Chapter Twenty
Eddie and I sat in silence on opposite ends of a conference room as I typed up notes and he answered emails. I wondered if he’d gotten back to Andie yet about the book. His phone buzzed, and he sent it to voicemail.
“Samantha, there’s only one way Andie can write a book and not compromise herself, and that’s if we stay involved in the process. I don’t mean that we should write it for her, but she would need to show us drafts as she’s writing so we can determine if the material will be problematic.”
He tapped his fingers on the table as he thought about what he wanted to do.
“You’ve read all the documents and emails firsthand, so you know the facts we’re presenting to the government even better than I do.
If there’s anything that contradicts the information we’ve disclosed to the government, we have an obligation to let them know. ”
“Do you want me to review the material as she writes it?”
He nodded. “It’s the only way this can work.
The issue is you won’t be able to bill your time doing it, and there’s no way this won’t become a time suck.
If you want to take it on, I can ask the firm to let you bill half the time on a pro bono basis, but even if they say yes, it’s a lot of pressure for you. ”
I tried to mentally calculate how it would work. Even if the firm wouldn’t let me bill any of the time, I knew I couldn’t say no.
“I’d be happy to do it. I can have her send me chapters as she writes them, then flag any possible issues for you to look over. Would that work?”
“I think so. Let’s see if Andie’s okay with it. But I don’t think she’ll take no for an answer, and this is the only option I can think of to make sure everything is aboveboard. Let’s try her now.”
I dialed her on speaker. Eddie made sure she knew he still thought it was a bad idea, but he understood that she needed to get back on her feet, and if she was willing to do it our way, she could take the book deal.
Andie squealed with excitement. “Guys, a thousand times, yes. This sounds way better. Sam, you can tell me when I sound vapid, and I’ll rework it so the book appeals more to the ‘intellectual’ crowd.”
Eddie chuckled humorlessly. “Okay, we’re in agreement.
But Andie? You have to promise us that the manuscript you deliver to the publisher will be the version we’ve vetted.
Not a word different. I get that you’re going to want to editorialize, but if taking creative liberties poses problems for your case, there’s no point to any of this. ”
Andie promised not a single word would go unvetted and that everything she sent to the publisher would be blessed by us.
Eddie rushed off to another meeting across town.
The gallery opening was in three hours, and I hadn’t packed anything other than suits and athleisure.
I packed up my laptop and walked to Nordstrom across the street.
I found a simple black tea-length dress with pale-pink pumps, then zipped back to the hotel and spent an hour updating Andie’s case timeline before I took the elevator to meet Leo downstairs.
He arrived in a black car at 6:15 p.m. sharp in a navy suit and gray wool tie. I waited nervously as he got out and walked around to open the door for me.
This is just a work event, I told myself, feeling the butterflies in my stomach dictating otherwise. I needed to keep reminding myself that he was just as much my boss as Eddie.
The opening was a who’s who of LA’s high-end art scene, but I quickly realized Leo was the one person they all wanted to talk to. Everyone knew his clients from Variety or the LA Times. I felt like an invisible voyeur as I sipped champagne and moved from one group to the next.
“LA’s art doppelg?ngers try to measure up, but Manhattan culturati are just inherently superior,” a woman wearing a fitted leather jumpsuit quipped as she flashed Leo a smile. I took another sip and thought, I’ll never wear lipstick that well in my life.
“Alexandra, Samantha’s a rising star from our firm’s New York office, so I’m sure she’d agree with you.” He winked at me.
Alexandra skimmed me up and down as she lightly shook half of my hand. “Well, Samantha, you’re not in terrible company if you’re already working with Leo Hirschman,” she said approvingly. “Where do you live in New York?”
“In the West Village,” I answered, feeling a small sense of pride. It didn’t matter that my apartment was a shoebox with a bum stove. It was the West Village.
Leo seemed to have the inside scoop on every deal happening in Hollywood. He handed me another glass of champagne as we listened to a group of studio executives venting about the viability of the theatrical business.
“What about the studio that shall not be named? Is there any chance they rebound from last weekend’s $250 million flop?” one of them asked.
Leo scoffed. “It would have been cheaper to put all the film reels into Bob’s Aston Martin and push it off a cliff than to release that movie on twenty-five hundred screens.”
Everyone laughed as I caught the eye of the woman from earlier watching me closely. Something about the way she was looking at me made my face burn.
Suddenly, everything about the gallery opening—dressing up, Leo picking me up in a car, introducing me to everyone—seemed obvious. I looked like the girl on his arm. It felt like the contours of our working relationship had bent when we’d veered into personal territory the night before.
“I should get back to the hotel,” I whispered. I needed to regain ground.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, looking concerned.
I nodded. “I just have an early meeting tomorrow. And I think the late nights at the office might be catching up to me. But this was really fun. Thank you for inviting me. I can find my way back to the hotel,” I said, wishing for a more graceful exit.
I suddenly felt his hand on my lower back.
“Traveling between coasts is exhausting. I’ll wait outside with you until your car comes.”
