“That doesn’t mean I think you should want what she has.”
“She’s achieved a huge amount,” she said. “And that comes with trade-offs.”
“There’s more to life than achievement,” he said. “You have to learn to enjoy things that aren’t measurable.”
She looked down at her salad. “How did you know what you wanted?” she asked.
“I didn’t,” he said. “But I knew I wanted to have an interesting life, and that sitting behind a desk a hundred hours a week like you do was never going to be interesting.”
“That’s not fair,” she said defensively. “It’s interesting learning about deals, and it’s exciting to be a part of them.”
“And I knew that if I took a high-paying corporate job, I’d be susceptible to convincing myself that it was interesting and never make time to think about what I actually wanted.”
“But it is—”
“Interesting to some people,” Callum agreed, “but not most of them, and certainly not you.” He held out his fork with a bit of fried zucchini on the end. “Want some?”
She held up a hand to decline.
“Come on,” he said, “quit being afraid.”
She leaned forward, took the bite off the fork, and let it melt on her tongue.
“There we go.” He smiled. “Small steps.”
The waiter brought their entrées and refilled Tara’s wine.
“The real thing to understand about your generation,” Callum started in again, “is that the financial crisis is the greatest thing to ever happen to you.”
“What?” she scoffed. “My bonus has hardly beaten inflation in the past four years, and taxes are going up.”
“Exactly the point,” he said. “The economic situation is so dire that it’s pointless to do a job for the money anymore. And if you’re not doing a job for the money, you’re forced to ask yourself what you are doing it for. And, unlike your bosses, you’re at an age when you can actually make a change.”
“Are you telling me I should quit my job?” she finally asked.
“No,” he said. “I’m telling you to be really sure it’s what makes you happy, and if you determine the answer is no, you should quit and figure out what does.”
“That’s easy for you to say when you have a billion-dollar bank account.”
“What is it with you and the money?” he said, exasperated. “I’m not saying it’s easy, and I’m not saying there aren’t a lot of things to work out, but you’re never going to have fewer excuses. And it’s frustrating, at my age, to see a lot of smart people sitting in their stuffy jobs, miserable, when there are so many problems in the world they have the brains and energy and access to solve and that would make them happier, if they’d just stop being so afraid of messing up their résumés.”
He stopped to take a breath, then laughed lightly. “How’s that for a soapbox?”
“Pretty good.” She smiled.
He leaned forward so that his face was six inches from her own. She could smell his aftershave and see his laugh lines.
“Did it feel good?” he asked. “To say what you believed?”
“In the moment,” she said.
“Listen to that,” he said.
“What if it gets me fired?”
“Then you’ll know you weren’t in the right position.”
“Why do you care so much about me?”
His hazel eyes searched hers, and their gazes darted back and forth together. He smiled, then pushed back in his seat and lifted his glass.
“I think you’re interesting,” he said, sipping his wine, then added, “and I’d like to sleep with you.”
She laughed and bit her lip, not offended.
The alarm on her phone rang to remind her about her flight. “I have to go to the airport.” She turned off the ringer and reached for her wallet.
He grimaced at her gesture. “I’m a billionaire.”
“Right,” she conceded, excusing herself to the restroom.
When she returned, Callum was on the street by a black car. “I ordered you an Uber,” he said, opening the door. “But I’m taking this.” He held up the Self magazine she’d had tucked in the pocket of her carry-on to read on the plane.
“You’re taking my ten tips to a flatter stomach?”
“You don’t need it,” he said. “You’re good enough.”
“But—”
“And I know that makes you feel like I’m telling you you’re not going to make it, but you are,” he said.
She stood still, not sure what to say, but feeling like she’d like to kiss him.
“Go.” He patted her hip to get moving. “You’re going to be late.”
“Will I—” she said. “I mean, do you—”
“Want to see you again? Yes,” he said. “I’m visiting my niece in New York this weekend. Think you could escape for dinner Saturday?”
“Yes,” she said, a bit too quickly. “I mean, Saturday should work.”
“It’s a date,” he said.
“Great.” She smiled. “It’s a date.”
She let her head fall back on the seat, watching the streetlights rush by and feeling her heartbeat light in her chest. What are you doing? she asked herself. She could feel her mind spinning but didn’t want to stop it, just wanted to sit and spin.
Her head rolled back on the headrest and she noticed a box on the other seat, with a note on top.
I ordered you the berries, but threw in everything else on the menu in case you were tempted to try. CR.
She opened the box: there were six desserts carefully arranged. She dipped her finger into a caramel pudding and licked it off with her finger, laughing lightly at herself when a piece fell on her skirt.
NICK
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 16; SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
“You have to erase the databases, immediately,” Phil Dalton said, making an effort to keep his voice calm. “All three of them.”
“What are you offering?” Josh Hart asked from across the table.
“This isn’t a game, Josh!” Phil slammed his hand on the table angrily.
