There was so much I wanted to ask him. Why didn’t you want people to know? Are you sure your father wouldn’t come around? Did you feel like Klasko wouldn’t be okay with it?
“She’d never say anything, Derrick. And I obviously wouldn’t, either.”
He shrugged. “By the way, Peter is super hot.”
I put my hands over my heart, pumping my arms in and out, mocking my own schoolgirl crush, and we dissolved into laughter.
“You’re the only person I’ve told.”
He bowed his head. “I’m honored.”
I hugged him close and held on for a few moments too long, but when I released him he looked at me for a moment before wrapping me up in his arms once again. I laughed and kissed his cheek and gave him my number and strict instructions to use it.
When I came into the apartment, Sam was sitting on the couch. “Hey! Sorry you needed to cut the retreat short. How was the drive?” he asked, without looking up from the papers spread out before him on the coffee table.
Because he wasn’t really asking, I didn’t really answer. “Hmm.” I walked over to the couch, where he looked up at me with a smile. I gave him a kiss as I took in the mess of Excel printouts in front of him. “What is this?”
“We have interest from a private equity company, and they want to meet tomorrow, so I’m just making sure I know all of our financials cold.”
“That’s great!” I sat down next to him. “Which one?”
“High Tower Capital,” he said, searching my face for recognition. I’d never heard of them. Which wasn’t a good thing for Sam. I smiled and nodded enthusiastically but said nothing. He opted not to press my knowledge of them. “Actually, it’s a four o’clock meeting. They want to go to dinner after. But I would rather go with you if you’re free, since I haven’t seen you enough lately.” I saw uncertainty flash in his eyes and instantly recalled his nerves the first time he’d asked me out, in the sticky bar in Cambridge where we met. In New York, I should have wanted to have a celebratory dinner with him too. I should have been missing him all weekend. But I didn’t. And I hadn’t. I wanted to lock Peter’s office door and screw him in his office chair. I wanted to go drinking with Jordan and the National guys, if they were around. I wanted to laugh too much, spend too much, stay out too late.
“I’m so happy for you! You should totally have dinner with those guys. It’s a great opportunity. And I have to work late anyway. I didn’t do any actual work this weekend,” I told him, rolling my eyes.
Sam turned away from me and nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I should start putting my career first too.”
His last word jabbed at my chest, and I had to bite my tongue not to say “What career?” I waited for him to register my reaction, but he was focused on the papers again, so I took my suitcase into the bedroom to unpack everything I’d brought for a weekend away with another man.
* * *
There were rare mornings peppered throughout my weeks when emails drifted into my in-box gradually, with little urgency, allowing me to ease myself into the day. That Monday morning wasn’t one of them. I woke up to seventy-one fairly urgent emails from our Hong Kong office, with whom we were working on a merger for a Chinese company. I didn’t shower and took a Quality car in to work so I didn’t need to break from emailing while I didn’t have service on the subway. Around two o’clock, I welcomed the first email that wasn’t urgent or deal-related.
From: Jordan Sellar
To: Alexandra Vogel; Morris, Taylor; Rinker, KJ
Subject: Dinner
Want to get dinner tonight?
From: Rinker, KJ
To: Jordan Sellar; Alexandra Vogel; Morris, Taylor
Subject: Re: Dinner
Taylor and I are in. Craving steak.
From: Jordan Sellar
To: Rinker, KJ, Alexandra Vogel; Morris, Taylor
Subject: Re: Dinner
Strip House. 7pm. Alex, you in?
I stared at my computer for a prolonged moment, then allowed the memory of Sam accusing me of putting my career first to dispel any trace of guilt I might have felt.
From: Alexandra Vogel
To: Jordan Sellar; Rinker, KJ; Morris, Taylor
Subject: Re: Dinner
I’m in!
Strip House coaxed the most awful, delicious parts of humanity out into the open. I scanned framed pictures of full-figured strippers as I absentmindedly unbuttoned the top of my blouse for air. I rolled my neck as I released it from the grip of my collar. The thick white napkins with red figures of dancing women somehow encouraged me to take a goose-fat-fried potato with my fingers, if only to make use of the linen. The dark floors and red walls allowed my shoulders to relax after my long day and lean into the raunchy conversation swirling around me.
“She’s absolutely insatiable. Honestly, I should never have started sleeping with her,” KJ said.
“Dude, you definitely should not have started sleeping with her! On top of the ethical reasons, she has zero discretion. You’re an idiot,” Taylor told him.
I looked up from my phone. “Wait, what did I miss? You’re sleeping with somebody at work?”
“His analyst. So fucking cliché,” Jordan said with a sneer, getting out of his seat. “Jesus, I’m exhausted from this closing. Give me a minute to get myself together.”
I grimaced at KJ as Jordan walked toward the men’s room. “Your analyst? You’re better than that.”
“I can’t help it. She’s nuts. In a good way. She makes me finger her during meetings. With other people in the room. It’s . . . it’s wild.” He looked exceedingly pleased with himself.
“Stop it. I don’t believe you. Like, what, under the table? How does she make you do that?”
“Obviously, she doesn’t,” Taylor muttered.
“Whatever, she didn’t make me, but she didn’t stop me,” KJ said, then signaled the waiter for a refill of scotch.
I stared at KJ, wishing Jordan were there to tell him that he was taking advantage of the girl who worked for him, that he was an abusive boss, that he could get fired. How demeaning it must be for that analyst, who was probably twenty-three at the most, to have her supervisor—a man she at best had feelings for and at worst was too worried to reject—touch her in front of other people. My blood pressure rose on her behalf, the back of my neck growing clammy as I pictured the scene, wondering if the other men around the conference table were blind to KJ’s behavior, chose to ignore it, or actually encouraged it.
“Don’t pretend to be so shocked,” he went on, pounding his fist on the table. “Just because she is open about what she wants when the rest of you pretend to be so proper when you all really want us to dominate. You have one set of rules for the bedroom, and one for the boardroom, and we’re supposed to keep it straight? Fuck that! I play by one set of rules, and this chick LOVES it.” He was practically yelling.
“Easy,” Taylor warned him, then turned to me. “He’s kidding.”
I squeezed my nails into my palms beneath the table, fighting the urge to punch him.
“I’m not shocked,” I said instead. “I think it would explain why you’re suddenly upping your suit game in the office. You usually look like a schlub.” I relished KJ’s confusion at which one of my statements to focus on as I gestured to his gray suit with threads of burgundy and navy running faintly throughout for emphasis.