He leafs through the tabbed pages in one of the binders and opens it up to a specific page.
“This one,” he says, pointing. “How were the calculations made? Did we factor in the gross value of assets? Can we get a copy of those documents?”
“Yes, of course. Let me send that to you via email,” I suggest as I grab a pad and pen. “Let’s go through all your questions so I can send them all at the same time.”
We spend ninety minutes discussing methodology and results. He constantly challenges my inferences to a point where he begins to get on my nerves. Not that I’m fazed by his questioning—his analytical abilities actually impress me. So young. So sure of himself. So black and white. No broken lines. I like his principled outlook.
Lucas writes a few more notes before gently pulling the binder away from my hands. “I think I’ve challenged you enough for one evening,” he states cockily.
“That was a challenge?” I chaff back in his face. “I thought it was a healthy discussion.”
He gets up to gather the binders and start his trek back to the conference room. “Thank you for your time.”
I shrug my shoulders, watch him strut away, and take a few steps to retrieve my coat. I’m not going to overanalyze his completely cool demeanor. Just as I walk out of my office, I notice him coming back in my direction.
“Hi again.” He smiles sheepishly. I feel the warmth coming back.
“Hi.”
“Peace offering,” he says softly, looking like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He finally keeps them busy by tucking them inside his pants pockets. He looks like a runway model striking an easygoing pose. “I wanted to know if you would like to grab a quick bite downstairs before you leave.”
“I’m not that hungry, but I was on the way to the Pantry across the street to get a pop.”
“A pop?” he asks, turning his head quizzically, as if I’ve just spoken some foreign jargon.
“Sorry. A soft drink.”
“That sounds good, is it okay if I join you?”
“Come on. I’m buying.” I tilt my head in the opposite direction, motioning for him to follow me. We take the elevator down in silence and he follows right behind me as I lead him towards the outside of the building.
It’s another perfect summer evening; the stars are out and there is no wind. Lucas and I sit on the lower steps of the building and share a bag of Cheetos while sipping our cans of Coke. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.
“Smoke?” he offers.
“Sure,” I oblige as I take one from the pack. What am I doing? I haven’t smoked in years. “Do you smoke a lot, Lucas?”
“Actually, I don’t. This is my stress reliever. I’m a runner.”
“So am I! That’s funny. Does that mean we’re both stressed out?”
“Definitely. We have the perfect excuse to let go for a little bit.” He flashes me a smile as I lean over to him for a light.
LUCAS SHOWS UP at my office at 8:00 pm every evening that week, coat in hand, ready for our nightly jaunt to the little grocery across the street. During the day, we act like colleagues, speaking to each other only about business, working on the merger proposal together. Leigh remains part of the team, acting more like the senior partner in this engagement and leaving Lucas on his own to ask the questions and draft the responses. We spend the evenings together as friends, but we share more than a Coke and a bag of chips. We share stories and experiences, with one cigarette quickly turning into two or three. He does most of the talking, I do most of the listening. Over the past few months, I’ve learned to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself. No one wants to hear about a lonely woman and her sad life, especially when it looks so perfect and fulfilled from the outside. Although I never forget the age difference between us, conversations with him are comfortable and easy.
“What’s your story, Lucas? How come you don’t have a girlfriend?”
He doesn’t answer me right away. Sometimes I think it’s because he translates his thoughts first into words and then into another language. “I’m still recovering from something that happened recently. I got in the middle of something against my better judgment.” I begin to sense a tinge of discomfort from the way that his body shifts in the opposite direction.
“What happened? You can tell me,” I say, before changing my mind. “Only if you want to, of course.”
“I thought I was in love with a woman who was divorced from her husband. She ended up going back to him. I kind of knew how it would get resolved, but I jumped in anyway.”
“What was she like?”
“She was captivating; we hardly knew each other. I met her at a time when she was lost and alone. She’s actually the best friend of Leigh’s wife. He is very close to her. She remarried her husband last year and they just had their third child.”
I listen without any interruptions, nodding along as he waxes poetic about their relationship, watching him gesture with his hands as he speaks. After a few minutes, I notice that we’re both holding our cigarettes with orange powder caked on our fingers. I let out a laugh as I hold my fingers up to his face. He takes them and swipes them across his pants before doing the same thing to his.
“I’m sorry,” I say, to both his story and the fact that he now has orange streaks on his pants. I heedlessly reach over to brush the stains off—his thighs are rock solid.
There’s a peculiar silence between us before he quickly reaches over to take my hand. He lets it go as soon as he catches me glancing around uncomfortably, and continues the conversation with an air of nonchalance. “Don’t be,” he says bluntly. “That’s what life is all about. Leaping in against what seems like obvious odds against you. Taking chances. You’ll never know if you don’t try.”
“I guess you have that luxury when you’re young.”
“Oh, here we go again. Why do you always attach age to everything?” He holds my gaze and silently challenges me not to look away. “Those eyes of yours. I can tell that there are things you want to share with me, Jade. They’re like pages of a book just waiting to be turned.”
