Page 18

“So, what are you working on?” Deacon asks. “Anything you can tell me about?”

I wince. “Not really.” I can’t often talk about what I’m working on because everything’s so confidential and, in some cases, not everyone’s even aware of my involvement. I don’t ever discuss anything that’s not in the public domain because I need to be known as the soul of discretion. If I genuinely don’t tell anyone anything, then any leaks can never come from me. But not only can I not talk about my business life, I actually don’t want to. I’m a bit bored by it all at the moment.

I pull two slices of French toast out of the pan, put them on a plate, and slide them across to Deacon. Then I grab some maple syrup from the pantry and blueberries from the fridge.

He takes a fork from the drawer and slices off a mouthful with its edge. “This is really good,” he says as he chews.

I roll my eyes. “Of course it is. I made it.”

“So you’ve got some woman, who definitely might not be Avril, that you’re not sure if you should pursue, but she seems like she’s not that keen. And you can’t talk to me about work. What else is going on?”

I sigh, and pull up a stool next to Deacon with my own plate of French toast. “I’m just not feeling it at the moment.”

“And what is the ‘it’ that you’re not feeling? Because I’m pretty sure you were feeling something or someone on Saturday night.”

I keep my poker face. He’s prodding me, but I’m not going to spill the beans. Avril can tell Aurora if she wants her to know. “Work, I guess. I’m feeling a bit unbothered about everything.” I’ve not verbalized my feelings about work to anyone apart from Avril on Saturday night. But the thoughts have been churning away in my brain.

When I came to New York, I knew that I needed to get to know everyone who could possibly help me, so I made networking a full-time job. When guys my age were out snorting cocaine and drinking shots, I was taking notes and sipping soda water that I asked for in martini glasses.

And I kept notes.

On everyone.

I learned that it wasn’t just people who were on track for the big time that I needed to know. Partly because you never knew exactly who those people were in New York. No, some of the people who’ve been most useful to me on my journey, have been the ones who’ve given me access to the movers and shakers. It’s the assistants who’ve invited me to parties or gotten me into the calendars of the CEOs. It’s the bag carriers who’ve opened the door for me to take the stairs to the top. It’s a lesson I learned early and have kept with me.

Now, I know the birthday of every assistant of every CEO I work with. And I don’t forget them. I have an assistant of my own whose sole job is to organize cards, notes, and flowers. I call the position my VP of gratitude. Thank yous, happy birthdays, congratulations, and commiserations. Of course, the power players get the flowers as well, but I’m aware that you can’t just focus on the people at the top, because without the people holding them up, everything collapses.

Usually, remembering small details about people’s lives, being connected to the city in the way I am, lights me up. But at the moment, nothing feels quite as bright. “I’m just feeling a little…off.”

“That’s not like you,” Deacon says. “But we all go through different chapters. Look at me.”

There’s no doubt Deacon’s been through different chapters, but since he had his daughter, Willow, and now since he’s been with Aurora, his priorities have shifted, and from the outside, he looks more driven, more satisfied than ever.

I feel the exact opposite. “Maybe I’m sick of the parties,” I say.

Deacon stops chewing. “Has hell frozen over?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just getting old.”

“You’re thirty-four,” he says. “Hardly over the hill.”

I chuckle at the reference to being over the hill, but I think I’m over something. I’m over doing the same old thing. “I guess I just need a new challenge.”

“As long as that challenge isn’t Avril,” he says.

I laugh. He’s right. Maybe I’ve just got meeting Avril somehow mixed up with needing something more. A woman isn’t a cure for this slump I find myself in.

SEVEN

Ben

The last person I expect to see lurking outside my building when I return home from work on Wednesday evening is Avril.

She looks even more gorgeous than when she left my apartment wearing my shirt and boxers. Her hair blows gently in the wind and she’s staring up at the sky like it’s going to give her answers to all the questions she has.

“Hey,” I say as I get closer.

She startles, almost jumping out of her shoes as she sees me. “Hey.”