I thought about how I should demand my lawyer, but it could take forever to get hold of him. I only had as much time as it would take Oliver or Marina to break and I didn’t think that was very long.
“I want to make a deal,” I said.
Chapter 9:
Zandra
After the Shadow Tradition concert, Mark offers to drive me home instead of leaving me to take the Muni Metro. I say yes because it’s what I want. I decided last night that I wasn’t going to let my fears decide my fate. If I’m half the woman I pretend to be, I should be able to look at the man I’d had a fling with six years ago and be fine with the fact that he left without another word.
So, I am. Or I’m trying to be, and that should be good enough.
As Mark drives, I focus on his hands, which seem so much bigger than I remember.
“So, you want to become a creative director,” he says. “You know, 2Resonance doesn’t have that position, but when you’re ready, I could get you in touch with some companies that do have that position.”
“I have a plan,” I say, rubbing my ears. I’d forgotten how loud concerts can be.
“Oh?”
“I’m going to work hard until I’m good enough to apply for a job as a graphic designer or creative director at QRipple. If it’s a graphic designer job, I’ll work my way up to creative director.”
“How long do you plan to work at 2Resonance?”
My plan had always been staying for about two years. It was enough to dip my toe in the water before moving on to a more prestigious company where the focus was more on visuals than sound. But, being here, meeting people like Julietta and Aaron, and being near Mark, I could see myself staying at the company. It would be a terrible professional plan—like Mark said, there isn’t a creative director at 2Resonance—but it’s hard to imagine leaving.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I’ve enjoyed being here.”
“You’ve been valuable,” he says. Silence falls over us again.
“Does anyone consider you valuable?” I ask. “It seems like…from what you said about John and other people assuming you only own the company because of your parent’s money, it seems like they take you for granted.”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“Liar,” I say. “Everyone wants credit for their hard work.”
He quickly glances over at me. A smile slowly changes his face. “Okay. It bothers me. I understand that I’ve been privileged and had a lot handed to me, but it reaches a point where it feels like I can never work hard enough to make it mean anything,” he says. “I understand that I can give my life purpose without people’s praise, but it would be nice to have it.”
“You can have my praise.”
“I know you’re joking, but I do appreciate that.”
I direct him to the last turn to my apartment. He parks at the curb.
“So, our editors are going to be working on the concert,” he says. “And after that—"
“Do you want to come up to my apartment?” I ask. “I’ve seen your apartment, so I figure it’s fair that you invade my private space.”
“I’d love to,” he says, quickly enough that I know it’s a worse plan than any other plan we’ve discussed. Even the one that led us to the Louvre.
******
In my sparse and cheap apartment, Mark doesn’t fit in. His jeans and shirt likely cost more than my plastic table. I bring a stack of delivery menus to him.
“Do you have a preference?” I ask. “There are a lot of pizza places, burrito places, and there’s always food trucks.”
“I’m fine with whatever you want,” he says. “But if you are going to get burritos, the only place I’d order from is El Triángulo Amoroso.”
“Doesn’t amor mean love?” I ask.
