by Isabel Jolie
I step back into his office to grab my stuff. “It was probably someone who wanted to see you, and here I am, taking up all your office time.”
“She wasn’t my student. She was looking at you, so I assumed she was your friend.” His disinterest is apparent as he taps away on his laptop.
I gather my notes and put things into my backpack. “I don’t have any friends here.” I’m not looking for sympathy, simply stating a fact. I show up to class, have a few projects, but I spend most of my extra time at my internship or with the friends I had before coming to business school. It’s got to be one of the disadvantages of going to business school in your hometown. I haven’t felt a drive to meet new people. I struggle to find the time to spend with the friends I do have.
The professor rubs his forehead, but as I prepare to leave, I notice he’s studying me, for once observing me instead of his laptop. I pause and return his gaze, prompting him to speak. In a reprimanding tone, he asks, “What do you mean? Business school is for networking. You should be making friends.”
I’m putting in about thirty hours a week at my internship while in full-time business school, so at first, I feel defensive. But then his words sink in. He cares. And he’s not wrong. All I have to show for eighteen months abroad is two new non-work contacts, and I haven’t reached out to either of them since my return to the States. “You’re right. I should do a better job of meeting other students.”
He nods and turns to his computer, seemingly satisfied with my answer. I heave my backpack over my shoulder and head toward the hall, silently beating myself up for being antisocial. My mom’s nagging from my teenage years sounds in my head. Why don’t you have any friends? You’re always home. Never mind that I was home studying and most parents would have been proud. Of course, she didn’t care about my grades. If she was home, she wanted me out of the house.
I round the corner into the hall, lost in the past, when I slam into a student about my height with straight black hair. I blurt, “Ow! Fuck!” She stumbles back, shell-shocked from a hit to her side out of nowhere. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking.”
She repositions her backpack and mumbles, “No problem. You scared me. That’s all.”
We stand staring at each other. She’s not hurt, so I give her an apologetic smile and turn down the hall, running through my mental to-do list for the rest of the day.
She calls after me, “Do I know you? You look familiar.”
I pause. I’ve never seen the girl before in my life, and I have a lot to do. But I remember Longevite’s comment. I exhale and turn to face her.
I smile to hide a little of my annoyance at being stopped on my way to my destination. “No, I don’t think so. I’m Olivia.” She’s attractive. Around my age, with stick straight bangs across her eyebrows. I’ve always wanted bangs like that but have too much body in my hair for them to lie straight without effort.
“Lindsey.” She smiles a full smile as we shake hands, revealing brilliant, straight, white teeth. As she pulls her arm back, she points at me and says, “No, I know I’ve seen you before.”
I shift my backpack strap on my shoulder. “Maybe around campus?”
“I doubt it. I’m in J-school. I’m here auditing a business class.” She has her head cocked, and her eyes squint like she’s thinking. She snaps her fingers. “I know! Manhattanville Coffee.”
Given I basically live there, that’s reasonable. I don’t remember seeing her, but that doesn’t mean anything. I have a tendency to live with blinders on. “Yeah, I’m there a lot. Headed there now, actually, to get some work done before heading home. Want to come with?”
She brightens and joins me. It turns out we both love Paige, the blue-haired barista. We both lived in Manhattan before attending Columbia so haven’t met a ton of students here. She’s getting her master’s in journalism because she thinks it will help her get a better position at a magazine. I think that’s a little crazy to spend so much money on a graduate degree to enter a field that doesn’t pay well. But I keep that thought to myself given she’s already in the program and not asking my opinion.
After we both get our coffees, I turn and settle at my table. Corporate finance homework first. Then my analysis for Jackson.
I look up and see Lindsey standing by my table, shifting from foot to foot. Crap. This is why I don’t make new friends. Where are my social graces? “Hey, it was nice to meet you. Thanks for walking with me over here. It’s nice to get to know another student.”
