door.¡± ¡°You worry too much,¡± she says. ¡°You worry too little,¡± I say. She smiles and looks down at my chest. Traces her name on my skin. ¡°Something did happen just yesterday, actually.¡± ¡°Tell me about it.¡± ¡°I know what you¡¯ll say.¡± ¡°I promise I¡¯ll say something entirely different. I¡¯ll surprise you, kid.¡± She sighs. ¡°I saw a rat in my kitchen.¡± ¡°In your kitchen,¡± I repeat quietly. ¡°So¡­ by your microwave in the corner.¡± Her nails dig into my skin. ¡°Be nice. We can¡¯t all be multi-millionaires.¡± ¡°But a rat . Did you tell Pierce?¡± ¡°He¡¯s not going to do anything about it. But I¡¯ve bought poison.¡± I close my eyes. The idea of her in a ce like that bothers me more than I¡¯d imagined. It¡¯s like needles beneath my skin, knowing that when I say goodbye to her she¡¯s going back there. Living in a house with two people who are practically strangers, and she can¡¯t even lock her door. ¡°You¡¯re not saying anything,¡± she says. ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± ¡°I¡¯m trying very hard to respect your independence and not sound like a multi-millionaire,¡± I say, eyes still closed. ¡°Excellent!¡± ¡°And I¡¯m also considering how it would look if I singled you out in the newsroom for a massive raise.¡± Her hand ps at my chest. ¡°Absolutely not.¡± ¡°I know. It would be impossible. Think of the HR nightmare.¡± I shake my head sadly and capture her hand. ¡°I¡¯ll have to give them all raises.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 53 ¡°If you had the budget allowances for that, you wouldn¡¯t have made all those buyouts andyoffs.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°No, you¡¯ll just have to endure me living in a ce fit for my budget.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll give me an ulcer.¡± ¡°And you¡¯re exaggerating.¡± She rests her head on my chest, her cheek warm. I reach down and pull her more squarely along my own body, skin against skin, her leg between mine. ¡°Cold?¡± I ask. She shakes her head. ¡°You grew up in Queens. Surely you didn¡¯t have a perfectly maintained loft apartment then.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, smoothing my hand down her back. Her skin is like velvet. ¡°But we didn¡¯t have rats and there was most certainly a lock on our door. It¡¯s a good neighborhood. You just happened to find the worst room.¡± ¡°Such bragging,¡± she says. ¡°Did your dad live with you then?¡± My hand falters on her back, stutters, before I resume the slow, rhythmic sweeps. ¡°Are you treating me like one of your interview subjects? Getting the ball rolling and all that?¡± She smiles against my skin. ¡°Is it working?¡± It¡¯s been a week since my birthday, since the text I didn¡¯t answer. He hasn¡¯t tried contacting me again. ¡°Maybe,¡± I admit. ¡°I haven¡¯t spoken about that part of my life in a very long time.¡± ¡°You and your mom don¡¯t talk about it?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°We both tried to forget he existed, honestly. After we learned about all the lies.¡± ¡°With his other family?¡± ¡°And his profession ,¡± I say, the word sarcastic. ¡°He had been embezzling, evading taxes, funneling money offshore. There was no one he wouldn¡¯t manipte to get what he wanted. Of course, when I was a kid, I thought he was the coolest. Travelling for work two or three weeks out of the month, with his briefcase.¡± Audrey makes a soft, humming sound. ¡°Was he a good dad?¡± ¡°When he was home, yeah,¡± I say reluctantly. ¡°We yed Monopoly a lot. That was his favorite game, ironically enough. He shared the apartment with my mother, and the weeks he was home, it was like Christmas. She¡¯d make all of his favorite dishes and I¡¯d get to stay upte to watch TV with him.¡± The idiocy of it makes me shake my head. ¡°Now we know he was putting us up in a t far away so his real family wouldn¡¯t notice.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t imagine,¡± she whispers. ¡°I couldn¡¯t either, when I realized. The worst part is that he hadn¡¯t married my mother legally. His real wife was his only legal wife.¡± ¡°But he¡­ pretended?¡± ¡°Yeah. He got a buddy to perform the ceremony, and not an ordained one. Mom didn¡¯t know until the cops showed up, after he¡¯d been arrested.¡± I snort. ¡°Turns out it was a pretty good thing, too. Their assets were separate. One of his worst deeds turned out to be one of the best.¡± ¡°Do you have¡­ I mean, did he have other kids?¡± ¡°So you have-¡±Ccontent ? exclusive by N?/vel(D)ra/ma.Org. ¡°I don¡¯t think of them like that,¡± I say. Then I take a deep breath and force my voice to soften. ¡°I can¡¯t, really. Maybe one day. But not yet. Besides, I don¡¯t even know if they¡¯re aware of my mother and me.¡± ¡°Do you know their names?¡± It takes me a long time to answer. ¡°Yes. I had a PI find out all of that a few years ago. It¡¯s on a file in myputer, but I¡¯ve only opened it once.¡± Two girls and one boy. Women, now, really, and a man. One older than me and two younger. In the family Christmas card the PI had dug up, they¡¯re all sitting in front of a beautiful Christmas tree. Five stockings hang over the firece with all their names on. Including my father¡¯s. No wonder he so often had to work holidays, too. He spent it with them. ¡°What did he go to prison for?¡± ¡°Tax evasion and fraud. I¡¯m sure there¡¯s more they couldn¡¯t get him for, but apparently they¡¯d been on his tail for some time. He got a fifteen-year sentence and only served ten for good behavior.¡± I shake my head. ¡°He¡¯s a charmer, kid. Could sell snake oil to anyone.¡± She¡¯s quiet, and I wonder if she hears the same thing I do. She¡¯s called me a charmer plenty of times too. Suddenly I hate that part of myself. The one that mimics what I¡¯d seen my father do plenty of times, with waitresses and cab drivers and ourndlord. The smile I use that¡¯s not mine. But that¡¯s not what she asks. ¡°Do you miss him?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say immediately. Her hand smooths over my chest. ¡°Carter¡­¡± ¡°I don¡¯t. Not after what he did. To me, sure, but mostly to my mother. He¡¯s a¡­ viin. Apulsive liar. Wouldn¡¯t surprise me if he¡¯s a psychopath or a sociopath, clinically speaking.¡± ¡°Would you want to tell him all of this?¡± I shake my head. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me I should meet him just to get this off my chest.¡± ¡°Let me guess. Your mom already told you the same?¡± She¡¯s too intuitive. ¡°Yes,¡± I admit. ¡°But I¡¯m not going to. He¡¯s out of my life and that¡¯s where he belongs.¡± My tone is final, because if there¡¯s one ce he certainly doesn¡¯t belong, it¡¯s in bed with Audrey. I wrap my hand around her waist and flip us over. She gasps, but it quickly turns toughter as I bury my hand against her neck. ¡°Okay,¡± she says breathlessly. ¡°I guess that conversation¡¯s over.¡± I kiss down her corbone, her chest, to the soft rounds of her breasts. They¡¯re just the right size for my hands, fitting into my palm like they¡¯re made for each other. ¡°Yes,¡± I say, and bend to her nipple. It rises rosy and pink beneath my tongue. ¡°Come with me to a dinner this Friday.¡± ¡°Where would we-oh. Jesus.¡± Her voice turns shaky as I add my teeth to her nipple. She¡¯s sensitive here, I¡¯ve learned, and it happens to be one of my favorite spots. ¡°Where would we go?¡± I let my fingers take over the teasing. ¡°It¡¯s with my business partners and their girlfriends. Or spouses, really.¡± ¡°Business partners? Like¡­ the other members of your venture capitalist firm?¡± I grin at her. ¡°Yeah, in Acture Capital. And you¡¯re not allowed to interview anyone on the record.¡± She smiles back at me. ¡°Not what I was thinking. But¡­ what would you introduce me as?¡± ¡°My girlfriend,¡± I say. Her breath catches, and this time it has nothing to do with my hands or lips. ¡°Oh,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡± I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Good. Because if you really insisted, I could introduce you as the junior reporter from the newspaper we co-own, but I think that could be awkward.¡± Sheughs, fond exasperation in her eyes. ¡°No, I don¡¯t want to be introduced that way.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 54 ¡°Good. It¡¯s a mouthful.¡± ¡°We won¡¯t tell them, will we? Where I work?¡± ¡°Not if you don¡¯t want to,¡± I say, raising myself up on an elbow. I run a finger around her nipple. ¡°But in full disclosure, not a single one of them would mind. They shouldn¡¯t, at any rate. The others all met their partners at work, too.¡± ¡°They did?¡± ¡°Yeah. Outrageous, really.¡± ¡°You¡¯re all walking HR vitions.¡± I grin at her. ¡°Yes. But one¡¯s just married, one¡¯s engaged, and the third are renewing their vows soon.¡± ¡°I¡¯lle to the dinner,¡± Audrey says, her fingers sliding into my hair. ¡°And I¡¯ll tell them all I met my boyfriend at a bar.¡± ¡°While on a date with someone else,¡± I say, clucking my tongue. ¡°This man of yours must be quite special.¡± Her eyes glow with happiness. ¡°He definitely is.¡± Carter is sitting on my bed. He didn¡¯t need toe up, but he¡¯d insisted, and now he¡¯s being decidedly unhelpful while I search for an appropriate outfit. ¡°You look beautiful,¡± he says. ¡°You said that about thest dress.¡± ¡°The clothes change, but the woman stays the same,¡± he says with a grin. ¡°And she¡¯s the one I¡¯mplimenting.¡± I roll my eyes, but I¡¯m smiling too. It¡¯s impossible to be in a bad mood when he¡¯s around. ¡°Not helpful, but thank you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve liked every outfit.¡± I turn back to my closet. Everything¡¯s either practical or office wear, down to my sensible ck pumps. ¡°You¡¯re in a suit,¡± I say. ¡°What about the others? Will it be fancy?¡± I don¡¯t have to see him to know he¡¯s shrugging. He looksfortable in a suit with no tie, gray Italian fabric and a white shirt beneath. I wish I¡¯d had an option as easy. ¡°Go with the prom dress,¡± he says. ¡°The one you wore to the ball.¡± I pull it out of the closet. It¡¯s too long, for one, but the memory makes me smile. ¡°I still can¡¯t believe I spoke to Dean Allen.¡± ¡°It was a great night.¡± ¡°You drove me home,¡± I say, running my hand over the fabric. ¡°So I did,¡± he says. ¡°You were still on the fence about me then.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t on the fence.¡± ¡°But you didn¡¯t trust me fully.¡± I smile at him. ¡°No, perhaps not. But it never stopped me from enjoying yourpany.¡± He joins me by my closet. True to his word, he hasn¡¯t said a word about the lock still uninstalled next to my door, or the little bowl of rat poison in the hallway outside. He hasn¡¯t evenmented on the relentless EDM music my student neighbor is sting across the hall. He puts a hand on my bare waist and kisses my temple. ¡°Yours was the best date-crashing I¡¯ve ever done,¡± he says softly. ¡°You¡¯ll look good in anything, but I liked the red.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I reach for the blouse, the fabric silky against my skin. I¡¯ll wear it with a skirt and nice shoes. ¡°Good choice.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about meeting my business partners or their girlfriends,¡± he says. I kiss him on the cheek, but my nerves don¡¯t disappear. How could they? These are people who buy and transform-or bankrupt-entirepanies. It¡¯s exhrating and absolutely frightening.Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. We leave my apartment and Carter gives my door onest irritated nce when he thinks I can¡¯t see him. I hide my smile. His concern over my apartment is sweet, but it¡¯s a great ce for my budget, and Pierce is a hands-offndlord. The car smells of the same leather as always, and I say hello to Michael the driver. I¡¯ve learned that Carter employs a service, and two drivers alternate. Michael and Tom. We really live in different worlds. ¡°I read your article today,¡± Carter says. ¡°You did? I only sent it to you around lunch.¡± ¡°I made time.¡± ¡°It¡¯s pretty long,¡± I say apologetically. ¡°I think Booker might cut at least half if she decides to run it.¡± Carter surprises me by shaking his head. His eyes are serious on mine. ¡°It¡¯s a great piece. You connect it to construction in the city, faulty policies protecting tenants, and a business practice that¡¯s legally gray at best. It¡¯s local, investigative journalism.¡± I release the breath I¡¯d been holding. ¡°You¡¯re not just saying that because I¡¯m sleeping with you?¡± Heughs, surprised and delighted, and reaches for my hand. ¡°No. Although it helped ensure I made time to read it, I¡¯ll admit. But no. I made some notes and will send it back to you, but they¡¯re marginal. You overuse the word ¡®therefore¡¯ a bit.¡± I groan. ¡°I cut out three therefores already.¡± ¡°Well, there are about eight too many left.¡± He squeezes my hand. ¡°Pitch it to Booker. I have no doubt she¡¯ll run it.¡± ¡°God, I hope so. She¡¯s terrifying in the best of ways. I¡¯m so d to be working for her.¡± Carter¡¯s smile is genuine. Like he understands. ¡°I had a mentor like that once. And when I¡¯d finally spent years building up my fortune, my knowledge and my own investmentpany, he invited me to join him and his partners. I¡¯ve learned a lot from him.¡± ¡°Really? Who was he?¡± ¡°Tristan Conway,¡± he says. ¡°Our host for tonight.¡± We arrive at the beautiful Upper West Side building with little to no time to spare. The traffic had been heavy, and with every slow-moving jam, nerves ratcheted up in my stomach. Carter says thanks to Michael and gives me his hand. The building¡¯s lobby is all marble and doormen and a smartly dressed receptionist, like we¡¯re here to check into a hotel. ¡°Through here,¡± Carter says softly at my side. ¡°And remember, they¡¯re-¡° A Ticking Time Boss 55 ¡°No interviewing them for an expose on venture capitalists,¡± I whisper. ¡°I remember.¡± He grins at me. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s do this.¡± I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. His free hand drifts to my hip and pulls me closer. It¡¯s a delicious kiss,forting and deep, and I don¡¯t want to let go when the elevator doors open. Someone clears a throat. Carter lifts his head from mine and chuckles. ¡°Hey, man. Thanks for having us.¡± ¡°d you¡¯re making yourselffortable,¡± a man drawls. He¡¯s standing in a beautifully decorated hallway, navy cks and a deep-blue shirt on with the shirtsleeves rolled up. He looks a few years older than Carter, withugh lines fanning out by his eyes. The elevator opened straight into this man¡¯s apartment¡­ and not in a hallway. My cheeks re with heat. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°You have nothing to apologize for. I¡¯m Tristan.¡± He extends a hand, a smile softening his features. ¡°Audrey,¡± I say, and shake his hand. ¡°A pleasure. Come in, both of you. Carter, you know where the wine is.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll grab a ss for us both,¡± Carter says. ¡°You¡¯re in the living room?¡± Carter moves through the ce like he knows it, pouring us a ss each. The sound ofughter draws us through the space, beneath ceilings with crown molding and art on the walls. The view from the living room stops me in my tracks. It¡¯s Central Park, and on the other side, the Upper East Side. It¡¯s breathtaking. ¡°Nice, huh?¡± Carter says at my side. I nod. ¡°Uh-huh.¡± He nudges me forward to the group of people sitting around a designer coffee table. Behind them is an entire wall of framed ck and white photos. ¡°Hey,¡± Carter says. ¡°Room for two more?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± a woman says. Her hair is the color of wheat, and she smiles at me as she moves to the side. ¡°Have a seat.¡± They all introduce themselves, with Summer being the smiling blonde. Next to her is a dark-haired man named Anthony, who gives me a firm handshake and looks at me for a long time. Tristan¡¯s wife is named Frederica, a diminutive woman with long, luscious ck hair and clever eyes. She looks between me and Carter like she¡¯s analyzing us. I like her immediately. Thest two arrive about half an hour after us, putting a halt to the pleasant small talk. The dark-blond man keeps his suit jacket on, and he gives everyone a curt nod hello. The woman at his side smiles wide. ¡°Hi! Sorry we¡¯rete!¡± ¡°Another fifteen minutes and we¡¯d have put out a missing person¡¯s ad,¡± Carter says. The neers are Victor and Cecilia, and with them, all guests have arrived. There¡¯s obvious familiarity, more in the way of friends than just business partners. Summer and Cecilia pull me into a discussion of running, a pastime I¡¯ve never enjoyed, and I learn they run in the park a few times a week. ¡°Join us,¡± Cecilia says. ¡°We usually run in the mornings.¡± I think of my apartment in Queens, the subway ride, my job. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, smiling. ¡°Maybe one day.