TWO
Rose
I ride the elevator up to the thirty-fifth floor of Astor Tower in downtown Minneapolis, crossing one heel over the other as I lean against the handrail and study the financial report in my hands.
My parents run a billion-dollar financial advisory firm housed in this building—which they also own. I was raised in this world. When I was just six, my mother would set up a mini grocery store with plastic food and Monopoly cash in our living room and teach me how to budget and count money. Thankfully, I enjoyed it just as much as she hoped I would. I graduated from the University of Wisconsin–Madison with a degree in Finance and Wealth Management. And now, at just twenty-six, I sit in line for the executive team at Astor Wealth Partners.
My father is the CEO. Mom’s COO. I’m a Senior Financial Advisor alongside my two older brothers, Henry and George. The three of our names come from relatives a few rungs up on the wealthy family tree. It’s also not a coincidence that their names evoke a sense of royalty. Mom’s not afraid to admit that. Mine came from my great-grandmother, also named Rose Astor, who was supposedly a distant cousin to the well-documented and well-off businessman who went down with the Titanic, John Jacob Astor. Thus, most new clients at AWP begin their introductions with “So, any relation to that one Astor on the Titanic?” It’s too distant to really make an impact, apart from the resulting public respect for our business.
It also doesn’t help that my name is Rose.
But if the box office hit gives me clients, I’ll take them.
As I step out of the elevator, Junie is already rising up from the receptionist desk and closing in on me.
“So? Did you try the app?” She clasps her hands together.
I laugh as she follows me down the hall to my office. “I joined the wrong one. Couldn’t remember what you told me it was called.”
She comes to a stop in front of my desk as I sit down. “Bloom. It’s called Bloom. What did you join?”
I nod and scratch my head as I tap my keyboard to wake my computer from its sleep. “Bloom. Right. I joined some weird app where you don’t post any pictures of yourself, and neither do your matches.”
When Junie doesn’t respond, I glance up to see she’s watching me with horror. “So, you have no idea what they look like? That sounds…chancy.”
“Yeah, I mean, until we both agree to share, it’s completely blind. Kinda weird. That’s what it’s called. Blindly.”
She sinks down into the chair across the desk and crosses one leg over the other as she tucks her raven-colored hair behind her ear. “Sounds like the perfect place for people who keep getting swiped left.” She suddenly furrows her brow and sits forward. “Wait, did you say we ? Are you talking to someone already?”
I focus on my screen and shrug. “Someone messaged me last night. But I’m not gonna stay on the app. I’ll join Bloom.” I look pointedly at her. “For you. ”
“Yes, you should do it right now.” She taps the black screen of my phone on my mahogany desk.
I look at my watch. “I don’t have time. Mr. Lancaster will be here in five minutes.”
Junie stands up from her chair with a sigh. “Yes, well promise me you’ll join tonight? I’m desperate to live vicariously through you.”
I smirk. “I promise. Now get back to the lobby before he arrives. You know how he is about getting lost on his way in.” I wave her off.
She sticks her tongue out at me before she leaves—a purely lighthearted response to my equally playful managerial instruction. Even though I’m technically her superior, I’ve never used it to any sort of devious advantage that would ruin our friendship, and we never let those formalities get in the way unless necessary.
As soon as I have the room to myself, I unload my bag and place Mr. Lancaster’s files—which I pored over for too long last night—across my desk evenly in the order in which we will address them. His three grandchildren will want for nothing once he passes, and it sends a warmth through my heart, knowing he’ll leave this world with one less regret.
AWP manages the finances of the wealthiest families in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area. I spend my days calculating the values of luxury yachts and multi-million-dollar homes in the richest neighborhoods. I advise aging lawyers, doctors, and business executives on how to smartly invest their life savings and set it all up to be passed onto the next generation.
Oftentimes, they look at me with a raised eyebrow, wondering if they should trust someone barely out of college with such big decisions, but the truth is, if they give me a chance, I can almost always prove to them that I have what it takes. The finance bug bit me early, thanks to my mother, and I love my job more than most people do.