“Yeah. Definitely. You look like you have lots to do, so I’m gonna get out of here.” She turns to head out the door, then spins on her Doc Martens. She hesitates, and out of habit, I smile to make her feel more comfortable. She holds out her phone. “Do you want to exchange contact info? I don’t want to be weird, but it’d be cool to plan to meet up sometime.”
The New Yorker in me says no. I don’t see a need to exchange contact info. But Longevite’s face flashes before me and I say, “Sure.” As we swap phones and enter our information, I push it a step further. “Ahm, I don’t know if you have plans for Halloween, but I’m going out with some friends if you want to meet up with us.”
Take that, Longevite. I’m a working, full-time MBA student, and I’m making friends.
Chapter 10
Sam
Ollie, one of my two younger brothers, and the only one of us who still lives at home, greets me in the foyer of our parents’ home with a quick hug, slap on the back, and says, “Look what the cat drug in!” He’s dusty and sweaty and looks like he’s spent the whole day outside on the ranch.
“Hey, man, good to see you.”
“You planning to go to Clifford’s Halloween bash?”
I walk past him into the kitchen and pull out two cold bottles of water and pass him one. “Nah. I was in San Fran this past week, so figured I’d stop in to visit with Mom and Dad. It’s starting to get cold up north. Came down for some heat.” It’s been years since I gave a damn about Halloween. Of course, if I was in New York, I could have taken Olivia out.
“If you don’t go out tonight, do you know how many hearts you’re gonna break?” Ollie tips the water bottle back and gulps over half of it down then wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.
My little brother. Such a ranch hand. I’m glad he’s doing what he loves, and Mom and Dad couldn’t be happier that at least one of their sons stayed home. Ian, my youngest brother, lives in Houston, which is still in Texas, but Texas is one big damn state.
Ollie loves going out to the area bars. I hate it. Here, everyone knows me. Even married women swarm around me. I’ve had married women back me in a corner and grab my crotch. What they really want to grab is my bank account.
I head outside onto my parents’ covered porch and plop down on the sofa. “You are lookin’ at what I’m plannin’ on doing tonight. It’s been a bitch of a week. And I bet Mom’s invited thirty people to the barbecue tomorrow.”
“You know it. I don’t think she invited Sandra, though.”
“Where the hell did that come from? That’s so leftfield.”
“You know Patty.” He grins. “She wants to bring her boys home.”
“Yeah, well, Sandra and I were over in college.” Years of long-distance relationship. Should have ended it in high school; just didn’t have the balls.
He bites his lip and squints. “It’s not quite as leftfield as you think. She comes by at least once a week and brings cookies or cakes. At first, I thought she was trying to hit on yours truly, but all she’d ever talk about is you. Didn’t take me long to see she’s casting her line way out, like out to NYC.”
“And if she’d been casting her line closer to home, would you’ve bitten?” I ask, a little leery of his answer. I guess it would be fine with me if they dated, but I’m not so sure I want my high school girlfriend to end up as my sister-in-law. She and I have done things, a lot of things. Things one shouldn’t do with their sister-in-law.
Ollie looks at me like he can read my m
ind. “Nah, man. She was yours. No need to swap horses.”
“Gotcha.” A rare breeze whips across the porch, and I rest my head on the back of the sofa and close my eyes to enjoy it.
Ollie continues. “Tomorrow night, I’ll introduce you to someone I am seeing, though.”
I lift my head. “Seeing? As in more than once?” Ollie’s been a player for as long as I can remember. He’s probably run through every girl in Austin twice. Conventions have been his thing for the past few years because they bring in new blood outside of our high school circle of friends.
“Yep. Well, we’ll see. I invited her to our family barbecue. So, there’s that.” He downs his water and leans forward to place his empty plastic bottle on the coffee table between us. “What about you? Any dates with hotties? I won’t tell Patty.” He gives me his trademark shit-eating grin. He loves to call our mom by her name. At least when she’s not around. Wouldn’t put it past her to go out in the yard and break off a limb to use as a switch on his ass if he pulled that in front of her.
