Todd was working his ass off for this deal, and Callum was just using it as some platform to get laid. What a loser. Callum was a billionaire. If he was going to cheat on Louisa LeMay, he could at least be doing it with supermodels on a beach in Ibiza instead of following a girl like Tara across the Atlantic to an investor meeting. It made Todd angry: he would make so much better use of Callum’s wealth and status if he had the chance.
When he had the chance, Todd coached himself. The European road show had been a runaway success. They’d flown back from Geneva last night to begin the American tour, which meant they had one more week before Hook went public and Todd solidified his status as a Big Fucking Deal.
Antony van Leeuwen interrupted Todd’s drifting. Antony was a big-A Analyst, meaning he researched companies and issued opinions about whether or not investors should buy their stock. Unlike little-a analysts like Neha, who were entry-level data monkeys, big-A Analysts’ opinions mattered, especially if they had a reputation for being right, like Antony did.
“Nick, can we be serious for a second about the risks on this thing?” Antony’s brow was furrowed and his voice arrogant. Todd shifted in his chair.
“Sure,” Nick said, flipping through the PowerPoint projected on the screen. “As you’ll remember from slide seventeen, the greatest risks to our business are—”
“I’m not talking about the business risks, I’m talking about the security risks,” Antony said. “One thing I’ve never understood about these companies is why there’s not more discussion about the location tracking ability. Your servers must have an incredible amount of personal information—where people have been and with whom. What do you do with that data?”
“First of all, we track activity in an unidentifiable manner so that users can feel secure in their privacy. Even so, we erase all activity logs after collecting what analytics we deem necessary for the improvement of the app’s functionality and overall user experience.”
“It’s got to be tempting to keep it, though,” Antony said. “That information would be valuable to advertisers, vendors, the government, a lot of people with deep pockets. Your privacy policy is fairly ambiguous: How are users to feel confident that their actions remain unidentifiable? How do they know you won’t start selling that data, especially after this deal, when your still-unprofitable model is under the pressure of public earnings expectations?”
Todd’s jaw unhinged. What was Antony doing? Showing off?
“I’m perfectly capable of handling pressure without—” Nick started.
“Don’t be hypocritical, Antony,” Tara interrupted from where she sat next to Todd at the table. Her voice was disparaging. “You’re bullish on Facebook and they have exactly the same capacity. Every app does—Uber and Foursquare and Google Maps could all do the same thing, and that hasn’t kept users from downloading them or investors from buying their stock.”
“Do you not think it’s different for Hook, given the extremely personal nature of the information you have?”
“How many men do you know thinking about privacy policies when they’re trying to get laid?” Tara asked. The room smirked. “If anything, I think people are willing to risk far more in their pursuit of the opposite sex.”
Todd glanced at Callum, whose lips curled into a proud smile, but Tara’s eyes were serious and locked on Antony’s, putting him in his place.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” the Analyst said sternly, his nostrils flaring just slightly.
Nick fielded a few more questions before the men in the room started to clear back to their offices. They had a three-hour break before a cocktail reception and another dinner meeting with more of New York’s top investors. From there, it was back to the office to catch up on e-mails and make updates to the model before tomorrow’s flight to Boston, followed by more of the same in Philadelphia, Chicago, San Francisco and Palo Alto.
“You ready to go?” Tara said, picking up her things.
“You’re not going to flirt with your boyfriend?” Todd mocked.
“No,” she said, and walked to the door.
Todd glanced over at Callum, in conversation with another investor, then back at Tara, but she was already gone.
“He told you?” he asked as they stepped onto the elevator, suddenly realizing she might know about Louisa.
“What?” She looked at him and shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
They rode the elevator in silence.
“Why didn’t we ever date?” he asked, not sure why.
“What?” She looked up.
The surprise on her face made him recognize his own, and he felt his cheeks burn. “I really liked you,” he said, adding quickly, “back in college, I mean.”
“That was a long time ago,” she said. “And it never would have worked.”
Todd felt his spine straighten defensively. “It could have.”
“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes as the elevator doors opened.
“I mean it,” he said, walking quickly to keep up with her pace as they pushed outside to Fifth Avenue. “I would have been a great boyfriend.”
“In what sense?” She laughed.
“Tara!” Callum’s voice interrupted. “Tara, wait.”
She kept walking. Callum followed quickly and grabbed her arm.
“What?” she snapped, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Can we please talk?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Oh, I very much disagree with that,” his British voice demanded. Todd saw a cab pull up to let a passenger off and lifted his hand to hail it.
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a little busy,” she said.
“Tara, you ready?” Todd interrupted, holding the cab door open for her.
“I flew all the way here. Can we just talk?”
