“I probably get that from my dad,” she says.
Miriam launches into a retelling of her day at the hospital—“The cutest baby in the PICU, I almost triggered an Amber Alert”—and Sasha and I listen to her describe burping methods in excruciating detail as the city quiets down outside.
I can hear the drip of our leaky faucet, soft and repetitive, into our pint-size enamel kitchen sink, beside a stove that couldn’t cook a hard-boiled egg if it tried. This apartment is a disaster—too small, too messy, too run-down, and way, way too expensive for all its quirks—but it’s perfect to me. Because it represents everything I traded when Lance and I broke up, when Miriam and I decided to move to New York City together.
A life I knew like the back of my hand for a life I never could have predicted.
CHAPTER SIX
Alex Harrison: How much money is left in the budget for September?
Casey Maitland: None.
Alex Harrison: None?
Casey Maitland: You have already eaten into half of October’s budget.
Alex Harrison: Why can’t we just take the L and reset for Oct?
Casey Maitland: Please explain how you convinced your high school algebra teacher to let you pass.
* * *
We never talked about it.
Never sought each other out, never lingered after a meeting to clear the air. Alex’s singular focus isn’t on me anymore; he’s preoccupied with one thing only.
Well. Two things:
Getting the subsidiary primed to launch.
Cementing his status as Little Cooper’s most flagrant spender.
It’s kind of funny, if I stop to think about it. The way his goals are in exact opposition to mine. If I want a recommendation for the London office, I need to spend the next eight months doing my job exceptionally well. Doing my job well means controlling the finances. Problem is, Alex encourages every idea without bothering to consider the cost.
Podcast? Do it. Digital creator conference in LA? Put the airfare on the corporate card! A new Web designer? Hire him.
Whenever we’re in the same room, our disharmony comes off both of us in frustrated heat waves. Like right now, for example, as we argue our way through another weekly BTH meeting. It almost feels like the two of us are alone in this conference room. Which is why it startles me when Saanvi interrupts us to say, “You guys should appear together on our YouTube channel.”
Alex and I stop bickering long enough to look at Saanvi, one of Little Cooper’s on-staff video directors. Her arms are loosely crossed. She’s staring at us across the conference table, a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
I think Saanvi views everything in life through the lens of a camera. She’s one of those people that have found their capital-P Purpose. Before Saanvi came to Little Cooper, she worked for one of our competitors, where she made a huge name for herself directing all those videos of celebrities walking around their homes showing off the interior design or answering a bunch of rapid-fire questions we shouldn’t care about but do.
She has this policy—if you appear on the channel, you get paid. Brijesh explained it to me after the “Healthed-Up Hot Chicken” video, and then I saw it for myself on my next paycheck: there was a line item in the HR portal where they break down your earnings that said video appearance. The amount of money I’d earned was minuscule, but I appreciated it all the same.
In response to Saanvi’s suggestion, I dumbly mutter, “What?”
“No, seriously.” Her face is utterly calm. “I think you two would be great.”
Beside me （he always sits next to me, and I never understand why）， Alex laughs. “How on earth did you get there from us debating the social media budget?”
“There’s no debate,” I half growl, growing heated again at what I was trying to explain moments ago. “Bite the Hand’s budget is too small to handle all these projects at the same time. You need to get your priorities in order.”
He leans back in his chair and taps a pen absentmindedly on his notepad. “We’ll get the budget expanded. I’m not worried about money right now.”
I shake my head, laughing humorlessly. “If I had a dime for every time that sentence has come out of your mouth, I wouldn’t be worried about money, either.”
“Oh my God, Saanvi,” says Amanda, the social media director. “You’re totally right. They’d be perfect for that work life segment.”
My mouth snaps closed.
Everyone in the room is looking at me and Alex like they just solved a puzzle.
“The Food Baby YouTube subscribers already love Casey,” Saanvi says, sitting up. “You’re relatable to them because your job is—”
“Boring?” I supply.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Simba,” Alex jokes.
“You’re both young and—forgive me—attractive, with perfectly typical day jobs, which I think our viewers will find endearing. We’ve featured chefs, professional athletes, TV personalities, Lin-Manuel Miranda, even a few politicians. But we’ve never had business professionals on the ‘One Day at Work’ segment.”
“I’m into it,” says Gus, Alex’s boss. “They can give our audience a behind-the-scenes look at the industry.”
I scowl at him. Gus Moskowitz comes second only to Alex in terms of flagrant spending. Bite the Hand was his idea, and he’s been heading up its mostly freelance editorial team ever since. When he interviewed me for Alex’s job, I’d been temporarily enamored with his big personality and disarming nature—but now, I’m flabbergasted I ever wanted to work for someone so fiscally irresponsible.
“Oh my God,” says Social Media Amanda. “They fit a totally untapped niche!”
My eyes widen and my heart rate spikes as I turn to Alex for support. Surely he’ll agree this is a terrible idea. When our eyes catch, I hold out hopes he’ll speak for the both of us. There’s a downturn to his lips, and his jaw looks tense.
But then he says, “I’m in if you’re in.”
Traitor!
I don’t even know where to start in rationalizing my forthcoming response of “No fucking way in hell” to the BTH project team.
First of all, what is Alex trying to accomplish here? Does he want to keep his enemy close? How can I justify appearing on a YouTube segment with him when that would be like welcoming him into the fold? It would signal that I’m okay with his presence here, which, to reiterate, I am not. Lastly, who in their ever-loving right mind could possibly think I’m interesting enough to hold my own through an entire YouTube video? And that’s not even to mention my childhood speech impediment, which still rears its head at the most inopportune moments.
“I’m not sure Don’s going to like this,” I say.
“We’ll be transparent with your boss about the time commitment,” Saanvi promises. “It wouldn’t go beyond normal work hours.”
Ha! Normal work hours. That’s a good one, Saanvi.
Everyone’s staring at me now. Waiting for me to agree. Because honestly, who’d pass up on the chance to be at the center of something new and fun and potentially career altering? After all, isn’t this what I wanted? Isn’t this why I applied for Alex’s job in the first place? To be a part of something that means something?