The thing is, you can ask anyone what means the most to them in life, and they’re going to respond with “family.” But if you ask the same person what makes them feel safe and secure, most of them will put money on that list. And if their family is the most important thing to them, they’re going to want to keep those people safe. So, I help them put their wealth in the right places so they can pass it on to their loved ones and make sure they feel secure too.
For the portion of the population who puts in so much hard work to earn what they do, I find it especially rewarding to see that look of peace in their eyes when they know their nest egg is safe. Passion for my career is something I certainly don’t lack, and for that, I’m thankful for my family heritage.
A figure in my doorway catches my attention and I look up, expecting the frail old man to be there, but my smile is replaced with a shallow sigh. “Hi, Mom.”
“You saw Malcolm last night?” She steps in and crosses the room until the front of her pencil skirt brushes the edge of my desk.
“How did you know that?” I divert my attention to the numbers on my computer screen.
“And?” she urges.
I drop my shoulders. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. Malcolm and I are over, and that’s not going to change.”
“Yes, but he’s such a nice boy…” She sinks down into the chair where Junie had just been.
“No, he’s a rich boy. There’s a difference.” I stare at her.
I’m met with a disapproving glare. She adjusts her thick silver bracelets as they clank lightly together. “Don’t pretend that’s not important to you too. I went to lunch with his mother just last week. She’s such a sweet woman, and she’s raised a lovely son. Just picture it, an Astor and a Carnegie together. We were so excited.” She gazes into the distance as she imagines the apparently perfect union. “It would be wonderful for the family line.”
I tap my pen on the desk and straighten the already perfectly aligned folders. “Mom, he slept with his secretary. Then he asked me to marry him, and as soon as I said no, he told me he didn’t want me anyway. Is that who you want your daughter to spend the rest of her life with?”
She sits forward in her chair with a heartfelt frown. “I know, dear. And truly, I am sorry he hurt you. But he has apologized profusely, and we all make mistakes. He didn’t mean those words either. He was hurt by your rejection and had a snap response. He’s been so good to you otherwise.”
I massage my forehead with my finger and thumb. “ Was good to me. Past tense. But it only lasted so long.” The truth is, he was good to me until three months into our relationship when he did the deed with his busty assistant. Actually, no. Things changed before that, and I’m starting to realize I can pinpoint the change right back to the morning after I slept with him. As soon as he got what he wanted from me.
“Maybe if you just sat down with him, you could talk things out,” she suggests with a hopeful twinkle in her eye.
“Or maybe I move on to someone I actually want to date.” When she frowns, I add, “Junie told me about a new dating app for elite singles.” I meet her gaze intentionally. “I get it, Mom. I’m not gonna run off with some midwestern hick and leave the family business. You’ve worked hard for all this. I’m going to meet someone who’ll fit the mold.”
She taps her foot. “I just wish you’d give Malcolm another chance.”
I start to hang my head just as a new figure appears in the doorway. “Mr. Lancaster!” I stand up and quickly smooth my blouse.
My mother shoots up from her chair and spins around, plastering a professional smile on her face as she shakes his weathered hand. “Mr. Lancaster, it’s a pleasure to see you again. How are you holding up?”
He smiles gently and releases her hand as he shuffles past her, perfectly polished chestnut cane in hand. “I’m gettin’ on. But it’s high time I get to meeting with this young lady.” He lowers himself slowly into the again-empty chair across from me.
“Of course,” my mother nods and backs her way out of the room. “You’re in good hands with Rose. It was lovely to see you.” She gives me a small smile as she shuts the door and disappears into the hall.
I reach out and take his heavily wrinkled hand in my youthful one. “Glad you could stop by. How are Sarah, Cade, and Louisa these days?” I pull his grandchildren’s names skillfully from my memory. “Did Cade hit any home runs this season?”
His tired face lights up.
***
Four clients, three cups of coffee, and a twelve-dollar grain-free bagel later, I finally have a moment to breathe. I recline in my desk chair and slide my phone from my purse, prepared to finally install Bloom and get my mother and Junie off my back.
I start to search for the app, but at the same moment, a single wet splat lands on top of my head. Confused, I lift my gaze and furrow my brow. Then I squint upward just in time for another drop to fall between my eyes.
“Ugh.” I roll my chair backward and wipe my skin as I glare at the ceiling. A dark, damp spot the size of a dinner plate is forming.
