“We need to talk,” he says, and Tracy’s mouth falls open before she hits the END CALL button on her desk phone. “Whose idea was it to present a BTH launch plan in four weeks?”
“It was mine.” She reclines in her chair, perfectly at ease.
Don crosses his arms over his chest. “Does this mean what I think it means? Is the presentation supposed to be some sort of signal about LC’s ability to stay solvent?”
“To be perfectly honest,” Tracy says, “it’s less about whether BTH can make money and more about whether it’s exciting enough to rally the board to our side.”
Don rubs at his forehead. “If the entire company’s future is riding on the back of one team’s ability to deliver an exciting presentation, they should at least be allowed to know it.”
“No,” Tracy says. “Nobody tells anyone anything.” She looks right at me, like she knows I’m the weak link. “This is privileged. I mean it.”
I have no idea where my bravery comes from, but I match Don’s aggressive attitude and say, “On one condition.”
Tracy narrows her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m indulging this, but what condition?”
“Schedule that workshop with Fari. Did you know she got more than ten job offers? She chose LC because of you, and now she can barely afford to go home for Thanksgiving!”
Tracy blinks. I think my words both very much confuse and also somehow land with her, because she retreats into herself, and her voice comes out muted when she says, “Of course. Thank you for reminding me.”
I nod, satisfied, and avoid the blushing face of Don, who is no doubt highly uncomfortable discussing one employee’s pay with his other employee in the room.
“Why is this all happening so fast?” I ask, steering the subject back on course.
Tracy picks up a pen and twirls it through her fingertips, sighing. “Dougie wanted to accept the offer from Strauss Holdings this morning.” Strauss Holdings. I make a mental note of Tracy’s slip so I can research the company later. “At this point, he’s content to get bought out of his well-endowed contract and retire, and he’s even managed to convince the other board members it’s the right call. Robert Harrison deserting was a huge hit to their faith. I got Dougie to postpone until the original deadline, but he needed a reason. I told him the launch plan might change his and the others’ minds.”
“Will it?” Don asks.
“Hope so.” Tracy shrugs. “Because I, for one, am not ready to get bought out of my contract and retire.”
Don narrows his eyes at her. “You don’t seem confident he’ll be persuaded.”
She shoots me a pointed look, and Don turns to me. “Alex’s involvement doesn’t exactly help,” I explain.
“Right,” Don says. “The corporate warfare.” He shakes his head and looks at me. “I still can’t believe Gus hired that kid. It should’ve been you.”
No, it shouldn’t have.
“Look,” Tracy says. “Blood in the water aside, I wouldn’t have suggested this if I didn’t think Bite the Hand was ready for it. That subsidiary launch was always coming. It’s just coming a little sooner now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The next day, Alex comes home with me for the first time.
He wanted me to sleep over at his place last night, but I knew seeing him without a night to process my conversation with Tracy and Don would be a horrible idea.
I made dinner plans with Brijesh as a cover-up—although that didn’t end up serving my mental state any better. After researching Strauss Holdings and concluding that his current job and my future dream job are both at risk—honestly, the only safe magazine is Frame, that beautiful behemoth—sitting across the table from Brijesh made me feel like a character from Succession with an inside scoop and no fucking loyalty.
He’ll probably be fine. Brijesh is quasi-famous, and if he gets laid off, another company might find that fame attractive. But he’s told me before about food media hierarchies, how long it takes to work your way up, how competitive that sector of the industry is. He’ll probably be fine, but he might not be good, which was enough guilt to slice me in half. I was quieter than normal all night long. Finally, he slapped a hand on the table and said, “Okay, did you get dumped, or am I about to get dumped?”
I had to remind him neither of us are in real relationships.
Yesterday, the scale was tipped like this: guilt = heavy, missing Alex = a little less heavy. Today, the scale tips in the other direction. I’m practically jonesing for him by five o’clock, when Sasha has a wardrobe malfunction and needs an emergency outfit change between a work event in Murray Hill and another in DUMBO. I meet Alex in the lobby and ask if he’d mind going to my place instead.
“Do I mind,” Alex repeats. “I’ve been dying to see your apartment. Every day, I stare at my whiteboard and ask myself, When will Casey invite me over?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s cramped, and far, and not remotely private if Mir’s home.”
“It’s a window to your soul.”
“Based on that logic, your soul is made up of expensive home goods and blank walls.”
He smirks and shrugs. “I wouldn’t be surprised, but I don’t think I count. My living situation is too ephemeral to have a soul. I haven’t had a real home since I was ten.”
His tone is easy, a throwaway statement, and I don’t think he knows it breaks my heart. I never considered Alex’s place is so bare-bones because he’s not planning to stay in it—or anywhere—for long.
Later, on the subway, out of some instinct to make sure he’ll be okay, I ask, “Are you going to Freddy’s mom’s house next week for Thanksgiving?”
His normal energy is missing today, interrupted by a bout of quiet introspection I’ve begun to realize always manifests whenever there’s a roadblock in Alex’s head. Right now, he’s playing with a lock of my hair and leaning his head against the subway wall behind us. He nods in answer to my question but doesn’t elaborate further, so I let the silence stretch out comfortably, feeling his fingers in my hair and his eyes on me.
“Casey,” he says eventually.
“Alex.”
He leans forward and presses his nose into my hair. “I know you’re worried Dougie’s going to deny the launch out of spite. But I promise you, Simba, I’m going to make that presentation so damn good, even that vengeful man will love it.”
I turn and smile at him a little sadly, relieved he guessed half my fears, so I don’t have to lie about the other half. “Do you really promise?”
“I swear it.” He kisses my hair. “Can I have Casey back now? I’ve been stressed out of my mind just thinking about how stressed you looked yesterday, and I’m usually very easygoing.”
“Well, I’m not easygoing. And I hate mimosas.”
His mouth twitches. “Do easygoing people usually like mimosas?”
“Most.” I shrug. “It’s linked in my mind.”
“Your mind is weird,” Alex says, and when the subway slows to a stop and we stand, he adds, “I’m starving. Is there any good food in Brooklyn?”