wish…” My voice trailed off.
“Wish what?”
“Well, nothing’s a life or death struggle anymore, is it? The era of honor and sacrifice is over.” I looked again at the O’Brian novels, lined up in order. “Jack Aubrey’s full of human failings—so’s Maturin—but they have principles, and they’d give their lives for them. Or for each other. Now it’s all about money and status and celebrity. Not that people haven’t always cared about those things, but it used to be considered venal, didn’t it?” I shrugged. “It’s like nobody bothers to grow up anymore. We just want to be kids all our lives. Collecting toys, having fun.”
“So what’s the remedy?”
“There is no remedy. We are who we are, right? Life moves on. You can’t get it back.”
“Yes,” he said. “Quite. Here you are, off to business school, after all.”
“Here
you
are, running a hedge fund.”
He smiled at that. “So what would you propose, to win my soul back?”
“I don’t know. Not one of those pansy philanthropic foundations, that’s for sure. Something more interesting. More skin in the game. Maybe manning your own letter of marque and going after all those Somali pirates, off the African coast.”
He began laughing, a rich comfortable sound. “You’re priceless. And where would I find a crew reckless enough to go along with me?”
“I’d go in a heartbeat,” I said, without thinking.
The smallest pause, and then: “Would you, now?”
Oh, genius, Kate
. I cleared my throat and looked back at the bookcase. “Well, except for having to earn a living and all.”
“Ah. Hadn’t we better get back to work, then?”
I checked my watch. The two sides of my brain struggled: the one that wanted desperately to stay, all night and all week and really all my life, drowning in the light from that beautiful face of his; and the one that wanted to bolt away in mortal fear.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I’ve already stayed too long. I’ve got an early flight from LaGuardia tomorrow morning and, to be honest, I haven’t had much sleep the last few days.”
I couldn’t quite bring myself to meet his eyes, but I felt them penetrating me. “What an ass I am,” he said. “You’re exhausted, of course.”
“A little.”
“My fault, I expect, demanding all these rewrites.” He ran a hand through his golden hair. “I beg your pardon. Go home and sleep. I’ll have a look at these over Christmas and we’ll speak again when you’re back in the city.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll just get your coat,” he said, moving to the sofa and lifting it from the back. He held it out to me. “Here you are, then.”
I let him help me into the coat, a novel experience, and then grabbed my laptop bag and headed numbly for the hallway.
“Look,” I heard him say, and I turned at once, nearly burying my nose into his sweater.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“Sorry,” he said, at the same time; we smiled awkwardly, stepping apart. “Look, I… would it be at all proper…” He closed his eyes, and opened them again with a slight rueful tilt to his mouth. “I suppose I’m trying to ask whether I might see a little of you, after Christmas.”
“Um, sure.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and examined the wall behind his shoulder. “You have my e-mail, right?”
“Yes. I…” He stopped. “Will you look at me a moment?”
“What is it?” I asked, dragging my eyes to meet his gaze.
“Christ,” I thought I heard him whisper, under his breath, and then, more audibly, “I just want to be clear that it’s nothing to do with ChemoDerma, or any of that rubbish.”
“Look here. Don’t go around insulting my client, if you think you want to see me again.”
Not bad, Wilson. How did you manage
that?
He smiled again, more fully. “ChemoDerma’s a lovely, lovely company. I can’t stop thinking about it. I shall tuck that charming little pitch book under my pillow tonight.”
“Much better.”
He reached
“Wish what?”
“Well, nothing’s a life or death struggle anymore, is it? The era of honor and sacrifice is over.” I looked again at the O’Brian novels, lined up in order. “Jack Aubrey’s full of human failings—so’s Maturin—but they have principles, and they’d give their lives for them. Or for each other. Now it’s all about money and status and celebrity. Not that people haven’t always cared about those things, but it used to be considered venal, didn’t it?” I shrugged. “It’s like nobody bothers to grow up anymore. We just want to be kids all our lives. Collecting toys, having fun.”
“So what’s the remedy?”
“There is no remedy. We are who we are, right? Life moves on. You can’t get it back.”
“Yes,” he said. “Quite. Here you are, off to business school, after all.”
“Here
you
are, running a hedge fund.”
He smiled at that. “So what would you propose, to win my soul back?”
“I don’t know. Not one of those pansy philanthropic foundations, that’s for sure. Something more interesting. More skin in the game. Maybe manning your own letter of marque and going after all those Somali pirates, off the African coast.”
He began laughing, a rich comfortable sound. “You’re priceless. And where would I find a crew reckless enough to go along with me?”
“I’d go in a heartbeat,” I said, without thinking.
The smallest pause, and then: “Would you, now?”
Oh, genius, Kate
. I cleared my throat and looked back at the bookcase. “Well, except for having to earn a living and all.”
“Ah. Hadn’t we better get back to work, then?”
I checked my watch. The two sides of my brain struggled: the one that wanted desperately to stay, all night and all week and really all my life, drowning in the light from that beautiful face of his; and the one that wanted to bolt away in mortal fear.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I’ve already stayed too long. I’ve got an early flight from LaGuardia tomorrow morning and, to be honest, I haven’t had much sleep the last few days.”
I couldn’t quite bring myself to meet his eyes, but I felt them penetrating me. “What an ass I am,” he said. “You’re exhausted, of course.”
“A little.”
“My fault, I expect, demanding all these rewrites.” He ran a hand through his golden hair. “I beg your pardon. Go home and sleep. I’ll have a look at these over Christmas and we’ll speak again when you’re back in the city.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll just get your coat,” he said, moving to the sofa and lifting it from the back. He held it out to me. “Here you are, then.”
I let him help me into the coat, a novel experience, and then grabbed my laptop bag and headed numbly for the hallway.
“Look,” I heard him say, and I turned at once, nearly burying my nose into his sweater.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“Sorry,” he said, at the same time; we smiled awkwardly, stepping apart. “Look, I… would it be at all proper…” He closed his eyes, and opened them again with a slight rueful tilt to his mouth. “I suppose I’m trying to ask whether I might see a little of you, after Christmas.”
“Um, sure.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and examined the wall behind his shoulder. “You have my e-mail, right?”
“Yes. I…” He stopped. “Will you look at me a moment?”
“What is it?” I asked, dragging my eyes to meet his gaze.
“Christ,” I thought I heard him whisper, under his breath, and then, more audibly, “I just want to be clear that it’s nothing to do with ChemoDerma, or any of that rubbish.”
“Look here. Don’t go around insulting my client, if you think you want to see me again.”
Not bad, Wilson. How did you manage
that?
He smiled again, more fully. “ChemoDerma’s a lovely, lovely company. I can’t stop thinking about it. I shall tuck that charming little pitch book under my pillow tonight.”
“Much better.”
He reached
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