“It’s good to have goals.”
“Thank you.”
We pick up half a dozen test pies from Mario’s and head back to the Clubhouse. It’s still early enough that the place is mostly empty, but a pretty blonde is setting up behind the bar. “Hey Jase,” she calls, her shirt riding up to reveal a toned, tanned stomach as she lifts her arms to hook a pair of wineglasses in a rack over her head. She motions to the pizzas. “Hungry?”
He winks. “I’ll save you a slice, how about.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Save me two.”
“You know,” Jase murmurs as we make our way across the still-empty dance floor, “she’s got a sister.”
“That’s nice for her,” I reply blandly. Jase rolls his eyes, and I make a face in return. It’s not like I don’t get what he’s doing—and it would be nice if I could just screw or drink my way into utter oblivion until I emerged on the other side of the fog totally over Eliza. But that’s never been the kind of guy I am, and I know myself well enough to know it’s definitely not going to work now.
Eliza isn’t the kind of woman you can forget so easily.
I sink down onto the leather couch in Jase’s office, tilting my head back and staring up at the ceiling as I replay our fight outside the hotel for the hundredth time in the last few days. I know I should have just explained to her what was going on with Sterling and the buyout in the moment. But my words failed me, just like they have so many times before. And that split-second hesitation on my part was all it took for Eliza to let me know exactly what she secretly thought of me all this time.
Heartless. Uptight.
“Stop it,” Jase orders, handing me a beer out of the mini fridge.
“I didn’t say anything,” I protest.
Jase snorts, opening a beer of his own. “I could hear you thinking.”
“I doubt that.”
“Your thoughts are loud.” He shrugs. “Why don’t you just call her? Explain to her that she got it wrong.”
Right away, I shake my head. “It’s useless,” I say flatly. “She’s made up her mind about me already.”
Jase leans back in his desk chair. “I mean, can you blame her?”
I feel my eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jase rubs thoughtfully at his beard. “Well, by your own admission, you didn’t explain yourself very well,” he points out. “And it’s not exactly like you have some stellar track record of putting people over profits. How was she supposed to guess you bent over backwards to make sure she and her friends all got good deals? Who was going to tell her, if not you?”
I frown. I know from decades of experience that Jase isn’t looking for a fight. He’s just calling it like he sees it, same as always. Still, the observation stings. “She should have known better,” I insist stubbornly. “She should have known me better.”
Jase shrugs. “So why not tell her that?” he asks, like it’s just that simple, then shoves a piece of pizza into his mouth.
Jase asks if I want to make a night of it—“Sisters,” he reminds me again, his lips twisting gleefully—but I shake my head. Instead, I take a cab back to my apartment, hanging up my jacket in the mostly-bare closet and fetching a glass of water from the gleaming white kitchen. My footsteps echo in the cavernous space. Eliza had a point about this place, I can’t help but admit to myself as I look around at the carefully neutral furnishings, the walls all painted in various shades of taupe. It’s luxurious, but anonymous. It’s nice, but it’s… beige. In all the time I’ve been living here, the only time it’s ever really felt like a proper home was—
Well.
When Eliza was here, making a mess in the kitchen and sprawling on the sofa in my T-shirts and trying to convince me to order ice cream from Postmates at 3am.
This place is a lot more orderly without her, that’s for sure. But it’s a whole lot emptier, too.
I could say the same thing about my life.
My phone rings just then, Aisling’s name flashing on the screen. I clear my throat—and my mind—before I answer. “This is Liam.”
“First of all, I hear congratulations are in order,” she begins, never one to waste time or resources on social niceties. “You did impressive work on Sterling.”
Tell that to the one person who really matters, I can’t help but think. Still, I thank her. “It was an ambitious undertaking for sure,” I admit, sitting down on a stool at the chilly, granite-topped island. “Hopefully we were able to balance people and profits this time.”
“People and profits?” Aisling repeats. “Don’t tell me you’re getting soft out there in New York City. I thought the East Coast was supposed to toughen people up.”
I feel myself prickle. “I don’t know if it’s a question of toughness, exactly,” I protest. “But the longer I do this, the more I really do think there’s a way to streamline operations without costing people their livelihoods.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that,” Aisling says with a scoff, “because I’ve got a job that’s perfect for you. Restructuring a mom and pop restaurant chain out of Houston.” She laughs. “Talk about an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
“Layoffs?”
“Dozens,” she reports, “at least.” I can practically hear her salivating on the other end of the line. “Are you interested?”
I hesitate. A few months ago, I would have been chomping at the bit right along with her, eager to wade in there and start handing out pink slips, but somehow I just can’t work up the enthusiasm. “Maybe,” I say finally, hedging.
“What do you mean, maybe?” Aisling sounds surprised. “You’re done with the Sterling job, aren’t you? It’s not like there’s anything keeping you in town.”
I wince, I can’t help it. Aisling isn’t trying to be cruel—after all, she doesn’t even know Eliza—but she might as well have taken a red pen and drawn a big fat circle around the utter failure of my romantic life. “No,” I admit, “there’s nothing keeping me here. Can I let you know in a few days?”
Aisling sighs. “I suppose,” she says, “but don’t take too long. I’ve got half a mind to fly down there and do this one myself.”
Be my guest, I think and don’t say. Instead I hang up and pour myself a drink, the night stretching out in front of me, dark and lonely. Maybe Aisling is right, I think, flipping idly through the channels before finally turning the TV off and sitting down at my computer. Maybe getting out of New York wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, even if I have to ruin dozens of perfectly nice people’s lives to do it.
Or maybe not.
When I open my email, I’m surprised to find a message from a headhunter mixed in amongst the news updates and sale alerts. Aisling didn’t mention passing my information along, though I suppose it slipped her mind in the excitement of a potential business to gut. Dear Mr. Sterling, the note reads, I was impressed to hear about your work with Sterling Publishers and would be interested in meeting with you about future consulting opportunities. Our clients are interested in finding creative organizational solutions and would very much appreciate your expertise.