I stare out into the back yard. Pasture and blue skies sprinkled with white clouds. Olivia’s face comes to mind, with her dark, wavy hair, light olive skin, and stunning blue eyes. Darker than the sky overhead. “Yeah, I’m seeing someone.”
Shock ripples across Ollie’s face. “No shit! Hell has frozen over.”
“Don’t go gettin’ crazy. We’ve been out on one date. But I’m flying back early Sunday so I can see her again.” Hell, I should fly back tomorrow to get out of this barbecue. As if at this point that’s an option. I run a company with over fifteen hundred employees, yet I still fear my mother’s wrath.
Ollie gets up and grabs two beers out of the outdoor fridge. He hands me one, and we clink the tops before taking a sip. “Well, here’s to your second date. I guess you’ve already done a background check and all that, huh?”
“Well, I mean,” and here I can’t stop a huge grin from breaking out, “she was my intern.”
“You son of a bitch!” Ollie pounds his boot on the wooden deck. He looks like I announced I’m tapping an eighteen-year-old cheerleader.
I laugh out loud. “She was my intern,” I say, placing emphasis on was. “She quit before she started.”
“Damn! That would have been so hot if you were banging your intern.”
“Yep. But she’s twenty-eight. Don’t let the word intern get you too hot and bothered.”
“Why’d she quit? You come on too strong?”
“Better offer.” I shrug and take a swallow of the ice-cold beer.
Ollie gets serious. “Man, if she’s willing to walk away from you, that’s a good sign.”
“How do you figure?”
“It means it’s less likely she’s just after your money. If she was after you, she’d be aiming to spend every minute with you.”
“Fuck you.” It’s all in jest, but his comment hits hard. My family is always worried someone is just after my money. I know they mean well, but they’ve been getting in my head. Just like Withers.
That’s something that makes me envy Ollie. He’ll inherit quite a bit from our parents, but most women see a ranch hand when they look at him. When he’s with someone, he can be pretty certain it’s because they like what they see, they like spending time with him. Not his bank account. He’ll never need to look over his shoulder, question people’s motives, or risk becoming a paranoid pansy.
Ollie keeps digging the hole. “As long as you wrap it up, you’ll be fine. You wrap it up, she can’t trap you.”
I take a small square pillow from the sofa I’m sitting on and throw it at him. Bastard.
He laughs then takes a swallow from his beer. Leaning forward, elbows resting on his legs, he smirks. “Any woman who gets knocked up by you is coming after you with a horde of lawyers.”
“As she should. If she’s pregnant with my child and I’m not providing for it, I hope she does come after me. I’d be a shit human being if I didn’t take care of my own children. The woman you’re referencing by beating around the bush was a scam artist, and she was not the mother of my baby.” I did hook up with the snake, though. But I also knew I had used a condom. And I always check my condoms before I toss them in the trash. Although my lawyer, through all of that bull, scared me into celibacy telling me stories of women who will retrieve used condoms to try to get themselves pregnant. I still don’t get how that works, but I suppose it’s conceivable.
Ollie kicks my leg to get my attention. “I’m fully aware she was a scam artist. But now that you’ve made the Fortune wealthiest list, or whatever magazine publishes that obnoxious list, you just gotta be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”
He chuckles then treats his longneck beer bottle like a microphone and starts singing about guitars and women. I grab my beer and stomp off toward the barn as he continues with his favorite Waylon Jennings song.
He shoots me with his finger and calls, “Be careful of those firm-feeling women, big bro!”
As I make my way through the back pasture, I pull out my phone to text Olivia, careful to keep an eye out for any manure piles lurking in the grass. Some habits die hard for good reasons.
Chapter 11
Olivia
I open the door, and Delilah screeches, “I love it!”
On reflex, I pull my blaring friend into my apartment and shut the door. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater but has a large duffle bag slung over one shoulder. I’m in full-on Wonder Woman gear, sans make-up. My gold knee-high platform boots double as relatively comfortable shoes for a Halloween night and push me to nearly six feet in height.
