I don’t notice the waiter placing my food down at lunch until he’s already walking away. We’re at the club, some laughable fortress of exclusivity uptown. It’s a place where older men pretend to rule the city with over overpriced tartare and imported scotch. Joseph Brant sits across from me, droning on and on about supplier negotiations. I nod in the right places and make the right noises when I need to, but I’m not paying attention…not really.
Then something outside the window catches my attention. A sleek, blonde bob, swaying slightly over the lapels of a black wool coat, down one level in the extended seating area.Karen. Her profile is all I can see, but she’s laughing softly at something said from across the table. I strain as inconspicuously as possible to get a better view of who she’s with.
Shit.The man across from her is Aidan Snow. I don’t react; at least not outwardly. Years of practice have taught me to school my face in tense situations. But my pulse ticks up, and up, and up.
Why on earth would she be meeting with the CEO of North/Snow? That aggressively charming, ruthless showman circles the fashion sector of New York like a goddamn shark, and he has no business talking to her. I’ve heard a few specific board members mention him, but the thought of whatever the hell she’s doing with him makes my spine stiffen. My food is practically untouched, but Joseph doesn’t make a fuss when I excuse myself early.
————
My penthouse is so quiet it's suffocating. I move through my bedroom methodically, tempted to put on the news, music, orsomethingto drown out the monotonous hum in my ears. There is only one task I can focus on before anything else. On the bedsheets in front of me, I’ve laid out a handful of things to pack with me for tomorrow: tailored casual wear, pressed linens for Saturday morning, my watch case, spare cufflinks, and toiletries. I neatly pack them in my keepall one by one placing the smallest items on top. I plan to leave by noon tomorrow, and I don’t want the headache of dealing with it after work.
I pour a glass of scotch and settle into the armchair by the window watching the city hum far below in chaotic darkness, my laptop perched on my thighs. It’s an evening habit — reviewing expenses, checking accounts, reading through activity logs for the dozen projects I oversee even when I’m pretending not to work.
My eye catches the corporate card statement linked to the card I gave April this morning when she stopped in. Her cheeks had flushed as pink as dusty roses when I handed it to her and told her to“Be smart.”I pull up the day’s statement, expecting a satisfying burn through five figures at the very least.
Instead, I find the most absurd thing I’ve ever seen on this account.
$85.23 — T.J. Maxx
$20.47 — Adam & Eve
$104.35 — Macy’s
$20.00 — Starbucks
I stare at the screen. That’s it? That’sallshe spent? T.J. Maxx? Macy’s?Adam & Eve?
I swipe two fingers over the trackpad, thinking refreshing it might present something more substantial. No new changes. I don’t understand. She could’ve bought half of Fifth Avenue, but she went home with a coffee, cheap clothing, andsomethingfrom Adam & Eve that is absolutely not worth twenty dollars. I grab my phone from the small table beside me to send her a text, nearly knocking over my scotch in the process.
Me:
Tell me you didn’t buy lingerie from T.J. Maxx. Or Macy’s. Or, God forbid, Adam and Eve. Do they really sell lingerie for $20 at Adam and Eve?
Her reply comes faster than I expect.
April:
T.J. Maxx has good lingerie. Are you spying on my purchases?
I got a dress at Macy’s, a coffee and a sandwich at Starbucks, and one of those candy thong things at Adam & Eve in case you were into that
I stare at my phone inhorror.
Me:
Throw it out. All of it. Jesus Christ.
April:
Wow. And here I thought you’d appreciate a woman who’s financially responsible
Me:
No, not when I’ve explicitly given you no budget and sent you shopping for my enjoyment.
You genuinely think I have an interest in (or the patience for) snacking on a candy thong when I’d much rather have my tongue beneath it?
Are we stuck in the 90s, April?
