10:30 A.M.
Fine. Let’s talk.
I’m so agitated I need a response right away. But the number that’s been haunting me for ten days has gone quiet.
“Maybe we should skip the pro-am tournament at the club?” Nora asks in a thin voice.
“No.” I shake my head.
I want to talk to Ford. Want to confront the California area code number. Want to get to the bottom of what Beau is hiding. I need answers. Now.
“We’re going,” I say. “But we need to make one stop first.”
Chapter 18
California
I was prepared. Too prepared, maybe, but I had started to dream about the conversation I was going to have with Simon.
It had been three days since Beau’s meeting at Redwood. Three days since Simon shelved me like some file he might never pick up again.
I knew Simon’s every tic, his every tell. What the rap of his fingers on a desk could mean depending on the pace. But I didn’t knowthisversion of Simon. The version who had spent days licking his wounds over striking out on the attempt to acquire InfoSynth.
Simon never struck out. Never missed the signals.
But he did with Beau. And now I was paying for it.
Ever since the moment Beau walked out of Redwood’s conference room, Simon had become the king of petty, icing me out in meetings and turning up the radio silence. Requests to “work on that presentation” went dead. If Simon did have a request, he routed it through email, and if I emailed him, he ignored me entirely.
Sulking. In a thousand-dollar suit.
Today was Friday, though. And every Friday, we met in his office to go over his obligations for the upcoming week. It was the one thing he never skipped.
“Este, we need to talk,” I imagined him saying.
Then I was going to say, “Simon, I understand that didn’t gohow you hoped, but I’ve been digging and I think I’ve found a list of alternatives.”
Professional. Useful. Back in my place.
That’s not to say there weren’t moments when my zen mood was rocked by self-respect. The silence was clearly meant to humiliate and destabilize me. But for what? Bringing him Beau Walker on a silver platter?
It didn’t matter, I kept telling myself. I was stuck with my choices unless and until I could get to higher ground. So my plan was to respectfully cool off our romantic entanglement and reset.
We’re just going to put everything back the way it was before.
This little pep talk got me about halfway to Simon’s office before I realized the lights were off and his door was closed.
That’s different.
Simon was always the first person in when he was in town. He said he liked the quiet. He did his best thinking then.
My zen mood lasted until I got to my office and saw it. There, in the middle of my desk, was one of Simon’s monogrammed note cards. I could see his handwriting from where I was standing in the doorway.
The sinking feeling in my stomach propelled me as I walked around the desk and picked up the card. It was four sentences:
I think it’s time for you to move on. You’re too talented to stay here. I don’t want to hold you back any longer. I wish you well.
—S