Delilah spins me around. “Baby, we are so hitting the singles parties tonight!” She heads into my bedroom then twirls around. She’s bouncing with energy. “Fix us some cocktails to drink while we get ready. I’m gonna get changed, and then we’ll do each other’s make-up.”
The door closes behind her, and I go into the kitchen to see what kind of cocktail I can create. I shout so she can hear me from my bedroom, “Hey, what party are you planning on us going to? Anna said she and Jackson aren’t going because you want to hit the singles scene?”
The door pops back open, and Delilah stands in her bra and panties in defensive mode. “They wanted to go to Chelsea. Every freaking place they want to go is in Chelsea.”
“What’s wrong with Chelsea?” I ask while pulling out the vodka from my freezer.
“Nothing’s wrong with Chelsea. I live in fucking Chelsea. But get out of your bloody neighborhood once in a while. Come on now. Am I right?”
Delilah is in rare form tonight. Normally, I’m the one who’s cussing like a sailor. “Have you been drinking?”
She twists her head and turns back to get dressed but doesn’t close the door. “One cocktail while I was packing.”
It’s gonna be one of those nights. Halloween in the city. And it’s a Friday night. It’s gonna be a good one. The yellow refrigerator light reveals slim offerings. “How’s vodka and lemonade? Or would you prefer vodka and OJ?”
“Vodka and lemonade works.” Delilah walks into the den in a stunning Daenerys costume. The detail and quality material make me think it had to have cost hundreds of dollars.
“Wow. Gorgeous. It looks exactly like what she wore.” She’s wearing the infamous white dress Daenerys wore in Game of Thrones. She’s holding the white wig with perfect braids. She gingerly sets the wig on my coffee table and pulls a stocking over her head to prep for the wig. I’m in awe of her costume.
My costume came from Halloween Spirit, and at the time, I thought I was splurging when I spent almost eighty dollars on it. I’ve had it since undergrad, and it has served me well. I love it because I don’t have to deal with a wig, since my hair is close enough to Wonder Woman’s.
I place a drink near Delilah while she struggles with her stray hair. I take a big swallow of my drink. The cold concoction quenches my dry, scratchy throat. “Where in Chelsea did Anna want to go?”
“The Ainsworth. Som
e martini and monster thing. That’s fine and all, but doesn’t a party billed as the largest Halloween singles party sound like more fun?”
I take another long swallow of my icy drink and think of Sam. It’s not like we’re exclusive. We’ve been on one date. Even so, I have zero desire to meet anyone tonight. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be a great wingman for my lovely Mother of Dragons. “I read through a lot of the parties that are happening tonight. Seemed like some of the best were in Brooklyn.”
Instantly, her palm aims skyward a few inches from my face in a stop sign signal. “I’m not going to Brooklyn. Way too far away.”
I laugh. “I know. It’s just there’s a cool New Wave party in Greenpoint. The DJ is playing stuff from Echo & the Bunnymen, the Cure, the Smiths. Cool shit.”
Delilah looks like a crazy person with hair sticking out from places all around her stocking cap. I walk over, make her sit, and take over preparing her hair for the wig. She peers up at me. “How old are you?”
“What? It was a phase. I love that shit.”
She grabs her drink while I work away, tucking fly-aways under the thick stocking. I kind of know there’s no point in trying, but deep down, I’d rather meet up with Anna than go to a singles party. So, I take one more stab at persuasion. “I know the party is billed as the biggest singles party, but it’s in midtown. Doesn’t that kind of make you nervous?”
Both hands fall to her hips in fists. “I’ve already bought tickets. Besides, rumor is the Chainsmokers may make a guest appearance.”
“Okay, fine.” I know determination when I see it. And I don’t really care that much. “But, for the record, the Chainsmokers are not showing up to a midtown party.” She smirks. She only made that band comment because I have Alexa playing the Chainsmokers right now. “Wait, a friend is meeting us. Does she need a ticket too?”
“Nope. I’ve got the two I bought for Anna and Jackson. They won’t be using them. Here, let’s text Chase and let him know we have an extra ticket.” As she pecks a message off to Chase, she asks, “Who’s this friend?”