¡± Carter sits next to me, and when we move to the dinner table, he takes the seat by my side. It¡¯s afort to have him here, even when he¡¯s engaged in a discussion with Victor about the merits of a new pharmaceuticalpany Tristan¡¯s considering. His hand finds my leg beneath the table and squeezes softly. I smooth my hand over his in quiet reply. All good. Halfway through dinner, Tristan makes a toast. He thanks us all for being here. ¡°And thank you, Carter, for finally bringing along a date. Audrey, you¡¯re very wee here.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, conscious of the eyes turning my way. Finally? The conversation doesn¡¯t drift away from that topic, either. Freddie asks how we met. I cut through the asparagus on my te to avoid the curious looks. ¡°Well, I was about to go on a blind date¡­ and I was a bit nervous.¡± ¡°She came to the bar for a ss of water,¡± Carter says. ¡°I tried to steady her nerves.¡± ¡°Drove me half-insane, was more like it.¡±Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Settled the nerves, though,¡± he says. Iugh. ¡°Yes. Definitely. He promised to help me escape, too, in case the date was bad. Which it was.¡± ¡°Terrible,¡± Carter says with emphasis, draping an arm around the back of my chair. ¡°I could see from the bar how awful it was. So she took me up on the offer halfway through.¡± Summer looks delighted across the table. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Yes. I came over and told her toe right away. Her mother needed her. There wasn¡¯t much time left.¡± ¡°That¡¯s diabolical,¡± Victor says. He sounds pleased. I shrug. ¡°It worked, at any rate. I would have felt worse if the man I was on a date with wasn¡¯t being so rude.¡± ¡°So you stole someone else¡¯s date,¡± Tristan says, eyes on Carter. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m impressed or horrified.¡± ¡°Saved,¡± I say, correcting him with a smile. ¡°Not stole. Thanks for getting me out of there, Carter.¡± He smiles down at me. ¡°My pleasure, spitfire.¡± The conversation flows smoothly from there, just like it does with people who know each other well and meet often. They discuss business meetings, trips, and conferences before jumping effortlessly to the topic of Victor and Cecilia¡¯s vow renewal. They¡¯d only been married a year, but from what I gather, their first wedding had been a quick City Hall affair. ¡°Do you have everything prepared?¡± Freddie asks the pair. They¡¯re beautiful together, the put-together brte and Victor¡¯s stoicism. ¡°I think we do,¡± Cecilia says. ¡°It¡¯ll be small, with just a few friends and family. Great food and music.¡± ¡°Great guests,¡± Carter deadpans. Cecilia grins. ¡°Oh, the absolute best. You¡¯re more than wee toe too, Audrey.¡± ¡°Thank you, that¡¯s really kind,¡± I say, and I mean it. The flow of conversation is fun to listen to, and only asionally terrifying, as when Summer and Anthony mention their Montauk beach house. I can¡¯t imagine the dizzying wealth some of these people have. Not to mention that Acture Capital, the owners of the newspaper I work at and arbiter of its fate, are all seated around the same dinner table. With me. It¡¯s heady stuff. It makes me feel like an investigative reporter, and at the same time, an insider. I¡¯ll never use what I hear here, but¡­ wow. Pinch me. A Ticking Time Boss 56 After dinner, I join Freddie in the kitchen as she pours herself a ss of sparkling water. The men have moved back into the living room. ¡°So,¡± she says. ¡°You¡¯re not too overwhelmed?¡± I chuckle. ¡°A little, perhaps, but in a good way.¡± ¡°I remember the feeling,¡± she says, leaning against the counter. ¡°Although when Tristan and I first started dating, the others were all single.¡± ¡°Acture was a bachelor¡¯s club?¡± Sheughs. ¡°Gosh, yes. I¡¯m d that¡¯s changed.¡± ¡°Have you joined the team now?¡± I ask. She gives off the impression of a woman with ambition, and from what I overheard at the dinner table, she¡¯s working with Tristan now on Acture¡¯stest acquisition. Freddie gives a half-shake of her head. ¡°In a way, I suppose. I was always interested in business strategy, and I spent the past two years at Exciteur-that¡¯s thepany Victor¡¯s the CEO of, now-working on Strategy. Now I¡¯m a consultant, really, for Acture. Tristan and I work well together.¡± ¡°That¡¯s impressive,¡± I say. ¡°Working with your husband?¡± She smiles crookedly. ¡°Some days it¡¯s the best decision I¡¯ve ever made, and others we both consider it a grave error. But overall¡­ yes, it¡¯s been great. Wouldn¡¯t change it for the world.¡± Summer and Cecilia join us, then, and the kitchen ind shrinks. ¡°Talking business?¡± Summer asks. ¡°Please tell me you weren¡¯t. The guys are, too, and I¡¯ve already told them off twice.¡± Freddieughs. I twist my winess around in my hand, smiling at the other women. ¡°That must be amon thing when you all meet?¡± ¡°It¡¯s constant,¡± Cecilia says. ¡°Sometimes I wonder if I married an Excel spreadsheet or a man.¡± We allugh at that. Summer reaches for a lime from the fruit bowl and searches through a drawer for a knife. ¡°Time for more drinks,¡± she deres. ¡°Audrey, what do you do?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a journalist, actually.¡± ¡°Wow. Really?¡± Freddie¡¯s intelligent eyes meet mine. ¡°What a coincidence,¡± she says, ¡°considering Carter¡¯s current project within Acture.¡± Iugh weakly and look down at my hands. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s funny.¡± ¡°Do you guys talk shop?¡± ¡°Sometimes we do, yes. I¡¯m a big believer in traditional print media, in local journalism. The value it has for our cities and our country.¡± She nods thoughtfully. ¡°I agree with you on that, actually. I also think owning a newspaper long-term is a great move for Acture.¡± A surprise ally! But before I can ask her why that is, Cecilia ushers us all back to the living room to, as she so lovingly puts it, halt the men¡¯s workaholic tendencies. When theye within earshot, she looks over her shoulder at us with a meaningful expression. Listen to them, it says. Snippets reach me too. ¡°¡­ thetest numbers were better, but still abysmal.¡± ¡°It¡¯s turning a profit,¡± Carter says. ¡°Slim, perhaps, but still.¡± My feet slow on the hardwood floor. They¡¯re discussing the Globe . ¡°Slim isn¡¯t good enough,¡± Victor says. ¡°Not long term. Traditional print media is an opportunity, sure, but also a huge liability.¡± Anthony now. ¡°Only two months left before the second quarter check-in. I¡¯m still voting for selling it if the numbers aren¡¯t better.¡± ¡°Seconded,¡± Victor says. The voice I hear then is familiar. Achingly so. ¡°I agree,¡± Carter says. ¡°But I¡¯m not ready to give up before then.¡± Freddie walks around the room andes to sit next to Tristan. He takes his wife¡¯s hand absently and continues the conversation. ¡°We could still sell it without a loss. Rosen Investing has made their interests clear.¡± Carter sighs. ¡°I know. Jacob Finch has been in contact. I¡¯m keeping as much as I can intact, to keep the sale value high, just in case.¡± Which means he¡¯s keeping the profitable areas afloat. The ones a vulture fund like Rosen will strip and sell, dismantling the entire organization until there¡¯s only a lonely reporter left in a newsroom to cover all story beats and subscribers facing ever-higher prices. Driving it into bankruptcy and skipping away into the sunset with the profitable corpse. The exact thing he¡¯d promised he wouldn¡¯t do, would never do. But they¡¯re discussing it like it¡¯s a possibility. More than a possibility. A likelihood. A sickness ws its way up my throat. Carter hadn¡¯t told me everything, it seems. Only what I wanted to hear, back when he convinced me he wasn¡¯t like this. Anger rushes through me. At him, and at me, for thinking this would be an exception. That he would be an exception. ¡°Audrey,¡± Summer calls. ¡°Come join us.¡± I force my feet to move. Carter looks over his shoulder, eyes meeting mine, and there¡¯s an apology there. He knows I overheard. I sit down next to him on wooden legs, focusing on the drink in my hand. Victor had called stealing another man¡¯s date diabolical, but it¡¯s not. This is. They¡¯re considering stripping this city of one of its oldest and finest newspapers. I¡¯d defended Carter and his executive team¡¯s vision to Den over lunch, just yesterday. ¡°Audrey,¡± Carter whispers at my side. His hand reaches for my leg, as if to rest it there. I cross them out of his reach. ¡°I know I¡¯ve already thanked you all foring,¡± Tristan says. He has a hand on Freddie¡¯s shoulder, but the smile on his face gives me pause. Something¡¯s happening, and I wish I could take it in, but all I hear are Carter¡¯s words on repeat. It¡¯s a possibility. He¡¯d told me it wasn¡¯t. ¡°You¡¯re getting your vows renewed, too,¡± Carter guesses. ¡°Is this a new trend?¡± His voice is as charming as ever, dry and joking, and the othersugh. I wonder if they can hear the tension beneath it too. ¡°Not quite,¡± Freddie says. ¡°We just wanted to¡­ ah shoot, now this is a big thing. I suppose it is, but we just wanted to tell you that, if all goes well, the Conways will go from three to four in a few months.¡± ¡°Oh my God,¡± Cecilia whispers. Summer bounds out of her chair to wrap her arms around Freddie. ¡°You¡¯re pregnant!¡± Freddieughs. ¡°Yes.¡± In the flurry of excitement and hugs, masculine ps on the back and Tristan¡¯s proud smile, I feel like a sudden imposter. Not alienated from them¡­ but from the man at my side.Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. A Ticking Time Boss 57 We don¡¯t talk about it until we leave Tristan¡¯s. Carter is quiet by my side. That¡¯s unusual, like he¡¯s testing the waters. But when the car rolls through Midtown, I speak up. ¡°Could we go to Queens first, please?¡± ¡°Audrey,¡± he says quietly. ¡°I¡¯d prefer to sleep at home tonight.¡± Alone, I think, though I don¡¯t add it. My chest feels tight. Like I¡¯m about to cry, and I don¡¯t know why. Because of my own foolishness, perhaps, or for the dream that cracked at his words. The future I¡¯d imagined.Content from N?velDr(a)ma.Org. ¡°You won¡¯t let me exin myself,¡± he murmurs, ¡°or our business n?¡± ¡°I thought I had. Many times before, and gotten the truth.¡± Carter sighs. He¡¯s quiet for a long time. Even as Michael changesnes and starts heading toward Queens. ¡°It¡¯s not the oue I want,¡± he says. ¡°But it¡¯s not an impossible oue.¡± ¡°No,¡± he says, ¡°even if I wanted it to be.¡± ¡°Wanting something doesn¡¯t make it happen.¡± He runs a hand through his hair, the trademark smile nowhere to be seen. ¡°Thought I¡¯d already learned that lesson,¡± he mutters. ¡°Look, kid, it¡¯s a business. You know it is. At the end of the day, the four of us answer to the shareholders in Acture Capital as much as to our own wallets.¡± ¡°Right.¡± ¡°If the Globe isn¡¯t doing what we want it to do¡­¡± ¡°If you¡¯re not willing to give it enough time, you mean. Or investment.¡± ¡°Print media is dying.¡± I turn to him, hands balling into fists. ¡°Yes, and you told me you wanted to fix it! To modernize! Not butcher it.¡± ¡°We wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± he says. ¡°No, but you¡¯d sell it to someone who would. How is that different?¡± He closes his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m twenty-five percent of Acture. I have one vote.¡± He could have been honest about that too, I think. Or maybe I shouldn¡¯t have been so naive. ¡°Right. Well, tonight was very enlightening.¡± ¡°Audrey¡­¡± ¡°They¡¯re lovely people. Well, some of them, when they¡¯re not discussing stripping an entire workce of its resources and personnel.¡± His voice rises. ¡°That¡¯s my job. Part of it, at least. You know that.¡± ¡°I never knew you intended that for the Globe . You were the one who convinced me it wasn¡¯t! You took me to that dive bar, and you told me¡­ you told me you were different.¡± I bury my head in my hands. He charmed me, I think. Got what he wanted, and I bought all of it, hook line and sinker. ¡°Come back to mine,¡± he says. ¡°We can talk about it. I¡¯ll tell you anything you want to know, and tomorrow-¡± I shake my head. ¡°No.¡± His hand tightens on the door handle. ¡°Fine.¡± We don¡¯t speak for the rest of the trip. I¡¯m acutely aware of Michael in the front seat, overhearing our entire argument, and my own stupid tears hiding in my throat. The wine is not helping the roil of emotions inside. Carter speaks again when we drive onto my street. ¡°I never wanted you to hear the Globe spoken about that way.¡± ¡°We should have stayed in the kitchen five minutes longer, you mean?¡± ¡°No. Fuck, that¡¯s not what I meant.¡± His hand catches my arm, and he stares out at the brownstone. ¡°Please don¡¯t make me drop you here.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a perfectly good apartment.¡± ¡°It¡¯s an unsafe, vermin-infested shithole,¡± he says darkly. ¡°Come home with me.¡± I jerk my arm free, and he releases me immediately. ¡°It¡¯s all I can afford on my sry, boss,¡± I say acidly. ¡°And this is my home.¡± ¡°Kid, I-¡± ¡°I¡¯ll talk to you tomorrow,¡± I say, and close the car door behind me. I make it halfway up the stoop before the tears start falling. The article is ready. Arguably, it¡¯s past ready. Booker had asked for the first draft three days ago. ¡°That thing you were working on,¡± she¡¯d said, snapping her fingers. ¡°What was it? Evictions, right?¡± ¡°Yeah, in Queens. A constructionpany has put it into practice.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the one. I think it could work for a Sunday issue. Have it on my desk soon, yeah?¡± I¡¯d nodded, and inside, I¡¯d almost passed out. The Sunday issue is the biggest of the week. If you want a story to get read widely, you put it in the Sunday issue. Now my article is lying on my desk, printed and ready. The changes Carter had suggested were good. Minor, but good. They made it stronger. Even if it was hard to incorporate them after the other night. ¡°You¡¯re done,¡± Den says by my side. ¡°Come on, you just have to submit it.¡± ¡°Yeah. Will do.¡± He leans back in his chair. His hair is artfully tousled today, but in a different direction than usual. It looks good. ¡°She cut half of mine and asked Johnson to add it to his beat,¡± he says dryly. ¡°We can¡¯t be precious about our first stories.¡± He¡¯s right, of course. I know it too. The term I was student editor of my college newspaper, I¡¯d made countless decisions like that. Not as high stakes, though. Not at all. I see the faces of the family being evicted in front of me, their bodega, the metaphorical wrecking balling closer. I grab the papers. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± ¡°Grab her by the balls, tiger,¡± Den says. I look at him, and he gives me a sheepish shrug. ¡°Sounded better in my head.¡± Iugh. ¡°Thanks, though. I appreciate it.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 58 Booker is having two conversations at the same time. Firing off story beats at a rapid pace. When she turns to me, her eyes are feverish. ¡°Spitfire,¡± she says. ¡°Thank God. Want to do me another favor?¡± I lower my article. ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°Tyrell is sick and Johnson just told me we have to push the epilepsy story for tonight¡¯s print. Which means we¡¯re several articles short for Friday¡¯s edition.¡± ¡°Shoot. What can I-¡± ¡°I have two half-baked articles banked. They¡¯re approved already, but they need filler, better research, and all their facts checked. Can you stayte and do that?¡± ¡°Yes, absolutely.¡± ¡°Great. I was thinking about your article, too-is that it?¡± ¡°Oh, yes, it is.¡± I hand over the document. ¡°It¡¯s long, but for a Sunday piece it could work.¡± Those are bold words for a junior reporter. Booker meets my gaze with a shrewd one of her own. ¡°I¡¯ll look it over. I promise I¡¯ll give it a fair shake, too. You¡¯re a good writer. But right now I want you focused on the articles for tonight. I¡¯ll email you the details.¡± Anotherte night at the newsroom, then. I return to my desk with a grin. ¡°That good?