Page 60 of Mr. Perfect

Mac finally hangs up and starts chatting to the driver as I follow along like an afterthought. Why am I even here? Surely Brutus can’t want to see me after I caused him a life-threatening emergency last week.

“OK,” Mac says, after we slide into the town car. “Here’s the plan. I don’t want you interacting with him so we’re going to go in there, you apologize profusely, and then I’ll take over and see if we can’t work out something for next month.”

I have nothing but a sigh for that.

“Ellie? Are you paying attention to me?”

“Of course I’m paying attention. It’s not like I’ve been the one on the phone for the past two hours ignoring you.”

“Sorry,” he says with a small smile. “I had to deal with some stuff with the sale. We have to plan it right so investors don’t cut and run at the first sign of movement.”

“Why do you have to sell anyway?” I say. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Try me,” I sneer. “And stop treating me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m incapable of understanding details. I live details, Mac. I’ve been running these celebrity guests for seven years and this is the first time I’ve messed up since my first week on the job.”

“I know, Ellie. It’s just this is a big interview. If we can get Brutus to show up after the first sale then it will let investors know we’re still in business.”

“But if you’re not ‘still in business’”—I do little air quotes around that—“then why are you lying?”

“We’re not lying, just holding our cards close.”

I give up and turn to look out the window. “How far is this place?”

“Not far. He’s got some kind of compound inside the city, I guess. So listen,” he says, turning his body to me. “We’ll get back in time for dinner tonight. Where would you like to go?”

“Dinner?” I ask, not looking at him. “I’m not sure I feel like dinner. I hate flying. It wears me out. I’ll probably just go home and sleep.”

“No, Ellie. You won’t. We’re going out.”

We’ll see about that, I think to myself. Why did I spend the entire week pining over him and now everything he says and does annoys me?

“Ellie?” Mac asks sharply.

“What?” I snap back.

“Why are you tuning me out?”

“I guess I’m just not capable of understanding the details,” I say with an uninterested sigh.

“Listen,” he says, taking my arm and turning me towards him. “Sorry I was busy, but believe me, you’re not interested in the business I was dealing with. Trust me.”

“Sure,” I say. “Whatever.”

“Why are you so irritated with me?”

“OK,” I say. “I’ll tell you. It’s because you drag me along on to this stupid meeting and then practically tell me to wait in the car while you do your business. It’s demeaning.”

“Don’t take it so personally, Eloise. It’s just work. And I realize that I’m not the best example for separating work from personal life, but let’s give it a try today.”

I’ve heard enough. “Fine.”

“Good.” We pull up to some massive adobe wall with an equally intimidating iron gate at the front, and the driver rolls his window down and tells them who we are. The guard looks in, then waves for the other guard to open the gate for us. “Now, let’s just stick to the plan. Don’t engage him too much, OK? Just apologize, then I’ll ask you to go get me a drink or something—”