The sight of him traveling does funny things to my insides, and I get weirdly excited every time he sends me a photo. A meal he loved, a shot of the van, a selfie of him reading a thriller on the beach. He’ll send voice notes over text, recounting a story of how surreal it was that someone from the conference recognized him from YouTube, or how he accidentally slammed Freddy’s finger in the van door and they had to visit an emergency clinic for a splint.
You’d love this: a photo of a plant nursery on the side of the road.
Rate on a scale of 1/10: a video of a guy at a bar singing George Strait and playing guitar.
By the time he’s on a red-eye home Sunday night, I almost feel like he took me on the whole vacation with him.
I avoid Alex until Wednesday on principle. Just because he’s back doesn’t mean I need to see him, and he’s busy anyway, judging by the radio silence the minute he got back to the city. But as the all-hands meeting creeps up, the minutes slipping closer and closer to 2:30, I start to fidget restlessly, smooth out the pleats of my Rent the Runway maxi skirt. Ruffle my hair. Ask Fari for a piece of gum.
“Oh, right. It’s Wednesday,” she says, handing it over the wall between our cubicles with a smirk.
At 2:27, I gather my belongings and stand up.
“Casey?” I step around the wall to see Fari wringing her hands.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Have you talked to Tracy lately?”
I freeze. What does Fari know?
“Not for a couple weeks,” I get out. “Why?”
Fari bites her lip. “Remember that business proposal I created that Don sent to her? She never scheduled time with me to workshop it like she said. My first performance review is next week, and I wanted to mention it because … because when I accepted this job, I thought the bonuses were part of our regular pay, and since they’re clearly not, I really need a raise.”
My heart stretches outside my chest and gets tangled there, out in the open. Maybe that’s why Alex is always saying it’s pinned to my sleeve. “What did Benny say?” I ask softly.
“He said Tracy hasn’t asked him to schedule anything.”
“She didn’t forget,” I promise, with no real confidence. “She wouldn’t have. She’s probably just”—I wince—“busy, or stressed about … something.”
Fari nods. “Yeah. The other day, I saw that the purple dip on one fingernail was missing.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Tracy Garcia came to work without a flawless manicure?” This is even worse than my most fatalistic nightmares.
“It was unnerving,” Fari says, and shudders.
“If I see her, I’ll try to bring up your proposal without actually bringing it up. And about the bonus, I know it probably won’t cut it, but they usually give something out over the holidays whether we hit our targets or not.”
Fari nods and exhales. “Hopefully enough to reimburse myself for my surprise flight home for Thanksgiving.”
Oh, fuck. I forgot to book my flight!
Also—“Oh, fuck, I’m late!”
“Sorry!” Fari shouts at me as I dash toward the elevator. My fingers fly over my phone screen, typing out a message to Dad and Jerry: booking my flight home for thxgiving TODAY!
Dad’s response comes right as I’m stepping through the elevator doors: NO CASEY DON’T! We decided to come to you instead!
Oh …
Oh my God. Marty Maitland and Jerry Abrams loose in New York City.
For the first time ever.
What??? I reply.
Sorry, we meant to tell you, but we must have forgotten. (At least that makes two of us.) You can come to Nashville for Christmas instead!
Don’s hand slips through the elevator doors right as they start to close. “Joining you for the all-hands today,” he mutters, stepping inside. “Gus says there’s big news.”
“Big news?” I repeat. “From the conference, maybe?”
“No clue.” Don shrugs. “But if he’s being hyperbolic, I’m going to throttle him. I haven’t eaten lunch in four days.”
Regardless, if Gus wants Don there, it means his big news has a financial impact above my pay grade. My mind jumps to worst-case scenarios, anxious worry clawing at my rib cage all the way down to thirty-seven.
But when I walk into the conference room, Alex is there, and my vision goes to Portrait mode. The frame is focused only on him.
He’s holding a stack of pamphlets, distributing them in front of each seat, and when he spots me, his gaze sweeps up and down my person, a heated look breaking across his features that turns me into a puddle of liquid gold. His eyes are warm and soft and open and basically screaming Come here, immediately.
“Don!” Gus says. “Thanks for joining us today.”
“Happy to,” Don says, sounding a little shy of happy. “Something specific you pulled me in for?”
Gus places both of his palms on the tabletop, holding everyone’s attention as we settle into our seats. He usually spends these meetings typing furiously on his laptop, present in body but absent in mind. Not today, though. Today, Gus Moskowitz looks practically wolfish.
Reading his feverish expression—and then Alex’s when he matches it—I predict what Gus is going to say about two seconds before he starts talking.
“I’m sorry for the short timeline on this, but a bunch of lights turned green at once, and when it rains in this industry, it pours. I just received word from Tracy Garcia that in four weeks, we’re presenting a business proposal to the board to officially launch Bite the Hand as the first digital media company in Little Cooper’s portfolio.”
Beside me, Don freezes, a deer in headlights, his hesitation sweeping over me like something almost palpable. Saanvi and Amanda congratulate Gus, clap their hands, exchange exclamatory praise before immediately jumping into their thoughts on the presentation. To them, this is good news, exactly what they’ve all been working toward. But to me, and apparently to Don, too … the timing couldn’t be more suspicious.
Thanksgiving is next week, cutting down on our prep time, and the presentation is scheduled in between Hanukkah and Christmas. That is objectively a horrible time of year to be making important business decisions.
Tracy’s not thoughtless. What are the odds she genuinely thinks this is a good plan?
What are the odds she knows it’s a bad one, but she’s out of time?
What if a shiny Bite the Hand business proposal is her last-ditch attempt at convincing the board this company is worth saving?
When my eyes cut to Don, he’s watching me with a frown, and that’s when I realize we’re both in on the same secret. We might even be having the same thought: This presentation isn’t going to decide whether or not to launch a subsidiary. It’ll decide whether LC stays independent or gets sold for parts.
* * *
“You’re coming with me to Tracy’s office,” Don says on our way back up to ninety-eight. “I know you know. We need to talk about how to handle this with the others.”
I nod mutely, fully embodying a child who’s gotten in over her head.
I couldn’t even look Alex in the eye for the rest of the meeting. It felt like a betrayal not to celebrate this step forward with him, but an even bigger betrayal to act like I thought everything would work out the way he wants it to.
But he must know something is wrong with me.
“Short timeline?” I probe, repeating Gus’s words from earlier.