Tempted

Hailee

I’m still sitting on my folding chair when the press conference ends. I never ended up in front of the microphone. The half hour I spent in the bathroom trying to look as presentable as possible was for naught.

The event ends without any sparks flying or interesting questions from the press. It was Alex’s chance to clear the company name, and he did so calmly and collectedly. So much so that everyone felt a bit embarrassed and bored that there had to be a press conference in the first place.

He argued that unless an investigation was opened and more evidence was found, this entire story was speculation. A hit piece with no real substance. A hodgepodge of witness statements and financial transactions cherry-picked to look unlawful, but it was a story in a newspaper, not a criminal case like they were acting like it was.

I don’t know if he’s telling the truth. You don’t often make a billion dollars before the age of forty by playing by the rules.

I had watched his eyes more than I listened to his voice. They roamed confidently around the room. Looking at each person one by one until it felt like this impersonal press conference was a tea party.

I think about how he looked at me earlier. He stared at me across a room full of people. He looked past the circle of people ringed around him, people far more important to business, because he wanted a glimpse of me. Was there flirtation in his eyes? Or simple curiosity? I can’t say. He’s hard to read.

I returned the look, only because I didn’t want to shy away from his eyes anymore, but it only lasted a second. He looked away so abruptly, I wonder if he actually meant to lock eyes or if he was simply staring into the space I occupied.

I’m taken from my thoughts by another man in a suit. He has thick black hair and deep-brown eyes. My eyes.

Lucas.

I start walking towards him with a smile, but it fades before I reach him. His expression is weathered. There’s sweat on his brow. He looks nervous. If he wasn’t my brother and if I didn’t know him better, I’d say he was coming off drugs.

“Lucas?” I say, trying to catch him off guard to read him better. He didn’t notice my approach.

“Hey.” He seems to calm down as he sees me. He puts his arms around me, and we hug quickly.

I haven’t asked him yet if he is in trouble. How true this story is. His firm has been named as a money launderer, too. We texted briefly about the news when it broke last night, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask how much merit it held.

I couldn’t even use that euphemism— merit . I didn’t want to seem like I mistrusted him.

“What they’re saying is bad,” Lucas says.

I chew my lip. What they’re saying is that Lucas’s firm took dirty money from dictatorships, made it look like mining profits from the sale of precious metals, and then put the money, now fresh and clean, into bank accounts around the world. It was fraud. There is a laundry list of felonies that will be thrown his way if any of it is true.

“Do you have a lawyer?” I ask.

“The absolute best.”

“Do you want to get dinner tonight?”

“I can’t, actually.” Lucas looks at his watch. “But I know what you want to ask me. The answer is no. I didn’t do any of it. None of us at the bank did. We have the receipts to prove it.”

I pat his chest. “I believe you, Lucas.”

“Alright.” He ducks and kisses me on the head briefly. “Be safe. And by the way, have you seen anything suspicious the last few nights?”

I lean back to better look him in the eye. “What do you mean?”

“Someone hanging around your apartment. A car or a guy?”

“A car or a guy?” I widen my eyes. “What are you talking about, Lucas? If I’m in danger, be more specific.”

“Forget it. I’ve just been hearing things from some guys at the bank. They’re just paranoid, but they make a good point. The news is saying we laundered money for some really bad guys. I don’t want those countries thinking we’re some loose end. Not like we worked with them, but you know.”

“Okay,” I say, the word is drawn out and confused. It’s accusing. Like I know he’s not sharing the full truth.

Lucas shakes out his shoulders. “It’s going to be fine.” He sighs. “It’s just a crock of shit.”

“Bad luck.”

“No.” Lucas looks around. “Somebody in this room is trying to take us down.”

“If not dinner, get coffee with me Wednesday.”

Lucas nods. “I’ll make it work. I’ve got to talk to some people, but I’ll see you.” He leans forward, like he’s going to kiss me on the head again, but he hesitates and walks off quickly.

Seeing my strong big brother so nervous has left me unsettled. If he’s in trouble, would he even tell me so?

My phone vibrates. It’s my best friend, Sophia. We’re supposed to meet up for drinks this evening and I completely forgot. My fingers start typing an excuse to cancel, and then I slowly delete everything I’ve written.

