Thatcher smiles as Diego drags him away. I don’t miss the wink he gives me when he knows no one else can see but me.
This man is going to be the death of me.
“Come on, Pierce. Let me introduce you to the best of our New York cuisine.”
“Lead the way.”
I used to love working lunches, but after weeks of Thatcher forcing me to have actual lunch breaks where he refuses to talk about business, they don’t hit the same anymore.
The directors of the New York office are a really good bunch. Lior has lucked out here. His dad left him with a good team.
Yet I can’t seem to enjoy the lunch. I join in the conversation when appropriate, but I miss Thatcher’s random tangents. I miss him practically inhaling his food so he can spend the rest of the time drawing while we talk about anything and everything.
I never expected to have so much in common with someone who’s so much younger and has a completely different life experience.
Forcing myself not to react when Thatcher and Diego join us after lunch for a tour of the office is an exercise in willpower. Eventually, I get my focus back.
“This has been incredibly productive,” Brand says, shaking both our hands. “I’ll have my team prepare detailed proposals based on your recommendations. Should have everything ready for review by tomorrow morning.”
As we gather our things, Brand turns to Thatcher. “I hope you’ll consider applying for a position here if you ever want a change of scenery. We could use someone with your organizational skills and creative perspective.”
Thatcher’s smile is polite but firm. “I’m very happy where I am, but thank you.”
Brand laughs. “It’s only day one. I have two more days to win you over.”
“You’re welcome to try, Mr. Brand,” Thatcher replies.
The words send an unexpected rush of relief through me. The thought of Thatcher leaving, of working without his chaotic energy and impossible optimism, makes my stomach sour.
We make our way out of the building, stopping by Diego’s desk, where he hugs Thatcher enthusiastically.
The evening air is crisp against our faces as we step onto the sidewalk. The city hums around us—car horns, distant music, the chatter of people heading home from work. Street vendors are setting up for the evening rush, and the smell of roasted nuts and hot pretzels fills the air.
“How did that feel?” I ask as we walk toward our hotel.
“Amazing,” Thatcher says, practically bouncing with excitement. “Brand actually knew who I was. Knew about my work. And Diego. I can’t believe he actually implemented my filing system. I’ve never had that before, someone outside our office recognizing what I do.”
The joy in his voice makes my chest warm. “You deserve that recognition. Your work speaks for itself.”
We’re approaching the hotel when I realize I don’t wantthis day to end. The city is alive around us, full of possibilities and adventures waiting to be discovered.
“Would you like to explore a little before dinner?” I ask. “See some of the city?”
Thatcher’s face lights up like I’ve offered him the world. “Really? You want to play tourist?”
“With you? Yes. What would you like to see first?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “The Empire State Building. I know it’s touristy and cliché, but I’ve been fascinated by it since I was a kid. I’ve drawn it so many times I know every line of that building by memory.”
The pure enthusiasm in his voice is infectious. “I can do you one better than just seeing it,” I say, pulling out my phone. “I know someone who can get us to the top floor. Not the observation deck—the actual top floor.”
Thatcher stops walking, staring at me with wide eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. One of my father’s old business partners owns property in the building. He owes me a favor.” I’m already scrolling through my contacts, finding the number I haven’t used in years.
“Pierce, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” I interrupt, surprising myself with how much I mean it. “You want to see the building you’ve been drawing since childhood? Let’s see it properly.”
