5. Ryan #3
Today, he’s wearing a navy suit over a white shirt. His tie is the color of his eyes. Aquamarine. They pop vividly within the already attractive lines of his face. The reddened rims prove he lost some sleep last night, too. I prepare myself for him to tell me to forget it.
I nod as I approach him. “Good morning.” We both turn to face the elevators.
“Morning.”
Jia pipes up with her own greeting.
I lapse into my usual awkward silence, edgy and agitated, not sure what’s real or a product of my historically over-active imagination when it comes to him.
An elevator opens. The three of us and a number of other people crowd on. Malcolm and I wind up shoulder to shoulder, packed in like sardines.
“I don’t have many ideas,” he says to me in a quiet voice. “Sorry.”
“I’ve got a couple,” I lie, thinking about vintage t-shirts. Vintage anything .
“I tried gambling,” he says. “It didn’t go well.”
I snort.
“What?” he says. “Are you any good at it?”
“I’m not gambling to win this,” I tell him.
“Why not? It’s just like the stock market.”
“Uh, no. It isn’t. Stocks have histories and certain ways of behaving. Gambling is a little strategy, but it’s mostly luck.”
“Yeah…like the fucking stock market,” he mumbles.
I scoff at that. “You went to Stanford?”
He stiffens. The air between us might as well have just frosted over. “You goddamn well know I went to Stanford. You were in the same room when I got my acceptance letter.”
“I was probably stoned.”
It’s his turn to snort. “You were definitely stoned.”
The doors open on ten, and I shove my way out, needing not to be so close to him anymore.
He’s got a nasty temper not many people know about, but it isn’t hard for me to tell when he’s working himself up.
I’d rather not be in the blast zone this morning.
I’m already a scattered, emotional mess with all the shit his unexpected phone call dragged up.
“Should we see if Bailey wants to partner up, too?” he asks, easily matching my stride.
“Sure, go for it.” I’d love to watch that conversation.
“You should be the one to ask. She can’t stand me. ”
“No?” I ask. “What gave you that idea? I thought everyone liked you.”
His voice is a low grumble. “I just think you might have better luck.”
“I’m as straight and white as you are, bro.”
At that, he gives a short, barking laugh. “Yeah, okay.”
Excuse me?
I stop walking, and he does the same. We’re a few feet from the conference room where we huddle with the other interns in the morning. Jia goes inside leaving Malcolm and me in the hall together.
Which is just as well because what he said pissed me the fuck off. “You can think whatever the fuck you want about me, but don’t pretend you know more than you do. You haven’t known me since we were fourteen. I know who the fuck I am. Do you want to do this or not?”
He swallows hard. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Sure you do. You can lose . I’m not the one who called my mom in the middle of the night begging for help.”
His cheeks twitch, and his tone turns nasty. “I didn’t beg .”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you need me more than I need you.” I’m not sure that’s true, but he doesn’t need to know that having no ideas for how to tackle this challenge is eating me alive.
His expression remains grim. He nods once.
“Then you ask Bailey if you want her on the team. Don’t assume you know who she is either.”
“Do I need to apologize?” he asks.
“To Bailey?”
“No, asshole.” He gives me another intense look.
“I’m not getting into this right now,” I say.
We need to focus on work. Malcolm’s a big enough distraction already.
I’ve learned to cope with having him around—the masochist in me gets a sick thrill from it, but what I have no time for is hope.
Forgiveness? Great. What the fuck ever. But this stupid hope that I could ever get my brother back is the worst .
No—not my brother. My friend.
“Ryan, dammit,” he begins, but shuts up when all eyes are on us as we enter the conference room.
I plaster on my fake smile and take my seat. Murmured good mornings pass across the table. Mal takes his usual seat next to Bailey, and she visibly shifts away from him like he stinks or something.
He smells fucking incredible. She’s clearly not a fan.
This is going to end up being him and me. Ergo, a nightmare.
I make a rule for myself as Georgie touches base with everyone. If Malcolm and I actually team up, there will be no drinking. No mind-altering substances of any kind for as long as he and I work in the same building. I will never speak to him without thinking first again.
I can’t risk it. Of all the things to come out of that phone call other than my hands deciding to up and quit on me is the realization that missing him hurts.
Part of me must enjoy the pain, though, because I’ve also come to the conclusion that I’d rather have the opportunity to see and not touch, have and not hold because his existence reminds me who I am.
After this summer, I may never see him again, and that’s healthy.
