All I Want is You_A Second Chance Romance

by Carter Blake

  Potentially, what Maddie told me is a fucking bombshell. Yet I haven’t thought about it once today.

  Until now.

  Maddie didn’t get into specifics, and I’m yet to see proof of anything. Maddie seems convinced. But as far as I know, there’s some higher-up at the SEC with an ax to grind, or Maddie and the SEC are simply mistaken about something.

  Maybe that’s it—it’s just a big misunderstanding.

  Would that even be possible?

  All I know is that I stopped working, and now I’m just thinking about this shit.

  My desk phone is sitting silently. Someone could be trying to call right now.

  There’s just no way Kallie knows what happened in the boardroom. It seems like she knows something, though.

  Either that, or she’s just a supremely fucking unpleasant person.

  That’s probably true whether she knows something or not.

  Oh well, back to work. I get back into the flow quickly and fiercely, the torrential downpour helping to block out any distractions.

  After about five hours, I start compiling a list of potential lenders for leverage. Even with institutional investors being cultivated, I’m seeing new opportunities for massive returns—opportunities that are not going to wait.

  In other words, we need to borrow some money. That’s my opinion, anyway.

  It’s also a good excuse to talk to Rosen and Barrister. What I’d really like to know is what’s going on with Switzerland, what’s going on with Kallie, and what’s really going on with the company.

  It’s almost five on the dot, and I need to brave that corridor to find the partners before they leave. After years of amazing fucking returns for the firm, they can’t afford to lose me. The least they could do is tell me the truth.

  The corridor hums with excitement as everyone is leaving for the weekend en masse. I wander up and down the corridor, searching for the partners but assuming they must be long gone by now.

  “Barrett!”

  I stay cool, even though Rosen’s sudden yelling makes me want to jump out of my skin. I turn around casually, not seeing him anywhere.

  “In the boardroom, Barrett!”

  I almost jump again, but I stroll coolly into the boardroom where both Rosen and Barrister are seated at the conference table.

  “Do you need glasses, Barrett?” Rosen asks as I close the door.

  “No.”

  I close the door.

  “I think he forgot his coffee,” Barrister quips.

  “I decided to do without it today.” I don’t give them the satisfaction of taking their digs personally. I just sit down across the table from them casually. “What’s up?”

  “We hear you’ve been hiding in your office all day,” comments Barrister.

  Kallie’s been talking to them. Great.

  “I’m in there most days—working, helping the fund succeed. Speaking of which, I think it’s time to consider a credit line...”

  “Enough of that,” interrupts Rosen. “The fund, as you know it, isn’t long for this world.”

  Fuck. How much do they know? Before I have time to think too much about it, Barrister taps an envelope on the table and slides it across to me.

  Picking up the plain white envelope, I put on my best poker face, although I have no idea what the fuck is happening.

  The envelope is sealed. I tear it open, pull out a folded sheet of yellow legal paper, unfold it, and see a printed dollar sign followed by a very large fucking number.

  “Switzerland?” I ask.

  Rosen nods. I look at the number.

  “This would be a yearly salary? I work on management and performance fees now...”

  “We know how you work,” Rosen interrupts. “And that’s per month.”

  Holy goddamn fucking shit. Poker face, don’t fail me now.

  “It’s a generous offer. I’ve never worked on just a straight salary, with no—”

  “Is he joking?” asks Rosen.

  “I’ll assume you’re being serious, Barrett,” says Barrister. “That figure is in addition to your usual management fee, plus fifty-percent performance fee, plus bonuses.”

  “It’s a...very high dollar figure,” I stammer, not able to process what I’m hearing.

  “Oh, I apologize.” This is absolutely the first time I’ve heard Rosen say those words. “That’s supposed to be in Swiss Francs.”

  My eyes get just a little wider, but I feel like I’m about to have a fucking heart attack. With the exchange rate, that’s even more fucking money.

  “A two-year contract,” says Barrister. “After that, it’s up to you.”

  “Two years, and you can retire,” adds Rosen. “Or you could keep getting filthy rich. What’s today’s date?”

  My eyes are glued to the number. There has to be some mistake.

  “Never mind that.” Barrister stands up, along with Rosen. “It’s Friday. We’ll give you two weeks, until the Friday after next, at nine o’clock sharp. We’ll have the contracts ready to sign.”

  “Unless, of course, you decide to refuse,” Rosen states somberly before laughing at the idea, along with Barrister.

  The two partners leave me alone in the boardroom, still holding the sheet of paper in disbelief.

  Ethan

  When I finally exit the boardroom, the stream of people leaving for the weekend is still surging out the door.

  It’s that time—a few minutes past five—and none of my colleagues are keen on staying for another second. For them, it’s quitting time. For me, it’s time to stretch and get the fuck back to work.

  Not today, though. Today, it can be quitting time for me too.

  Productivity is not going to be my friend any longer today anyway. Even the quiet Saturday I was looking forward to will probably have to wait.

  Today, it’s time for me to find out what this leaving at five o’clock shit is all about, because I have a lot more on my mind than market analysis, and it’s likely to stay that way for a while.