¡± Den asks. ¡°She asked me to stayte,¡± I say. It¡¯s grunt work, of course, for a junior reporter. But it also means she trusts me to deliver. Den gives as nomittal sound. He¡¯d had to stayte just a few days ago, and he¡¯s smuglyined about it the whole day. Working is good. Working is what I love to do, what I¡¯ve fought to do, and it¡¯s a great way to keep my mind off other things. Like the owner of the very newspaper I work at. Carter¡¯s words had yed over and over in my head thest couple of days. They were impossible to forget, even if I¡¯ve tried to look at the situation objectively from every angle. To separate my own emotions from it.Content from N?velDr(a)ma.Org. Yes, he¡¯s a businessman. He didn¡¯t buy the Globe as a phnthropic move. And yes, print media is struggling. But I had so wanted to believe him when he¡¯d exined his vision for revamping the paper. And maybe that¡¯s what hurts the most. Not the truth itself, but the pain of discovering my own beliefs were always naively impossible. One after one, the newsroom empties out. A stressed Booker gives me a nod on the way out, telling me she¡¯ll continue working from home after she¡¯s picked up her son. I¡¯m avable on email, she tells me before ducking out, walking like a warrior to battle. An empty newsroom. It happens rarely, and during one of my five-minute breaks, I stretch my legs by walking through the space. It¡¯s not fancy. Just an office and rows and rows of desks. But this is where scandals broke. Where the Globe risked everything for a meeting with a whistleblower during the seventies. Where Isaac Mason exposed corrupt cops in the eighties. History has been made here. On one of the walls are some of the Globe ¡®s most important front pages framed. The Kennedy assassination, the moonnding, when the Berlin Wall fell. Back then the Globe had foreign correspondents. That was a different era. ¡°I wondered if I¡¯d find you here,¡± a voice says. I take a deep breath before I turn around, but I¡¯m still not prepared for the sight of him. Tall and suited, the thick hair pushed back. He feels like an extension of myself, one I can no longer ess. Like the argument has put up a wall between us. The anger is gone, and left is only my own disappointment, irrational as it might be. ¡°Hey,¡± I say. Carter inclines his head. ¡°Hi. Stayingte?¡± ¡°Two reporters were sick and couldn¡¯t deliver for Friday¡¯s edition. Booker asked me to stayte.¡± His voice softens. ¡°And you don¡¯t mind?¡± ¡°Not at all.¡± I fiddle with the sleeve of my shirt, not knowing what to say. It¡¯s not the first time we¡¯ve spoken in the four days since Tristan¡¯s dinner, but the texts had been dry. Let¡¯s talk. Yes, soon. Just a few more days. What are you thinking? I don¡¯t know, really. Carter taps his hands against the cheap woodminate of a desk. ¡°Need help?¡± There are articles he could proofread. Facts to be checked. And conversations to be had. So I nod. ¡°Yeah. It shouldn¡¯t take long if we¡¯re two.¡± ¡°Good. Just give me the beats, boss.¡± That makes me smile a bit. ¡°If you want me to y Booker, you¡¯ll be disappointed. I¡¯m not even a poor man¡¯s version.¡± ¡°Yet,¡± he says. ¡°But there¡¯s time.¡± He pulls out a chair and joins me by my desk. It¡¯s just the two of us, side by side, in a room that¡¯s usually filled with his employees. I try not to let that thought bother me. ¡°These are the articles?¡± ¡°Yes. Booker wants them print-worthy by the morning, ready for her to approve.¡± ¡°Right. Walk me through the process.¡± I do, and he listens patiently, nodding or asking questions asionally. When I¡¯m done, he starts fact-checking right away. ¡°I¡¯ll leave the wordsmithing to you,¡± he says with a crooked smile. I¡¯ve missed him these past days. Missed his voice, his jokes, his way of turning a sentence on its head. Maybe he feels the same way, because over the next forty-five minutes, his chair gets closer and closer to mine until our thighs touch beneath the table. ¡°Johnson¡¯s piece is almost done.¡± ¡°It is done,¡± Carter says. ¡°The ending quote you added is killer.¡± I dig my teeth into my lower lip. ¡°I don¡¯t know. One of my college professors always told me to be selective when you cede thest word to someone.¡± ¡°But using a quote by the veteran who was interviewed earlier? Excellent way to end it.¡± Carter shakes his head. ¡°You¡¯re done with this article. It¡¯s perfect.¡± ¡°If only you were my editor,¡± I tease, and his face lights up with a smile. ¡°If only,¡± he agrees. I reach for the mouse at the same time as he does. He lets me get it, but keeps his hand there, brushing against mine. He takes a deep breath. ¡°Audrey, I want to apologize.¡± I close my eyes. ¡°You do?¡± ¡°Yes. Not for my words, and not for you overhearing them. But for not being more truthful with you from the start.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 59 ¡°The truth is that I¡­ well, I knew if I admitted that Acture considered selling the Globe to a vulture fund, or breaking it up ourselves, you would have run from me. It would have confirmed all your worst suspicions.¡± ¡°I might¡¯ve,¡± I murmur. ¡°Back then.¡± ¡°But not now?¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°It¡¯s hard for me to understand the thinking. Actually, that¡¯s not true. I can understand it all too well, and wish I couldn¡¯t. I care so much about this newspaper and the industry, and I hate, like truly hate those vulture funds. You know what they¡¯ve already done to newspapers around the country.¡± ¡°I know,¡± he says quietly. ¡°But I also know that you don¡¯t share that. I mean, you and your business partners are part of the ecosystem. You keep things that work alive, and make them better, and things that don¡¯t¡­¡± Carter¡¯s hand covers mine. ¡°I want to keep the Globe running. I¡¯ve wanted that from the start. Selling it to another hedge fund has always been a backup option, and one that helped convince my business partners it was a good investment.¡± ¡°I know,¡± I say. And the worst part is, I do. Because if it wouldn¡¯t be Acture, it would be someone else. Someone worse. ¡°But I shouldn¡¯t have pretended that wasn¡¯t an option at all.¡± I look down at our hands, his long fingers curling around mine. Broad, short nails rest next to my almond ones. ¡°Carter¡­ I really like you.¡± His hand tightens around mine. ¡°Not what I expected you to say,¡± he murmurs. ¡°But I really like you too.¡± ¡°I want this to work. Despite our odd working rtionship, and despite the Acture and Globe thing. But it only will if we¡¯re honest with one another, even about the hard things.¡± He¡¯s quiet for a long time, the odd, golden color of his eyes more serious than I¡¯ve ever seen them. ¡°Audrey, it¡¯s been a long time since I was honest and open with someone. Since I trusted them with the hard things.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know if I ever have,¡± I whisper, and he gives a half-smile. But I know he¡¯s talking about deeper things. About not running from the pain, from the arguments, from the difficulty. ¡°But you¡¯ve been open to it from the start. You¡¯re yourself, kid. Always, and I admire you for it.¡± His thumb sweeps over the back of my hand. ¡°You were the one who took the first step. Asking me out, and all.¡± He grins. ¡°Back when you hated dating.¡± ¡°I still hate dates. First dates, that is.¡± ¡°Good thing we¡¯ve already had our first, then.¡± I reach for him, wrapping my hands around his neck. ¡°I want to apologize too.¡± ¡°For what?¡± ¡°For being judgemental about this,¡± I say. ¡°Like you said in the car, you¡¯ve never hidden the fact that you¡¯re here to make money.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. He looks down at our bodies, now angled toward one another. His voice is low. ¡°Not at the expense of people, though. And never at the expense of your affection. We¡¯ll talk more about this from here on out.¡± ¡°I could talk to you forever,¡± I admit. ¡°Never met anyone I wanted to talk to from sunrise to sundown.¡± ¡°How odd,¡± he murmurs, lowering his face to mine. ¡°Because I feel the same.¡± The kiss is soft and sweet, andced with emotions that make my chest ache. Maybe this little argument was for the best¡­ made us stronger. I wrap my arms around his neck. ¡°I missed you,¡± I say. His hands settle on my hips. ¡°Kid, every day this week has been torture.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right, by the way.¡± ¡°Mmm. Thanks.¡± He kisses along my jaw, slow, teasing touches. ¡°About what?¡± ¡°My ce is a shithole.¡± He pauses at my neck, quietughter rocking through him. ¡°Wow. Are you sure you¡¯re in your right mind?¡± ¡°Fully,¡± I say. I can¡¯t stop smiling. ¡°It¡¯s awful. But it¡¯s mine, and it¡¯s what I can afford right now.¡± ¡°Please let me help you look for something else.¡± ¡°We can look, yeah. But I¡¯d very much like to cook something at yours this weekend. Maybe we can watch another movie?¡± ¡°Stay at mine tonight,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m not above begging, you know.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t pack anything today. I don¡¯t have my toothbrush, or clean underwear, or-¡± ¡°So we¡¯ll stop by a supermarket on our way. Come on, let¡¯s go.¡± ¡°I have to get this article done!¡± ¡°It¡¯s good enough.¡± Iugh and lean back, out of reach from his roving lips. ¡°As the owner of this newspaper, you should crave perfection.¡± ¡°Perfection is the enemy of efficiency,¡± he counters. ¡°If what I craved was perfection, I¡¯d have gone into a different field.¡± ¡°You have an answer to everything, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Most things,¡± he says, grinning wide. ¡°But not all. Audrey Ford, light of my life, will you pleasee home with me tonight?¡± I roll my eyes, but I¡¯m chuckling. ¡°Yes, I will. But only if you help me finish this article.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never been moremitted to anything,¡± he says. Audrey: I think I found a winner. Look at this one. I click the apartment link she¡¯s sent me. It¡¯s a fourteen-room penthouse on the Upper East Side with a price tag in the hundreds of millions. It¡¯s also godawful, decorated with all-gold furniture and the tackiest of fountains in the hallway. I zoom in. Yes, that¡¯s a cherub in the center. Great views, though. Carter: Please tell me you¡¯re considering buying it furnished. Audrey: Oh, of course. I wouldn¡¯t change a thing. I can see you lounging on the seashell-shaped sofa. A Ticking Time Boss 60 Carter: Naked, right? Audrey: When I picture you it¡¯s always nude. Iugh outright at that. The conversation devolves, like it often does, and I love it. The past week with Audrey has been one of the best of my life. She¡¯s stayed at mine nearly every night. On Tuesday she had us cook fajitas together in my kitchen. From scratch, including making tortis. Turned out she¡¯d only done it once before, and the ce was a battlefield by the time we were done, flour everywhere. I¡¯d mostly focused on getting flour on the tip of her upturned nose, but all jobs are equally important. Then we¡¯d let a movie y while I fucked her slowly on the couch, my hand working her clit, until she shook in my arms with her orgasm. Again, all jobs are equally important. On Wednesday we¡¯d both had to workte from home. She¡¯d made us popcorn and coffee, and beneath the table, I¡¯d had my hand on her bare knee. It had been intoxicating in howfortable it was, how happy she made me. It was the true kind, not the fleeting exhration of winning a business deal or seeing my name in print. She¡¯d left my apartment earlier than me this morning, bashful about travelling in my car without me. As if she feared it was a nuisance instead of pleasing on a deep, molecr level, the same way I felt when I saw her wearing one of my T-shirts to bed or the scent of my shampoo in her hair. Audrey: Good luck with your meeting today, by the way. I answer her in the elevator on my way down. Carter: Thanks. Let me know as soon as Booker gives you proper feedback on your article, okay? Audrey: Promise. See you tonight. Carter: Can¡¯t wait, kid. It¡¯s the truth, too. Most of my waking hours spent apart from her feel wasted. I nod at John in the lobby and he gives me a grin back. They¡¯ve noticed my new girlfriend, too, although none of the staff in the building have mentioned it. I make it a few strides out of my building before I stop dead. He¡¯s standing on the sidewalk. His hair is grayer than I¡¯d seen itst, and the lines marking his face have deepened. He looks distinguished, but smaller than I remember. His eyes are locked on mine. ¡°Carter,¡± he says. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you.¡± I consider walking in the other direction. Leaving him and the past behind, where it can¡¯t hurt me or anyone anymore. But my feet won¡¯t let me. ¡°You¡¯re here,¡± I say. usation makes my voice dark. ¡°Yes. Sorry for ambushing you like this, son. But you didn¡¯t leave me with many options.¡± ¡°Not ambushing someone outside their house is always an option.¡± My father smiles, like we¡¯re old friends. ¡°You¡¯re right. But I so wanted to see you. Will you let me buy you a coffee?¡± I want to say fuck no . The words dance on my tongue in burning motions. But I also hear my mother¡¯s voice in my head, and Audrey¡¯s. It¡¯s a chance to say your piece. And a chance to tell him to stay away from me and my mother. ¡°Yeah. Okay. There¡¯s a ce up the street,¡± I say. ¡°Won¡¯t take long,¡± he says, falling into step beside me. ¡°I know you¡¯re a busy man now. Bigpany and all.¡± A sour taste rises in my throat. ¡°You¡¯ve read about me?¡± ¡°It was one of my favorite things in prison,¡± he says. ¡°You know, they give usputer ess. I¡¯d read everything published about you. Your first deal, and when you merged Kingsley Investment with Acture Capital. Smart move, that. Did it sting to lose your name in thepany title?¡± Damn him. ¡°Yes,¡± I admit. ¡°Figured it did.¡± He chuckles, his voice pleased. ¡°I know my son. But it was necessary. Gave you the leverage you needed. You¡¯re making bank now.¡± So often, I¡¯d heard him use terms like this, and as a kid I¡¯d thought him the smartest man on Earth. Now I wonder if he really understands most of them at all. He was never interested in building businesses. Only in stealing their assets. ¡°You¡¯re out of prison,¡± I say. We¡¯ve reached the coffee shop up the street, and I hold the door open for him. He steps inside and tugs off his leather gloves. How long had he waited outside my building? ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°Six months now.¡± ¡°Your wife must be d.¡± He gives me a shrewd look. ¡°She is,¡± he admits, ¡°and she isn¡¯t. It makes divorce proceedings a bit simpler.¡± We order two coffees, both ck, and take a seat near the front. I don¡¯t take off my coat and beneath the table, I keep my leg bouncing to work off the adrenaline coursing through me. The anger is hot and heavy behind it. Dad smiles widely. ¡°So? How have you been?¡± ¡°You know how I¡¯ve been if you¡¯ve been following the news.¡± I take a sip of the coffee. It burns. ¡°Why did you want this meeting?¡± He looks down into his cup. The edges of his mouth soften, like he¡¯s frowning. It¡¯s a look of contrition. I don¡¯t trust it one bit. ¡°I did a lot of things I¡¯m not proud of. More than you know, more than I¡¯d mention. But one of the things I hate myself most for is what I did to your mother and you.¡± ¡°Pretending to be married to her when you weren¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°Pretending to work on holidays when you didn¡¯t.¡± He doesn¡¯t seem surprised by the acid in my voice. ¡°Yes. All of that. And for going to prison, for disappearing from your life. For ever doing anything illegal to begin with.¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± I take another deep sip of my coffee. It feels like the only thing keeping me sane. ¡°I¡¯m still your father,¡± he says, ¡°even if I screwed things up. And I did. But I¡¯ll be your father until the day I die, and I want¡­ very much, Carter, to get a chance to prove to you that I¡¯m a changed man.¡± I level him with a stare. I¡¯m not neen anymore, green-eyed and naive. Not even twenty-five and hopeful. ¡°You will never get a cent of my money,¡± I say. ¡°I will never invest in one of your start-ups, I will never call a high-powered friend on your behalf. Do you understand?¡±Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Yes. God, yes, that¡¯s not what I¡¯m here for.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care if that¡¯s not what you¡¯re here for today. But one day, you¡¯ll think that thought, if you haven¡¯t in the past. And I need you to know that door is closed forever. It¡¯s fucking welded shut. Got it?¡± A Ticking Time Boss 61 ¡°Closed door. Got it,¡± he says, nodding slowly. His expression doesn¡¯t change. ¡°You¡¯re right to say that to me. You¡¯re cleverer, you know, than your siblings.¡± I narrow my eyes. This isn¡¯t the path I wanted this conversation to take. Hell, I never wanted this conversation at all. ¡°They visited me in prison, did you know that? All three of them. They were angry too, of course, but they let me exin. You never did.¡± Dad sounds almost proud of that fact, giving me a crooked grin. ¡°We¡¯re the same, you and I, Carter.¡± ¡°No. We are nothing alike.¡± He chuckles. ¡°Think your drive is a coincidence? You have my ambition, kid, but the smarts to do it the legal way. You got those from your mother.¡± I shake my head. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear this.