Chapter 4
four
Mateo
Manhattan in July is sticky and humid, leaving my clothes fitting a bit too snugly.
Stuck in something ill-fitting really sums up how I feel.
Even if I undo the top button, it’s hard to breathe.
When I moved to the city, I was fascinated by how it smelled like the dollar pizza slices sold in tiny corner shops.
Now all I notice is trash sizzling on the sidewalks.
The hustle of people down the streets and below, inside subway cars, used to make me feel as though I was part of something.
Today, I’m positive if I stood in the middle of an intersection and screamed, I’d get honked at and nothing else.
Over time, or maybe it happened overnight, every part of the city experience I once celebrated faded.
By no longer looking up in fascination, I’m confronted by one facet after another of a blurry puzzle I used to fit into.
Nothing about New York City feels the same since my night with Nessa.
Too often, I stare longingly at her contact in my phone, trying to concoct reasons to text her.
I went out. Tried to meet other women. Get my mind off her.
But all I did was compare them to her, noting all the ways they didn’t measure up. I don’t even recognize myself anymore.
Tonight, I’m once again entertaining clients to court business for someone else’s benefit.
As I sit in a high-quality leather armchair, waiting for this guy and his crew to arrive, I pull out my phone to dig further into his background.
As I peruse his social media, I come across a photo that instantly has my blood running cold. It’s her, with my client.
It’s an older photo, from what I can tell. The two of them are standing in a brick courtyard. Ivy Out of My League. That’s how Nessa put herself into my phone. Though based on her texts the next day, she doesn’t remember. I spent the next twenty-four hours calling her Ivy.
I’m still stewing over the image when my client texts that he can’t make it because the pussy here is fire .
Great, wonderful.
Mateo:
I don’t understand how you dated him.
screenshot of Caleb Reynolds’s text
He was clearly there because his daddy donated a few buildings.
I pull up the ride share app and order a car, then cash out with an extra generous tip to expense to the company.
While I wait, my phone buzzes.
I’m ecstatic that she actually replied.
Ivy:
Satan’s Bikini Waxer?
Mateo:
You dated him eyes emoji
Ivy:
Ugh, don’t remind me.
Whatever, is that all?
I’m too tipsy to restrain myself the way I probably should, so once I’m in the back seat of the car, I switch over to FaceTime.
To my absolute shock, she picks up, though by the way she’s glaring, she’s not thrilled about it. “Video too now? Why?”
“I’m happy to see you too, Ivy.” My grin stretches from ear to ear, I think. I’m feeling the buzz a little more as we speed down FDR parkway.
“Cute.” With a roll of her eyes, she props her phone up on what looks like her desk, if the papers and the laptop are any indication.
I point over her shoulder at the framed diplomas proudly displaying the name of the infamous school, making her scowl.
As if she thinks I’ll believe she’s unbothered by my teasing, she removes the claw clip from her hair and shakes out the long, golden tresses.
Damn, I love getting a reaction out of her.
There’s no stopping my preening now. The smug satisfaction on my face and tilt of my head are visible in the tiny video chat bubble, making me realize that I haven’t felt this way since the last time I saw her.
My stomach flutters and my skin tingles at the memories that flit through my mind.
If I allowed myself to really think about how long this kind of happiness has been missing from my life, I could admit it’s her voice that’s brought it on and not the liquor.
With a shake of my head, I will those thoughts away.
“Why are you calling? Looks like you had so much fun with Satan. But were you not able to close tonight?”
Her irritation makes my pulse speed up, and an uncomfortable heat washes over me. Just thinking about Caleb and his brush-off makes me anxious about work tomorrow.
If I can keep her talking until I get inside, maybe I can force it out of my mind for good tonight.
Maybe I can get a good night’s sleep. Or maybe I’ll do what I’ve done every night since Stef’s wedding.
I’ll lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, telling myself not to think about my night with Nessa until I can’t stop thinking about it and fuck my fist.
Mind fuzzy, I struggle to find a topic that doesn’t involve her fuckhead of an ex. Finally, I clear my throat and blurt, “I need your help.”
Anything to keep her on the phone.
“Was the STI test positive? Just go back to the doctor and get medication.”
I let out a sardonic laugh. “You’re hilarious. No, I’m trying to get Stef and Lee to house-swap with me. I’m over the city. If I can get your buddy Caleb?—”
“Satan,” she hisses. “We do not invoke the devil’s name. Ever. And he’s not my buddy.”
“Fine. Anyway, if I can get him to close this Park Ave deal, then I can take a sabbatical and give Stef my place.”
“So you said,” she sasses.
God, I love that sassy mouth. Damn. The things I want to do to it again.
“Keep being mean to me. It just turns me on.” I wink.
She rolls her eyes. “Do you need something, or can I go?” The sass is off the charts.
“Nah, I’m good.” I give her a big, dopey grin. “You go. Try to have some fun again, Ivy.”