  In the hallway, there was still the energetic buzz and lively talking of people at the start of their weekend. By the time I’m riding the packed elevator, the interns, analysts, and administrative assistants are suddenly quiet. It’s obvious that word about the move is getting around, probably in the form of vague rumors and half-truths.

  They don’t know the full extent of what’s going on—and neither do I, for that matter—but it’s sinking in that a sea change is of some kind is happening, and few, if any, jobs will be safe when it rolls around.

  Greg’s standing right in front of me as the elevator descends. The elevator stops at the twentieth floor, and more people get on, making the car even more crowded. I can almost see Greg updating his resume in his head.

  What would I do if I stay behind when the company moves overseas?

  Starting my own fund, finding another fund or another firm to work with...I wasn’t planning on any of that shit, but those are my options, and I need to figure it out pronto.

  Whatever it is, that is.

  Walking through the lobby with seemingly every other office drone in the building, I stop thinking.

  At least, I stop weighing options or considering options. There’s too much information missing, and there’s no way I’m not being manipulated.

  And I can’t let myself be fucking manipulated.

  Walking through the revolving doors, I take out my personal phone and dial Maddie. Walking down Broadway, I wait for her to pick up.

  I walk fast and hard down the sidewalk, counting two rings, three, four, and stop counting when I turn onto Barclay.

  When I get to the entrance of my building, Maddie still hasn’t picked up. I don’t want to leave a message, and I realize I don’t really know why I’m calling, so…

  “What is it, Ethan?”

  Madeline’s voice, sounding short on patience, stops me in my tracks just before I hang up.

  “Hey, you answer the phone the same way I do at work.”


  I start walking to the elevator, suddenly feeling a fuck of a lot better.

  “Well, I am at work, Ethan. What’s up?”

  “You’re at work? You didn’t come by the office today.”

  “We’re pursuing the investigation differently now, Mr. Barrett. Hold on, I need to close my office door for some privacy.”

  “Of course,” I say, smiling to myself. I sit on the marble bench by the elevators while listening to Maddie close her door.

  “So,” Maddie continues in a quieter voice, “why are you calling again?”

  “It’s Friday.”

  “Uh...okay?”

  “And I was wondering if you wanted to get together this weekend.”

  Maddie sighs.

  “Maybe. I’ll have to call you later about that. Anything else?”

  My heart starts rocketing at the thought of seeing Maddie outside of the office, detached from the investigation and all the other shit. Yet there’s something about Maddie’s response makes me feel like I have more to say, or should have more to say.

  “I left work early today.”

  “Huh, good for you. Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

  “Not quite. Remember the Switzerland thing?”

  “Your whole firm moving to Switzerland?” Maddie’s voice is getting even quieter. “Yes, I’m quite aware of those plans.”

  “They, the two highest-ranking partners, just gave me the craziest offer for a contract there. I can’t discuss figures, but...”

  “Yeah, stay the fuck away from that.” Maddie sighs again. I can tell she’s stopping herself from getting more specific. “That’s my advice, anyway.”

  The elevator dings, and the door opens. The elevator’s empty, and I didn’t even press the fucking button. I look over my shoulder for some reason.

  “Okay,” I respond, my mouth getting dry.

  “Okay? I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here, Ethan.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The elevator door closes, and I hear the car start traveling back to the upper floors.

  “You’re just relaying information to me. I’m not accusing you of even considering signing a contract. Or...leaving the country.”

  Either the connection or Maddie’s voice starts breaking up with the last couple words.

  Those words seem unnecessary, anyway. She must know that if I sign the contract, that means leaving the country. She knows about Switzerland; she might know more about the plan than I do.

  And would it really be out of the question for me to consider it? Maddie knows that this is my job. Also, the investigation’s still underway. Maddie hasn’t shared any specifics with me, and she knows I haven’t seen whatever evidence it is that has her so convinced.

  “I just wanted to tell you what happened, Madeline.”

  “Okay, that’s fine. Anything else?”

  “Not really. Should I call you later about this weekend? Or do you want to call me?”

  “You know what, Ethan?” Madeline’s voice jumps in volume, and her irritated tone startled me enough to stand up from the bench.

  “I’m actually seeing my friends up in Boston this weekend.”

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. Goodbye.”

  One thing that I always felt was missing with smartphones is the ability to hang up emphatically. Even with an old flip phone, you have the option of slamming it closed.

  But, the way the call just ends so abruptly, I can tell Maddie hit that End Call icon with her finger as hard as she fucking could.

  Staring dumbly at my personal phone, I stay seated, frozen on the bench well after Maddie hangs up.

  I stay like that for a few minutes, at least, until the elevator door opens.

  Again, I didn’t press the button, and again it’s completely empty.

  This is a newer building, but I’m starting to think it’s fucking haunted.

  This time, I take the haunted elevator’s suggestion and get in. After hitting the button for the 52nd floor, I turn off my personal phone, which I almost never do, and I turn off my business phone, which I absolutely never do.

  The moment both phones are off, disconnecting me from the world, the elevator door opens to my floor.