I need to talk to a friend tonight. Bomb threats. My boss seeing my ass. My brother potentially caught up with the dirty dealings of the Belarusian dictatorship.

Yeah, a drink and some venting might do me well.

I’m able to take the E-line back to my neighborhood, but before I do, I open my purse and pull out a pill bottle. I expertly bite a Ritalin in two and swallow half. No, I don’t have ADD, or a drug problem for that matter.

Ever since grade school, I had this wee problem where I’d be watching the teacher give lessons one minute and drooling on my desk the next. For years my parents and counselors brushed it off as me simply being a sleepy teenager. But sleepy teenagers don’t wake up at the bus depot multiple times because they slept through their stop.

I have narcolepsy. Without cataplexy. It’s the lesser of the two types. It’s not much of a disability and I’ve had it under control since I was diagnosed my senior year. I take a Ritalin if I’m in a situation where I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep—the subway, a long cab ride, an exceptionally boring meeting or date.

When I got my Ritalin prescription, the kids with ADHD didn’t accept me as one of their own. See, they were too awake, and the extra dose focused their energies. I was just a desk drooler.

I’ve had some girls lament at their own normalness when I mention my narcolepsy, like it makes me interesting or something.

It really doesn’t.

It just means that whenever I take the subway, I take half a Ritalin to avoid waking up at the 207 th Street depot with an old man holding my hand like I’m his life-sized doll. That’s happened. Twice. And to be honest, I’m not even sure if it was the same old man both times.

***

When I get off the train, I don’t go back to my apartment. I stop in early at Olive’s, the cocktail bar Sophia wanted to meet at. The tables and bar top are all white granite, and to make matters worse, the bartenders are wearing bow ties.

This is going to be an expensive drink. I need to stop caring about these things.

So what?

My drink is seven dollars more than it would be at a dive bar. Whoop-de-do. The bartender who serves me is cute. That’s worth something. His hair is slicked back with product, but the look fits with the white dress shirt he wears tucked in. A dark strand of greased hair bobs over his face as he works. He looks like he’d have a switchblade and a toothpick in his pocket, and he flirts with me with his smile first to see if I’m into it.

Courteous.

I smile back, a little long. A hot bartender doesn’t make for the best boyfriend. I know this. It’s usually the kind of job a guy gets if he wants to cycle through women. But that’s me being cynical. The world isn’t as simple as my assumptions. The job pays well. It’s social. There are far more reasons than easy access to women for a guy to be a bartender.

I’m about to start a conversation, maybe because I’m bored, maybe because I’m desperate, when Sophia plops down next to me.

“Oh my God. You won’t believe my day,” she says, out of breath. “Bartender, I’ll take a martini. Dry. No olives.”

I raise a brow at her. “That’s just a big glass of gin.”

“Exactly.”

I smile and look at Sophia. She’s easy on the eyes, to say the least. I’m a straight shooter, but I don’t mind examining her features as one would something pretty in nature or a museum.

She’s that hot.

Her hair is thick and glossy black. Her skin is golden, and her big dark eyes are difficult not to look into.

She’s half Chilean, half British, and beautiful. I feel like a lot of women might think their looks are up for debate, but with Sophia, there is no contest.

While I think my back story is suburban and boring, hers is truly interesting. She’s the child of an affair. An international business couple who kept their relationship to hotels.

When her mom got pregnant, both her parents did the moral thing and told their partners. They got divorces and moved to New York to raise her together. Although they never dated. They raised her like friends would. They moved back to their respective countries after Sophia turned eighteen. I know that hurt her, but she’s always been tight-lipped about her feelings.

Sophia continues after flashing a smile at the bartender. “I was walking down 8 th Street to get home because of all this bomb nonsense, when suddenly I ran into your ex.” Sophia’s martini is placed in front of her, and she takes a greedy gulp while I digest this.

“Ford?” I ask.

“I never knew your other ex. What was his name? Carson?”

I wave my hand a little like it doesn’t matter. I want to hear her story.

She keeps going. “Right. So, I’m walking a little fast because I’m pissed and I’m late like the rest of the city, when I slam into this guy. He had stopped, and he turned around and goes, Oh, thought that was you, Sophia , in his big dumb guy voice.”

