Just One Night, Part 3_ Binding Agreement(13)

“You should refer to him as Mr. Love. You owe him at least that respect, don’t you, Kasie?”

I wait for the sting of that insult to fade before I continue. “I realize that normally, someone stepping into Mr. Love’s managing partner position have led more than one team but if you talk to the executives at Maned Wolf, I think you’ll find that I did an exemplary job. I believe we’ll have that account for quite some time along with many lucrative projects.”

“Quelle surprise.”

Behind him I see the city laid out. The tops of buildings and little cars that look to be no bigger than matchboxes crawl through the crowded streets. Everybody is going somewhere and everybody has to deal with the irritation of the traffic and the long stoplights. But eventually they’ll get to where they want to go. The trick is not to let the road rage get to you.

“Do I have the job, Mr. Costin?”

Again he waits before answering but this pause isn’t as intimidating as the last one. We both know his choices have been taken away.

“Start tomorrow,” he says coolly. “You have a lot to learn. Your entire experience here has involved things like Corporate Finance, risk, marketing and sales, and so on. You have zero experience with Health Care Systems and Services, Media and Entertainment, or Travel Transport and Logistics and yet those are three of the four departments that will be reporting to you now. Your protector won’t do you a lot of good if you screw up this company beyond repair.”

“I don’t have a protector.”

Mr. Costin flashes me a sarcastic smile. “We all have protectors, Kasie. Gods that we pray to for help. A lucky few of us get the attention of one of the earthly gods. They’re more easily seduced. But then you know that, don’t you?” He glances at his watch and sighs. “Go home, come back tomorrow ready to learn. I assume that tonight you’ll need to do some more worshiping because without your protecting god, you don’t have a prayer.”

I dig my fingernails into my palm but then force myself to release my fist and smile at Mr. Costin before leaving his office with the quiet humility he seems to want from me.

But I don’t leave the building as he requested. Instead I go to my office and start to organize. I hadn’t asked if I would be moved into Tom’s office; Mr. Costin hadn’t exactly invited those kinds of questions. So odd to get a promotion from a man who hates you. And it’s odd that only a few months ago I couldn’t imagine anyone really hating me any more than I could imagine anyone completely loving me. I just hadn’t viewed myself as the kind of person who inspired those kinds of extreme emotions. But now the word “hate” comes up a lot in regard to me. Dave, Tom, Mr. Costin, perhaps Asha . . . how is it possible that after so many years of playing it safe, I’m now inspiring such contempt?

I don’t like it. I never wanted to be the Bond girl who destroys lives for lovers and profit. But I have always aspired to power, and perhaps it’s the meek who inspire more charitable emotions. If so, isn’t strength worth the price of animosity?

The strong can’t be erased.

And what of love? Does Robert love me? Or is this something else?

As for Mr. Costin . . . well, if he’s right about the amount of influence Robert has, I could have his job as easily as I got Tom’s. He must know that. So in his case it’s his fear that makes him hate. It’s so conventional, it’s not even interesting. The only part that gives me pause is that I’m the one he fears. The head of this company fears me. That’s . . . different.

I drive home that night thinking of the moon and the ocean. Together they can do so much damage.





CHAPTER 6





I DON’T WANT TO invite Robert over tonight. It’s not just that I need space this time. Things are getting out of hand but the most frightening part about it is that his ideas, propositions, and philosophies that I know are unethical are becoming more and more alluring.

So I don’t reach out to him. Instead I make myself a salad, open a bottle of wine, and cry. Maybe it’s because this isn’t the life I imagined. It’s so much more and so much less. Eventually I call my friend Simone. She doesn’t berate me for evading her for weeks on end. Instead she simply listens to the notes of emotion in my voice and tells me she’s coming over.

She arrives holding a bottle of Grey Goose by the neck. She studies me, standing in my doorway like an expectant trick-or-treater. I’ve changed out of my suit into a long silk robe; my hair hangs loosely over my shoulders. “Wow,” she says as she finally enters, walking past me. “What a difference a month makes.”