No way. I swallow hard several times, staring in disbelief. It is. Walking toward me, like some sort of weird beach mirage, is Lev. He’s dressed in a waterproof parka, jeans, and black suede trainers, which are already covered in sand. And he’s looking straight at me.
“Sasha Worth?” he calls as he nears me. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Lev Harman.”
He’s introducing himself to me? The founder of Zoose is introducing himself to me?
“I know,” I reply, feeling unreal. “We met when you interviewed me.”
“Quite.” He nods. “But you’ve just left Zoose.”
“Yes.”
“And you sent a twelve-page memo about the company.”
“Twelve pages?” I stare at him. “No. I just filled out the form.”
“They printed it out,” he says, pulling a sheaf of papers out of his pocket and brandishing it at me. “Twelve pages.”
“Right.” I rub my face, which is damp with sea spray. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I had so much to say.”
“You had a lot to say.” He surveys me intently. “And I want to hear more.”
I’m almost too bewildered to reply. Lev read my midnight rantings? And he wants to hear more?
“How did you know where I was?” I manage.
“You typed the hotel name into the address box. I came here to find you, and the receptionist said, ‘Oh, she’ll be down by the sea.’ ” Lev imitates Cassidy’s voice perfectly. “ ‘She’ll be doing her beach yoga and drinking kale.’ Are you doing beach yoga?” He surveys me curiously. “Am I interrupting your beach yoga?”
“No.” I smile. “I’m not doing beach yoga.”
“Well, then, could I possibly ask for some of your time? Because I’ve read this piece of brutal, razor-sharp analysis.” Lev shakes the sheaf of papers and gives me a rueful look. “And I would really like to talk to you.”
Twenty-Two
This is surreal. Life has become surreal. I’m sitting on the beach with Lev Harman, founder of Zoose, and he’s asking my advice.
We’re side by side on the sand, facing the sea, and Lev is asking me detailed questions about all the points I wrote in my feedback. He’s taking notes and he has his phone on Record, and he keeps gazing at me with a screwed-up expression, as though he’s trying to burrow into my mind.
“No one else says this!” he keeps exclaiming. “No one else— Carry on. Don’t stop. What else?”
His questioning is persistent but exhilarating, because he gets it. He’s quick. He’s expressive. When I describe an inefficiency, he sucks in his breath. When I mention a frustrating incident, he smacks the ground in empathy.
At first I try not to mention Asher by name. But it’s harder and harder to keep saying “the management” or “it was decided” or “the powers that be.” So in the end, I just come out with it.
“It’s Asher’s fault,” I say bluntly, as I describe the department understaffing. “He has terrible rows with staff. Then he hides in his office and won’t recruit replacements. And then when he emerges, he launches yet another stupid, gimmicky initiative. It’s all just big talk.”
I can’t believe how openly critical I’m being of Asher, and I’m half-expecting to get slapped down. But God, it’s a relief to speak the truth. Finally. To someone who gets it.
Lev winces every time I mention Asher, and I find myself wondering how Kirsten and I would manage running a company together. Probably terribly. We’d probably kill each other. In fact, we would kill each other. So this is a good warning.
“And he won’t listen to you?” says Lev, picking up a pebble from the beach.
“Listen?” I echo incredulously. “Asher doesn’t do listening. If you complain, his henchwoman Joanne refers you to the online aspirations mood board. It’s part of the joyfulness program.”
I know I sound snarky. I’ve possibly moved on from “useful, professional feedback” to “borderline bitching.” But so what? It’s true. Just remembering it all is giving me the heebie-jeebies.
Lev is silent for a few moments, staring out to sea with a strange look. Then he nods, as though he’s decided something, and turns to face me.
“I’d like to apologize for your experience at Zoose, Sasha. It was—it is—a travesty. We should not have lost you.” His face crinkles with incredulity. “Am I right, you actually ran away from the office and crashed into a brick wall?”
“Oh, that,” I say, feeling a bit mortified. “That was no big deal.…”
“You had to go to hospital?”
“Well, you know. It was precautionary.”
“You decided to become a nun rather than work for Zoose?”
I feel a jab of embarrassment. Was every humiliating detail of my little episode noted and shared with the whole company?
“Nun was just an option I was exploring.” I try to sound casual. “I needed a break, really.”
“But you didn’t just have a break,” Lev replies. “You quit completely. Why? Why quit?”
He gazes at me expectantly, as if he’s hanging on my every word. As if he’s trying to solve a puzzle. As if he’s asking not as a boss but just as a fellow human.
“I had to change things,” I say frankly. “I’d been too afraid to. I was clinging on to the status quo, even though things were getting worse and worse. Once I took action, it was scary—but then I felt released.”
Lev nods several times, his eyes distant. And I wonder: What puzzle is he trying to solve? Is it the puzzle of himself? Of Zoose? If it’s that, I can tell him at least one obvious answer. Finn realized it too.
But maybe firing his brother is even harder for Lev than quitting my job was for me. I feel a wash of sympathy for him, because, let’s face it, having Asher as your brother must be bad enough to start with.
“It can be hard to take decisive action,” I volunteer cautiously. “Especially if it involves … maybe … a family member.”
Lev glances defensively at me, and I keep a neutral expression. I’m trying to convey safe space and I think he gets it, because he seems to relax.
“I know Asher is—” He breaks off, looking despairing. “Suboptimal. But he’s been there since the start. He’s my brother.”
“It must be difficult,” I say, and Lev gives a weird little laugh.
“Between you and me, everything’s difficult.” He stares at the horizon, exhaling slowly. “Growing a company as fast as we have is incredible, fantastic, wonderful—but terrifying. You need to find more capital. Look after your existing business. Find new customers. All at once. It’s relentless.”
There’s a note in his voice I recognize. It reminds me of someone, only I can’t place it.… Then, with a jolt, I realize. He reminds me of me. He sounds overwhelmed.
“I think Zoose is in great shape generally,” I say. “The concept, the profile, the sales … oh my God! It’s a massive success story. Let’s just say a couple of individuals have bent it out of shape here and there.”