¡± He looks out at the line of smartly-d people waiting for the cashier. All ready to go to work. ¡°Jenny just got married. Did you know that? She waited until I was out, so I could walk her down the aisle.¡± Not what I want to hear. Not at all. Fury, mixed with sympathy, for that other family. How could they forgive him? ¡°Do they know about me? And Mom?¡± Dad nods. ¡°I told them everything a few years back. No more lies, Carter. Not to them and not to you. Never again.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the best liar I¡¯ve ever met.¡± ¡°I am,¡± he says. There¡¯s no shame or regret on his face. ¡°But it¡¯s not worth it. It ruined my life, and hurt too many people I love.¡± Love. The thing he¡¯s never been capable of, I think, but I don¡¯t say it. ¡°William is a doctor now. He¡¯s two years older than you.¡± I put my cup down hard enough to rattle the table. ¡°I don¡¯t want to know.¡± ¡°All right, noted. In your own time,¡± he says. ¡°They¡¯re curious about you, though.¡± ¡°You texted Mom,¡± I say, my voice granite. Enough of this. ¡°I never want you to contact her again.¡± Dad gives a slow nod. ¡°I understand that. But we had a rtionship aside from you, you know. She might want to-¡± ¡°Then you wait for her to reach out. She has your number. But you will never fucking wait outside her apartment like you did with me today. Do you get that? You do that, and I will never speak to you again until the day I die. And I fucking mean that. You don¡¯t mess with Mom again.¡± He leans back, eyes widening slightly. But he nods. ¡°Understood,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯re good to her.¡± ¡°Not something I learned from you.¡± I drain the rest of my coffee. This has already gone on for too long. ¡°Look, I get that you¡¯re out of prison and ready to pick up the pieces of your old life. But we haven¡¯t been sitting around waiting for that. I have a life. Mom has a life. And we¡¯re both better without you in them.¡± Dad is still, eyes unreadable. ¡°Okay. I understand.¡± ¡°You lied to us every single day you were with us in New York. If not by your words, then by your actions,¡± I say. ¡°I thought my father was a brilliant travelling businessman. Turns out he was a cheat, and a liar, and a con artist.¡± ¡°I was all of those things,¡± he says. ¡°And a father. I always treasured that role the most.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡± The word I don¡¯t add is yet. Maybe I will, one day. But opening myself up to this man again is so far in the future I¡¯d need binocrs to see it. ¡°Thanks for speaking to me,¡± Dad says. ¡°Do you want me to-¡± ¡°Wait for me to contact you.¡± ¡°Okay. I can do that.¡± I stand, ready to leave, when something strikes me. William and Jenny. He¡¯d said the names of my half-siblings, the names I¡¯d only seen once in a PI¡¯s file and been unable to forget. William, Jenny, and Sarah.Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org. And me, Carter. A terrible suspicion threads its way through me. I know so little of what he did when he was away¡­ but none of it was good. ¡°Were you ever in Alrich? Around ten years ago? Must have been right before you went to prison.¡± His eyebrows rise, but he nods. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°A dentist,¡± I say softly. The world feels shaky beneath my feet. ¡°Two teenage kids. He trusted you with his pension and his kid¡¯s college funds.¡± Dad looks out the window for a moment. ¡°Now that you mention it¡­ yes. I met them. He¡¯s one of the many I need to make penance for. I had a scheme at the time, for dentists. Met a number of them upstate.¡± ¡°You could give them their money back.¡± ¡°I wish I could,¡± he says. ¡°But I have nothing left.¡± That, at least, I believe. His money management skills were always terrible. I feel sick, putting the connections in ce. ¡°Will C. Jenner.¡± ¡°Was that the alias I used in Alrich?¡± He doesn¡¯t even remember. I nod, my breathing fast. I want to punch him. I want to weep. Dad was the man who ruined Audrey¡¯s family, who forced her into student debt, who rolled like a wrecking ball through her safe and loving home life with lies and deceit. Dad chuckles a little. ¡°That was a foolish, arrogant habit. I used to name myself after you kids. Differentbinations, you know. That name had Will, for William, of course. C for Carter. Jenner for Jenny.¡± ¡°You,¡± I tell him, ¡°are the worst man I¡¯ve ever known.¡± He looks at me with eyes that are bottomless. They¡¯re as wise and ancient as they¡¯d been when I was a kid, when I¡¯d thought he knew everything. I wonder when he learned that trick. ¡°I¡¯ve been in prison, Carter,¡± he says, ¡°and I know there are men far worse than me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± I say, ¡°but none are my father. Don¡¯t contact me again.¡± ¡°Carter¡­¡± he says, but I¡¯m already reaching for the door. The New York air is cold and fresh, and I take deep breaths as I walk. Audrey had always wanted to find the man who swindled her father. It makes meugh, humorless and mad, to think I¡¯ve found him for her. But if I tell her the truth, it might make me lose her altogether. ¡°Look at it,¡± Carter says, spreading out the newspaper on the kitchen table. ¡°You¡¯re right there on the front page.¡± I push the pitcher of orange juice far out of reach. Nothing is allowed to spill on this Sunday edition. ¡°Wow. Just¡­ oh my God. I¡¯ll remember this moment forever.¡± Carter rests his head atop mine and we both stare down at the front page. ¡°Your first lead article in the Globe .¡± A Ticking Time Boss 62 The headline is printed in bold, serif letters, and below it is a picture of the bodega. The photographer had gotten down on his knees to get a shot of the construction cranes behind it. They¡¯re not rted, but it paints a stark picture, especially with the apanying headline. City does nothing to stop illegal evictions of businesses. And beneath it: Written by Audrey Ford. ¡°It¡¯s a great piece,¡± Carter says. ¡°I read itst night before it went to print.¡± ¡°Booker¡¯s additions made it stronger.¡± ¡°They did. She knows what she¡¯s doing.¡± I lean back against him. He hasn¡¯t put on a shirt from his shower and his skin is warm. ¡°No wonder she pushed it two weeks. Johnson¡¯s source from within the constructionpany really came through.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a stronger piece for it,¡± Carter says. ¡°I also expect I¡¯ll get a call from the CEO of that constructionpany in about fifteen minutes.¡± My hand tightens around his wrist. ¡°I didn¡¯t think about that.¡± He chuckles. ¡°I don¡¯t mind. I¡¯ve gotten a few calls since Acture bought the Globe , actually. Most are fun to fend off.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t people¡­ angry?¡± ¡°Most who bother calling are,¡± he says matter-of-factly. ¡°When they thank us it¡¯s usually by email. But I like to remind those who are upset-and theirwyers-about the First Amendment.¡± I look up at him. From this angle, the tips of his eyshes look almost golden. ¡°Do they enjoy that?¡± ¡°No,¡± he says, grinning. ¡°But I do. Now, you and I have to go buy a dozen of these.¡± I nod, looking back down at the paper. ¡°My parents will want one, and my grandparents too. I need to send a picture to my best friend. God, the longer I look at it, the crazier it seems.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve worked hard for it.¡± ¡°Yes, but still¡­ And I know I have a long way left to go. Booker said my writing style was solid, but too melodramatic.¡± I shake my head. ¡°She¡¯s probably right, too.¡± ¡°So you¡¯ll continue to refine. That¡¯s life.¡± He kisses the top of my head. ¡°What solo investigative piece will be your next?¡± I dig my teeth into my lower lip. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a long shot, but I was thinking of finally doing that piece on con artists.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Carter says. ¡°Do you mean¡­ trying to find the man who swindled your dad?¡± His concern, the tentative note in his voice, makes me smile. The memory doesn¡¯t hurt me anymore. It angers me instead, on my parents¡¯ behalf, and all the others who were affected. ¡°Yes,¡± I say, ¡°but I realize that¡¯s a long shot. I¡¯ll keep trying, though. But the personal connection would be an in-road to arger piece on con artists in the state, or across the country. Their methods, their victims, that sort of thing.¡± ¡°Right.¡± Carter slides his hands off my waist and heads to the coffee machine. ¡°A refill?¡± ¡°Yes, please. Thanks.¡± I sit down at his kitchen table and smooth a hand over the newspaper. It still doesn¡¯t feel real. ¡°Do you know, I think this is one of the best days of my life.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can keep it going,¡± he says. But he doesn¡¯t rejoin me at the table. He¡¯s leaning against the counter instead, hand gripping the coffee cup. I pull my legs up beneath hisrge T-shirt. ¡°Carter?¡± ¡°I spoke to my parentsst night,¡± I say, trying not to smile. ¡°And I might have told them about you.¡± He looks down into his coffee, his lips curving. ¡°Did you now?¡± ¡°What did you say?¡± ¡°That I have a boyfriend. That it¡¯s very early yet, but that he¡¯s great to me. He treats me really well.¡± Carter¡¯s smiling fully now. ¡°He attempts to, you know. Always.¡± ¡°He seeds most of the time.¡± I untangle my legs and cross the space to him, forcing him to put down his coffee. My hands curl around his neck. ¡°I told them he¡¯s smart, and capable, and funny. And one of the most infuriating men I¡¯ve ever met.¡± ¡°Infuriating?¡± Carter repeats. He¡¯s gripping my waist, a thumb smoothing over my hipbone. ¡°Yes, but that¡¯s okay, because I love arguing with him over what movie to watch or the best way to drink coffee.¡± ¡°I¡¯m right about the coffee thing.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll let you think you¡¯re right about the coffee thing,¡± I say. My heart feels light inside my chest, so airy it might float away. ¡°They were very happy about it.¡± ¡°Were they?¡± he murmurs. His eyes are locked on my hip, where his hand is smoothing its way beneath the cotton of the T-shirt. ¡°They asked how we met.¡± His voice is low. ¡°What did you tell them?¡± ¡°The truth. Dadughed, and Mom said you were heroic.¡± ¡°Heroic,¡± Carter repeats softly. ¡°I¡¯d like the chance to meet them one day. They must be pretty amazing, if they raised you.¡± ¡°Open with that line and they¡¯ll love you.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. He smiles crookedly. ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a charmer, and you¡¯ll charm them just as thoroughly as you¡¯ve charmed me.¡± Carter looks back down at my body. ¡°It¡¯s what I do best,¡± he says. I frown at the tone in his voice. ¡°Well, not only, of course. You¡¯re also sweet, and intelligent, and funny, and strong, and capable, and-¡± He stops me with a kiss. ¡°Are you trying to tell me you like me, kid?¡± ¡°Yes. d you got that.¡± ¡°Message received loud and clear.¡± He pulls me in closer, my hips against his. But I still have one more question. ¡°What are we going to do about work?¡± He rests his head against my shoulder, soft hair tickling my neck. ¡°What about it?¡± ¡°Since you and I are in a rtionship¡­¡± A Ticking Time Boss 63 ¡°We very much are,¡± he confirms against my skin. His hands tighten on my hips. ¡°I¡¯m never letting you go.¡± I smile against his cheek. ¡°So we¡¯re in amitted rtionship. But you¡¯re also my boss¡¯s boss¡¯s boss, and we can¡¯t have people at work knowing. Does that mean we¡¯ll be sneaking around indefinitely?¡± It seems like an impossible riddle to answer. ¡°Not forever,¡± Carter says. His voice is confident. ¡°Okay,¡± I murmur, ¡°but how will that work? I really like my job, and I happen to really like my boyfriend too. I don¡¯t want to give either of them up.¡± ¡°Happy to hear it,¡± he says, grinning crookedly. Iugh. ¡°You¡¯re enjoying this.¡± ¡°Hearing you say over and over again that you like me? Yeah, I am.¡± ¡°Carter,¡± Iin. His hands settle more firmly around my waist. ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out, kid. I¡¯ll never do anything to jeopardize your job.¡± ¡°I know that. But you just took over the newspaper. And you have grand ns for it, and I definitely don¡¯t want you to sell it.¡± ¡°I might have gathered that, too, yes.¡± ¡°So we¡¯re at an impasse.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. Carter¡¯s arms flex beneath my hands and he lifts me up, depositing me on the kitchen counter. Leisurely, as befits the Sunday morning we¡¯re enjoying, he reaches for the hem of my T-shirt. I let him peel it off me-his own shirt, really-and toss it behind him. Itnds halfway in the sink. ¡°I don¡¯t see an impasse,¡± he says, eyes moving in heated circles across my face, hair, stomach, chest. ¡°I only see perfection.¡± ¡°Carter¡­¡± He steps closer between my syed thighs and I lock them at his hips. A problem we may have, but I¡¯m not ready to give either of my two passions up. Nothing will stop me from having him-or my career. ¡°I won¡¯t be running the Globe forever,¡± he says. ¡°You know, Tristan stepped down from running Exciteur when he met Freddie.¡± ¡°She worked at thepany?¡± ¡°She was a trainee when they met.¡± I grimace. ¡°Ouch.¡± ¡°It was tough, but they¡¯re perfect for one another. She¡¯s got a great head for business too. Anyway, he stepped down when they got serious.¡± I trace the outline of his bare abs. ¡°He stepped down? From the position of CEO?¡± Carter nods. His hands are moving over my bare back, down to thece edge of my panties and up again. The man is a damn fine multitasker, I¡¯ll give him that. ¡°Yes. It¡¯s an option here too,¡± he says. I shake my head. ¡°You worked for years to buy the Globe . Didn¡¯t you tell me about all the preparation you did, to learn about the industry?¡± ¡°You¡¯re more important.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not giving up your career,¡± I say, ¡°and neither am I.¡± His lip quirks. ¡°I could step down nominally.¡± ¡°Nominally,¡± I repeat. ¡°Yes. Let¡¯s say we sneak around for a year. After that, I could hand over the reins to a board. Acture would still be the owner. But my face wouldn¡¯t be visible in day-to-day operations.¡± ¡°Could work,¡± I murmur, ¡°but you know those investigative reporters¡­¡± ¡°They¡¯ll be investigating. I know,¡± he agrees. ¡°Ultimately, I¡¯ll do whatever you want, kid. But I will let you know right now that I can¡¯t wait for the day you¡¯ll be my date to all those boring events I¡¯m forced to endure. I want you on my arm, always.¡± ¡°If we go to the Reporters¡¯ Balls,¡± I say, ¡°then it¡¯s a deal.¡± He groans, but he¡¯s smiling. ¡°I can¡¯tpete with the Dean Allens of this world, can I? ¡°Spend a year in a war zone or win a Pulitzer, and you might.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll forever be in his illustrious shadow.¡± His gaze drops to my breasts, where arge hand is teasing my nipple. ¡°But he doesn¡¯t get to do this, and I do, so he can keep all his damn Pulitzers.¡± He tweaks it hard and my breath catches. The pleasure-pain radiates out through my body, and I grip his hips tighter with my thighs. ¡°I¡¯m all yours,¡± I say. ¡°I contacted him, actually. About frencing for the Globe .¡± I grip his shoulders. ¡°What?!¡± Carter half-smiles. ¡°Yes. Remember this, too, the next time you¡¯re angry at me.¡± ¡°You¡¯re hiring?¡± ¡°I¡¯m pouring more funds into Investigative, yes. The newsroom is what¡¯ll sell papers. That and the damn news app with the advertising algorithm.¡± ¡°Oh my God.¡± I hug Carter tight, and heughs, the sound rumbling through his bare chest. ¡°I like you, I like you, I like you so so so much¡­¡± Heughs again and finds the backs of my knees. With a faint grunt, he lifts me boldly off the counter and strides in the direction of his bedroom. ¡°My beautiful, front-page featuring, Dean Allen-fangirling, award-winning girlfriend,¡± he says. ¡°Your parents aren¡¯t the only ones curious about this new rtionship.¡± He tosses me on his bed, still unmade fromst night. I crawl backwards up toward the pillows. ¡°They¡¯re not?¡± ¡°No.¡± He climbs after me. ¡°I¡¯m meeting my mother for lunch next weekend. Come with me.¡± ¡°To meet her?¡± ¡°No, to take notes. Yes, of course to meet her.¡± Iugh again, but it¡¯s quickly stopped by his heavy weight on top of me. He feels delicious, and so right, fitting between my thighs. The fabric of our underwear does nothing to hide the hard length of him. A Ticking Time Boss 64 ¡°Will you?¡± he asks, mouth at my neck. I run my hands down his broad back. Weights, I¡¯ve learned, and swimming. I¡¯ve seen him lift now. This is important for him, just like telling my parents about him was important for me. My entire body feels like it¡¯s a live wire. I think I love him . ¡°I¡¯d love to meet her.