Chapter 6
SIX
Ben
I’m late to meet Deacon at the gym on Monday morning, and when I finally arrive, he’s already in the changing rooms after having a shower.
“Sorry, mate. I got caught up in something this morning.”
Deacon shrugs. “Did you also get caught up in something yesterday morning?” he asks.
I narrow my eyes in confusion. “Yesterday?”
“You and Avril seemed very chatty at dinner. I wondered if she had a sleepover that you got caught up in yesterday?”
“Oh,” I say, nodding. “I see. You want me to cook you breakfast?”
“You’re deflecting.”
“I’m offering you food.” I pause. “And deflecting.”
“French toast?” he asks. I’m grateful to him that he doesn’t try to get me to talk about Avril. I don’t want to be the guy dishing on my conquests. That’s beyond gross.
“Sure,” I say. I make a great French toast. It’s second only to my omelet.
The gym is only a block from my place in the opposite direction to Deacon’s.
We’ve both lived in this area since we came to New York after university.
Deacon didn’t have a plan and neither did I, but we both knew we would make it.
By any measure, we have. Even though our lives are different—he’s a father and now engaged, and I’m incredibly single—we have more in common than we have differences.
On the way back to my apartment, we talk about nothing but exercise and running and whether Deacon should enter an Ironman because his fiancée, Aurora, is pregnant. But as soon as I drop my unused gym bag onto the bench in my hallway, things shift.
“Look, I’m going to tell Aurora that I saw you today, and she’s going to ask me if you said anything about Avril.” He follows me into the kitchen.
“And you can tell her I deflected.” I wash my hands at the sink and tie an apron around my waist.
“Right,” he says. “And then she’s going to ask me to text you right in front of her to ask you about Avril.”
“Why is she so invested?” Has Avril said something to Aurora? It doesn’t seem her style. I know Avril and Aurora are friends, but I’m not sure Avril would be chatting giddily about the guy she banged after a party. She’s much more likely to arrange a group torture of my effigy.
“I don’t know,” Deacon says.
I start whisking the eggs with a fork and pull out some bread. “Just tell her I didn’t say anything and that I arrived late and we chatted briefly about the Ironman.”
“Right,” he says. “Now we’ve got our story straight, and I’ve figured out how to lie to my soon-to-be wife, did you bang Avril?”
I chuckle and put the pan on the hob. “Okay, can we get back to the French toast? I need your take on something.”
Deacon shakes his head at my further deflection, but he doesn’t disagree.
“I met a woman recently,” I go on. He’ll catch up sooner or later. “And I like her. All good. Except she’s…hmm. I’m not quite sure if she’s just not into me, or if she’s playing hard to get.”
“Right.” I can see the grin that Deacon’s trying to hold back and I’m appreciative of his efforts.
“And I was wondering whether or not I should pursue it. Is it worth the energy? Or should I just move on? There are plenty of beautiful women in this city, right?”
“Right,” Deacon says. “How often have you given a woman a second thought if you don’t think they’re interested?”
I dunk the bread into the seasoned egg mixture. “I don’t mean to sound like a dick, but I can’t remember the last time I showed a woman some attention and didn’t get an effusive response.”
Deacon laughs. “An effusive response?”
“You know what I mean. I don’t have to chase women. I’m never left wondering whether a woman likes me.”
“I get it. I think the key is to figure out whether you’re intrigued by this woman because she’s not on board with the charming thing you do, or whether you like her because you like her.”
It’s a good point. Has Avril occupied my thoughts so much since she left yesterday morning because she didn’t want to give me her number and she kicked me out of my own bed? Is it just the challenge of her that I’m drawn to?
That’s got to be part of the attraction.
The favorite deals have always been the ones that took the most effort.
The ones I thought would never go through, that I spent weeks on calls through the night trying to put together.
The rewards are so much sweeter when they’re hard won. There’s no doubt about that.
The attraction I have to Avril has got to be mixed up in how completely unbothered she is by my interest in her.
The great sex doesn’t hurt either. Saturday night was incredible.
Despite being so feisty and combative outside of the bedroom, she was deliciously compliant inside the bedroom.
And she seemed to know exactly how to touch me, and when, to drive me absolutely crazy.
She was possibly the best sex I’ve ever had, so no doubt my dick is trying to weigh in on my thoughts.
But she’s also really funny. And sexy. And cool in that way that she just doesn’t give a fuck what people think about her.