“Tara?” Todd asked, ignoring Callum. What a prick.
Tara kept her attention on the older man, looking at him with a mix of anger and affection.
“Tara?” Todd repeated.
“I’ll meet you at the office,” she said, finally acknowledging him.
“But we’ve got—”
“I’ll meet you at the office,” she repeated firmly.
Todd’s jaw opened to protest, but he scoffed instead, ducking into the cab. “Whatever.”
—
HE GOT BACK to L.Cecil, but he couldn’t concentrate. “Fuck it,” he finally said to his Excel spreadsheet.
Ten minutes later Todd opened the doors at Equinox, but for once he didn’t look at the people watching him go up the stairs.
“I thought you’d found someone new,” Morgan said, greeting him at the reception desk. She sighed when Todd didn’t respond to the joke. “What’s wrong?”
“What?” he asked. “Oh, nothing. Are you free?”
She checked her watch. “I’ve got an hour.”
“Me too,” he said, heading to the locker room to change.
She put him on the treadmill and he ran hard, the sweat coming quickly to his brow.
He attacked the bench, pressing twenty pounds more than usual as if it was nothing, grunting with each press as Morgan encouraged him.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Morgan finally asked.
“About what?”
“Whatever’s bothering you.”
“Why do you think something’s bothering me?”
“You’re not counting how many girls are checking you out.”
Todd held the bar up and grimaced. “I don’t do that.” Had she really noticed him doing that before?
“Right,” she said. “Just like nothing’s bothering you.”
“Why are you a lesbian?” He wasn’t sure why he asked.
“Because I love my girlfriend.”
“Do you serious
ly not like men at all?”
“No, I like men a lot. I’m bisexual.”
“Why a girlfriend then? If you’re attracted to both, wouldn’t it make life easier to be with a guy?”
“Societally easier, sure,” she said. “But easier to live with?” She shook her head. “I couldn’t find any guys who had what I needed.”
“Which was?”
“I guess I wanted someone to take care of me,” she said carefully.
“You’re hot. You could find a man to take care of you.”
“I don’t mean money,” she said. “I mean emotionally. I wanted to feel emotionally secure, and I never found that with a guy in New York.”
“Did you date a lot?”
“Yeah,” she said. “And everything always came back to sex, back to status, back to work. And all of it had to do with this constant wondering whether there was something better,” she said, “which I get—I was there for a while, too—but there comes a point where you just want”—she looked for the word—“a real partner.”
Todd followed her to the mat and sat, seriously considering it. Morgan picked up a medicine ball and tossed it to Todd, who crunched up to catch it.
“I could be a good partner,” he said, crunching back, then forward, and throwing the ball to her. He took care of all the women he slept with; he didn’t lie to them, or pretend he was something he wasn’t. He was always honest, and bought their drinks, and made sure they got home the next day. Except the ones he met drunk in bars, but that was different.
Morgan laughed, throwing the ball back to him.
“What?” He caught the ball. Why were she and Tara so dismissive of him?
“You’d make it about a week,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know guys like you.”
“And what are guys like me like?”
“You’re obsessed with one muscle group,” she said. “You’re like the guy at the gym who falls in love with his abs so he just does crunches until he gets a six-pack.”
“Thank you.” Todd stopped mid-crunch, grinning at the compliment as he tossed her back the ball.
“Except that it’s the only muscle group you ever work.” She threw the ball back toward him. “You let every other muscle get weak, and one day you realize your shoelaces are untied, but you don’t have the necessary muscles to bend over and tie them because all you’ve ever done is work your abs. And then you trip and get hurt and think it’s because you shouldn’t have bent over, when really it’s just that you need to stop spending all your time on crunches and stretch a little.”
Todd looked at her, studying her face.
“Sorry,” she said, “long analogy.”
“But what you’re trying to say is that I’m too obsessed with my job. That I just work all the time and miss relationships.”
“No,” she said. “You’re obsessed with your sexual dominance.”
“Go on,” he said proudly.
“You’re obsessed with your own ability to attract and have sex with women,” she said. “So it’s all you do, just play that game, working that muscle over and over and over again without ever developing any of the strengths or flexibility it takes to be a good partner. They’re different sports.”
“That’s just biology,” Todd said. “Humans are sexual creatures. I can’t help how I’m wired.”
“Then you’re not evolved enough for a relationship,” she said firmly.
He shrugged. “Does it matter? If I’m not evolved to do it, maybe I’m not evolved to need it. I can just be happy doing my crunches.” He threw the ball back at her.
“Nah, at some point your muscles will become so desensitized you won’t get any satisfaction out of crunching,” she said.
“You’re going to have to put that one in English.”
“You won’t be able to climax,” she said casually. “No sex will be gratifying.”