“There’s nothing to tell. Life goes on and I’m living it the best way I can.” It’s time to make another attempt to change the subject as I try to avoid any eye contact with him. “Tell me about your family. How are they? How many siblings do you have?”
“I’m the oldest son in a family of four kids, two boys and two girls. My parents have been married forever. My dad drives my mom crazy; she’s much younger than he is.” He enunciates that last sentence before he continues on. “We’re a little bit more liberal I think, culturally, about love and marriage and free expression.”
“I’ve heard about that Latin/Spanish cultural macho male thing,” I tease.
He wiggles his eyebrows mischievously. “Don’t you forget it. Did you hear the one about us being the best lovers?”
I ARRIVE AT the office Monday morning with a brand new haircut. My long hair has been trimmed and layered, and for the first time in forever, my nails are painted red. I also had a three-hour session with my stylist, which meant thousands of dollars in new and updated outfits. I justify my new efforts by thinking of him as a new friend, someone removed from my current life with a refreshing outside perspective. I hardly see Lucas during the day, but feel comforted with the knowledge of his close proximity to me. Things are going so well with the proposal that they think they might wrap up by the end of this second week. Whatever it is that’s happening now has a looming end date in my mind.
Lucky for me, my first meeting includes my close friend and co-worker, Leya Markland. A meeting with Leya is the best way to start the work week. We’ve been friends since I first started at Warner Consulting. She works in Operations, so we’re removed enough from each other to separate our personal and professional lives. We’re complete opposites in looks, but we share the same work ethic and devotion to the company. Leya is a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, creative, artsy, and casual
ly alluring with a breezy personality, frank and honest and to the point. Her blonde hair, blue eyes, and height reflect her Nordic heritage, and I often feel so tiny standing next to her, even in high heels. Leya calls me out on everything including my brand name shoes, my purses, and the fact that I hardly repeat the same outfit twice. She keeps me honest. Maybe that’s why I’m afraid to bring her in on my latest secret.
“Good morning, Ms. Richmond,” Leya greets me with her usual one liner before occupying the place next to mine at the conference table.
“Hi.”
“Psst!” she whispers entirely too loudly for my taste. “Where’s my friend and what did you do to her? The woman next to me is wearing leather pants and her nails are painted red.”
“Ugh. Too much? It’s too much, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Too much for the men in this office. You look hot! I mean caliente!”
“Shhh!” I slap her arm playfully as other people file into the room.
“Hot guy alert!” Carissa from Finance says as she points to the men in the room across from my office. “Jade, you’re so lucky. Everyone on this floor is swooning over those guys. Especially the dark-haired one.”
“How old do you think he is, 30?” Mandy from the same department chimes in.
“Someone looked him up on LinkedIn. Very accomplished. He’s single too,” Tori from Operations declares with authority.
“How do you know that?” I ask, finding myself secretly miffed and defensive.
“Facebook!”
“Okay, okay. Settle down,” I say, biting my tongue from telling them to stay away from Lucas. “Sorry about that digression, folks. Whose meeting is this?” I inquire testily, eager to change the subject. Thank goodness that was enough to deflect everyone from that bizarre conversation.
The meeting lasts for forty-five painful minutes. The women in attendance all seem intent on watching the men in the conference room across from us. My insides are gloating at the fact that we share a secret no one can touch. And then I feel guilty about the women in this office who are single and available and desperately looking for love. Life is funny that way—the more you seek, the less you find.
After the meeting is over, I bring Leya over with me to meet him. Leigh has stepped out of the office to meet with people from another department.
“Lucas, meet Leya Markland. She’s our Director of Operations. Some of the statistics in those reports were prepared by her team.”
His eyes light up as he immediately saunters over to stand next to me. “Pleased to meet you, Leya.”
“Hi, Lucas. How is everything going?” For a few seconds, Leya actually turns on the charm and warmly reaches out to shake his hand.
“Everything went better than we expected. In fact, we’ll be wrapping up things by Friday.” I detect a tinge of sadness in his voice as he turns his attention towards me despite the fact that he is speaking to her.
“Oh. Well, not that I’ll be happy to see you go, but I’m glad that our proposal is acceptable to you. Have a safe trip home if I don’t speak to you again before Friday.”
I take hold of her elbow and lead her away from him. Leya pinches my arm as soon as we’re out of earshot.
“Oh my God!” she squeals. “That guy wants you. He was eye fucking you the whole time. You and your leather pants!”
“Ley. Stop. Aside from the fact that he’s young enough to be my son, he’s leaving in three days!”
“Stop with the exaggeration! You weren’t having children when you were nine, Jade. Oooh. He can be your Same Time Next Year guy!”
I shove her into the elevator before she could say another word and wave sweetly at her as the doors come to a close. I whip out my phone as soon as she’s gone and fire off a text to Lucas.
Jade: Check your security settings on Facebook.
