I was blind. I was so beyond blind. I was stupid. I was wrong. We weren’t becoming friends. Normal people don’t have enduring relationships with hot millionaires.
What did he say to me that night after the concert? That he didn’t date?
Once he lost interest in me, and he was bound to sooner rather than later, I would see him periodically at best during client meetings where he was ‘Mr. Sullivan’ and I was Janie Morris, his employee. These labels of ‘boss’ and ‘employee’ defined our relationship like the mine fields around Guantanamo Bay Cuba defined it as a US Navy base.
You don’t go for a walk in a mine field.
You aren’t friends with your boss.
And you certainly never set yourself up to have bedroom fantasies about him or unrequited longitudinal crushes. Lusting after your boss was like having a thing for your English teacher in high school; it made you more than a little pathetic.
My surprise must have been visible because Steven’s face changed suddenly from confusion to reluctant understanding, “Oh... oh my. You didn’t know. You didn’t know that Mr. Sullivan is the Boss?”
“I-” I endeavored to swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. “No.” I said flatly.
“How could you not know that?” It was Steven’s turn to sound incredulous. “He recruited you. You spent all day Friday with him. I’m sure we’ve discussed him before now, who did you think I was talking about when I said ‘the Boss’…”
I didn’t hear the rest of Steven’s musings. I was in the Matrix and I’d just unwittingly taken the red pill; my thoughts became as agitated and circular as a washing machine on the spin cycle. We ate in silence for several minutes and I mostly succeeded in avoiding eye contact with Steven.
Steven interrupted my internal avalanche of misery and said, “I thought you knew when he hired you.”
I met his eyes then frowned, “He said- he said that he could get me the interview but I’d need to get the job on my own.” I was having difficulty keeping my voice steady.
Quinn was wealthy. Actually, he wasn’t just wealthy, he was a stinkin rich son of a… lady. And, once again, I allowed someone else to be the captain in my sea of destiny. Once again, I was an accidental bystander to my illusion of success.
Steven seemed to understand my thoughts, “You really did get the job on your own.” My features must have betrayed my doubt and unhappiness because he put his chopsticks down and reached across the table, his grey eyes softening, “No, really, listen to me Janie. I’ll admit, Mr. Sullivan has never recommended someone for an interview before. Usually he just recruits them and they start and, I’ll tell you what, he is always right. For instance look at me.” He gave me a wry smile.
I tried to manage one in return but couldn’t help feeling a mixture of anguished devastation and annoyance with myself; Jon or Jon’s father arranged for my interview with the last firm and likely the job itself and look what happened. I didn’t like thinking that the only reason I was hired at Cypher Systems was because Quinn Sullivan decided on a whim that he wanted to kiss me and I was good with numbers.
“Honey Cakes, can I call you Honey Cakes?” he didn’t wait for me to answer as he continued, “Really listen to me. I knew you were going to be great if Mr. Sullivan recruited you. But, if it makes you feel better, I showed you that iPad spreadsheet with the wrong formulas on your first day as a test, one which you passed with flying colors.”
I sighed, suddenly finished with my salad; I didn’t want to eat ever again. “Thanks.”
He eyed me with what I perceived to be a speculative glare, “This is his company. His baby. Do you really think he’d hire someone who wasn’t amazing? Again, look no farther than your partner at this table as proof.”
I tried for a half smile and rolled my eyes, “No, you cannot call me Honey Cakes.”
What I couldn’t tell Steven was the real reason why I felt so upset. The clarity of the moment stung. My chest hurt and I didn’t really comprehend until that moment that my aforementioned balloons of hope in the alternate reality carnival of dreams had been quite inflated despite all efforts to keep my footing on the ground.
Suddenly the idea of seeing Quinn again filled me with dread. My heart skipped two beats when I remembered my upcoming trip to Las Vegas.
“Will, uh-” I cleared my throat and wiped my hands on my napkin, “Will Mr. Sullivan be in Las Vegas? At the client meeting?”
Steven, back to eating his sushi, shook his head. “Yes, as I told you before, the Boss vets all new clients for the private accounts. He’ll fly over with us, God help us all.”