I ordered an Uber, grateful that the car was only a minute away. I thanked him again for inviting me. He leaned in to hug me, and I felt him kiss my cheek.
“Good night,” I said quickly, hurrying into the Uber before my face caught fire. I could still feel the heat from his hand on my back.
I rolled down the window, my heart pounding anxiously.
There was no way he didn’t assume I had a crush on him. Every woman in that room seemed to know.
The inevitability of this all ending badly weighed heavily as I slid the hotel key into the door and kicked off my heels. I grabbed an Evian from the minifridge and sank onto the foot of the bed, staring at myself in the mirror opposite me. I wanted to jump out of my skin.
I jumped as my phone buzzed with a text.
Figured you’d appreciate this.
A picture of an empty Grand Central Station followed. It was after midnight in New York. The idea of Charlie burning the midnight oil in New York made me feel homesick.
I tapped the image with a heart emoji.
Back tomorrow. Hope you didn’t give my desk away.
I landed in New York late the next afternoon. My apartment was a disaster, so I invited Caroline over to drink wine while I got my life together. It took one glass for me to confess my crush.
“I’ve never met anyone like him,” I said as we sat on the floor, a bottle of sauvignon blanc in between us. “He’s a partner. And he’s married. It’s impossible.”
“When was the last time you had a crush on someone?”
I aimed the wine cork at the wastebasket and missed. “Probably the bartender poet from Vin Rouge.”
“I think it makes sense. You’re just not a typical thirtysomething. You were a housewife while the rest of us messed around in our twenties. So realistically, you may not be into guys your own age, because they’re all immature assholes.”
“So that explains why I’m attracted to Leo?”
“I don’t know anything about Leo beyond what you’ve just told me, but my guess is that you’re into him because he’s mature and impressive. And he has life experience. That’s attractive.”
I sighed. “He lives in this world full of brilliant and successful people, but he made me feel like I was the interesting one. It was intoxicating. Especially when part of me still feels like the housewife making turkey sandwiches for Ben to take to work,” I said pathetically.
Caroline made a face. “Okay, you’re the only one to blame for doing that. That’s not a married person thing, that’s a you thing. Do me a favor and never make anyone’s lunch ever again.”
“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I said, instinctually unlocking my phone to check my emails.
“But you’re not actually considering it, are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Crossing a line with a married partner. It’s a little counterproductive to the cause, don’t you think?”
“What ‘cause’?”
She gave me a hard look. “Do I really have to spell it out? You’re a first-year associate who wants a future there. I’m sure it’s obvious how much you want to work with him. Crossing a line is only going to end up making you look bad. No one ever called a man a home-wrecker.”
The word landed like a brick.
Caroline reached for the bag of pretzels on the counter.
“All I’m saying is it’s a waste of all the progress we’ve made in the last few years. You’re accepting the attention of a powerful man, and somehow your brain isn’t sending you predatory signals.”
I ironed the crease in my jeans with my hand. “That’s a lot to unpack. What if I’m attracted to him? You’re basically saying that I de facto lose all agency—and he’s automatically a predator—just because we work together.”
“I just think you’re not thinking this through. It’s the quickest way to lose the confidence of all the other people in power. Especially women. I’ve seen it happen before. Even being seen as encouraging a flirtation with a married partner is the fastest way to make enemies.”
“It just felt . . . nice. We both shared personal things. It was weirdly comfortable talking about my past with him.”
“In my experience, this kind of thing never ends well. If I were you, I’d keep things on a professional level. And don’t drink too much around him. That’s where lines always get crossed.”
I put my face in my hands. “That’s another thing. I’ve never drunk so much in my life. I’m starting to worry about long-term health effects. I read an article on the number of drinks per week that qualifies as alcoholism, and I think I’m there,” I said despairingly.
Caroline shook her head. “I’ve been in finance since I was twenty-one.
It’s the same kind of drinking culture as lawyers, plus recreational drugs.
I never understood the appeal, but I’ve seen the best and worst of it for over a decade, and the key is learning to be fun and social without blacking out. ”
“Not helpful health advice. You’re basically just telling me to get better at being an alcoholic.”
She looked at her watch and finished her wine. “I should go. I have a 5:30 spin class.”
“Roll those spin class dice.”
She blew me a kiss. “Think about what I said. You’re better than that.”
I woke up the next morning to Andie’s first three chapters. Her voice on the page was crisp, clear, and funny. Even though I already knew her story backward and forward, I quickly became absorbed in the material and barely noticed the time.
Charlie texted as I was waiting for the subway.
You going to show up today? I might give your chair away and then you’ll have to stand at your non-standing desk.
I typed a one-handed response.
On my way in. Don’t touch my chair.
He responded with a picture of my desk chair with a massive box on top of it. I couldn’t remember ordering anything.
Special delivery from . . . New York Dept of Taxation and Finance?
I dropped my phone on the platform as my brain put it together. It had to be documents from the FOIA request. Was it possible my idea to help Sterling was actually going to work?
Oh shit! Guard that for me. There in twenty.