It’s right for me. But there’s a sweet and only slightly depressing nostalgia at the chance of having him talk to me like a peer again.
He’s like a song that changed my life—a part of me crystalized in space and time.
He’s a memory of me when I was happy, and I don’t want to let this chance to remember go.
If it hurts, it hurts. It’s just for the summer.
It’s closure. And who knows? Maybe I’ll be less of an asshole afterward. Or maybe I’m the same idiot for him I’ve always been, but at least I won’t live in the same town with him much longer. Distance worked well enough while I was in Portland.
The morning goes smoothly with me and Charlie. He gives me the two client files and talks me through an overview of them while I take handwritten notes. My handwriting is shit, but otherwise I’m focused. That he’s trusting me with this is a big deal, and I’m excited to get to work.
I spend an hour taking my own notes on each file before calling to introduce myself to the clients.
I’m getting better on the phone, mostly copying Charlie now.
He has a kind, confident way about him that isn’t shy about cutting someone off when they’re on the wrong track or stressing about something. He’s also good at listening.
When I hang up with the business owner, Charlie’s arching an eyebrow at me with a half grin. “Nice,” he says.
I blow out a breath. “Thanks,” I tell him. “Felt good.”
“Take a break and bring me back a latte, will you?”
“Sure thing.”
Bailey corners me at the coffee bar, standing way too close, her neck craned back to look up at me.
Her hair is down today, a slightly frizzy mop.
She’s stopped wearing suits and started wearing loose-fitting dresses I assume are more comfortable.
Today’s dress is black with small red flowers on it, the same color as the cardigan she’s got on.
Overall, Bailey is unremarkable to look at, but it seems intentional.
“Do you want me on your team, too?” She asks it like she’s daring me to say no. Or yes. I can’t tell.
Her right earlobe has more piercings than it should technically be able to have, and this is what catches my attention as I decide how to answer her question.
I wouldn’t mind having Malcolm all to myself, but that’s the stupid part of me.
Someone absolutely needs to be in the room with us.
He’s much more likely to not act like a total shit, and I’m more likely to keep my brain in reality where it belongs.
“Yes,” I say.
“Why?”
Jesus. “Level the playing field?”
“Five against three? Hardly level,” she says in that no-bullshit way she’s got.
“Better than seven against one,” I say.
She narrows her relatively small eyes. “How do we decide who wins? What if only one person can win?”
“How do you think we should decide?” I ask.
“We could write reports on our contributions—decide who’s responsible for how much money. It has to be fair. And I won’t be side-lined.”
Believe it or not, I get where she’s coming from. “Look, it’s a legit offer to team up. You don’t like working on teams?”
“Do you?” she asks.
“Not particularly. But I want to win.”
“Really?”
I nod.
“And you don’t have a problem working with women?” she asks.
What? “No.”
“Because that will go into my report if I even get a whiff that I’m being marginalized.”
“It’s totally up to you,” I tell her.
“What’s your best idea?” she asks.
“What’s yours?”
I get a definite glare for that. “We’ll need to have a planning session ASAP.”
“Okay.”
“I’m free tonight,” she says. “What about you?”
“Yeah, sure. ”
“I’ll talk to Walsh. Plan for tonight. Location TBD.” With that, she backs off and walks away.
I set my coffee down on the counter and will my balls to drop back into their sac. Bailey is terrifying. I think I might like her, but there’s not a chance in hell I’d ever try to marginalize her. She’d have me for lunch.
As I return to Charlie’s workspace, I think about getting together with her and Malcolm tonight and how that’s going to look.
The three of us all sitting down somewhere brainstorming quick money-making schemes.
Actually, this is going to be much better—having her there.
Just him and me? I won’t be at my sharpest. I’ll go along with whatever stupid idea he might come up with just to be agreeable.
Like I said—he’s the sun, and I orbit it.
It’s always been that way. Even this bonkers idea of teaming up was because he asked.
I never would have had the courage to do that.
I get that I should have said no, but I’m not sure I’m physically capable.
I haven’t felt this pathetic since high school.
Charlie grins up at me from his wheelchair like he’s got something evil planned for me. “Good. You’re back.”
I happen to notice one of the lights on the phone blinking, like someone’s on hold. “Should I be scared?” I ask as I take my seat.
“What did I tell you day one?”
“Show no fear?”
He nods. “Mr. Estrada is on line one. Make him happy, and I’ll buy you lunch.”
Long story short, I have to pay for my own lunch today.