I grab the stack of files from my desk so that they won’t get dripped on and start to pick up my phone to dial maintenance. But that’s when I hear the crack. It happens so fast, and I back away just in time for a steady stream of water to come tumbling down onto my desk, the floor, and my Louboutin heels.
“Argh!” I jump up and back away from the mess, shaking my feet in an attempt to save my shoes from a watery fate.
Darting to the corner, I grab the trash can. I shove under the torrent and then dash into the hall in my now-soggy stilettos.
“George!” I call to the eldest of my brothers who is on his way back from the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee. “There’s a massive leak in my ceiling!”
He furrows his brow and picks up pace as he makes his way toward me. “Where’s it coming from?”
“I don’t know.” I throw my hands up in the air as I follow him back into my office. “A pipe or something.”
He sets his coffee down with a sigh and runs his hand through his straight, dark hair as he peers up into the hole, carefully avoiding the cascade of water that has tapered off only slightly.
“I guess you should call Joe?” I suggest, crossing my arms. Joe is the building’s longtime maintenance technician and one of my favorite people. He’s well into his fifties, balding, overly rotund, and he’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. He always brings a smile with him to work, and I’m glad my family has held onto his business for so long.
George shakes his head as he peers into the trash can. “Joe is on vacation up in Duluth.” He pulls out his phone. “He gave me a number for his backup guy though.”
I sigh and lean against the wall. Joe would be gone today. The day the sky literally falls.
“Yes, hello, we have a ceiling leak,” George says into his cell. “Thirty-fifth floor.” He squints at the ceiling again. “Yeah, it’s a pretty steady stream. Five minutes? Ok, thanks.”
He pockets his phone and adjusts the already half-full trash can slightly. “He’ll be here in a few. In the meantime, I’d get all your important files out of here. The ceiling might open up even more.”
I huff and cross to my desk to grab the rest of my documents. “Happy Monday.” My voice oozes with bitterness. “That trash can’s gonna fill up fast. Can you put some sort of patch on it until he gets here?” George is over six feet tall, he could probably reach it if he stood on a chair.
He furrows his brow at the ceiling. “Patch it with what? I haven’t the slightest idea how I would do that. I’ll get another can.”
He leaves me alone and I peer into the hole again. I think the stream is slowing, but the trash can is almost full. I’m growing tired of the squishy, slippery feeling of my heels, so I slip them off and place them neatly under my desk. Then I unhook my laptop from its monitor, because letting the water destroy that is not an option.
I pull my chair into the corner and sit down with my computer, glaring at the ceiling. The drywall is starting to sag.
Minutes later, George’s footsteps reapproach in the hallway, now accompanied by another set. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” he says as he steps back into the room.
Behind him is a man I don’t recognize. He’s about the same age, height, and build as my brother, but the similarities end there. This man’s hair is a little lighter than George’s, and not nearly as tidy. And where my brother’s face is perfectly smooth and shaved, this man’s is covered with a thick, short beard.
“Rose, this is Nathaniel. He works with Joe,” George says.
“It’s just Nate,” the man corrects as he steps past me without so much as an introductory smile. He slings his workbag down heavily into the empty chair and crosses toward the leak, peering up into the ceiling and then down at the trash can. “You have another one of these?”
“Oh, yes.” George hands him the new can he’s been carrying.
Nate grunts a thanks and slides it under the stream while pulling the almost full original one up into his arms. He turns and shoves it in my direction. “You’ll want to dump this in the bathroom.”
I open my mouth and stare at the can, which is probably holding almost five gallons of water. If he thinks I’m going to lug that thing all the way down the hall to the bathroom, he’s seriously mistaken.
George steps up and takes it easily from Nate’s hands. “I’ve got it.” Then he leaves us alone.
Nate’s gaze meets mine for a few long seconds before it travels across my crisp white blouse and Burberry vintage wool skirt, and then down to my bare feet.
“Where are your shoes?” he asks simply.
I give him a sour look. “They were destroyed by the waterfall.”
He digs into his work bag. “I’m sure you can easily replace them.”
“They were 800 dollars.”
“Like I said. I’m sure you can easily replace them.” Wrench in hand, he steps around me and out the door. “I’m going to shut off the water. I’ll be back.”