¡± His mouth trails across my chest and toward the hard peak of my nipple. We have breakfast prepared in his kitchen. Orange juice, coffee, bagels. And I couldn¡¯t care less. The wonder of him, I¡¯ve found, is that he does exactly what he wants, when he wants, and always expects me to do the same. It¡¯s liberating. ¡°You drive me insane,¡± he whispers against thece edge of my panties. His hands have already hooked around the fabric, and his golden eyes are locked on the skin he¡¯s slowly unveiling. I know what he¡¯s nning¡­ and he¡¯s gotten dangerously good at it. Perhaps it¡¯s knowing how much he enjoys it that lets me give in entirely. ¡°Carter,¡± I murmur. He grins up at me and bends his auburn head to the spot between my thighs. It¡¯s a long timeter, and one slow, trembling orgasm, when he finally eases inside of me. He¡¯s hard and thick and when he¡¯s fully seated, I can feel him throbbing inside. He mutters against my neck. ¡°Christ,¡± he says, and I can feel him shaking. ¡°You don¡¯t have to go slow.¡± He groans and speeds up, hips thrusting in deep strokes that send the padded headboard of his bed against the wall in rhythmic beats. I brace a hand against it and keep the other on his broad back. Nothing is like this. Feeling him inside me, on top of me, holding me. Breathless kisses and heady pleasure, feeling his heart beat and knowing there is no way, never could be, to be closer to another person than this. I love you, I think with every roll of his hips. I love you I love you I love you. I wrap my hands around his biceps, hard as stone from holding up his body weight, and find the curve of his ear with my lips. ¡°I¡¯m so happy I met you,¡± I whisper. ¡°You¡¯re everything I wanted, and so much more I didn¡¯t know I did.¡± He groans. It¡¯s a low and hoarse sound, deep from his chest. I feel the spasms inside as he orgasms and I sp him close to me the entire time. Legs and arms and heart, all holding him. ¡°Fuck,¡± he says weakly and buries his head against my neck. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do if you ever left me.¡± I smile, too dazed and tired to think, and run my nails up his back. ¡°Luckily I have no ns to do that.¡± I expect hisughter to rumble through his chest and into me. He loves joking in bed. Once, he said having sex with me felt even better while I wasughing, because of the tremors. But that might have been a joke, too. It had definitely made meugh, at any rate. Carter doesn¡¯t, though. He kisses me instead,nguid andzy. He¡¯s still moving gently inside me, and I can feel him in every cell of my body. ¡°Promise me you never will,¡± he murmurs. That¡¯s easy. ¡°Never,¡± I say. ¡°He thought he could talk his way out of anything,¡± Susan says fondly. She¡¯s searching through a drawer in a closet, tucked into the corner of the room that was once Carter¡¯s. It¡¯s a guest room and sewing room now, for when her sister visits or-as she tells me-when the muse strikes. I smile at the back of her head. In some ways she¡¯s much like Carter, but she¡¯s different, too. Quieter, but with a strength that¡¯s clear in her eyes. She keeps working as a teacher because she loves it. ¡®Not,¡± as she¡¯d said, ¡®because my son is too stingy to help me retire early.¡¯ ¡°Mom,¡± he¡¯d protested. Seeing them together was fascinating. Watching him interact with someone who saw right through the bluster and the jokes. ¡°I don¡¯t want Audrey to think you don¡¯t take care of me,¡± she¡¯d fired right back. ¡°Because he does.¡± Now she¡¯s searching for old photo albums, and the son and boyfriend in question is downstairs hunting for the super. The water pressure is off, apparently. It looked okay to me. Weak, perhaps, but normal. But Carter had been decisive. Susan had agreed, in the tone of someone who¡¯ll cede the battle to win the war, and had sent me a little wink. He¡¯s overprotective of her too, it seems. ¡°He was too clever for his own good,¡± she continues, head inside the closet. ¡°There were times, in school, where my colleagues asked me if I¡¯d given him the answers in advance for tests. He didn¡¯t like to study, you know, but he¡¯d get it right anyway.¡± ¡°That sounds like him. Irritatingly good at a lot of things.¡± Susanughs. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s the best way to describe it. Oh, here we are. I have to show you¡­ he was the cutest kid.¡± ¡°I¡¯d love to see,¡± I say honestly. Because I can¡¯t imagine Carter ever as a kid, without the air of supreme confidence he carries around him like a shield now. She carries a heavy, bound album to the guest bed and gestures for me to join her. The first page she opens to has pictures of the Bronx Zoo¡­ and Carter as an eight-year-old. ¡°He wanted pictures in front of all the animal exhibits,¡± she says. ¡°That¡¯s him and the chimps, him and the meerkats, him and the tigers. They wouldn¡¯t show themselves, so I had to take a picture of him next to the sign.¡± I smile down at the image of my boyfriend, so much younger, with a wide grin at the camera. It looks entirely unguarded. A thick mop of hair, a lighter shade of auburn than it is now, hangs down over his eyes. He looks gangly, legs just starting to shoot up. ¡°He loved animals?¡± ¡°Back then, yeah, he sure did.¡± She flips a few pages forward. ¡°There¡¯s one where he¡¯s fallen asleep in front of Animal¡­ let me find it. Oh, no. Look at this one. His tenth birthday.¡± I look down at a picture of a group of people, all watching Carter on the ground. He¡¯s sitting behind a mountain of gifts in bright colors. I spot a younger Susan standing behind him. Other adults mill around, and a group of children run in the background, their forms blurry. But it¡¯s the man in the corner my eyesnd on. He¡¯s wearing a well-pressed suit. Thick, dark hair is swept back over heavy brows. The charming smile is familiar. Too familiar. He looks down at Carter with a proud expression. Even in the picture, he frightens me. There¡¯s something too clean about him. It¡¯s a younger image of Will C. Jenner. The man I¡¯ve been looking for over a decade for. Susan has noticed my zeroed-in attention. ¡°Ah,¡± she says softly. ¡°That¡¯s Carter¡¯s dad. Has he told you about him?¡± I can¡¯t find my voice, so I nod instead. It¡¯s a tiny movement. The man who ruined my father¡¯s life is my boyfriend¡¯s dad. It would be funny, if this was a si, a farce, a romanticedy. Now it just makes me want to cry and scream at the same time. Susan sighs. ¡°It¡¯s not a pretty story. But it is our story, and I¡¯m not afraid to tell it anymore. He was aplicated man. Brilliant, in some ways, and he gave me my son. But I can¡¯t say that he was good.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say quietly. ¡°Carter told me about him.¡±Ccontent ? exclusive by N?/vel(D)ra/ma.Org. ¡°He¡¯s always been harsher on his father than I have been. Not that I wasn¡¯t angry too,¡± she says. ¡°But it¡¯s faded. I don¡¯t think Carter¡¯s has. He¡¯s reached out now, and I¡¯ve told him it might be a good idea to meet him¡­ just to clear the air, you know? To have the chance to say his piece.¡± The smile she gives me is soft. A bit shy, perhaps, and encouraging. ¡°My son told me you¡¯d said the same thing.¡± I feel sick. ¡°Yeah, I did.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 65 ¡°We¡¯ll see if he listens,¡± Susan says, turning the page, taking the image of Will Jenner away with it. ¡°But Carter isn¡¯t quick to forgive when someone wrongs him.¡± The revtion shakes the ground beneath me. The truth, atst. And it¡¯s not at all what I wanted and miles from what I expected. Carter returns to the apartment like a conquering hero, water pressure sorted. The super told me he¡¯ll fix it within the hour. No problem is too small or toorge for him to solve, it seems. Had he charmed the super too? Used that wide, crooked smile, his powers of persuasion, or promises of money or bribes? I¡¯d seen him do it before. I¡¯d watched his father use it in a different way. I can¡¯t stop seeing the two of them. The simrities. When we leave Susan¡¯s, the unease has settled into a pit of despair in my stomach. I can¡¯t keep this a secret. I have to talk about it, but I have no idea what to say or where to start. Carter takes my hand in his. He lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss to the back. ¡°Thank you foring with me.¡± ¡°My pleasure,¡± I say. ¡°Remember our first non-date? The pizza ce across the street?¡± ¡°Yes. After my date stood me up.¡± ¡°Worst mistake of his life, but I¡¯m eternally grateful,¡± Carter says. ¡°Let¡¯s get pizza again. Eat it on your fire escape. Who knows how long you¡¯ll have the ce?¡± My chest feels tight, and breathing is difficult. Thinking is difficult. I shake my head slowly. ¡°I can¡¯t. Carter¡­¡± ¡°Oh my God. I don¡¯t know where to start. I¡­¡± Troubled, golden eyes meet mine. There¡¯s concern in them. ¡°No pizza,¡± he says firmly. ¡°Come, let¡¯s go to yours. Do you feel faint?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, but not in the way he means. Will C. Jenner, I think. I love the son of the man who took everything from my family. Carter keeps a hand on my back, and he¡¯s the one who unlocks the door to Old Man Pierce¡¯s house. The familiar smell of mildew and mold hits us. We walk the creaky steps in silence. The words feel heavy on my tongue. I don¡¯t know how he¡¯ll react. Will it make him hate his father even more? Feel¡­ shame, anger, hurt? It¡¯s not his favorite topic. It¡¯s never been mine either. ¡°Honey, what¡¯s wrong?¡± Carter says. He closes the door to my room behind us. He¡¯s never called me honey before. It¡¯s always been kid or spitfire or sometimes Audrey, and to my surprise, the endearment make my eyes tear up. There¡¯s rm in his eyes now. ¡°Did something happen?¡± ¡°Yes. I don¡¯t know how to tell you this.¡± ¡°You can tell me anything. Don¡¯t cry, kid. Please. Come here.¡± He locks his arms around me and I bury my face in his chest. ¡°Tell me,¡± he says softly. My wordse out muffled. ¡°Your mother showed me old pictures of you when you were a kid.¡± His arms tense around me. ¡°The old photo albums?¡± ¡°Yes. And I saw¡­ I saw¡­¡± My breath is spiralling out of control. ¡°Shit,¡± he says quietly, troubled eyes meeting mine. ¡°Tell me what you saw.¡± But it¡¯s there in his eyes. The suspicion. The knowledge. ¡°You already know?¡± ¡°Tell me what you saw,¡± he repeats. I shake my head and step back. ¡°You know. Don¡¯t you? I saw a picture of your father.¡± Carter¡¯s eyes drift closed, like he can¡¯t look at me. There¡¯s pain on his face. ¡°Fuck,¡± he mutters.Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°He¡¯s Will C. Jenner. The man who swindled my father, who sat at our dinner table, who joked with my brother and asked me about my college ns. Who made my dad feel two inches tall after he left with all the money he¡¯d charmed his way into.¡± I feel like sobbing, and I feel like screaming. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you surprised? Did you know?¡± ¡°Yes. Audrey, I never-¡± ¡°How long?¡± He looks pained. ¡°Don¡¯t focus on that.¡± ¡°How long did you know he was the same man? The man I¡¯ve been looking for for years?¡± ¡°About a month,¡± he says. The admission goes off like a bomb in my head. A month. A month. He¡¯d known, when I¡¯d pitched him my con-artist investigative piece. He¡¯d known, and he¡¯d taken me out to dinner, andughed at my jokes, and made love to me all the same. He hadn¡¯t trusted me with the truth. I back away until I hit the wall, feeling like I can¡¯t breathe. Good thing there¡¯s solid ster behind me, or I wouldn¡¯t be upright. Carter steps closer, and all I can make out are the sudden simrities. The heavy brows. The wide, charming mouth. The thick hair. ¡°Were you ever going to tell me?¡± I ask. He falters, and in the pause, I hear the reply loud enough to rattle my bones. No. ¡°I was nning to,¡± he says. ¡°No,¡± I whisper. ¡°You weren¡¯t. Not really. Can¡¯t you at least admit that?¡± ¡°Audrey,¡± he says, and there¡¯s heartbreak in his eyes. Like I¡¯m the one hurting him. ¡°Oh my God. I can¡¯t believe you wouldn¡¯t tell me the second you found out.¡± His voice strengthens. Snaps into business-mode, solution-mode. ¡°How much did my father swindle off yours?¡± ¡°How much? I¡¯ll pay it all back. Everyst cent.¡± I stare at him. ¡°This isn¡¯t something you can fix with money. Especially not your money,¡± I say. If there¡¯s one person who shouldn¡¯t pay for Will C. Jenner¡¯s mistakes, it¡¯s his son. But Carter steps back like I¡¯ve insulted him. ¡°Audrey,¡± he says, voice hoarse. ¡°I can¡¯t have my father¡¯s dealings ruin this. Ruin us.¡± I close my eyes. I don¡¯t want that either, but right now, the only thing I can think is that he wasn¡¯t going to tell me. He was nning on going his whole life knowing, and not telling me. ¡°I want you to leave,¡± I whisper. ¡°Please, Carter. I need to be alone.¡± He doesn¡¯t say another word. He just closes the door softly on the way out, footsteps disappearing down the steps beyond, and I sink slowly to the floor. A Ticking Time Boss 66 It¡¯s been a week. One long week since I learned the truth, since Carter walked out of my apartment. Since I asked him to leave me alone. A week since the funny, annoying, sweet, soft texts stopped. He¡¯d known. It¡¯s difficult to wrap my head around. He¡¯d known and not told me, even after we¡¯d had the discussion about honesty. The betrayal stings like salt in a wound. Booker¡¯s voice booms through the newsroom. ¡°Decker, Johnson, Peters and Kim. I want your stories on my desk by the end of the day. Feel free to use the juniors if needed!¡± ¡°Yes, boss!¡± someone calls back. Den snickers beside me. ¡°Use the juniors,¡± he repeats. Grunt work is exactly what it sounds like, but I don¡¯t mind it. Working with the seasoned journalists is sometimes a pain in the ass. Decker is especially finicky, and Peters doesn¡¯t tolerate criticism from a junior colleague, but I¡¯m learning a lot. I¡¯m still loving my job¡­ even if I¡¯ve hateding here every single day this week. The knowledge that Carter is only a few floors above me feels like torture. A part of me wishes I¡¯d never found out. Which means his n of never telling me wasn¡¯t the worst one, and I hate that part of me, too. I hate that I don¡¯t know my own mind where I¡¯ve always been able to trust it before. And I also hate that he knew and didn¡¯t tell me. It makes me feel sidestepped. Neglected. Patronized. But most of all, I miss him so much it hurts. The only thing that helps is focusing on work, even when my focus drifts in and out of view. The paper I¡¯m researching for now is about the rise of remote work. Interesting enough, even if my mind is filled with Carter. Kim stops by Den¡¯s desk. I catch snippets of their hushed conversation, until I¡¯m fully eavesdropping. ¡°¡­going on for over half a year.¡± ¡°Not that long?¡± ¡°Started at the Christmas party, apparently.¡± ¡°That¡¯s insane. I understand why he did it, but why would she risk her position?¡± Den¡¯s voice is filled with glee at the gossip. ¡°Nate¡¯s hot. She probably gambled no one would find out.¡± ¡°HR is involved,st I heard,¡± Kim says. ¡°Nate could lose his job.¡± ¡°So much for sleeping with a superior. Didn¡¯tnd him the promotion, did it?¡± Kim and Den both chuckle. They fall quiet as Booker breezes past and quickly disperse. It¡¯s not the first I¡¯ve heard of this particr piece ofpany gossip, and I¡¯m sure it won¡¯t be thest. But it¡¯s the first time it sends a shiver of fear down my spine. Didn¡¯tnd him the promotion, did it? That¡¯s what Den would say about me and Carter, if he knew. What everyone would say. I put my head in my hands, and for the first time since I started at the Globe , I feel like crying. I love him, I think. And it hurts so much. By afternoon the newsroom is half-empty, and I¡¯m at my wit¡¯s end. I grab a bunch of files at random and head toward the stairs. No one uses them, and luck of all luck, I don¡¯t meet anyone. Tim is sitting at his desk outside the executive offices. I pray Carter¡¯s in. ¡°Dropping off some more papers from the newsroom,¡± I say. ¡°As requested.¡± He doesn¡¯t even bat an eye. We must have sold it well thest time I snuck up here, for Carter¡¯s birthday. ¡°Head on in,¡± Tim says.Ccontent ? exclusive by N?/vel(D)ra/ma.Org. Carter is not expecting me, that much is clear from his gaze, widening with surprise before it settles into a golden wariness. He doesn¡¯t know what I¡¯m here to say. That makes two of us. ¡°Hey,¡± he says, and steps past me to close the door to his office. ¡°Everything okay?¡± ¡°Yeah. Yes, I mean. How have you been?¡± ¡°This past week?¡± He leans against his desk, crossing strong arms over his chest. The need to touch him aches in my fingertips. ¡°Not great, kid.¡± ¡°Me neither,¡± I say. My throat is thick and wordse out shaky. ¡°What are we really doing here, you know?¡± His eyes are those of a hawk. