I’d dealt with his kind before. His family’s money and connections would open plenty of doors, but none with me. I valued talent, creativity, and a strong work ethic. If he had them, he’d do well. If not, not. Either way, I’d give him a chance. He could sink or swim on his own for a change.
* * *
I discovered that I enjoyed working with the interns, especially Holly. She was as talented as I’d hoped, and she worked harder than the guys. Unfortunately, she had to. She had to prove that she was better if she wanted to be treated the same.
The other two interns were fine. They worked hard and learned from their mistakes. Neither was a standout, but they’d make good architects one day.
The suit, on the other hand, was worse than I’d imagined. He was condescending and entitled. He sneered at anyone who wasn’t his equal (according to him), socially or otherwise. He was a sexist for sure, and I suspected a racist as well.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t stupid or lazy. I had hoped for both, but he learned quickly and worked hard enough on the projects I gave him. Worse, he spent time ingratiating himself with the directors and VPs. He was good at it, too, so he never came across as a butt-kisser. He hadn’t tried to stab me in the back, but it was only a matter of time.
Then a chance meeting completely changed my career trajectory.
* * *
“Hey,” I said to Trip, “let’s take the kids to their grandparents’ and have dinner tomorrow night.”
He checked the side mirror and accelerated onto the highway. We were later than the usual rush hour, but traffic was heavy enough that he couldn’t simply mash the gas. Still the BMW’s engine purred, and the car surged forward. He’d bought it after his raise, and he was still having fun with it.
“Sure,” he said once we settled into the flow of traffic. “What’s up?”
I was deliberately vague. “An opportunity.”
“What kind of opportunity?”
“The business kind.” Maybe more, I added, but kept it to myself. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. I want Wren to hear it too.”
“Go ahead and tell me now. Then I’ll tell her, and we can discuss it tomorrow.”
“No, let’s just wait.”
“For real? You’re gonna tease me like this? I thought we were friends!” He tried to laugh it off, but he was genuinely annoyed.
“I need to discuss it with Christy first.” That was a white lie. I’d talked to her the night before, and she was all for it. She’d even suggested our current plan. “Oh, hey,” I said, as if I’d just thought of it, “I forgot to ask. Do you mind if we stop by Lenox? I need to run in to Neiman Marcus.”
And Christy needed time to talk to Wren.
Trip looked at me sideways. “Neiman Marcus? What for? You were there yesterday.”
“I was. But they needed a day to engrave them.” Another white lie. “Cufflinks for Harry’s birthday.”
“Sure, whatever.” He put on his turn signal and changed lanes. Then he fell silent as he worked his way toward the exit ramp. Finally, he asked, “You still won’t tell me? What tomorrow’s about?”
Not until Wren’s onboard. “No, sorry,” I said aloud.
“Whatever.”
* * *
“So, what’s this about?” Trip said before we’d even had a chance to spread our napkins in our laps.
“Can we at least order drinks first?” Wren laughed.
Trip raised his hand and snapped to get the waiter’s attention.
Wren glared. “Trip Whitman, do not snap your fingers at the server. They hate that.”
“So? He works for me, doesn’t he?”
I sighed. The corporate world hadn’t done Trip any favors in the attitude department, especially toward people he considered underlings. He was a brilliant project manager, but he wasn’t a people person. (He needed me for that, although we didn’t know it yet.)
“No, he works for the restaurant,” Wren said with frustrated patience. “You’re a guest at the restaurant. Please act like it.”
“I’m not a guest if I’m paying,” Trip argued.
“You’re just annoyed that Paul won’t tell you what’s going on.”
“Well, yeah.”
The waiter arrived, and Wren spoke up before Trip could.
“Yes, my husband would like a Gentleman Jack, on the rocks, please.” She gave him a quick glance and amended, “Better make it a double.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The rest of us will have a bottle of Mondavi cabernet, please.”
“Of course, ma’am. Anything else?”
“No, thank you. Go ahead and get our drinks started, please. Then you can tell us about your specials.”
“Right away,” he said.
“So, what’s this about?” Trip repeated.
“How was work?” Wren asked.
“So,” he said tersely, “we’re playing that game?”
“Trip, relax,” I told him. “You’re not at work anymore.”
He tried to stare me down, but I was perhaps the one person in the world he couldn’t intimidate, physically or psychologically. I returned the stare with calm detachment. Christy squeezed my hand under the table.
“Yeah, okay,” Trip said at last.
The tension at the table ratcheted down a notch. Then the waiter appeared. The man was good. He’d known exactly how to deal with a group of stressed-out yuppies, so he’d waited at the bar until our drinks were ready.
He set a glass of amber liquid in front of Trip. It was nearly full, way more than a double. I grinned. It was a triple for Trip.
“What’s so funny?” he snarled.
“The way my mind works,” I said mildly. “Doesn’t matter. Drink up.”
He did. Then he took another sip and closed his eyes to savor the premium liquor.
The waiter pulled the cork on the wine and poured a taste for Wren. She held the glass by the stem, swirled the rich ruby liquid, and thrust her nose past the rim. She closed her eyes and visibly relaxed as she inhaled. Then she sipped and nodded.
“Excellent. Thank you.”
The waiter poured glasses for Christy and me before he topped off Wren’s.
We went through the routine of ordering a couple of appetizers, including Oysters Rockefeller just for Christy. Wren knew that she needed to eat, but she also wanted to give the alcohol time to work on Trip. She knew how he worked too.
“Okay, so… what’s this about?” he said in much calmer tones after the waiter left. “And why all the secrecy?”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I said. “It was my doing. I wanted to have a real four-way discussion instead of two and two, if that makes sense.” I really wanted three on one, but he didn’t need to know that. Not yet, at least.
He nodded and took another sip of his drink.
“So,” I began, “I ran into a friend at Neiman Marcus a couple of days ago.”
I hadn’t seen Mindy Gilliam since before I’d started dating Christy. Mindy hadn’t become a notch on my bedpost, but not for lack of trying, at least on her part. I’d been interested at the time, but the little head more than the big one.
“We went to high school together,” I continued by way of background. “Her brother was on the wrestling team. Anyway, she and I had drinks and spent a couple of hours catching up.”
“So that’s why you asked Wren to pick me up from work?” Trip said. He chuckled. “I thought you were getting laid or something. Hey! What was that for?” He rubbed his arm where Wren had pinched him.
“Keep drinking,” she told him. “You’re still in asshole mode.”
“I was just kidding,” he grumbled.
She gestured peremptorily, and he took a long drink of whiskey.
“Happy?” he said.
“Give it a minute.” She glanced up and caught the waiter’s eye. The man nodded and headed for the bar. He and Wren already had a good working relationship, and I smiled to myself. She was a people person. She had to be, especially in her line of work, although she was particularly good at it, a pleasure to watch.