"Yes. You're new, you're a trainee. There might be many in your department who'd think to overlook you."
"Thanks." But I'm smiling.
"It's their loss," he says. "Not to mention that no one will suspect you to have the management's ear. To the best of their knowledge, you and I have never spoken outside of the Thanksgiving meeting."
The faces of my co-workers flash before me. Toby. Quentin. Eleanor. The three women working in our office who'd never given me more than a polite nod.
"It doesn't feel good, knowing one of the people I'm working with isn't on the same team."
Tristan's voice deepens. "I know. I'm paying one of them for the privilege of betraying my company."
"I'll do it. Of course I will."
"Good," he says. "I think it's for the best that this stays out of the company altogether."
"All right. What does that mean, exactly? I only report what I find to you over the phone?"
"Yes," is his swift reply. "We keep it off company email servers, we don't talk about it at work."
"Sounds like a plan."
"Excellent," he says. "Perhaps we'll finally catch this bastard."
I can't help but ask, "Why me?"
"Why not you?" he retorts.
"I mean, why do you trust me?"
There's a beat of silence, stretching out between us. Where is he in New York? Perhaps he only lives a few blocks away, and he's sitting alone in his apartment, just like me.
"I trust your ambition," he says finally, "because I recognize it."
The ground we're treading trembles beneath me. It's a compliment, but it's more than that. It's recognition. It seeps through my chest and warms me as it spreads. "Are you still in the office?"
"No," he says. "I'm at home."
"Did you walk home alone?"
His voice is amused. "No, I didn't. I don't give advice I don't follow myself."
"That's unusual."
"I'm looking out at the park, actually. They've started setting up the amusement fair."
His apartment overlooks Central Park. It shouldn't surprise me, but it does. I picture him standing in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, a hand in the pocket of his slacks and another gripping his phone.
"Does it look good?"
"It looks large," he says. "I'll send you the names of a few people tomorrow. They're not employees, but I want them granted access to the Thanksgiving Family Day."
"Of course. Business associates of yours?"
His voice is dry. "More like someone called in a favor."
"I'll have it done right away."
"Good."
Neither of us says anything, but his presence is a palpable thing on the other end of the line. I don't want to hang up.
And I don't think he wants to either.
Closing my eyes, I breathe out the admission. "Realizing I'd sent you the first email was mortifying."
His voice softens. "I figured."
"But do you know… I'm not sorry."
"Neither am I, Freddie," he murmurs. "Neither am I."
The day has come.
Instead of a normal Friday afternoon at Exciteur, the office has moved to Central Park. I catch sight of Eleanor walking into the amusement fair with a blonde tween at her side, the girl's eyes lighting up when they spot a cotton candy stand.
Yes, this was a good idea.
"We have security at the entrance with the lists of names," Reece says at my side. Fifteen years my senior, Exciteur's event planner had been less than pleased at receiving instructions from three trainees. I'd given her as much power as I could to counteract that, and accepted every single one of her suggestions.
"That's excellent."
"Everything should go smoothly now," she says. Her phone dings, and she glances down. "Except someone forgot to put up the private hire sign by the exit, and now there's a line. Damn it…" She disappears down the path at a determined stride.
Luke rocks on his heels beside me. He's a trainee in the sales department, and his grin is as wide as he is tall. "I can't believe we pulled this off."
"I never thought they would go for it in the first place," William says. "Who knew all these people had kids?"
"How do they do it? I worked until nine every evening last week," Luke says. "The others in my department were right there along with me."
I re-tie the waistband of my coat, pulling it tighter around myself. There's no warmth in the late November air. "It's a good thing the company is doing this, then. Giving them time to have fun."
I scan the crowd, amazed at the number of people. Does Exciteur really employee this many people? When we're all stacked upon one another in the high-storied building on the Upper West Side, there's no telling.
My gaze snags on a tall figure. He's wearing a navy coat over his suit, a gray scarf around his neck. His thick hair is pushed back, the scruff of a few days of not shaving accentuating the square of his jaw.
I can still hear his deep voice in my ear. Feel the weight of his body against mine.
"Sorry?"