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°It¡¯ll only be a matter of time before people at work find out. And if we can¡¯t trust one another¡­ if I can¡¯t trust you¡­¡± I shake my head, eyes blurring. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s better if we stop this now. We¡¯ll never figure things out with the work situation, will we?¡± He¡¯s so still he might as well be a statue. Frozen to ice before me, Carter¡¯s grin is nowhere to be seen. His eyes are so cold they burn. ¡°Okay,¡± he says slowly. ¡°If that¡¯s what you want.¡± No, I think. That¡¯s not what I want at all. My heart feels like it¡¯s frosting over, something fracturing deep within. But I don¡¯t know if I can trust him¡­ and I need this pain to go away. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you didn¡¯t tell me,¡± I whisper. He closes his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re giving up on us. You haven¡¯t sent me a single text this week, kid. Not one.¡± ¡°I needed time to think.¡± ¡°And this is what you¡¯ve settled on.¡± His eyes open, and there¡¯s nothing detached about them now. They ze. ¡°If you think it¡¯s easier to just end this, then fine. Let¡¯s end it.¡± A tear spills over and races down my cheek. Carter walks around his desk and sits down. Like I¡¯m not here, like I¡¯m not hurting. Like he¡¯s not hurting. I love you, I think again. Don¡¯t you care at all? Where is the man I¡¯vee to care for? Who held me on a fire escape, who asked me for permission to ask me out, who is funny and intelligent and never backs down from an argument? ¡°Okay,¡± I say. ¡°All right. I¡­ well. Here are some papers from the copy machine downstairs.¡± I set them down on the edge of his desk, feeling worthless. ¡°It was just an excuse toe up here, but I can¡¯t leave¡­¡± Without dropping them off. But the words are caught in my throat, stuck in the ball of tears. ¡°Got it. Just leave them here.¡± Right. I retreat to the door, my hand shaking at my side. Why is he like this? ¡°Can I call you in a week or two?¡± I manage. ¡°After we¡¯ve both had time to think?¡± Because this can¡¯t be thest time we talk about this. A Ticking Time Boss 67 ¡°Sure,¡± he says. His gaze flows from me to his screen, like I¡¯m nothing. ¡°Sounds good.¡± I leave his office without looking at Tim, and in the stairwell, my tears turn into muffled sobs. Another week passes without a text or call from Audrey. Another week, in other words, with time to mull over her fucking words. She¡¯d used we might as well and how about we like it was some sort of mutual decision. Like she hadn¡¯t already made it and was now forcing me to live with the consequences. I was furious with her at first, for focusing on what my father did, when that was never my crime. How long can I pay for what he did? Then I was furious at my father, again, and for an entirely new reason. For still, almost a decadeter, fucking up my life and ruining one of the best things I¡¯ve ever had. For changing the way she looked at me. And finally¡­ me. I swirl the brandy around in my ss and keep my gaze on the amber liquid, away from the eyes of anyone who might want to small talk. Now I¡¯m finally furious with myself for letting her walk out of that office. For not taking the fight. But it had hurt like a damn freight train to hear her give up. To hear the pain in her voice, and still have her make that decision. Lead me toward it like she was a guidance counselor. Like it wasn¡¯t even worth an argument. People im to love me, and then they leave. The brandy burns going down and I enjoy every painful second of it. ¡°You look happy,¡± a voice says at my side. Calm, collected, an undertone of concerned sarcasm. He¡¯s using his dad voice on me. I turn to Tristan. ¡°My drink¡¯s empty.¡± He gives a thoughtful nod and leans against the wall beside me. We both look out at the mingling group of people filling the inn. Anthony and Summer, Cecilia and Victor, mother-inws and aunts and uncles. Freddie is sitting in the center, holding court. There¡¯s no sign of a bump yet. Tristan must be ecstatic. For the first time, I hate him a little bit for it. For the unconditional love she gives him. ¡°You¡¯re staring,¡± he says softly. ¡°Want to tell me what you¡¯re thinking about?¡± Fuck it. I throw my pride to the wind. ¡°How did you get her to love you? Without leaving when she found out about your ws?¡± Tristan¡¯s lips quirk. ¡°You¡¯re assuming I have ws, Kingsley.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. ¡°Be straight with me.¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Is this about Audrey and why she¡¯s not here?¡± ¡°I asked you a question first.¡± ¡°So that¡¯s a yes,¡± he says. ¡°Okay then. I have tons of ws, as does my wife, you know. Everyone does. But if you love someone, that¡¯s insignificant in contrast.¡± ¡°Yes, but how did she overlook yours?¡± ¡°She loves me too,¡± he says. ¡°For some goddamn reason, and I¡¯ll never stop being grateful for it, or trying to deserve her. But why don¡¯t we start at the root of this? Tell me what happened with Audrey first.¡± I narrow my eyes at him, but he just gazes serenely back at me. Unshakeable, this man. Always has been. So I set down my ss and turn to him. ¡°Fine. So, my dad¡¯s a piece of shit.¡± ¡°Not where I expected you to start,¡± Tristan says. ¡°But go on.¡± I tell him the whole story in a few abbreviated sentences. About my father, about her family, and my own decision to keep it from her. It sounds ugly spoken out loud, and I know even without admitting it that I don¡¯te off good. Not in any part of it. ¡°And then she left,¡± I finish. ¡°She decided it would be easier if we just ended it.¡± Tristan nods. ¡°I see. And did you want her to run?¡± ¡°What? No.¡± ¡°Maybe not consciously, but did it feel safer when she did? Rather than telling her the honest-to-God-truth.¡± ¡°The truth,¡± I say. ¡°And what would that be?¡± ¡°That you were terrified of telling her the truth because you suspected she¡¯d leave you,¡± he says. ¡°Like your father did. So you didn¡¯t, but she found out, and now she¡¯s left you anyway. Just like you secretly predicted. Confirms your story, doesn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Fuck you,¡± I say quietly, and mean it. Tristan¡¯s eyes soften. ¡°It¡¯s not easy to hear any of this stuff. I know, Kingsley. Trust me. But from the look on your face¡­ you want her back.¡± I look out the window at the falling leaves outside. This is a charming little city. I wish Audrey would be here to see it, too. ¡°Yes,¡± I admit. ¡°More than anything.¡± ¡°Perhaps she came up to your office hoping you would convince her to stay, you know. Hoping you¡¯d tell her that everything would be okay? Perhaps even wanting you to apologize?¡± I groan. ¡°I didn¡¯t do any of those things.¡± ¡°No.¡± Tristan¡¯s voice is tinged with faint hesitation when he speaks again, like he knows he might be overstepping but won¡¯t stop. ¡°You were already protecting yourself, I¡¯m guessing. Had your wall all the way up?¡± I close my eyes. Idiot, I think. She was right there, and with her soft eyes on mine, asking me to reassure, to apologize, to fight. And I¡¯d been too busy wallowing in my own feelings to see any of it. ¡°I¡¯ll never forgive myself,¡± I say. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a bit harsh,¡± Tristan says. ¡°I saw how the two of you looked at the dinner a few weeks ago. Do you really think it¡¯s toote?¡± ¡°It better not be,¡± I say. ¡°God, when can I leave this thing?¡± Heughs. ¡°I think you have to stay until after the ceremony, at least.¡± ¡°Fuck the ceremony. They¡¯re already married.¡± ¡°Get out of here first thing tomorrow morning,¡± Tristan says, putting a hand on my shoulder. ¡°Be honest with her about why you reacted the way you did. That¡¯s the secret, you know. To me and Freddie. We¡¯re honest, even when it¡¯s terrible.¡± ¡°Couldn¡¯t the secret just be to have a lot of really great fucking sex?¡± I mutter. ¡°Because I could work with that.¡± Tristan chuckles again, looking over his shoulder. But we¡¯re out of earshot. ¡°That helps too,¡± he tells me. It feels like an ageter until we¡¯re finally all seated outdoors, beneath the shade of an oak with rapidly falling leaves. The water across the pond ripples gently with the wind. A sunny day, as opposed to yesterday¡¯s rain. They¡¯ve chosen well. Audrey would have enjoyed it. She¡¯dment on things I don¡¯t notice, like the silkiness of the chair coverings or how pretty the sunlight is through the leaves. I¡¯d take her hand, and look at Victor standing there, waiting for Cecilia to join him. A Ticking Time Boss 68 Wondering how I¡¯d feel in his ce. Waiting for the woman next to me to promise to love me forever. But she¡¯s not here, and the absence is like a lost limb, a disease, an ache. Beside me is Summer, and Anthony to her right. From the corner of my eye I can see their tightly sped hands. Their wedding ising up, too. I used to roll my eyes at my friends¡¯ obsession with marital bliss. The joke doesn¡¯t seem quite as funny now, when I¡¯d rather be the punchline than the joker. A single violinist starts to y, a soft, warm sound. Everyone turns in their seats to watch Cecilia¡­ but I look at Victor. He¡¯s in a tux, hands rxed at his side. Watching his wife walk down the aisle to him. And beneath hisposure, he¡¯s burning with emotion. I see it in his eyes. They¡¯re locked on her. We might as well not be here for all he cares. It¡¯s not even that he¡¯d prefer it¡­ but he doesn¡¯t care. Because he¡¯s focused on her and her alone. We don¡¯t exist. This man, who I¡¯ve argued with time and time again. Thepetitive bastard who loves to find weaknesses and exploit them, who has never seen a business he couldn¡¯t make more efficient, who is a far bigger proponent ofyoffs than I¡¯ve ever been. He¡¯s standing here with love shining in his eyes. If Victor St. ir can change for Cecilia and embrace vulnerability, then I can¡¯t do anything less for Audrey. I¡¯ll be nothing short of what she deserves. I watch them renew their vows. Eyes locked on one another, a silent conversation flowing beneath their softly spoken words. Audrey might not be mine, but by God am I hers. The need to talk to her is a bone-deep ache. For so many years, convincing people had been my job. I¡¯d used my charm in more ways than I care to count. Some I¡¯m proud of and many I¡¯m not. This time is different.Content ? N?velDrama.Org 2024. I¡¯m going to have to be one hundred percent myself, and even that might not be enough. But I¡¯m not going to run anymore. Thendscape shes outside the train window, mile after mile of distance added between me and my family. Returning to the city is always a mixed bag. Exciting, with the lure of New York and my life there. The job I¡¯ve dreamed of forever. And sad, because it¡¯s a renunciation of my home, my past, my little hometown and the street I spent the first eighteen years of my life on. Safety and adventure, and always the bnce between the two. I feel it more acutely now than I have in years. It¡¯s been a week since I heard from Carter. The disastrous conversation in his office has been on rey in my head. I¡¯ve tried to analyze every angle. To find the point where it derailed. He¡¯d been impossible to talk to. Shut off somehow. And in my head, the only thing in my mind had been how he¡¯d kept the truth from me. He didn¡¯t tell me, he didn¡¯t tell me, he didn¡¯t tell me. But in the week since, that refrain has changed, the words shifted around. I miss him so much he¡¯s like a song beneath my own singing. I love him, I love him, I love him. And I never got a chance to tell him that. The conversation I¡¯d had with my dad helped, soothing the jagged edges of my hurt. He¡¯d been the true victim of Will C. Jenner, after all, him and my mother. Just money, sure, but it had always been his pride and self-esteem that took the worst hit. Maybe that¡¯s why I¡¯ve had such a tough time wrapping my head around Carter¡¯s father being the same person who hurt my dad, the best man I¡¯ve ever known. We took a walk in the woods behind our neighborhood with my parents¡¯ ck Labrador patrolling the leaves beside us. ¡°Is a person more than their parents?¡± I¡¯d asked. Dad answered immediately. ¡°Of course they are, sweetie. You¡¯re more than Mom and me.¡± ¡°But what I mean is¡­ are they more than their parents¡¯ worst actions?¡± He¡¯dughed. ¡°God, yes. What¡¯s all this?¡± I¡¯d taken a deep breath. Wondered if this was wise, and then throwing caution to the wind, trusting him the same way I had when he taught me to swim, to ride a bike, I told him the entire story. I told him who Carter¡¯s dad was. Dad had listened with patience. He¡¯d asked a few cautious questions here and there, about the timeline. No, I haven¡¯t met him. Never, ever want to. ¡°Poor boy,¡± he said finally, when my words ran out, and we both watched Nibbles dig industrially behind a tree stump. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine having that man in my life permanently. Being his son¡­ Christ.¡± ¡°They have virtually no contact, at Carter¡¯s insistence.¡± ¡°Good decision,¡± Dad had said. He looked over at me with a half-smile. ¡°This has thrown you for a loop, hasn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Yes. How could it not have? I mean, what he did-what happened-I don¡¯t know if¡­ How could I?¡± It was half-coherent at best, but Dad¡¯s smile had only grown deeper. Like he heard the real issue immediately. ¡°If you¡¯re worried about me, don¡¯t be. This man is not his father. You wouldn¡¯t be with him if he was. All I care about is that he makes you happy, and treats you well.¡± ¡°He has, and he does. He just didn¡¯t tell me about this.¡± ¡°Have you asked him why?¡± ¡°He shut down.¡± Dad made a hmming noise and whistled for Nibbles, who¡¯d followed a scent trail nearly out of view. ¡°I¡¯m guessing he was scared. He¡¯s been defined by his dad¡¯s actions all his life, hasn¡¯t he? And now it has once again interfered.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wise,¡± I said. He¡¯dughed. ¡°I don¡¯t know about that, but I¡¯ve been around the block a few times, sweetheart.¡± ¡°How can you be so¡­ forgiving about this? We¡¯ve never spoken much about what happened in the years since. Have you gotten over it? What the con man did?¡± He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. ¡°I won¡¯t tell you that I¡¯ve stopped regretting it,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t think I ever will. But, sweetheart¡­ Will Jenner came to me with nothing but cynicism and greed, masked in charm. I met him with hope. Naively, perhaps. Foolheartedly. What he was selling me was too good to be true. But I¡¯d rather be too hopeful than too cynical, and if I know you, you would be too.¡± The words had lodged like a hot stone beneath my breastbone. I carry them even now, a day after, on the train transporting me back to New York. I¡¯d rather be too hopeful than too cynical. Maybe I¡¯d lost that thinking for a while, stuck in my dream of investigating corruption and fraud, righting wrongs and exposing secrets with my journalism. Too hopeful than too cynical. I don¡¯t know what¡¯ll happen. If Carter even wants to talk to me again, if that bridge is burned, if I¡¯m back to bad first dates and nursing a broken heart. But I carry Dad¡¯s words with me like a token. The city is cold and empty when I arrive at the station. I lug my too-heavy bag with me on the subway. Mom had insisted on baking bread, two whole loaves, and packing them in with my clothes. I round the street to mine. The familiar stoop beckons, and I can¡¯t wait to copse on my too-small bed in my too-small shithole of an apartment. Work starts tomorrow again, and the idea of seeing Carter from a distance is painful. Something I¡¯ll have to get used to, I suppose. There¡¯s a figure sitting on my stoop. I slow down. There are plenty of weirdos in the city. Should I just keep walking and circle back? No, that coat looks nice¡­ and the hair is familiar. Carter is sitting outside my house. My bag slips through my fingers,nding with a soft thud on the wet sidewalk. A Ticking Time Boss 69 Carter notices. He rises fluidly off the steps, lengthening to his full height. He stretches out a leg like he¡¯s been sitting there for a long time. ¡°Hi,¡± I whisper. ¡°Hey, kid,¡± he says quietly. ¡°Sorry to ambush you like this. I¡¯ll leave if you don¡¯t want to see me.¡± My hair is unwashed and in a low ponytail, and I don¡¯t have a drop of makeup on. My feet hurt and I¡¯m tired. And there¡¯s absolutely no way I¡¯d tell him to go. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°How long have you been sitting here?¡± ¡°Too long,¡± he admits. ¡°Pierce came outside and asked me if I wanted to wait up in your room. Which, by the way, is another reason why-no. Never mind.¡± A slow smile spreads across my face. ¡°Were you about to tell me to install that lock you got me?