“I’m hanging up now,” she singsongs an instant before the screen turns black.
For several minutes after the call ends, my heart continues to beat wildly.
Every cell in my body is wide awake and adrenaline courses through me like I’ve just finished a marathon.
This woman is clearly igniting that spark I’ve been missing.
I’ll do everything I can to be near her and find my drive again.
For weeks, it’s been one canceled meeting after another.
Don’t get me started on all the unanswered emails.
Still, I haven’t broken into the Reynolds party circle.
I’ve tried my usual tactics—event tickets, the hottest reservations, private entrance to pop-ups—but nothing is working.
It’s impossible to impress a person whose name has always opened every door.
I’ve discussed this in biweekly meetings.
I’ve tried to pass this up the line. However, according to Chip Merrick, in my position here, there’s no reason I should need support.
Apparently, I’m senior enough that even after I have checked every box on our list of standard approaches and come up with several of my own, I’m still expected to make it happen.
When I asked for someone with more seniority to reach out, providing a draft message with the request it wasn’t to Chip’s liking, so I had to revise it.
Again and again, he sent it back with suggestions, and before he could approve it, he was gone for two weeks on vacation.
Now, it’s time for another check-in, but, fuck, am I over this.
I’m done working for a man who confuses teachable moments with hanging me out to dry. I’m over sitting in these crowded, loud, overpriced places, praying that a tool like Caleb Reynolds will bother to show up.
I’m burned out. The magic of New York City has evaporated. I no longer know what I’m chasing or why. I’m so lost and defeated that I’m about to burn my life to the ground just to feel something again.
“Boss man,” I say as I knock on his open doorframe.
He nods and waves me in, and I close the door behind me.
I drop into a chair and heave out a long breath. “I need a fucking break, Chip.”
“Matty, you close this pending deal with Reynolds, and you can take the rest of the year off for all I fucking care. Just get them to sign over the Park Ave luxury apartments, and I’ll sign off on your sabbatical.”
My gut twists. “It’s not going to happen. He’s dodged me all summer, and nothing we’ve put in front of him is good enough in his mind.” It kills me to do it, but I know when to fold.
“That’s not the can-do attitude we expect around here.” He straightens and laces his fingers on top of his desk. “This negativity isn’t good for team morale. Let’s review what you’ve done again.”
I shake my head. “We need to pivot. Maybe put someone else on this account and let me try my hand elsewhere. I’ve exhausted all my resources.”
“That isn’t your decision to make. I don’t understand why you are giving up.”
Blood simmering, I grit my teeth. “In the past, you’ve let other people take a rotation when the Reynoldses weren’t cracking. Why not me?”
“This isn’t about anyone else. It’s about you and only you.” His tone is now sharp.
“I’m just say?—”
“No. You’re not. If you can’t do this, then you’re done.
” His acidic words land hard, the vein in his forehead protruding.
“You have one hour to clean out your office and get out. You’ve been making excuses for months now.
And this pathetic attempt to cast blame on others? It’s beyond unacceptable.”
His anger has cooled to ice.
“And don’t forget about the noncompete clause in your contract. If you so much as sneeze in the direction of my clients, I will bury you in legal fees. You’re done in this city. Now, get the fuck out of my office.”
Numb with shock, I stand. It’s an out-of-body experience. Like I’m hovering in the corner, watching the scene unfold. Finally, I find enough sense to say, “Please forward all the parting documents to my legal team. We’ll look them over and get back to you.”
With that, I stride from the room and pack up my things.
With a growl, I slam the bank box down on the marble island in the penthouse I’ve come to loathe for how cold and empty it feels and take inventory of my life.
I can easily live off the dividends of my investments, thank fuck. I can thank Susan Santos-Manolo for that. She would never let me spend recklessly. I have everything I need. Yet I have nothing I want.
Everything is going to be fine.
I repeat the phrase, willing myself to believe it.
It’s no use. It’s overpowered by other voices.
Voices that remind me that I’m nothing but a good-time person, not a serious person.
It started in high school; I never got great grades, but I excelled in sports and with friends.
This continued in college and then through my twenties in the city.
Now, in my early thirties, it’s become frustrating.
I might have plenty now, but the blue-collar kid raised by immigrants in a small town is still in here. Maybe if I can find him again, those stuck feelings will go away.
Maybe some interaction with Nessa will help. Just being around her energizes me.
Fuck yeah. I know exactly how to pull this off.
Mateo:
Did you find an apartment yet?
Stef:
Not any good ones. There are a few maybes on the list.
Mateo:
How does a semester-long house-swap sound?
Stef:
Like the start of a Christmas movie or a bad prank, TBH.
Mateo:
I’m taking time off between jobs and don’t want to stay with Mom.
It would be a huge favor to me.
Stef:
Lee and I can live in your penthouse? For free? As a favor to you?
Mateo:
Y U P
Stef:
Okay, twist my arm. We’re in.