27. A Cinderella Story
27
A Cinderella Story
ANDREW
From: Victor Lynch
To: Andrew Jones
Sent: December 31, 2:11 pm
Subject: none
Find me at the party tonight. I’ll introduce you to the chairman as our strongest VP candidate. Be sure Carly’s there too.
-Vic
Victor Lynch, Chief Financial Officer
“ I feel like a celebrity,” I said, clutching Carly’s hand as we walked into the party. Heads turned, and I knew it wasn’t my new three-piece tux or even Carly’s red gown, which was cut tantalizingly close to her navel, that drew their attention. It was Carly. News that my girlfriend was styling Helen Choi and her rising-star friends had blown through the bank like a tsunami. Three vice presidents had asked me if they could get on her waiting list. “Like Hugh Grant in Notting Hill.”
“You look better in a tux than he did.” She smoothed her hand over my lapel, and my heart skipped.
I slipped my arm around her waist, my fingers sliding across the smooth red silk. “Is this okay?”
“Mm-hmm.” She nestled into my side. “Time to sell this.”
My fingers stiffened and skidded off the fabric. Sell it? Even though we hadn’t named our feelings yet, she’d taken me to brunch with her best friends. That had to mean something.
Seeming not to notice that I’d stopped breathing, Carly grasped my hand. “Should we get a drink?”
I sucked in a deep breath to say, yes, I’d very much like a drink, but Vic’s wife, Yelena, and two other women flitted up to us.
“Carly.” Yelena put her hands on Carly’s shoulders, bumping me out of the way, and kissed her cheeks. “That gown is divine. So daring!”
“Thank you. I figured I could get away with it on the arm of this hotshot.”
I wasn’t so sure I was a hotshot, but her smile lit me up inside. I’d climb the corporate ladder to the top if it made me worthy to walk into every party with her.
“Vic wants to talk with you, Andrew,” Yelena said. “He’s over by the photo booth.” She glanced at me, then did a double-take. “I love what you did with his hair. Do you think you could do something with Vic’s? He hasn’t changed his style since The Great Recession.”
The women closed ranks around Carly, effectively dismissing me. “I’ll find you later,” I said, but I wasn’t sure she heard me.
I trudged toward the photo booth, conveniently set up next to a bar. Vic wasn’t posing for a photos, but he watched our younger employees pick up the props—masks, feather boas, novelty sunglasses with the year sticking up from the tops—and strike silly poses for the photographer. I hoped he wasn’t taking notes for his next division-wide email on decorum.
“Vic,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand.
“Andrew.” He grasped it and, I shit you not, smiled at me. I almost stumbled back in shock but managed to keep my feet under me.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, I’ll introduce you to Christian Sauer in a minute,” he said.
I swallowed. Being introduced to the bank’s chair was a big deal.
He scanned me. “You look good. Carly must have worked her magic on you.”
Self-consciously, I touched my hair, which Carly had again corralled with her magic styling product. “Yeah, she’s great at that.”
“Yelena’s going to ask her to update my wardrobe. I can’t believe I’ve got a connection to a dynamo like Carly Rose, stylist to the stars. You can get me the friends-and-family discount?” He elbowed me in the side.
I tried my best to smile. “Maybe. She’s in high demand.”
Ever since that call from Helen two days ago, she’d been up to her elbows in swatches and samples and mood boards, too busy for me to even take her out to dinner. I’d hoped to extend my time off through New Year’s Day and spend a few more days figuring out what a real relationship looked like—and crowing over that sound she made when she came—but she had too much work to do.
With Carly working twenty-four-seven, I’d gone into the office both yesterday and today to pick halfheartedly at the backlog of work that had piled up while we’d been at the wedding.
“Don’t I know it,” he said. “By next week, it’ll be easier to get a table at French Laundry than to score an appointment with your girlfriend.”
I couldn’t make myself laugh at Vic’s joke. If my father had only been able to spare fifteen minutes a day with me, how much of Carly’s valuable time could I expect? Something heavy settled into my stomach like I’d swallowed plutonium.
“Why so glum?” Vic asked. “It’s New Year’s Eve, you’re the front-runner for that vice president position you wanted, and you’ll be San Francisco’s newest power couple soon enough.”
My stomach lightened for a second, then dropped, even heavier. I grunted.
“I’m glad to see you’ve stopped making those ridiculous videos,” he said.