I grin because Ford did in fact have a big dumb guy voice. I don’t know if a frat voice is a thing, but he has one. It isn’t super deep. He just talks like there’s a leaf blower next to him and he isn’t sure you can hear. I’m exaggerating, but he talks loud, and it wouldn’t be endearing if he wasn’t shovel-jawed and handsome.

“And I look at him, pause, and say, Ew ,” says Sophia.

“What’d you really say?”

“Okay fine. I said, Hi, how’re you? But all very plainly. I mean. No enthusiasm. The opposite. Like it was a chore.”

That’s Sophia. She’s always pretending like she’s an informal hand grenade, but she has a diplomat’s manners she could never push away.

“Anyway, so now we’re walking in the same direction. I forget where he lives, and I realize we might be next to each other for the next twenty minutes. I thought about taking a wrong turn, but I was tired and wanted to get off my feet, , so I stayed on 8th and so did he.”

She’s acting like she broke some kind of cardinal rule by walking with my ex. “It’s fine,” I say, reassuring her.

I’m almost glad she walked with him. I’ll admit it, I’m curious what all my exes are up to. Even the ones I didn’t like. Maybe especially the ones I didn’t like. It’s human nature.

“What did you guys talk about?”

“Well…” Sophia looks guilty, and suddenly my stomach flips. I have a feeling this day is about to get a whole lot worse.

“You,” she finishes.

“Okay.”

“He gave me this pitch. At least, I’d call it a pitch. It was very thoughtful and very…persuasive. For twenty minutes, he talked about your relationship. Not trauma dumping and not talking shit or anything like that. He’s just laying it out.”

I still don’t like where Sophia’s going with this. “And you let him?”

“Well, he spoke very highly of you and lowly of himself.”

“But I take it he was telling his side of the story?”

Sophia squints up at the ceiling. “I guess that’s what he was doing.”

“Was he asking for my forgiveness?”

“Yeah…” Sophia trails off. “Okay, so I guess as your friend, I shouldn’t care about your ex’s side. But he was sorry about it. Very articulately, too. And it feels like he’s aware of all your best qualities. I know you haven’t had the best dating luck recently, and me running into him kind of felt like fate.”

My stomach is in knots. Sophia’s heart is in the right place, but this still feels like a slight betrayal. “He cheated on me.”

Sophia starts to talk, and I interrupt.

“And don’t say they just kissed.”

“I would never say that. What he did was fucked up. Forget it.” Sophia shakes her head. Her expression is flat after being so enthused. Like she’s sorry for herself. Like she’s sorry for me. “I’m sorry, . Just forget it. How’s work?”

I laugh and shake my head. “It’s not a better subject right now. But seriously, it’s okay. Ford was really sweet. Really sweet a lot of the time. But there was something under all that.”

Sophia speaks into her fist. She’s biting her knuckles to hide a smile. “Under the hood?”

I let out a weak laugh at first, but seeing how delighted she is with her own joke, I end up cackling with her.

“When will they end?” I ask in reference to the million car puns we’ve made about Ford’s name since I first started dating him.

“Hon, we haven’t even got off the assembly line.”

I hang my head and laugh.

“You and I are going to be in our eighties talking about this first model-T,” Sophia continues.

“Are you out of gas yet?”

“I think so.” Sophia nods and takes a sip of her drink. “Oh, and I invited Alana, FYI. But she said she’s stuck at rehearsal all night. They’ve got a stand-in maestro who gets off on being a tyrant.”

“Probably why he’s only ever a stand-in,” I say.

“Exactly.”

I’m still a little jealous of my friends. They have professions that aren’t shameful or soul sucking. Alana is a concert violinist, and Sophia works at an auction house that doubles as a gallery for classic sculptures. They contribute to the arts. I contribute to the pillage of the earth.

“How about your love life?” I ask.

“Oh no. Let’s not go there. Hold on. Hold on. I can think of more puns.”

“Too late. Are you seeing anyone new?”

“David and I are going on a second date.”

“Seriously?”

“Tonight.” Sophia’s face brightens again, and I realize with a bit of sorrow that she was feeling sorry for me earlier. Love is in the air. David has been her crush for months, and they are finally going out. She met him when he was working as a server at a cocktail party of all things. A hot server.

“That’s incredible. Where are you guys going?”