Nick’s chest was tight, his eyes glancing from venture capitalist to CEO. They were in the fishbowl. The shades were drawn, but the dampness from the bay outside was seeping through the windows, making the room cold. Rachel Liu was next to him, tapping her pen lightly.
“What three databases?” Nick asked his mentor. “There are only two, and we—”
“There is information in there that will ruin people’s lives, Josh.” Phil tried to keep his voice steady, ignoring Nick.
“There is information that would ruin your life, Phil,” Josh corrected, “but maybe you should have thought of that before you started using the app.”
“What are you—” Nick started. Phil was married, with three daughters. Why would he ever use Hook?
“What do you want, Josh?” Rachel intervened.
“Buy me out,” Josh said calmly, looking at Phil.
“Your shares are worth a billion dollars.”
“Good thing you run a five-billion-dollar fund.”
Phil rubbed his eyes. Was he actually considering this? “Even if I did, the road show starts next week. We’d have to disclose that, and then”—he shook his head—“it wouldn’t work.”
“You could fire him.” Rachel turned to Phil.
“You can’t fire the CEO right before an IPO,” Nick jumped in. Who did she think she was?
But Rachel didn’t turn, she kept her eyes on Phil. “Investors don’t like him, anyway. We can say the syndicate meeting today made it clear he was no longer the person to be in charge, that the company has outgrown him. We pay him out and then resell those shares in a secondary offering.”
Phil looked from Rachel to Josh, who sat back in his chair, waiting.
“Does that work for you?” Phil finally asked Josh.
Josh shrugged. “Fine by me.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Nick’s mouth was hanging open. “What the hell are we talking about here? You’re going to fire Josh and pay him a billion dollars all because of some stupid database?” Nick stood up. “I’m going to call the rest of the board and—”
“Sit down, Nick,” Phil commanded. “What’s your problem?”
“Well . . .” Nick shook his head in disbelief. He’d just taken out a loan for two million dollars: nothing could jeopardize this IPO. “For one thing, who’s going to be CEO? I mean, I’m going to have to work with someone entirely new, and—”
“You, Nick,” Phil said, with exasperated patience. “You’ll be CEO.”
TODD
FRIDAY, APRIL 18; NEW YORK, NEW YORK
“Where have you been?” Todd snapped at Neha.
“I came straight from the airport,” she tried to apologize. “I took the red-eye back—”
“Why weren’t you answering your e-mail?” Todd was furious. “Do you seriously expect to get a promotion when you don’t answer your fucking BlackBerry?”
The girl looked at the device in her hand, showing him the screen. “Nothing came through, Todd. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.” She started to panic, letting her suitcase drop. “I’ll call Tech right away.”
“Don’t,” Todd snapped. “Get in the room. We have to redo everything.”
“What? Why?”
“Josh Hart was fired.”
“Is Beau here yet?”
“No, Neha!” Todd shouted. “Please just get to work.”
This was not good. Not good at all. It was seven forty-five a.m. and Todd had been up since five fifteen. He’d gotten back to New York yesterday morning, feeling great about the syndicate meeting and their momentum heading into the road show.
And then he’d woken up this morning to a call from Tara. He’d ignored it, but picked up when she called again, his still-half-asleep brain imagining that she was booty-calling. But instead she’d asked him if he’d read the e-mail from Nick.
The little punk hadn’t even had the balls to call: he’d sent a fucking e-mail at fucking two a.m. our time announcing that he was the new CEO of Hook and “could L.Cecil kindly work with Crowley Brown to revise the necessary documents.”
What a fucking prick. Nick knew this fucked up everything. Not only would it be a PR nightmare, it meant they had to redo all the filings, all the marketing materials, all of—“Dammit!” Todd slammed his fist on the table.
“It’s okay,” Tara said seriously from the seat across from him. “We’ll work it out.”
She was typing away, calm and steady.
“I just don’t understand—”
“Don’t waste your energy trying,” Tara said. “It is what it is.”
“Why were you up at five a.m. anyway?”
“I run in the mornings,” she said without looking up.
“At five a.m.?”
“Yes,” she said as she typed, as if that weren’t insane.
“Fuck. Every day?”
“Sundays I do yoga.”
“Jesus. Why?”
“I can’t think clearly otherwise,” she said, then looked up and admitted, “and I don’t want to get fat.”
Neha came into the room with her laptop and printouts of all the documents that needed to be redone. “Hi, Tara,” she said.
Todd looked at her: since when did she say hello to Tara?
“Hey, Neha.” Tara smiled.
“Is Beau coming in?” Neha asked.
“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Todd said. Who cared about Beau? He was worthless for anything other than being a wingman anyway.
“What happened with Josh?” Neha directed the question to Tara.
What was going on? Todd looked at the girl: she was his analyst.
“It’s not important, Neha,” Todd said sternly. “We just need you to redo the filings, with Nick Winthrop as CEO and all of Josh Hart’s holdings going to Dalton Henley, to be included in the initial offering.”
