I’m not sure what to think of that. How do you keep those things separate? Maybe that’s another rich people thing. "I think you play in areas above my pay grade.”
“We’re all equals when it comes to the personal, Victoria.”
I guess he means that we all get the same hurt if someone breaks our heart, no matter how fat the wallet is.
“So if I break your heart, you’ll eat a carton of Ben and Jerry’s to recover?”
“Maybe. What flavor?”
A reluctant laugh tumbles out. “I’m a fan of cookie dough, you?” My hand drops away and I slide back under the covers.
“I like vanilla bean. The original. There’s a place over on Second and Twenty-Third that serves up homemade ice cream. I’ll take you there.” Everything he says is like a declarative. There’s no asking. He only orders and directs. I suppose that’s how you get into a position of earning $27 million a frigging day.
“Do you really earn $27 million a day? How is that even possible?”
“Stock valuation of a holding company increases exponentially, thus rendering you wealthier at the end of the year than you started in the beginning. Averaging out the increase results in a per-day amount. It makes the financial page journalists wet between their legs. Overall, it’s meaningless unless you are cashing out a position.”
“I understood only every other word of that sentence.” I’m snuggled under my covers and the phone is pressed to my ear. Too bad I wasn’t wearing my headphones. There’s something awfully intimate about being in bed while talking on the phone. It’s not exactly like he’s right there whispering in my ear but it almost feels like he is. “If you have so much money, then why me?”
“Why you for what? The job or the ice cream date?”
“Both.”
“The job I can explain to you later. The other should be patently obvious, but since you seem obtuse about this unlike most everything else, I’ll share. You turned down my money, returned my box of gifts, challenged me in my loft, and spurned my advances. I’m not sure you could have made yourself more irresistible.”
“Because you like the chase,” I conclude grimly. It’s all because I turned him down. “I dated a guy like that once. He wanted me up until the point that he caught me and then dumped me three weeks later. He said I was too pushy.” Did that sound bitter? I hope not.
There’s a beat of silence and it makes me anxious. I’ve turned him off already, I think sourly, and then in the next moment I chastise myself for even caring. One thing Ian has said about me is right. I have a weak bunny heart.
“The chase,” he says slowly, as if trying to parse out exactly the right words to make sure I don’t hang up on him, “just whets the appetite. And if what you catch has no substance, then yes, the chase was the only worthwhile part of the whole game.”
The mass in my stomach feels like hard stones. “At least you’re honest,” I say, faking some brightness so he doesn’t hear my disappointment. I have no right to be upset. Colin once called me a stage five clinger because I’d been upset about him sleeping with other people. At the time I was angry at him for being a cheater, but maybe relationships aren’t about fidelity but enjoying the experience. I don’t think I can do that. I fall too quick, too fast, too easily.
He sighs at this. “When is your next outing with your mom?"
"In a few days. She has chemo on Monday, so we do something the weekend before.” The thought of spending time with my dear mother outside while she’s feeling healthy immediately lightens my spirits. Who cares what my new employer thinks of me? I’ve got no time for game-playing men.
“Specifically,” he adds.
“Saturday probably.” I wonder if he is finally going to tell me what this secret project is all about.
He hums. “Alright, have a nice day.” With that, the line goes dead. Tossing the phone aside, I actively fight the feeling of disappointment at the abrupt ending to the conversation. I recite all the positive things in my life. I’m in good health. I have some money. My mom is still alive. She and I are going to the park. These are wonderful things, and I certainly don’t have room or time for a half-baked relationship with someone who undoubtedly wants to screw me and leave me.
Renewed, I get up and fold the bed away.
Chapter 10
“TEN DELIVERIES DOWNTOWN AND THEN come back.” Sandra orders. With a nod of assent, I’m gone.
The deliveries downtown consist mostly of shuttling paper between law firms. Sometimes its tubes of architectural or design plans, but mostly it’s still just paper. All these firms and all their technology but nothing can replace the signed blue signature on the bottom line.