And I like that she’s got so much going on in her own life.
She’s co-owner of a hotel, not some spoiled trust-fund baby.
There are so many women in New York who think a hard day is not being able to have a driver idle outside Chanel because of the parking restrictions. Avril is real.
“I think it’s both,” I say. But the reason she’s not so easily charmed is what I like about her. She knows her own worth, has a thousand things to prioritize besides who’s in her bed, yet she’s up for a good time. What’s not to like?
“Just be careful. If it’s really about the chase, that’s what could cause problems. Because if you catch her, then what?”
I nod. “You’re right. I need to not be a dick.” Even though my job is to get what I want for me and my clients, I don’t want it to be like that with Avril. Getting what I want from her shouldn’t be the challenge.
“That’s a good rule of life generally,” he says.
“Right. There are enough dicks in the world. We don’t need to add to the list.”
“So, what are you working on?” Deacon asks. “Anything you can tell me about?”
I wince. “Not really.” I can’t often talk about what I’m working on because everything’s so confidential and, in some cases, not everyone’s even aware of my involvement.
I don’t ever discuss anything that’s not in the public domain because I need to be known as the soul of discretion.
If I genuinely don’t tell anyone anything, then any leaks can never come from me.
But not only can I not talk about my business life, I actually don’t want to.
I’m a bit bored by it all at the moment.
I pull two slices of French toast out of the pan, put them on a plate, and slide them across to Deacon. Then I grab some maple syrup from the pantry and blueberries from the fridge.
He takes a fork from the drawer and slices off a mouthful with its edge. “This is really good,” he says as he chews.
I roll my eyes. “Of course it is. I made it.”
“So you’ve got some woman, who definitely might not be Avril, that you’re not sure if you should pursue, but she seems like she’s not that keen. And you can’t talk to me about work. What else is going on?”
I sigh, and pull up a stool next to Deacon with my own plate of French toast. “I’m just not feeling it at the moment.”
“And what is the ‘it’ that you’re not feeling? Because I’m pretty sure you were feeling something or someone on Saturday night.”
I keep my poker face. He’s prodding me, but I’m not going to spill the beans.
Avril can tell Aurora if she wants her to know.
“Work, I guess. I’m feeling a bit unbothered about everything.
” I’ve not verbalized my feelings about work to anyone apart from Avril on Saturday night.
But the thoughts have been churning away in my brain.
When I came to New York, I knew that I needed to get to know everyone who could possibly help me, so I made networking a full-time job. When guys my age were out snorting cocaine and drinking shots, I was taking notes and sipping soda water that I asked for in martini glasses.
And I kept notes.
On everyone.
I learned that it wasn’t just people who were on track for the big time that I needed to know.
Partly because you never knew exactly who those people were in New York.
No, some of the people who’ve been most useful to me on my journey, have been the ones who’ve given me access to the movers and shakers.
It’s the assistants who’ve invited me to parties or gotten me into the calendars of the CEOs.
It’s the bag carriers who’ve opened the door for me to take the stairs to the top.
It’s a lesson I learned early and have kept with me.
Now, I know the birthday of every assistant of every CEO I work with.
And I don’t forget them. I have an assistant of my own whose sole job is to organize cards, notes, and flowers.
I call the position my VP of gratitude. Thank yous, happy birthdays, congratulations, and commiserations.
Of course, the power players get the flowers as well, but I’m aware that you can’t just focus on the people at the top, because without the people holding them up, everything collapses.
Usually, remembering small details about people’s lives, being connected to the city in the way I am, lights me up. But at the moment, nothing feels quite as bright. “I’m just feeling a little…off.”
“That’s not like you,” Deacon says. “But we all go through different chapters. Look at me.”
There’s no doubt Deacon’s been through different chapters, but since he had his daughter, Willow, and now since he’s been with Aurora, his priorities have shifted, and from the outside, he looks more driven, more satisfied than ever.
I feel the exact opposite. “Maybe I’m sick of the parties,” I say.
Deacon stops chewing. “Has hell frozen over?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just getting old.”
“You’re thirty-four,” he says. “Hardly over the hill.”
I chuckle at the reference to being over the hill, but I think I’m over something. I’m over doing the same old thing. “I guess I just need a new challenge.”
“As long as that challenge isn’t Avril,” he says.
I laugh. He’s right. Maybe I’ve just got meeting Avril somehow mixed up with needing something more. A woman isn’t a cure for this slump I find myself in.