“We’re getting tacos and going dancing. Fun date.”

“That’s great.” It really is, and I’m afraid I’m doing a poor job of being happy for my friend. I hate when you get in such a slump in your career or love life that other people’s good news can’t help but feel like bad news. It’s not jealousy. Or anger. Just self-loathing.

Why can’t I succeed too?

“I’ll report tomorrow morning to tell you how it went. Oh, and speaking of good-looking men, I was at a party Saturday night at the Ritz, and I ran into your boss.”

“Melissa?”

“What? No. Don’t play dumb. Alex. You see him every day, right? That’s a treat.”

“Or a torture.” I grin.

“Yeah? You’re getting your liver pecked away every day, huh?”

“He’s just hot. That’s the thing. But what on earth do you think Alex Blackwell likes to talk about? His next hostile takeover? The private jet on order? He’s all business and war and status.” I say this, but I don’t know what Alex is really like. Lucas hasn’t told me. I’ve never asked him about Alex because I know it would make him suspicious about my intentions. So, for all I know, when not conquering the world, Alex might like books and lazy days spent in small coastal towns, but that’s not what I’ve heard.

“Who needs talking in the bedroom? You know he has no refractory period, right?” Sophia adds.

I’ve heard this. Many times. I had to Google if it was a real thing, and low and behold it is. It’s a one-in-a-hundred condition where, after a man ejaculates, he can get hard again in seconds. But it’s just the kind of gossip that is built around a man like Alex Blackwell.

Billionaire. Sex god. Too good to be true.

“Those are just rumors, Sophia. I swear to God we’ve talked about this.”

“Yeah, and I thought so too, but do you know Sydney Carr? She was my roommate freshman year.”

“I’ve heard you talk about her.”

“She was at Caleb’s New Years Eve party. You’ve met. But anyway, she slept with Alex. This was only like a month ago. She said he finished, and not even a minute later…” Sophia extends her finger out like it’s a penis getting erect again. “Boom, ready to go. He just goes until you tap out. Or give your safe word. She said she was so sore the next day, it felt like she fell down a flight of stairs on her crotch.”

“Is that a positive review?”

“Depends on your idea of a good time. But I think so. And you know what else she told me?”

I raise one brow, and Sophia holds up two fingers a good distance away from each other. A girl’s version of a fish tale.

“Wouldn’t fit anyway.” I crack an ice cube in my molars and chew.

“ Defeatist ,” Sophia says with mock scorn and slaps my shoulder. “Is it because he’s friends with Lucas?”

It’s because he’s my boss’s boss. And an asshole, I think. But I keep these thoughts to myself.

“No. I mean. I don’t want to get in the way of their friendship. You know how protective Lucas has been since…my dad.”

“Right.”

I only trailed off because it’s polite. Or if I’m being honest, I don’t like to say it aloud.

My dad died.

Saying the word died can be awkward, I’ve learned. Sometimes I just say since and let others fill in the blank. It’s easier. He had a heart attack my senior year of high school. He and I were close, but it took more of a toll on Lucas. He’s been glued to me ever since, terrified of losing anyone else.

“But I think the reason I haven’t slept with him, Sophia, is because he is my boss.” I say this with wide eyes, as if the ethics make it obvious my choice is just.

“Oh, boring . That’s the fun of it.”

“No, you just like being messy.”

“But I’m fun messy. You should try it. There’s a difference between fun messy and divorce or cheating messy.”

The bartender asks if Sophia wants another half gallon of gin, but she has to leave early for her date. I don’t really want to go back to my empty apartment yet, but I don’t want to stay at the bar alone, so I follow her out.

We hug our goodbyes on the sidewalk, and I wish her good luck with David, and then I’m walking home.

I’m sad and moving slowly, and I want to beat myself up for being a little lovesick dope. I’ve had real problems before, like losing my dad, but there’s something painful about not having a partner for so long. Something subtly heartbreaking about going home by myself every night in such a big, bustling city.

I’ll find someone. I will. This is just a rut, that’s all. My job and my love life. Two ruts that I haven’t yet found the rungs to climb out of.

It’s dark now, and I look up at the front of my building. There’s only one dark pane out of two dozen. It’s on the fourth floor.

Mine.

I pull my keys out of my purse and unlock the front door.