Chapter 22
Recent transactions:
Thirty minutes into our practice session, Spencer wrings his fingers as he stands in jeans and a fern-green wrinkled shirt
in front of a bright projector screen. We’ve spent the day fielding any issues ahead of the beta launch, which feels both
exciting and anxiety inducing. Sign-ups have skyrocketed since we got through to the final round of TechRumble, and we’ve
been singled out in social media coverage as one of the few companies focusing on women.
“What are the growth projections for the next twenty-four months?” Cecily asks as we sit across from Spencer at the conference
room table.
“Ummm, good?” he replies with a smile.
I drop my pen on the table and rub my eyes. “Spence . . .”
“What? You don’t want me to be positive?”
I look up through my fingers. “Did you read through any part of the script I sent you?”
His lips form a straight line. “I’ve had some other things on my mind.”
“What could possibly be more important than this?” I say, feeling immediately guilty as the question leaves my mouth.
He shifts from one leg to the other. “I’ve got an audition.”
“Oh. That’s great!” I say.
Sensing my hesitancy, he clarifies, “No, like a big audition. For a new TV show pilot with BBC America.”
“Oh my god! That’s amazing!” I jump up, throwing my arms around him. But I don’t feel the usual reciprocation. We pull apart,
but I keep hold of his arms, studying his face. “What’s wrong?”
He looks sheepishly down at the floor, scuffing an old ink stain on the gray carpet with his shoe. “The audition is on the
eighteenth.”
My chest tightens and I can already feel the back of my eyes prickling.
“The eighteenth of . . . March?” Cecily asks, double-checking the itinerary for the Vienna trip. Her face drops as she confirms
her suspicion.
“Okaaaay . . .” I say to both of them, drawing out the word so I have some extra seconds to think. “This is manageable. Have
you asked if they can push it to another date?”
“The casting director is based in LA and only in London for the day.” Spencer’s shoulders sink, his face cringing. “I can’t
miss this opportunity, Jess. The director is a huge deal.”
I shoot him a tight smile. “It’s okay. I get it and I’d never ask you to do that.” My heart pounds hard against my chest;
this is fine. It’s all fine.
Before I have a chance to go into full damage control mode, Spencer continues, “It’s at 10 a.m., and I’ll probably be done by like 10:45 . . . so maybe I could jump on a flight straight after?” His eyebrows raise high in anticipation.
I draw out the schedule in my head. If Spencer left immediately after his audition, he would have to get there two hours before
a flight, the flight is two hours long, then an hour to get to the hotel. So if we have the final round before 3 p.m., we’re
fucked.
“We’ve been scheduled last for the other two rounds . . .” I mutter. “But we won’t know until the day before what time slot
we have.”
“What about Dominic’s assistant, the guy from the plane?” He blinks.
I huff a laugh. “Oliver?” I can’t believe the last thing I told Spencer about him was on the plane back from Rome.
“Wait, do you not know?” Cecily blurts out.
“I know they hooked up in Rome?” Spencer replies.
Closing my eyes I sigh and admit, “Something happened in Paris too.”
Spencer blinks at me, dumbfounded. “What happened to ‘he’s a conflict of interest’?”
“We just kissed!” My tone comes out like a teenager getting caught with a boy in the chemistry lab.
Spencer’s demeanor shifts. “Text him right now and find out when we’re scheduled”
I don’t want to. But I’ve inadvertently asked Spencer to put his life on hold to help me regain mine; the least I can do is
compromise on his audition.
“Yeah,” Cecily agrees, a sly smile appearing. “You should text him.”
Reaching out to Oliver feels like the exact thing I shouldn’t be doing right now, but any man in my position would leverage their contacts to get ahead.
Guilt rises in my throat, but I remind myself that this is nothing confidential. I’m not asking him to give me a printout
of all the questions Spencer is going to be asked during the hour from hell.
“How do I even start this conversation?” Even with my reluctance, a small tingle runs over my body at the idea of texting
him.
“‘Hey, you up?’ usually works for me,” Spencer suggests with a shrug.
“This isn’t a booty call. It’s 11 a.m. on a Tuesday—of course he’s up!” I reply, typing, deleting, then retyping several embarrassing
openers.
“Just be casual,” Cecily says. “Like no big deal, super chill.” She leans back in her chair, reveling in my discomfort.
“As Jess is famously known to be,” Spencer adds. Pacha laughs in the corner from behind his computer.
We contemplate for a few seconds, until I glance to the corner of the room at an object leaning against my desk. “I have his
umbrella?” I say as more of a question than a statement.
