Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“It’s over, Ani. I don’t know what else to do to get through to him. He’s never going to fully open up to me. Or anyone, for that matter.”
She gives a soft sigh. “Oh babe. I’m sorry. But I still don’t think you should give up. Before he got arrested, he was opening up to you. Right? He was talking about himself, his feelings, that kind of stuff?”
“Yes, but feelings is a bit of a stretch. The only time I think he was truly transparent with me was when we were chatting on the—” I stop suddenly. The app.
That’s it, the answer. Luke has never been great with face-to-face interactions, outside the sexual variety. But when we were getting to know each other on Kink, he was so candid, so beautifully honest, it was one of the reasons I wanted to meet him.
“I have to go,” I tell my ex-girlfriend. “Just thought of something.”
“Oooh! What’s the plan?”
“Not a plan, really. I’ll fill you in later.”
After we hang up, I tear off a sheet of notebook paper and start scribbling. My final message to him, this man I never expected to fall for, is short and sweet.
L—I’m leaving tomorrow and so I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m hoping this isn’t a forever goodbye. Really hoping that. For now, I’m giving you the space you so obviously need. But I have one request. Just one, and I promise it’s not insanely unreasonable.
Don’t unmatch me on Kink.
Love,
KHIII
Then I slide it under his door and hope for the best.
Who Am I Kidding?
Luke
It’s nine o’clock on a July morning, and I’ve been at my desk for an hour and a half. I’m hopped up on free office coffee and I’ve already finished the project Bo gave me last night on his way out the door.
This desk is mine for only six more weeks. But I’m going to make every one of them count.
Bo—my boss and the CFO—finally saunters in, phone pressed to his ear. “Uh-huh. And why do we care if our options are bid up? Right. Gotcha. But can’t we hedge out that interest rate risk?” He sits down in his chair and nudges his computer mouse to wake the system up.
I love working here, and I wish I could hear the other side of that call.
Instead, I tidy up the printouts I’ve prepared and staple the pages together. And when Bo hangs up, I pounce before someone else can steal his attention. “Hey! Morning. Here’s the rates you asked me for.” I drop the papers on his desk.
He blinks. “The convertible comps?”
“Yeah, see?” I flip past the cover page to show him all the data I assembled from his Bloomberg terminal. “I know you said you only wanted drug companies, but I threw in a couple of medical equipment manufacturers because the data set was pretty small.”
“I just asked you for this at eight last night.”
“Sure. But your terminal has the data I needed, so I sat down after you left and knocked it out. So what’s next?”
“Breakfast,” he says. “And reading your report. Then I’ll ask you to start looking at senior debt because our bankers want to talk about a long-term debenture.”
“Sweet!” I say with undisguised enthusiasm.
He laughs. “Get a life, kid. I can’t keep up with you.”
“You are my life this summer.” I’m not even joking. They’re putting me up and paying me a terrific wage. I’m spending all my time here, learning the ropes. What else am I going to do, anyway? I have to save every penny I can. My textbooks for next term aren’t going to buy themselves.
“And I appreciate that,” Bo says. “But I’m old and I need caffeine and carbs. The hospital directors I entertained last night can sure hold their liquor.” He digs his wallet out of his suit coat pocket. “I’ll buy, you fly. Scrambled eggs with bacon and cheddar on a roll. And—”
“—double cappuccino with skim milk and cinnamon.”
“Good man.” He hands me a twenty. “I’ll read your report while you’re gone.”
On my way toward the elevator, I stop by his administrative assistant’s desk. “Marcy, I’m going down to Lenny’s for breakfast. Anything I can bring you?”
“Luke Bailey, you are dreamy,” she says, handing me a five-dollar bill. “I don’t know what I’ll do when you go back to school. Feed myself, I suppose. Please bring me a muffin. Corn or blueberry. I can’t decide. And my usual tea.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Five minutes later I’m rattling off our order and then stepping aside to wait for it.
Honestly, pleasing people at Hayworth Harper has been easier than I ever thought. All you have to do is pay attention and ask questions. I’m having a great time. And I feel calmer, somehow. Like it’s all going to work out for me eventually.
I really needed to get out of Darby-fucking-Connecticut.