KJ looked down, adjusting his lapels. “Zegna. You like?” he asked, ignoring my insult.
“Love,” I stated flatly, then raised my glass, hoping to wash down the sour taste of disingenuousness in my mouth.
I felt my phone buzz in my purse, which was hanging from the back of my chair, as Jordan returned to the table, holding his nostrils together as discreetly as he could.
“Got any for me?” KJ asked him, and he reached into his breast pocket and handed him a vial from a downturned palm. As KJ excused himself, I looked at my phone, welcoming the distraction.
Sam: Are you stuck at work?
Alex: :(
Sam: Hope you’re not going to be too late tonight. I should be home from dinner at a decent hour . . .
Alex: Me too! But I have no idea when I’ll be out of here. It’s a bit crazy today. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours. See you at home. Can’t wait to hear how your meeting went.
I watched the ellipses appear and then disappear, but no further text arrived. Taylor and Jordan talked about golf as I spooned thick creamed spinach onto my plate, vowing to work out in the morning, even though I knew deep down I’d be too hungover and too slammed at work to engage in any form of physical activity come daylight.
KJ plopped himself down in his seat, then sneezed loudly into his napkin.
“Fuck!” Jordan exclaimed, and I looked up to see thick red blood streaming out of KJ’s nose, staining the white parts of the cloth.
Our waiter appeared out of nowhere, deftly took the bloody napkin from under KJ’s nose and replaced it with a paper one, and gestured to the men’s room.
“Watch it!” KJ growled as he made his way to the bathroom, disentangling himself from a passing diner he smashed into. “Fuck.”
My heart skipped. I blinked hard and refocused on the back of the other man’s head as he walked away, clearly disgusted by my coked-up colleague, before he turned and locked eyes with me.
Sam stared at me, his face stoic, then he shook his head almost imperceptibly before joining two men in suits by the door whom he followed out of the restaurant without so much as a word to me.
I heard Jordan and Taylor chatting somewhere in the background, then KJ settling down again, applying pressure under his nostril with a new napkin. But I sat there motionless, processing. Sam’s life was so removed from mine—the start-up world seemed to be centered around happy hours in grimy bars, daytime meetings in coffee shops, and long hours in WeWork common spaces. Why was he suddenly there, in my world, in my expensive steakhouse that catered to corporate expense accounts and middle-aged hedge-fund portfolio managers trying to impress their twentysomething girlfriends?
“One more time . . . hello!” Taylor yelled at me. I blinked twice and coughed, then gulped down a glass of water along with its ice. I waited for the chips lodged in my throat to melt before I spoke, grateful that just then the waiter appeared with our dinners.
“Sorry,” I said, and shook my head. “I spaced.”
“You okay?” Taylor looked at me.
Jordan watched me closely, wondering what exactly I was doing and why I was ruining the mood at a dinner with his most important client. I nodded as convincingly as I could manage. It was time to push myself back into client development mode.
“Thank god this place is already red,” I joked, touching the side of my nose and pointing to KJ.
Jordan seemed to relax his shoulders as the banter resumed. “Taylor, you have to try this veal!” He cut a piece and put it on a bread plate, shoving it in his direction.
“I don’t know, man. Who orders veal? Very suspect. And don’t even get me started on Alex with her tuna.”
“It kills you that I don’t eat steak, doesn’t it?” I narrowed my eyes and leaned into him. Taylor nodded, knowing he was being toyed with. “How much will you give me to eat one?” I asked him, my voice low.
He leaned back, loving the negotiation. “A steak?” he asked. I nodded. “Five hundred.”
“Six,” I said, knowing he would enjoy proving to me that he could spare it.
“Five-fifty.”
My mind bounced, calculating the angles I was toying with. “You’re senior enough to choose counsel. Give us your next merger, and we’ll call it even.”
Taylor looked surprised for only a moment before smirking. “Done.”
I raised my palm, and our waiter started in our direction immediately. Taylor clapped, and KJ laughed as he took a long sip of his drink. “I’ll have the filet, medium rare. If you could rush it, that would be wonderful.”
“Was the tuna not to your liking?” the waiter asked nervously, his white sport coat bunching at the waist as he leaned over me.
“Something like that.”
I was halfway through my steak, with KJ and Taylor cheering me on for every bite and thoroughly enjoying the spectacle, when Jordan leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Matt and I created a monster.”
I smiled in his direction but barely looked over. “I think we need another bottle.” I swirled the last bit of red wine in my glass. I needed a lot more wine to wash down the revolting ball of flesh lodged in my throat.
* * *
As my eyes adjusted to the scene inside my apartment, I dropped my keys to the floor with a clatter. Sam was standing in the middle of the living room, hunched over a large box, sealing in its contents with duct tape, and a few more unassembled boxes were scattered around the room.
“What are you doing?” I asked, letting the door shut behind me without picking up my keys.
He stared back at me blankly. “We need to talk,” he said, straightening his spine.
I took another step into the apartment. “I didn’t lie to you. That was work. That’s part of my job.”
“Really, Alex? That’s your story? Honestly . . .”
“What do you want from me? I have to entertain clients. It’s how we get work. And for your information, I actually brought in a deal tonight.”
“Alex, I don’t give a shit about work or deals or anything! You chose your colleagues over me. You’ve been doing it for months now.”
“I’m trying to build a career here!” Within seconds, I was crying. And I was drunk. I was hoping Sam couldn’t tell the difference between just upset and upset and drunk. “You wouldn’t understand,” I mumbled.
Sam bowed his head. “I do understand. I just don’t understand why you feel the need to make it a choice. Why don’t you ever invite me to firm drinks or out with clients? Take dinner breaks with me, invite me to events—and not just the Christmas party. Am I that embarrassing?” He asked the question facetiously, but before I knew it, I had shrugged. He inhaled sharply. “You’re fucking embarrassed of me? YOU? Are embarrassed. Of ME? Do you know how insane that is, Alex? Do you even know who you have become? I should be embarrassed of you! Coke nosebleeds at dinner in overpriced restaurants? I should be embarrassed by your obsession with money and clothes and your sense that you are better than everything and everyone. You are so out of touch with reality, it is completely insane!” He was so angry, he was practically hopping as he yelled.
I opened my mouth and closed it. I tried again. Finally, I shook my head and stormed into the bedroom, locking the door behind me. I paced the thin strip of floor between the bed and my dresser, fuming. Incorporate him into my work world? Is he kidding me? He’d be eaten alive!