“According to Nick,” Tara said, ignoring Todd, “Phil Dalton decided Josh wasn’t the right person to lead the company forward, and fired him. But Dalton Henley also bought all of his shares, which makes me think it was actually Josh’s idea.”
“Why? Why would Josh leave when the company’s just about to go public?” Neha’s brow was furrowed.
“It doesn’t matter!” Todd yelled. “Can you please just get to work?”
The two girls finally acknowledged Todd and went back to their computers.
Jesus Christ, Todd thought. Was everyone going mad?
Todd’s phone rang. “Hello?” he answered, exasperated.
“What’s going on, Mr. Kent?” Harvey Tate’s voice was irritated.
“Harvey!” Todd clenched his jaw. This was not what he needed. “Good morning, how are you?”
“Concerned. I heard there have been some changes at Hook.”
“Yes,” Todd said. How did Harvey Tate know? “But we’ve got it under control. I think it will be better, actually. Josh was a loose cannon. I think we can convince investors to see the change as a good stabilizer to take Hook to the next level.”
“How long is it going to take to amend everything?”
“I don’t know,” Todd said.
“I don’t pay you not to know.” Harvey’s voice was shifting to anger.
“Sunday,” Todd said, confident. “That’s my goal. But you know we have to submit everything to the SEC again, and that could take weeks.”
“That can’t happen,” Harvey said. “We need this deal in May.”
“I can’t control the SEC, Harvey.”
“Careful of your tone, Mr. Kent,” Harvey said, and Todd felt his stomach churn. “We need to report this deal in our second-quarter earnings. If you can’t figure out how to make that happen, I’ll find someone who can. Don’t think Phil Dalton is the only one with the authority to make personnel changes.”
“I’ll talk to Crowley Brown and see what we can do,” Todd said. “I’ve got a call scheduled with them at eight.”
“You better go, then,” Harvey said. Todd looked at his computer: it was 8:02. Fuck.
He hung up the phone and dialed Chris Papadopoulos.
“Sorry I’m late,” he told the lawyer. Harvey’s threat repeated in his ear: he couldn’t take him off the deal, could he?
“You’re fine,” the lawyer said. He sounded like he’d been up all night. “So this is going to put us back at least a month.”
“Not possible,” Todd said. “The deal has to be finished in Q2.”
“It’s not me, Todd, it’s the SEC.”
“You got the first pass filed quickly,” Todd insisted, his heart starting to race as reality set in: Harvey could replace him. Larry would revel in the opportunity to take this over, and with Josh gone, there was no one at Hook interested in protecting Todd. “Surely there’s someone over there you know,” he half pleaded.
“Are you asking me to bribe someone at the SEC?”
“No,” Todd lied, a second reality—that Chris wasn’t going to budge—settling in. But desperation breeds ideas, and Todd suddenly had a thought. “Chris, I gotta go. Neha’s working on the updates. Let’s talk again end of day.”
He hung up and checked his contact folder, his brain moving fast now. He’d slept with a girl at the SEC a few times: what was her name? Joan! Joan Hillier.
He scrambled to dial her number, collecting his breath as the phone rang.
“This is Joan.”
“Joan! It’s Todd Kent.”
There was a pause.
“Joan?” he asked. “I’m sorry, maybe you don’t remember me. We—”
“I remember you,” she said. “What do you want?”
“Well”—his brain raced—“I know it’s been a while, but I wanted to see if I could take you to dinner. I was going through such a shitty time when we met before, and I’m in a better place now, and I think it would be great to get reacquainted.” He bit his lip, eyes tightly shut as he waited for her answer.
“What do you really want?”
Todd opened his eyes and hesitated before conceding: “I’m working on a deal and I need”—he paused—“your advice. Because I remember you worked at the SEC at one point, and—”
“I still do,” she said. “Which I’m guessing you know since you called my office line.”
“I did?” he asked, trying to sound surprised. “I thought it was your cell!”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“Listen,” he tried again, letting a little desperation seep into his voice, “I’m leading a deal and some things just changed and we’re going to have to resubmit our filing and I need it to get through quickly.”
There was another pause.
“Where is dinner?” she finally said.
Yes. “Gramercy Tavern?” he suggested. “Eight o’clock?” He needed a restaurant where no one he knew would see him.
“I’ll see you then.”
“Thank you, Joan.” He punched his hand in the air. “I’ll—” But she’d already hung up.
“What are you doing?” Tara was staring at him suspiciously.
“Saving this deal.”
Tara sighed heavily, looking back at her computer. Was she upset that he was going out with another woman? He felt a wave of vindication, thinking about her drinks with Callum.
“What’s wrong?” He couldn’t help himself.
“It’s not important.”
“What?” he pressed. “Are you jealous?”
“My sister’s wedding is May tenth,” she said.
Todd scoffed, disappointed. “Guess you’re off the hook for finding a date.” The deal ought to have closed by then, but with the delay, they’d still be neck-deep in the road show that day. There was no way she’d be able to go.
“You’re a jerk,” she said, and actually seemed to mean it.
He let it go. He had more important things to worry about now.
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