“That’s . . . something.” Cecily taps her finger against her lip.
“How about a playful threat?” I suggest. “The umbrella in exchange for information.”
“I don’t hate it,” Cecily says, suggesting she doesn’t love it either.
I pinch my lips together. At least that way it wouldn’t feel like I’m trying to leverage sex for knowledge.
“If you want to see your umbrella again, you must tell me what time Wyst’s one-to-one is scheduled,” I say as I type it out.
We all nod and shrug in agreement and I press Send. A reply comes back within seconds.
And if I don’t?
Electricity prickles at my fingertips.
You’ll be receiving the duck head handle in a box via post in the next twenty-four hours.
Please, he’s like family to me.
I smirk, loving that he is as lame as I am.
Tell me the time then. I type out the words, punctuating the message with an umbrella and a knife emoji.
I will only upon safe return of the umbrella.
That could take days in the post!
Then you better bring it in person tonight.
A thrill shoots through me. I wasn’t planning on doing anything tonight because we won’t get out of here until around 9 p.m.
I show Cecily the text, and she jumps up and down on the spot.
“Can you find out what his big three are while you’re there? I want to do his charts.”
“You aren’t doing his charts. I told you, that’s too invasive for new people.”
“Oh, so you care about his feelings now?” She gives me a teasing look as Spencer and Pacha turn their heads.
“No . . .” I feel my cheeks burn as they all stare at me. “There’s just no way to ask for someone’s exact birth location and
time without seeming like you’re invested in them.”
“But what if his sign isn’t compatible with your Scorpio sun?” Cecily asks, deadly serious.
Pacha snorts a laugh. “Then he’ll have to buy some sunscreen.”
“Just go. Stop thinking about everything so bloody hard and just go!” Cecily pulls me up by my armpits from the meeting room
chair. We’ve been here for hours, practicing every possible question Spencer could be asked.
Still want that umbrella?
Desperately.
I glance at the time in the corner of the screen.
It’s not too late? Won’t Dominic be mad if I make you wait up?
Dominic is in control of many aspects of my life but I put my foot down when it comes to my bedtime.
My mouth contorts into a smirk, feeling the urge to say something flirty back. As I’m typing, an address pops up on the screen. I bite my lip and despite my better judgment copy and paste the address into Citymapper.
I’ll be there in an hour, just finishing up.
For the next thirty minutes, I’m barely cohesive. Listening to Spencer practice his questions over and over again. Hashing
out the minute details Pacha insists they will ask about and the multiyear marketing strategy Cecily refuses to let him leave
without having fully memorized.
As we start to gather up our things, my nerves begin to kick in. What if this is a bad idea? This is a cut-and-dried reconnaissance
mission. Seeing him during the event we are both independently attending is one thing, but actively choosing to see him in
London, on the home turf, with the flimsy excuse of returning an umbrella, something we both know not to be of any importance,
is risky.
You can just drop it off, get the info, then go. It’s not a big deal if you don’t make it a big deal.
Solidifying my resolve, I repeat the sentiment to myself on the bus ride over and the long elevator ride up to the eighth
floor of an extremely fancy high-rise apartment building. Padding through the sconce-lit hallway, I smile politely and nod
at a redhead and sandy blond couple leaving their apartment hand in hand.
When Oliver opens the door, I’m greeted with glinting hazel eyes, a shy smile, and a warm glow. His body briefly darkens the
doorway before he steps aside and gestures for me to come in.
“I can’t stay long,” I immediately announce, my fingers interlocking at my stomach. I look around the room, the black, white, and brown sharp-edged apartment a stark contrast to how I’d imagined Oliver’s home. It’s also way above an assistant’s pay grade. “Do you actually live here?”
He scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, but technically this is Dominic’s place.”
My eyes widen. “Excuse me?” I glance around the room from the doorway, my heart starting to pound out of rhythm.
Oliver shakes his head with a laugh, holding his hands up. “Don’t worry, he’s in New York for a few days. It’s just me and
his cat right now.” He gestures into the unoccupied front room.
Once again, I scan the room from the doorway with a skeptical look on my face.
“Warren Buffett likes to keep to herself,” he says with a smirk.
My eyebrow lifts. “Dominic Odericco named his female cat Warren Buffett?”
“I thought you would be more progressive than that.” He tilts his chin, teasing me.
I shoot him a dirty look. “I meant why that particular billionaire?” I’m not shocked by the cat itself. Dominic does in fact give off Big Cat Energy.
“You’d have to ask him.” He steps in closer. “Can I take your coat?” His T-shirt pleats in the middle as he holds out his