“What?” Todd caught the ball, his face flushed.
“First you’ll think it’s because you get bored with the same woman, so you’ll only sleep with each one once.” She caught the ball and returned it. “Then you’ll start thinking about porn during sex so you can come”—throw-catch-crunch—“then you’ll try threesomes, and then anal sex, and then it’ll all stop working and you’ll be lying on the mat, watching everyone else working out and you’ll think maybe you should do what they’re doing, but you won’t know how. And then you’ll either swallow your pride and start building your other muscles, or you’ll just get really bitter.” She shrugged. “Whatever girl is rejecting you is grown up enough to recognize that: she either doesn’t think you have the stamina it takes to develop those new muscles, or doesn’t have the patience to watch you try.” She threw the ball and he caught it without throwing it back.
He could feel his abs burning as he gripped the medicine ball in his hands. “I didn’t say anything about a girl.”
“But clearly there is one.”
He inhaled sharply. He didn’t give a shit about Tara.
They finished the workout in silence and Todd went to the locker room to shower. Morgan was waiting when he came back out in his suit and tie.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I got carried away.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You’re just wrong.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I mean, I don’t know you at all. It wasn’t fair for me to assume just because . . .” She paused. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” he said without smiling. He handed her a check for two hundred dollars and walked out the door. He didn’t give a shit about her, either.
TARA
FRIDAY, MAY 9; NEW YORK, NEW YORK
“I really don’t have time for this,” Tara said.
“Your next meeting isn’t until six,” Callum reminded her.
He leaned in as he said it, putting a hand on her arm.
“Then I don’t have the energy,” she said, moving away from his touch. “I’m exhausted.” She hadn’t slept more than three hours in the past four days, hadn’t had a full eight since before the deal began. She’d been holding it together just fine until London, but now their night together was dragging her down, like someone had given her a hundred-pound weight to carry on the last mile of a marathon.
“My hotel is right here,” he said, pointing to the Peninsula behind them.
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” she said quickly.
“I don’t want to sleep with you, either,” he rebuffed. “I want you to take my key and have a nap.”
“Why?”
“Because you said you’re exhausted.”
She hesitated, considering.
“Fine,” she said. He was right: a nap would do more for her now than anything else, and a plush bed at the Peninsula was a better option than a cot in a closet at L.Cecil.
But when he followed her into the bedroom of the hotel suite her anxiety returned. “What are you doing?”
“Getting you a T-shirt,” he said, pulling one from the closet and handing it to her. “Calm down.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking it from him.
“What time do you want me to wake you?”
“I’ll set my phone alarm.”
“Okay. Sleep well,” he said, shutting the door.
Tara blinked at the closed door, willing her heart to stop beating so quickly. “Chill out,” she whispered to herself. She’d spent the past two days trying to block out what he’d said about her path: he was wrong, of course. She was in control, and was headed exactly where she wanted to be. The life she had now might not be perfect, but at least she was in charge of it.
She undressed and hung her suit in the closet. She felt the pleasure of the sheets, cool and crisp against her skin, before she dropped into a deep sleep.
Abigail pointed to a picture of Bride Barbie, whose dress she’d colored a light pink. “That’s Lisbeth,” Abigail said, and Tara agreed, remembering her sister’s wedding the next day and ignoring the fact she was missing it. She nodded at Abigail and stroked her baby soft hair, running her finger along the barrette she’d affixed on the side.
“That’s me,” Abigail said, pointing to Soccer Team Barbie, and Tara nodded, remembering Abby running around the house in the soccer jersey she insisted on wearing every day the summer before she died.
Tara looked at the opposite page in the coloring book and pointed to Business Executive Barbie. “And that’s me,” she told Abigail.
But Abigail shook her head and flipped through the pages looking for another picture. Tara patiently took the girl’s small hand in her own and directed her back to the picture, but Abigail got angry, shaking her head and turning the pages faster. “Stop,” Tara said softly, but the girl kept flipping the pages, faster and faster so that they started to rip. “Stop it,” Tara said more firmly, feeling herself get angry. But Abigail refused to stop. Tara took hold of her wrists, and held them tight to make her still. But then Tara kept squeezing, squeezing and squeezing until she felt the girl’s tiny bones break in her palms.
“Tara?”
She jolted awake, blinking fast. “Wha—” she started, remembering that she was in the Peninsula hotel, taking a nap between meetings, and the man shaking her awake was Callum, whose room this was, whose T-shirt she was wearing.
“It’s almost six,” he said. “I thought I should wake you.”
“Oh,” she said, pushing herself up, and registering what had happened. “I forgot to set my alarm.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah”—she could feel her heart pounding—“I just had a bad dream.”
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