¡± ¡°No,¡± he says, looking sheepish. ¡°Move out, actually.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. ¡°Going for the throat immediately.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°No. I¡¯m sorry. Not what I¡¯m here for.¡± I swallow. ¡°What are you here for?¡± ¡°I was wondering¡­ would you be okay if I asked you to go to the pizza ce with me? To talk to me? Please, kid, let me exin myself.¡± ¡°Will I get a week to think about it, likest time?¡± I ask with a smile. Back when he¡¯d asked me out on that almost-date, giving me ample time to back out, to consider how wise it is-or isn¡¯t-to date my boss. Carter shoves his hands in his pockets. It¡¯s so good to see him, the familiar face, the sharp cut of his jaw, the sudden hesitation in his eyes. He doesn¡¯t want to say yes. But he does. ¡°Of course,¡± he says. ¡°Whatever time you need.¡± ¡°Just let me drop off my bag upstairs, okay? I¡¯ll be right down.¡± ¡°Of course, yeah. I¡¯ll wait.¡± My heart is beating fast as I burst into my room, and it¡¯s not just from running up the stairs. I pull a brush through my hair and change my top before rushing back down. He¡¯s where I left him. No change, and no longer the distant, cold figure he¡¯d been in his office. We walk toward the restaurant in silence. ¡°I¡¯m nervous,¡± I admit. ¡°Yeah. Hell, Audrey, so am I.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t¡­ know you¡¯d be here.¡± ¡°I should have texted. Somehow I just started walking, and thinking about what I wanted to say to you¡­ and I ended up here.¡± ¡°You walked here all the way from your ce?¡± ¡°I had a lot of thinking to do.¡± Hope is a fragile thing in my chest, dancing about to the sound of his words. ¡°I¡¯ve done a lot of thinking, too,¡± I say. We don¡¯t speak until we reach the restaurant. Maybe neither of us want to dive into it until we¡¯re sitting down, or maybe it¡¯s nice to dy it. Prolong the time spent in each other¡¯spany. I¡¯ve missed just being near him. We¡¯re given a table near the front. ¡°How was the vow renewal?¡± I ask. ¡°That was this weekend, right?¡± He nods. ¡°Got back this morning. It was nice.¡± ¡°Nice?¡± ¡°I had trouble concentrating,¡± he admits. A longer finger smooths over the edge of the menu he¡¯s not reading. ¡°Audrey, I¡­¡± The waitress cuts us off. We order the same asst time. A full pizza, even though I¡¯m not hungry, my stomach filled with nerves and hope. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you,¡± he says quietly. The gold in his eyes is molten, locked on mine. ¡°So much. Watching you walk out of my office was the worst thing I¡¯ve ever seen.¡± ¡°Really?¡± I whisper. He gives a single nod. ¡°I regret a lot of things, but I¡¯m the most sorry for making you think it was easy to hear. For thinking I didn¡¯t care.¡± ¡°You were so cold,¡± I say. ¡°It seemed like you agreed with what I was saying. That¡­ breaking up would be easier.¡± ¡°Maybe I did think that,¡± he says. ¡°But not in the way you think. Audrey, for so long, I have¡­ damn.¡± He runs a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. ¡°It hurt to hear you say that you figured it would be easier to just end it.¡± Oh. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t let on,¡± he says. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯ve done for years. Not being honest about when something¡¯s painful. When someone leaves.¡± I realize it, then. The connection. It¡¯s deeply internalized for him¡­ and I¡¯d left. Not in the same way, of course. But it had triggered the same feelings. ¡°I should have told you to stay,¡± he says. ¡°Told you that we¡¯d figure it out. But most of all, I should have asked you to forgive me.¡± ¡°For not telling me sooner?¡± ¡°Yes. God, yes. I should have told you the same day I found out, when he ambushed me, when we met for coffee. Christ, I would have been a mess about it. But I should have fallen apart in front of you instead of hiding it from you.¡± ¡°I can handle the ugly,¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s a rtionship.¡± ¡°I¡¯m realizing that.¡± Carter reaches across the table and grips my hand in his, so tight I can feel the sharp edges of his knuckles. ¡°I love you, kid.¡± Everything slows down. The spinning of the Earth, my breathing. ¡°Sorry?¡± ¡°I love you,¡± he repeats. ¡°And I was terrified of losing you.¡± I swallow thickly, my brain moving through syrup. He loves me. ¡°I noticed,¡± I say. ¡°Not telling me about the n B for the Globe , about your father¡¯s connection with mine, the insistence I have a lock on my door¡­¡± ¡°I hate the the idea that one day you¡¯ll disappear, and not have meant anything you said. Or that I can¡¯t protect you from someone who means to hurt you.¡± He shakes his head, short, rough movements. ¡°I¡¯m sure someone could psychoanalyze the hell out of that.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 70 I give him a teasing smile. ¡°The Globe has a therapist column, you know.¡± He chuckles. ¡°God, do I love you. And I wish I had made a hundred different decisions. I should have told you about my father. I should have trusted you with that information, instead of withholding it. I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m rted to him. If I could change that too, believe me, I would.¡± I look down at his hand covering mine. Slowly, I cover it with my other one too. ¡°Honesty,¡± I say. ¡°It has to be the cornerstone going forward.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tell you everything. So much, kid, you¡¯ll ask me to shut up.¡± Iugh. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever do that.¡± ¡°You will. Just wait.¡± His free handes up beneath my chin, tipping my head back. ¡°Does this mean you forgive me? It¡¯s okay if it takes time. If you never do. What I did was unforgivable.¡± I look into the hesitant, loving, vulnerable eyes across from mine. He¡¯s never said these words to anyone, I realize. It¡¯s a kick to my soul, reverberating in tune to his across the table. ¡°Not unforgivable,¡± I say. ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault that your dad did what he did, you know.¡± ¡°I know,¡± he answers. A bit too quickly. ¡°It wasn¡¯t. Not any of it.¡± ¡°Well, he didn¡¯t care enough to stay out of prison for his children,¡± Carter says. ¡°Felt pretty personal.¡± ¡°That was a reflection on him, not you.¡± He shakes his head slowly, and I know this is a conversation for another time. But I¡¯m not going to forget about his answer. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says again. ¡°If I keep saying it, I worry it¡¯lle off as insincere. But I know I have a hundred times left to say it before Ie close to making up for it.¡± I shake my head. ¡°You don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Finding my father is one of your life missions. I remember. And I hid that from you.¡± He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a neatly folded wad of papers. ¡°Here.¡± ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± ¡°Ammunition,¡± he says. I unfold the pieces of paper. Pictures of his father. His prison sentence. Documents from the court case. Lists of the crimes hemitted. And beneath it, a list of possible aliases he used. I see Carter¡¯s name several times amongst them. ¡°Carter¡­¡± I whisper. ¡°Expose him,¡± he says. ¡°Use him as the leading example in your article. I don¡¯t care. His real name is Mark Fischer.¡± Tearse to my eyes. ¡°He¡¯s your father.¡± ¡°He stopped being that a long time ago. I changed myst name to my mother¡¯s six months after he went to prison.¡± ¡°But he¡¯s your sibling¡¯s father. Your mother¡¯s ex-husband. I¡¯m not going to do this.¡± I push the papers to the side and reach for him. The table is narrow enough to let me, my hands settling on the sides of his face. The stubble tickles my skin. ¡°Carter,¡± I say. ¡°You don¡¯t have to atone for his crimes.¡± He gives a tiny nod.All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. There¡¯s more to talk about. But in this moment, there¡¯s only one thing left to say. ¡°So you love me?¡± His lips curl into the smile I love the most. The genuine one, lighting up his eyes. It makes my insides flutter. ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°More than I know what to do with.¡± ¡°I love you too,¡± I tell him. ¡°But don¡¯t worry, I have a few ideas.¡± His smile widens. ¡°You¡¯ll have to show me.¡± He kisses me for longer than is appropriate in public. At some point, we notice the appearance of mozzare-oozing pizzas beneath us on the table, but neither of us reacted when they were put down. And surprise, surprise¡­ it¡¯s the best pizza I¡¯ve ever had. ¡°Essential Reporting: A Guide for Journalists ,¡± I say, putting the frayed book into her brand-new bookcase. I pull another from the box. ¡°The Count of Monte Cristo . There are some highs and lows here, kid.¡± ¡°A ssic!¡± she calls from the kitchen. It¡¯s an actual kitchen, too. When we first visited the rental, she¡¯d swooned when she saw the full-sized fridge. Thats when I knew I had her. I pick up another book. ¡°A Narrative History of the Free Press, ¡± I read. ¡°God, I¡¯m dating a nerd, aren¡¯t I?¡± Audreyughs in the kitchen. It¡¯s my favorite sound. I¡¯ve tried to lure it out over and over in the past three weeks, as many times as I can, to make up for the time when I didn¡¯t have it in my life. ¡°You¡¯re a nerd too! I caught you reading expense reports before bedst night.¡± I smile down at the books I¡¯m unboxing. She¡¯d insisted I didn¡¯t have to help her move, and I¡¯d told her, in all honesty, that doing anything at all is better than not being with her. ¡°It¡¯s happy reading now,¡± I call back. ¡°I fall asleep with a smile on my face.¡± She sticks her head out of the doorway, curls falling in bouncy patterns around her head. ¡°So that smile had nothing to do with mest night, did it?¡± I give her a slow grin back. ¡°Oh, it certainly did.¡± Her cheeks color and she looks so adorably proud of herself that I can¡¯t help myself. ¡°I love you,¡± I say. Sheughs and ducks back into the kitchen. ¡°You said that yesterday night too! After you finished.¡± I reach for another book, still smiling. Oh, I¡¯d finished all right. Or more aptly-she¡¯d finished me off. In her mouth. It had been surprising and amazing and she¡¯d looked up at me with delighted surprise afterwards. ¡°You know what my favorite thing about this ce is?¡± she says. There¡¯s the rustle of cutlery as she pours it into a drawer. ¡°The lock?¡± ¡°No, but that¡¯s a close second.¡± ¡°The kitchen,¡± I say. A Ticking Time Boss 71 ¡°Wrong again. But that¡¯s¡­ a close third? No, I revise my list. The lock is number three, kitchen number two.¡± ¡°How close it is to mine, then,¡± I say, and put the final book in ce on her shelf. Another moving box empty. She hadn¡¯t had many, and moving her stuff from Pierce¡¯s to the new apartment had only taken half a day. She returns to the living room, wearing a smile and a striped apron. ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°Got it on my third try.¡± ¡°It¡¯s close to yours and work.¡± She reaches up, fitting her arms around my neck, and I find her waist. I love holding her like this. ¡°Me and work,¡± I say. ¡°Good to know we get one abbreviated point.¡± ¡°You happen to be at both ces.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a clever man.¡± I kiss her, a brief brush of the lips that turns lingering and sweet. ¡°Are you happy, kid?¡± Her smile is blinding. Something hurts, physically hurts in my chest. I would kill anyone who harmed her -the thought is crystal clear in my head. It doesn¡¯t even bother me. ¡°I¡¯m happier than I can ever remember being,¡± she says. ¡°This ce is gorgeous¡­ and I know you pulled some strings. Don¡¯t try to hide it from me.¡± I look up at the ceiling, pretending to consider. ¡°I promised honesty, right?¡± ¡°Carter,¡± she warns, but there¡¯sughter in her voice. ¡°Yes,¡± I say, ¡°I pulled some strings. But they were minor. The owner of this building is a family friend of Conway¡¯s. I asked if they had any rent-controlled properties.¡±Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°And they just happened to have this one free?¡± ¡°As a matter of fact, yes. They were searching for a tenant who would likely stay only for a year or two.¡± ¡°And you thought of me?¡± she says. Her fingers drift up into my hair, nails scraping softly against my scalp. It bes hard to keep my train of thought. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°Who knows where we¡¯ll be in a year or two?¡± ¡°Carter Kingsley,¡± she murmurs. ¡°Have you been thinking about the future?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been called a visionary in the past, you know. Forward-thinking. Strategic. A brilliant young face in the business industry. A-¡± She pulls me across the hardwood floor of her new apartment, toward the couch I¡¯d gotten for her as a moving-in present. It¡¯s a smaller replica of mine, the one she¡¯dplimented often. We fall down on the soft cushions. I have just enough time to reach out and support myself on an arm before crushing her. ¡°You think highly of yourself, don¡¯t you?¡± she teases. I find the curve of her ear with my lips. ¡°Can I tell you a secret?¡± She nods, her legsing up to grip my hips. ¡°The most brilliant woman on earth loves me,¡± I whisper. ¡°So yeah, I think pretty highly of myself. How can I not?¡± Audreyughs and pulls me down for a kiss. It¡¯s sweet, and soft, and I never thought I¡¯d be here. y this part. Love so openly that it feels like I¡¯m carrying around a wound I never want to heal. She can break me, and I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way. ¡°You have to go soon,¡± she murmurs a long whileter. Her hands are running through my hair, back and forth, the way she likes to do at night. ¡°Nothing could make me leave this spot,¡± I say. ¡°Right here is where I want to live and die.¡± ¡°On top of me? Your business partners won¡¯t like that.¡± ¡°They don¡¯t have to like it.¡± ¡°You epted this invitation a long time ago. All the important people from the paper will be there. Booker, by the way. She even got a babysitter for tonight, just for this event.¡± ¡°Yes, but you won¡¯t be there. Come with me,¡± I tell her. ¡°Be my date. Please.¡± The desire to be with her in public is overwhelming. Maybe it¡¯s my pride, but I can¡¯t wait for the day she¡¯ll apany me to these events. They¡¯re boring at best, and yet¡­ I want others to see us together. I want others to see her with me. Audrey sighs, her hands tightening in my hair. ¡°I want to. You know I want to.¡± ¡°Then do it, kid.¡± ¡°You know I¡¯ll say no. We have a deal.¡± ¡°One year,¡± I say against her skin. ¡°Yes. I know.¡± One more year of me being her boss. Twelve months, fifty-two weeks, and no dating in public. Going on trips out of state, evenings in our apartments, and being nothing to each other at work. ¡°You wore the red blouse to work yesterday,¡± I say. Her fingers still in my hair. ¡°Yes. You noticed?¡± ¡°Of course I did. I had to go down to the newsroom, and I couldn¡¯t look at you twice, because no one is allowed to suspect a thing. But I wanted to.¡± ¡°You know, I might start wearing sexier outfits to work just to taunt you.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the devil.¡± ¡°Yes, and you¡¯re stuck with me,¡± she says, locking her legs around me. ¡°For eternity.¡± ¡°Go ahead and torment me.¡± I find her lips again, and God, I can¡¯t wait until this year is over. For all of the Globe ¡®s allure-and there¡¯s plenty, especially as the newspaper has started to slowly increase its subscriber count-I want to stop hiding us. And I never want her to worry about what her colleagues might say if they find out. So in a year, I¡¯m going to change jobs. I¡¯d offered to do it sooner, but Audrey had been adamant. It has to be fair to both of us, she¡¯d said, and the Globe needed me too much to step down. It¡¯s apromise we both benefit from. ¡°Go,¡± she tells me, another ten minutester. ¡°I wish I could cancel,¡± I say, watching her sprawl on the couch. She¡¯s in her pajama shorts, bare legs stretched out, feet on an overturned moving box. A Ticking Time Boss 72 ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± she says. ¡°You won¡¯t be gone for long, and you¡¯ll get all those tasty mini quiches.¡± ¡°You¡¯re tastier.¡± She blushes, but doesn¡¯t look away. My girl doesn¡¯t faze easily anymore. ¡°You can taste me when you get back,¡± she says. ¡°How does that sound?¡± I reach down to adjust myself through the fabric of my suit pants. ¡°Fuck, kid.¡± Sheughs. ¡°Go. I¡¯ll be here when you get back.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t wait.¡± ¡°Oh, I remembered something. I can¡¯te for lunch tomorrow.¡± ¡°Not a problem. What came up?