Behind the closed doors of the elevator, Alex and I settle against opposite walls. “Sometimes I think Benny’s attitude is a vibe check for the whole company,” he says.
“Bad news for the rest of October,” I joke, tucking my hair behind my ears.
He watches me for a moment in that open, plain-as-day way of his, arms crossed over his chest, head resting against the wall behind him. His eyes flicker across my face, then flash briefly down the length of my body and back up. So fast I might have imagined it.
His lips part. But he must decide against whatever was on the tip of his tongue, because he clamps them back together and gives a tiny shake of his head.
“What?” I ask.
He hesitates. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
Alex scrubs a hand over his forehead. “It’s not professional.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Do I really need to remind you what you whispered to me in this very elevator on your first day? Besides, if you don’t tell me, my mind’s going to autofill with something far worse.”
Alex laughs and shakes his head. “I was just going to say you look pretty.”
My head perks up like a bird-of-paradise, proud someone noticed my ridiculous preening. “Oh. Thank you.”
I tried not to put on more makeup this morning than I’d do for my normal workday routine, but I couldn’t get the fact that I’d be on camera out of my head every time I looked in the mirror. I picked out an eye-popping outfit, too, praying the bright colors would distract from whatever bland, forgettable nonsense falls out of my mouth. My maxi skirt is pink and pleated, and I’m wearing a lightweight sweater that belonged to my mom. My ears are adorned with big silver stars and my hair’s been semi-blown out.
“Don’t worry. Tomorrow I’ll go back to looking like a gremlin.”
Alex shakes his head again, softer this time. Beneath his breath, he says, “You’ll look just as pretty tomorrow as you did the day we met.”
The elevator doors open to the lobby. I hardly notice. Alex’s and my gazes are locked, as if we’re both waiting to see if the other person is going to freak out over what he just said.
“Alex?” comes a deep, hoarse voice from outside the elevator.
We both turn forward in sync.
Standing there among a gaggle of old white men, all of whom are dressed in tailored suits and boasting varying states of baldness, is Robert Harrison.
Alex’s father.
Their familial designations may as well be written on their foreheads. Robert is tall, like his son. They have the same sharp jawline, the same thin nose, broad forehead, and even broader shoulders. But his father’s eyes are blue compared to Alex’s light brown, and his hair and skin is pale white against Alex’s darker features.
Robert Harrison was the CEO when I first started with Little Cooper two and a half years ago. When he announced he was moving on to the less demanding position of board chairman, Dougie Dawson came onto the scene out of nowhere.
I spot Dougie now in the crowd, too. Must be a board meeting today.
“Dad,” Alex says, gulping.
His father looks genuinely taken off guard. “Alex, what are you doing here?”
Alex winces, his face twisted up in what is obviously panic.
I’m so confused.
“Uh.” He scratches at the back of his neck and walks out of the elevator, pointing to a spot a short distance away, his head hung low. His dad follows him, abandoning his cohort, and I follow, too, as the other board members press into the elevator we just vacated.
“What’s that about?” one of them asks under his breath.
“Robert’s bastard works here,” another one—Dougie, this time—answers. The sentence is louder than necessary, and Dougie adds on an unkind laugh, which causes Robert to pause and glare back at him. I catch the tail end of what Dougie says as I keep walking. “I thought Robert knew. I thought Robert did it.”
Me too.
Out of earshot from the others, Alex says to his father, “I work here now. At Little Cooper, for Bite the Hand.”
The older man’s face goes beet red, his expression mottled with fury.
Holy crap. His dad had no idea.
Which means … Alex didn’t get this job because of his father.
“Put in your notice today,” Robert threatens quietly, and I’m so jarred by those five words that I stumble back a little.
Both men turn, noticing me for the first time. “I’ll wait for you outside,” I tell Alex. I shouldn’t be present for the fallout of this conversation.
He gives me a terse nod, staring at the floor like he’s guilty of something. I walk away as my mind spins in violent pirouettes.
Behind me, Robert starts in on his son. “When did you leave Seoul?”
“I left you three voicemails. I tried to tell you.…”
I exit the building, still numb with confusion. Did Robert Harrison just order his own son to put in his notice? Without bothering to hear him out?
Brisk fall air replaces the sterile chill on my skin from the lobby. The soles of my shoes scrape along the sidewalk as I attempt to deconstruct an equation I was certain I’d already solved in my head. Nepotism plus Harvard plus Yankees happy hour invites. Seoul start-ups plus goofy elevator jokes plus You don’t know anything about me, you don’t have a clue.
“Casey!” I snap to attention, and Saanvi materializes before me on the sidewalk. Behind her, the glow of the midday sun splayed across the city’s financial district jars me back to reality. There’s a small video team with her and a portable version of the cooking studio recording setup. “Perfect timing. Where’s Alex?”
“He’s just…” I gesture vaguely behind me. “Talking with someone inside.”
A short, curvy woman with curls and milk-white skin clips a microphone to the front of my sweater. “Hi,” the stranger says. “I’m Sara. I do sound.”
“Casey. I do finance.”
Behind Sara, two guys with matching hipster aesthetics are strapped up in camera gear. They eye me suspiciously. I eye them suspiciously right back.
“Oh, there he is!” Saanvi bounces on her heels.
Before I can turn, Alex appears, stoic, speechless, eyes like a finance bro who just realized he fell victim to the sunk cost fallacy. His face is ashen.
I’ve got an inkling the Alex I know isn’t really here at all.
Sara mics him up the same way she did me, and then she runs us through the audio need-to-knows—reminders not to smack the hidden tech with our arms, how to avoid muffling the sound. But I don’t think Alex hears a word of it.
I start to panic then. Because I need Alex right now, and he’s lost somewhere. Which is a problem, because I can’t be him. Wouldn’t know how to if I tried. His extroverted enthusiasm, his off-the-cuff humor. That’s what’s going to make this thing work. Not me. Never just me.
“Alex,” I say softly when Sara moves away.
His caramel eyes find mine, and he croaks out, “This was a mistake.”
He’s not talking about the video shoot.
My voice is firm, the words a near hiss under my breath. Once I say this, there will be no taking it back. “It wasn’t a mistake. You’re good at this job. People want you here. I want you here.”