I LIVE FOR the evenings alone with Lucas as our routine continues for the next few nights. Conversations over Cokes and chips under the sky and the stars, wrapped up in the warm Chicago breeze, with Lucas sitting next to me on a cement ledge outside the building somehow couldn’t be more perfect. Our personal interaction consists of little touches, tiny nudges, and penetrating gazes when a point needs to be made. To the outsider, it might come across as a little telling, but to us, it’s just what we’ve grown accustomed to.
“Did I tell you that I was engaged briefly?” he asks one soggy Wednesday night three days before his planned departure.
“No, you didn’t. What happened?”
“I cheated on her. I can’t seem to stay faithful to anyone. My travel brings about so much temptation and most of the time, I give in. I’m a shit, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” I admit without looking at him.
His flippant demeanor disappears and his look turns serious. “Jade, why do you think some marriages don’t last?”
“I think it’s because people are constantly changing, forever growing,” I reply quickly. I know the answer to this one. “It takes a lot of work to keep in step with someone else.”
“What are your parents like?” He dips his hands into my bag of pretzels and crunches away.
“I’m an only child, so my parents are my world. My dad is my best friend. My mom keeps me grounded.” That’s all the information I’m willing to divulge for now.
“How did you get so driven? Did you always know that you would devote your life to your career?”
I feel insulted, like a major loser. “Do I give you the impression that I don’t have a life outside of this?”
He touches my thigh lightly before casually stressing his point. “Jade. You’re here until midnight every day.”
“How do you know that it’s not only because you’re here?” Did I really say that? “What about you? There must be so much pressure on you to keep up with the business.”
“Yes, actually. The business skyrocketed prematurely, and I couldn’t handle the pressure to keep up. I’m better now, but for a while there, I was seeking out things to help me cope.”
“Things like what?”
“Drugs. Alcohol. Socially, of course, but still. I knew it would only keep me afloat for a while.” Lucas rolls the pretzel bag into a ball and shoots it straight into the trash can. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his pack of smokes, and hands me one.
We stay quiet for a few minutes, taking sips of our Coke, puffing on our cigarettes. He finally breaks the silence.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Am I crazy, or do you do your best to avoid flowers at all costs? Every time we walk across the street, you seem to avoid walking by the flower boxes on the sidewalk.”
“Allergies. I’m paranoid. I don’t want to get sick. They get pretty bad.”
“Ah.” I can tell he doesn’t believe me because he nods his head exaggeratedly.
“Now it’s my turn to say something.” I look at him with a pointed smirk on my face.
“Go for it,” he responds as he inhales a puff of smoke.
“You need to use more contractions in your sentences.” I let out a laugh as I nudge him with my elbow. “You sound so formal all the time.”
“I totally agree with you. And you would think that with all the traveling I do in this country, I would have picked up on your American slang by now,” he says, genuinely amused by my statement. “So you are going to be my teacher, okay?” He accentuates the word “are” to mock me.
“Okie dokie.” I follow this up with a wink. He throws his head back and laughs.
While we relish what’s left of our drinks and watch a flurry of cars drive past us on the bridge, the comfortable silence is back.
“So, you think that people can really outgrow love?” he asks suddenly, turning towards me with a serious look on his face.
“Life is a crazy combination of phases,” I say diplomatically. “We all go through different stages in life, and all handle them in many ways. Some people can handle the bullshit and some emerge from
it wounded and scarred. As people change, their feelings change too. Sometimes, love doesn’t survive that war. Sometimes, it dies. Food for thought, Lucas.”
“Words of experience, I’m assuming?”
“Yes. Something you have yet to learn.” Quick one-two punch. Just in case he forgets how young he is. Compared to me, that is.
“So much wisdom, Ms. Richmond,” he says with a laugh. “I’m going to ignore that last comment. Let’s go back to those scars. Are you ever going to open up to me about them?”
“Never!” I joke, leaning into him so that our shoulders are touching. “Hey, look, let’s have a contest. The one who can make the best smoke circles wins.”
THE NEXT DAY, I decide to sneak in a run along the lakefront before going into the office. I have a monthly membership at a gym by the marina for locker and shower space on days that I run outside before work. The morning turns out to be a bit balmy, so I figure a quick four miler will be sufficient to help me let out some steam. I take a different path than most runners, running the back way along the water rather than the scenic route. My thin white tank top with a built in bra is almost still too hot to wear on a day like this. The last mile is grueling. It takes every bit of energy for me to soldier on despite being lost in my thoughts, enjoying my music. Even before I slow down for a walk, I hit the stop button on my Garmin watch, excited to see that I still made good time despite the slower pace. I cool down briskly, reminding myself that the earlier I get to work, the sooner I’ll be able to see him.
Him. He is standing right in front of me, wearing a gray sleeveless tech shirt and black running shorts, with a circle of sweat centered on his chest. We have the same neon-colored brand of shoes. It makes me laugh.
“I saw you out at the mile two marker but thought I would give you time to finish,” he starts. “How was it?”
“Bad. Those late nights at the office are taking a toll on me,” I reply jokingly. “Never mind the cigarettes. Are you heading back?”
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