¡± I shrug into my suit jacket and tuck my shirt more firmly into my pants. I¡¯m going to have to be charming. It used to be so easy. Fun, even. A game for a bachelor to y. Now the only person I want to charm is in this apartment, and I¡¯m leaving it. ¡°Freddie asked me to have lunch with her and I very much want to say yes.¡± ¡°Second choice to my colleague¡¯s wife,¡± I say morosely. ¡°It¡¯s a sad day.¡± Audrey grins and pushes off the couch. She reaches up to fix my hair, smoothing out the mussing she¡¯d done earlier. ¡°You¡¯re always my first choice,¡± she says. ¡°I love you.¡± ¡°I love you too,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be here,¡± she says, and I think those might be the sweetest words I¡¯ve ever heard. She¡¯s not going anywhere. And neither am I.All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org. Two yearster ¡°Kid, you look beautiful!¡± Carter calls from the living room. ¡°You always do!¡± I turn around in front of the full-length mirror and inspect the dress for the fourteenth time. It fits great, but it¡¯s tighter than I¡¯m used to. Floor length and sweeping. My hair¡¯s up, curls hanging down along my back. That part I like. The dress? I still haven¡¯t quite gotten used to wearing clothes like this. The fabric falls like liquid silk around my legs. I¡¯ll have to be careful when I walk. ¡°Sure I don¡¯t look too fancy?¡± I call back. The dress is art on the hanger. But on me? I don¡¯t want to look like I¡¯m ying dress-up. Carteres into our bedroom. He¡¯s in a tux, wearing it like he wears everything. Naturally andfortably. ¡°You look beautiful,¡± he says, ¡°and delicious, and expensive, and intelligent, and mine, and-¡± ¡°Yours?¡± But I grin as I reach up to wrap my arms around his neck. ¡°That was a mighty list ofpliments.¡± He bends to kiss me, rememberingst second that I have lipstick on, diverting to my cheek. ¡°All true. Now, please, light of my life, can we leave?¡± ¡°You¡¯re eager?¡± ¡°The sooner we get there the sooner we can leave,¡± Carter says. Iugh. ¡°Don¡¯t let the Winters hear you say that.¡± Carter looks over his shoulder. ¡°Are they here?¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Thene on. There¡¯s something waiting for you in the kitchen, too.¡± His hand slides down to capture mine, and he leads me out into the living room. Our living room, now. He¡¯d been right about me renting my apartment for a short period. I¡¯d been in that beautiful little space for a year and a half until the conversation about extending the lease came up. We¡¯d both decided it would be better if I moved in. His apartment is ours now, with new art on the walls and nts I¡¯d insisted on brightening the space. It¡¯s home. ¡°Something waiting?¡± I ask. ¡°Should I be worried?¡± ¡°No. You¡¯ll like this.¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m intrigued now.¡± There¡¯s a bouquet of flowers on the kitchen counter. It¡¯s a simple thing, two slender white lilies in the center surrounded by leaves of deep green. Attached is a card. ¡°Read it,¡± Carter says. His eyes are trained on me. ¡°Did this just arrive?¡± I frown, reaching for the envelope. ¡°Do you know who it¡¯s from?¡± ¡°The porter said who it was, yes.¡± I open the envelope. My eyes scan the simple sentence and the name beneath. ¡°Oh my God,¡± I say. Carter grins. ¡°It¡¯s from your lover?¡± ¡°Yes. I mean, my instinct is to say no, but you won¡¯t stop calling him that.¡± ¡°What did he write?¡± I turn the card over to show Carter the scrawled words. Good writing, kid. ¨C Dean Allen. ¡°Kid,¡± Carter repeats. ¡°He knows about my nickname for you?¡± Iugh. ¡°Might also be because he¡¯s in his seventies. Everyone under the age of forty is a kid to him.¡± ¡°And sending my girlfriend flowers? I need to be on the lookout.¡± Iugh, feeling giddy with happiness. ¡°He read the article.¡± ¡°He sure must have,¡± Carter says. ¡°How couldn¡¯t he? Everyone who¡¯s anyone has read Audrey Ford¡¯stest piece. Besides, he would be a poor mentor if he didn¡¯t.¡± Carteres closer, hugging me against him. ¡°I¡¯m happy for you.¡± A Ticking Time Boss 73 I rx against his chest. ¡°The response has been incredible. I didn¡¯t expect it.¡± ¡°I did,¡± he says quietly, a hand smoothing over my back. ¡°The piece is strong.¡± ¡°It¡¯s personal,¡± I say. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why. It feels odd when peoplement on it. I know it shouldn¡¯t. We put it out there, after all.¡± ¡°We did. All of us.¡± ¡°Does it still feel okay?¡± I ask. ¡°Having the story told publicly?¡± He¡¯s quiet. I lean closer, listening to the beat of his heart. The article hade outst week, but it had been months, if not years, in the making. It¡¯s so much more than the piece on con artists I¡¯d always wanted to write.Content from N?velDr(a)ma.Org. It¡¯s an exploration of all sides of the story. The people who lie¡­ and the people whose lives are ruined by it. Carter and I became a focal point in it. A way into the story. My dad is interviewed. Carter¡¯s dad is interviewed. Not to sensationalize, but to humanize. ¡°It feels good,¡± he says finally, hand still stroking over my back. ¡°We read it a dozen times before sending it off. I know every word by heart.¡± ¡°And yet¡­?¡± He snorts. ¡°Nothing, really. It¡¯s a good piece. I¡¯ll admit, I was terrified about introducing you to my father, but you were brilliant, kid. Didn¡¯t buy any of his bullshit.¡± ¡°You coached me beforehand,¡± I say. Not to mention that it would take a great deal for me to forget who the man was-what he¡¯d done not only to my father, but to my boyfriend. He¡¯d hurt the people I love most. Carter had exined to his father what we wanted over email, about the road to reconciliation, taking responsibility. His dad had been more open to it than either of us had expected. My father had been, too, answering my questions with candor. If it can make others aware of these schemes, he¡¯d said, then my mistake won¡¯t feel quite so huge. The two men still haven¡¯t met, and I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a meeting either of them want, nor their children. Carter had sat next to me the entire time while I spoke to his father. He¡¯d been strung taut like a bow. Tension had radiated through his flexed arm and into me. Oddly enough, I¡¯d snapped into professional mode. In front of me had been a man. The man I remembered, yes, and yet¡­ not. Older. Grayer. Softer around the eyes, sharp as a tack, but his manner felt sheathed. His weapons put away. He didn¡¯t remember me, but he¡¯d apologized nheless. It had been profuse and, in Carter¡¯s opinion, insincere. I don¡¯t know what I believe yet. ¡°You¡¯re thinking,¡± Carter says above me. ¡°I can feel it.¡± Iugh against his chest. ¡°Sorry. I was thinking about our dads.¡± ¡°Well, I care a great deal for one of them,¡± he says. That makes me smile. Carter had fit into my family with surprising ease, winning my parents over with his steadiness. His charm had been hidden away, instead all genuine smiles and calm conversation. It mattered a great deal to him, he¡¯d told me afterwards, that they like him, because he¡¯s nning on being in their daughter¡¯s life for as long as she¡¯d let him. ¡°I love you,¡± I tell him. ¡°And you¡¯re already my parents¡¯ favorite. The choctes you brought my momst weekend sealed the deal.¡± Heughs. ¡°It was nothing.¡± ¡°It was everything, and you know it. She loves pralines.¡± ¡°Well, I have a great deal to be grateful to them for.¡± He presses his lips to my hair. ¡°Think they¡¯ll react well to the article?¡± ¡°They know what¡¯s in it,¡± I say. ¡°And at the end of the day, it¡¯s not an incriminating piece. It¡¯s telling a much bigger story, about fraud and con men in America, and using our family to ground it. Den called it ¡®aplished¡¯ the other day.¡± Carterughs. ¡°I swear to God, you two have the weirdest friendship.¡± I grin at that. My deskmate has been promoted, as have I, but our old rivalry lives on. It¡¯s one of the best parts of my work at the Globe . ¡°Well, weird friendships are kind of my specialty,¡± I say. ¡°You and I were weird in the beginning.¡± Things are different now, in a good way. Wesley is gone. It hadn¡¯t taken Carter long to see what the rest of us saw. Booker is editor-in-chief now, presiding over the entire newspaper instead of just the Investigative newsroom. She¡¯s still my idol. ¡°We were never weird,¡± Carter says. ¡°We were¡­ unorthodox.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that just a fancier word for weird?¡± He kisses my cheek again, avoiding the lipstick. ¡°Smart-ass.¡± Iugh. ¡°You have a point, though. We didn¡¯t exactly start out very conventionally.¡± ¡°Not at all.¡± ¡°Did you usually chat with women at bars? Like you did with me?¡± He smiles, golden eyes warm. ¡°This feels like a trick question, honey.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not. I swear.¡± ¡°Sometimes,¡± he says. ¡°But I¡¯d stopped that kind of thing years before I met you.¡± ¡°So why did you speak to me?¡± He raises an eyebrow. ¡°You looked like you needed help. An escape from your thoughts, you know? Plus, you were stunning. I thought that from the beginning.¡± ¡°I thought you were attractive from the first time we met.¡± He grins. ¡°I suspected, kid, even when you pretended not to notice. Come on. We¡¯ll bete.¡± We¡¯rete. But no one cares. The Winter Hotel is an imposing feature in New York, old and storied, with marble floors in the giant atrium. Security is tight tonight, a testament to the kind of people Isaac and Anthony Winter had invited. The night is beautiful. Our friends are there, and try as we all should to mingle with the other guests, it¡¯s always more fun when we talk to one another. Freddie steals me away as soon as she can. She¡¯s no longer breastfeeding and drinks a ss of champagne with obvious relish. ¡°Julie was asleep when we left,¡± she tells me. ¡°She¡¯s an angel most of the time, except when she¡¯s not, of course.¡± Tristan and Freddie had bought a townhouse not far from Anthony and Summer. It¡¯s a beautiful ce, family-oriented, and I¡¯m there at least twice a month to visit Freddie. She¡¯s be the sister I never had. An ambitious, intelligent, endlessly supportive sister. ¡°The sweetheart,¡± I say. Julie is the cutest little baby. A Ticking Time Boss 74 ¡°I saw your article. Brilliant, Audrey,¡± she says. ¡°Absolutely brilliant. I had tears in my eyes halfway through.¡± I¡¯d cried several times while writing it, putting my family¡¯s pain to paper, and I squeeze her arm. ¡°Thank you.¡± Carter is talking to the other men in the distance. All three of them are married now, Anthony and Summer tying the knot justst summer. We¡¯re thest couple left. I smile at his tall form. I¡¯m not in a rush, and I don¡¯t think he is either. What we have is the best thing in my life. ¡°I wonder why he¡¯s still single,¡± Freddie murmurs at my side. Summer and Cecilia are close by, but neither overhear. ¡°Who?¡± I ask. ¡°Isaac? Isn¡¯t that who you¡¯re looking at?¡± My gaze travels up to the twin grand staircases in the lobby. Isaac Winter is there, standing at the top with his hand on the railing. His suit looks sharp. Edges crisp, eyes expressionless as he looks out over the crowd. He¡¯s Anthony¡¯s older brother and heir to the Winter hotel fortune. He must be in histe thirties or early forties now. ¡°Oh. You¡¯re right. I¡¯ve never seen him with anyone. He didn¡¯t even bring a date tonight?¡± Freddie shakes her head. ¡°Summer says he¡¯s married to the hotel.¡± ¡°Oh. That¡¯s a shame,¡± I say. ¡°Have you ever heard-oh, sorry.¡± The room quiets down as Isaac takes the mic. He wees us all here and gives a short overview of the history of the hotel. The Winter Hotel in New York is the original one, over a century old, the head to the many offshoots worldwide. Summer and Anthony¡¯s honeymoon had been to one of their newly opened resorts internationally. A strong arm slides around my waist. Carter¡¯s found me, the scent of his cologne subtle and delicious. I¡¯d bought it for his birthday. ¡°Hey,¡± he whispers. ¡°Hi,¡± I whisper back. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± And then, his lips to my ear, ¡°I have a surprise.¡± It doesn¡¯t take us long to leave the event. Our friends don¡¯t look surprised at our early departure, either, which is unusual. We usually end the night with a nightcap together. Less often now, perhaps, when Tristan and Freddie have a newborn. But still. Not a single raised eyebrow? Michael is waiting for us by the curb. He gives us both a smile. It¡¯s uncharacteristically wide. I start getting suspicious. ¡°Carter,¡± I say. ¡°Exactly what kind of surprise is this?¡± He reaches for my hand. ¡°A good one.¡± ¡°Your surprises vary a great deal.¡± Heughs. ¡°Yes, well, I promise I¡¯ve learned. This will be something you like. I think.¡± ¡°Do the others know?¡± He nces at me, still smiling. ¡°Stop asking questions.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t not.¡± ¡°You can. No need to interview me.¡± His hand tightens on mine. ¡°We¡¯re almost there.¡± I peer out the window of the car. It looks like a normal street at nightfall, people going about their business, shops closing just as restaurants pick up steam. Michael pulls us to a stop at the curb. ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± he says. Is that excitement in his voice? Nerves take up residence in my stomach, and a tiny, sneaky suspicion forms in my mind. Where is he taking me¡­? Carter opens my door for me. He looks brilliant in his tux, thick hair swept back from his forehead. He gives me a crooked smile. ¡°Mydy,¡± he says. Iugh. ¡°Wow.¡± His hand rests on the small of my back. People on the sidewalk watch us as we pass, both dressed to the nines. My ballgown is more than a little out of ce. ¡°Patience,¡± he murmurs at my side. The arm beside me is taut. That¡¯s when I recognize the ce. It¡¯s the bar where we first met. Where we had our first date. ¡°Oh,¡± I say. Carter holds the door open for me. ¡°After you, kid.¡± I step inside. There¡¯s no one here. It¡¯s empty, and on every single table is a single lit candle. It looks magical. My throat starts to close up. The suspicion grows stronger, and anticipation rushes through me. Oh my God. ¡°It¡¯s a bit different,¡± he says quietly at my side. ¡°The ce was bought a while ago. I asked the management to make it look like it did our first night.¡± ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± I whisper. ¡°Now¡­ where were we? Here, right?¡± Carter walks us toward the bar counter. He leans against it, eyes serious on mine. There¡¯s something vulnerable in them. He¡¯s nervous, I realize. Sweet Jesus. ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°I think this is where we were. I was¡­ standing like this.¡± ¡°Asking the bartender for water.¡± I nod and look around. ¡°Are we really alone in here?¡±Content ? copyrighted by N?velDrama.Org. ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°Though I can¡¯t tell you the staff room is empty.¡± I give a hoarse chuckle. ¡°Wow.¡± ¡°You were nervous back then,¡± he says quietly. ¡°Are you nervous now?¡± ¡°Yes. A little. There are no peanuts.¡± His lips curve into a small smile. The flickering candlelight sets off the auburn notes in his hair. ¡°No, I forgot that detail.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Not necessary.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tell you a secret. I¡¯m nervous too.¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Meeting you here was the greatest happenstance in my life. I can¡¯t imagine where I¡¯d be if I hadn¡¯t gone to this bar that night, over two years ago.¡± ¡°Me neither,¡± I whisper. He smiles, a brief tug of his lips. ¡°When we came here the second time, it was on our first proper date. Do you remember?¡± ¡°You¡¯d said yes to me. I was ecstatic, and oddly¡­ grateful. That you¡¯d take the risk you did. We worked together and you didn¡¯t entirely trust me. I wanted to prove your courage right.¡± ¡°You did, and you have. These two years have been the best in my life,¡± I say. He doesn¡¯t seem to mind me interrupting his speech. Nerves make it hard to talk, but this is important. Important that he knows. Carter reaches for my hand. His skin is warm. ¡°You are the greatest thing in my life, kid. I can¡¯t imagine living without you. So here, in the ce where we first met¡­¡± He drops down to one knee. Time slows down. I watch his open expression, the hand reaching into his pocket. The glittering stone on a tinum band. ¡°Audrey Ford,¡± he says. ¡°I love you more than I ever thought possible. Will you marry me?¡± Tears make it hard to see, but I nod. ¡°Yes. Yes, Carter, of course. Oh my God.¡± Heughs and wraps his arms around me. I hold on tight as he spins me around, the bar bing blurry. The others had known. He¡¯d nned this, coordinated with the staff, but kept it small and intimate. Just the two of us. And now it always will be. The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!