I glance up at the clock. I still have another half hour before my next client arrives, so I tiptoe across the wet carpet to retrieve the necessary files. If Joe were around to fix this mess, he’d be making jokes and telling amusing stories to lighten the mood. But instead, I have Mr. Grump making fun of my expensive shoes instead.
At some point, while I’m stretching around my desk to stack my folders, the dripping water comes to a stop, and I breathe a sigh of relief. At least my computer monitor was spared.
“Oh my God,” Junie exclaims, swinging around the corner. “What happened?”
I toss my hand into the air. “I don’t know. Some sort of water leak.”
“Is Joe fixing it?” She squints at the ceiling, keeping her distance from the puddle on the floor.
“No, he’s out of town,” I grumble. “We’re stuck with his assistant, who’s honestly kind of a pain already.”
With perfect timing, Nate marches back into the room with a step ladder. “I can certainly leave the repair to you if I’m such an inconvenience.” He keeps his eyes averted from mine as he tosses the wrench in his bag and starts to remove other tools.
My cheeks burn, but I cross my arms. “Junie, when Mrs. Mason arrives, can you show her to conference room three? I’ll have to meet with her in there.”
“Sure.” Junie nods, looking embarrassed for me. “Do you need any help?”
I sigh and shake my head. “No.”
As she leaves the room, Nate picks up my heels from under my desk and hands them to me. “Here are your overpriced shoes.”
I scowl as I grab them quickly. “Those are worth every penny. The quality is unmatched.”
“Apparently not, if they can’t handle a little water.” He begins unhooking my computer monitor.
“What are you doing?” I ask, drifting my gaze down to the pair of scuffed brown work boots he wears, which don’t appear to mind the pool of water one bit.
“Moving your stuff so I can get to work.” He grips the edge of my heavy wooden desk and easily pushes it across the floor, away from the leak.
“Please be careful with that,” I suggest with irritation.
“Of course,” he replies without looking at me.
I purse my lips and turn my attention to my shelves of files. “Are you moving those too? Don’t let any of those files fall to the wet floor.”
He sighs, stands up straight, and turns to face me. “Is there anything I can help you carry to the conference room?” His eyes are blue. Not pale like Malcolm’s but deeper, less remarkable. But they also seem too kind for a grump like him.
I blink and look down at the load of items in my arms. “No, I’ve got everything, I think.”
He nods as his tongue slides across his lower lip. “Well, then, it would probably be best if you let me get to work.”
“Oh, um.” I stand up taller on my bare feet. “Yeah, ok, I’ll check back a bit later.”
“Alright.” He watches me patiently while I shuffle out of the room and retreat down the hall.
***
Three hours and two meetings later, I slide on my now-dry heels and make my way back to my office, expecting to see it as good as new, but when I walk in, I stop in my tracks.
There is a tarp draped over my shelves of files, all the furniture has been moved to the outer edges of the room, and the hole in the ceiling has now been cut to three times its original size, revealing all kinds of pipes and wires.
“What…happened?” I gasp.
Nate is in the process of packing up his bag, and his shirt is smudged with bits of white drywall. “I’ve got the pipe fixed.”
“But…what happened to the ceiling?”
He puts his hands on his hips and looks up to study the gaping hole. “Well, I had to cut out all the wet sheetrock.” He steps onto the ladder and reaches up to touch his finger to the fresh edge. “Should be all dried out by morning.”
As he extends his arm, his t-shirt slides up his abdomen, exposing a sliver of tanned skin above the edge of his jeans. It’s distracting, but I clear my throat and focus my attention on the disarray that surrounds me. “So, will this all be finished up tomorrow morning, then?”
He shakes his head as he slings his bag over his shoulder and descends the ladder. “No, I’ll get the ceiling patched tomorrow, but it’ll have to dry overnight. Then I’ll get to painting on Wednesday.”
My face falls. “So, when can I get back to work?”
“You can grab whatever you need.” He gestures toward the covered shelves as he walks past me to the door. “You’ll get your office back on Thursday. Don’t worry. Now go home and get your precious shoes dried out before they melt or whatever.”
I shoot him a glare, but he’s already around the corner.