I winced. We were only on a brief hiatus because of my trip to Spain and Oliver’s travel home to the East Coast. We planned to make a video about fractions next week in Oliver’s gourmet kitchen.
“Come on,” Vic said. “Let’s find Christian.”
We found him near the stage, where the band had gone on break.
“Christian,” Vic said, grasping the chair’s hand, “this is Andrew Jones. I’ve been telling you about him. He’s the financial engineer who developed that new risk model.”
Sauer smiled and hit me with an unexpectedly focused gaze. “Our S&T team is salivating over that model. They tell me our clients are eating it up.”
A spark flared inside me. Finally, I could talk up my work. “Thank you, sir. I discovered when I investigated the stochastic process?—”
“Let’s not get into the math tonight,” Vic interrupted me.
So the chair wasn’t into probability theory either.
He chuckled. “Thankfully, I don’t need to understand the financial models. I only need to see the results. Then it becomes another arrow in the sales team’s quiver.”
The spark inside me flickered and died. I knew my work was sold to customers, but Sauer’s words cheapened it.
Vic jumped in. “Jones is our top internal candidate for the R&D vice president position.”
Sauer rocked back on his heels, pinning me with that focused gaze again. “A quant as a VP? I suppose stranger promotions have happened.”
My eyelid twitched.
“He’s not only a quant,” Vic said. “He’s a Jones. Jasper and Audrey’s son.”
Sauer’s gaze turned calculating. “I remember your father. Brilliant man. And ambitious.”
I heard what he didn’t say: what happened to you?
At my age, my father was already a tech company vice president. That was before he poached a few of his best employees to start his company. Just like my mother, Sauer thought I should’ve done more with my skills and advantages.
“We need people like Andrew in leadership,” he said. “Why don’t you try him out in front of a client or two next week, Vic?”
“Already did.” Vic’s tone was smug. “He aced a meeting with Brad Winner. Guy was eating out of his hand.”
Sauer tipped his chin. “Let’s have him present at the board meeting next month.”
The entire board? I gulped. Talking to Oliver’s camera about math or explaining my models to fucking Brad Winner was nothing like talking to a group of judgmental old men who could fire me with a voice vote.
“Great idea,” Vic said. “He can show them his latest model. They’ll love it. Speaking of models”—he leaned in close—“Jones is dating Carly Rose, who’s styling that actress everyone is talking about.”
Sauer’s white eyebrows shot up. “Ah, a Cinderella story.”
I had a sinking feeling I was the Cinderella in that story. I glanced past Sauer to where I’d left Carly. The circle of women had grown, and I couldn’t see her red dress.
“I suppose so, sir,” I said.
“Let me find my wife,” Sauer said, “and you can introduce us. I’ll score massive points for this. Know what I mean?” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Of course.” And when Sauer’s wife’s eyes lit up when she shook Carly’s hand, Sauer earned his points. And so did I.
Vic clapped my shoulder.
But it wasn’t him I wanted to impress. It was Carly, who was so busy handing out business cards she hardly spared me a glance.
She didn’t need me to be successful.
Did she need me at all?
I blamed the uncomfortable weight in my belly for the foolish thing I did at midnight.
When the countdown started, I pushed my way through the crowd of client wannabes to Carly’s side. She glowed as she shouted along with everyone else, “Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”
She turned to me, a broad smile on her face. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her. Harder than I meant to and for so long there were a few wolf whistles scattered into “Auld Lang Syne.” I didn’t care. I needed the connection, the proof she was still mine.
When I finally released her, her cheeks glowed pink, and we both breathed hard.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“Thought I’d remind you who you came here with.” My voice came out peevish, and I instantly regretted it all—the punishing kiss, the words, the tone.
The smile slipped from her face. “What does that mean?”
“I’m sorry.” I touched her hand, and when she didn’t yank it away, I curled my fingers around it. “Tonight’s been stressful. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Want to get out of here?”
The corners of her lips lifted. “Please. My feet are killing me.”
I wrapped my arm around her waist and guided her toward the exit. “You can take your shoes off in the car, and I’ll carry you into your place.”
“To the second floor?” She laughed. “I’d like to see you try.”
Challenge accepted. When we got to her place, I slung her over my shoulder in a firefighter’s carry, and her voluminous skirt billowed in my face as I raced up the stairs.
She laughed the whole way up and didn’t stop until I dropped her onto her bed, rucked up her skirt, and showed her with my mouth how much she meant to me.