  Realizing holding two different phones in both of my hands, I deposit them both bitterly in my front pocket.

  Maddie denied that I said anything wrong.

  But what did I say wrong?

  I rattle my keys in my hand while walking down the hallway, stopping right in front of my door and just standing there.

  If Maddie knows as much as she seems to know, then she knows that I have nothing to do with any of the shady shit that might be going on.

  She must know that.

  Right?

  Fuck. I unlock the door.

  My empty apartment greets me. The cleaning service stopped by yesterday, and everything is still so fucking clean. It’s like walking into a furniture catalog, yet even more sterile and heartless.

  Unthinkingly, I walk over to my bar, with its decanters of scotch and brandy.

  I need a drink.

  Back when I just learned her name, at that beach bar in Hawaii, I remember Madeline saying that.

  I need a drink.

  That’s when she was still Madeline to me, and I wouldn’t even think of calling her Maddie. That wouldn’t be for another few days.

  And what a few days those were.

  I knew at the time I needed to enjoy it, to treasure it, because it was a fling, and there was no way it could last much longer.

  And I was fucking right.

  I need a drink.

  What drink did she end up getting? It was a Captain’s Dilemma, or Captain’s Demise, or something like that.

  If I broke out the rum, the blender, some simple syrup, and some fresh fruit and pineapple juice, I might be able to make something like that.

  I could look up the recipe, get any missing ingredients delivered, and hire a bartender from a local cocktail place like the Living Room or Employees Only to stop by and make it correctly.

  But I won’t.

  Because that was then, and this is now.

  And now I’m going to stick to scotch on the rocks—because it’s time to start living in the present and thinking about the future.

  Ethan

  I check my wristwatch on the crowded Woolworth Building elevator.

  “It’s after nine already,” I mutter under my breath.

  Every square inch of this elevator car is occupied with moody office workers. They’re moody because it’s Monday, and every one of them heard my muttered complaint about how late in the morning it’s getting.

  No, I didn’t get my quiet Saturday in the office. No quiet Sunday either—not at the office, anyway. This weekend was spent enjoying my scotch collection, and, for the first time ever, dreading having to go back to work.

  Leave at five on Friday, return at nine on Monday, wearing an appropriately gloomy expression—this is what it’s supposed to be like to have an office job.

  The elevator stops at the twentieth floor, the twenty-first, the twenty-second, and the crowd keeps thinning until I’m all alone riding up to my floor.

  Yep, this is what the nine-to-five lifestyle is supposed to be like. It feels pretty fucking unnatural to me, though.

  “Monday, Monday.” Samantha, the HR manager, laments the day of the week as I pass her in the hallway. It almost sounds like she’s singing a funeral dirge.

  “Can’t trust that day.” I’m half responding to Samantha and half talking to myself as I walk down the corridor. I turn my head around to see her smiling at me weakly.

  Samantha is the only HR employee in the entire firm. Her life must be a fucking nightmare these days.

  She’s been here forever, though, and with her experience, I’m sure she’ll land a job somewhere else. Maybe somewhere better, probably somewhere friendlier.

  The door to the boardroom is open, and there�
��s a janitor vacuuming the floor. The sound of the vacuum grows louder as I pass the door, drowning out the other usual office noises.

  Walking past Barrister’s office, the sound of hearty laughter undercuts the roar of the vacuum. Barrister’s door is partway open. I don’t look in, but I can’t avoid the sound of Barrister and a few other executives laughing much too hard for a Monday morning.

  Even for a weekday, the office is fucking loud this morning. My closed office door never looked so appealing.

  Once I’m finally safe in my office—my second home—the old, thick walls of this building will filter out most of this obnoxious racket. Wherever I end up, I’ll miss this place.

  They’ll probably end up converting this entire floor into condos, like the other upper floors of the building.

  And my office will be fucking gone.

  I turn the doorknob, ready to enjoy my workspace while it lasts.

  When are they moving again?

  “Why, good morning, Ethan!”

  “What the fuck?”

  My greetings are usually more cordial than that, but it’s not every morning I arrive to find one of my coworkers in my office, sitting in my chair, with her fucking bare fucking feet resting on my fucking desk.

  “Not a fan of Mondays, are we?”

  My face must the color of a fucking eggplant by now, but I respond with slow, careful words.

  “May I help you, Kallie?”

  “No.”

  “Could you help me, then?”

  Kallie shrugs.

  “Mmmaybe.”

  “Could you please take your feet off my desk?”

  Kallie shrugs again and slides her feet back under my desk.

  “Kallie,” I continue, feeling too fucking flummoxed to even be angry, “I don’t mean to be condescending, but you know that’s my desk, right? And this is my office...”

  “For now.” Kallie stands up and walks toward me around my desk. At least she’s slipped her feet back into her platform sandals.

  “Kallie, I don’t want to play games. I’m here to work. What the fuck is going on?”

  Kallie ignores me and stays on her path, getting closer to me. She’s wearing a blue sundress, which is a little less unusual for the office than what she had on last time.

  “What I see today proves it,” Kallie says after stopping about a foot away from me. “You have the best wardrobe of anyone in the office.”