I nod, not finding words, and watch him disappear down the street. Hard to imagine I'll be thinking about anything else.
I spin the pen around in my hand, the solid weight of the metal cool against my skin.
"With our budget constraints," the speaker drones on, "a gradual increase is the better option. But that would mean…"
My mind wanders again. It's done that a lot this conference, and at damn inconvenient times, too. During meetings and panel discussions. Thank God I'd managed to hold it together long enough to give the short speech I was required to.
Tristan has asked me twice what's on my mind, and both times I'd answered the Globe . Strictly speaking, it's only a half of a lie. Audrey is a Globe employee, after all.
We haven't texted much since I said goodbye to her outside her apartment. She'd looked shocked and flushed and wide-eyed, like I'd taken her completely by surprise, drowning in that oversize coat. It had hurt to kiss her cheek instead of her lips. It had hurt to turn and walk away from her. To put the power in her hands.
Tell me, I'd wanted to ask, what you need from me. I'd wanted to make her comfortable, to banish the nerves, to coax her into telling me the real reason dating scares her.
But I'd swallowed every single one of those traitorous words.
Audrey wants it all. A boyfriend who cooks her dinner and reads the paper with her on the weekend. And she deserves it all.
And I can feel myself standing at the ledge-wanting to give her that. Wanting to be the man she turns to for all of it, and doubting I'll ever be able to live up to it.
It would kill me to be less than she needs, I think.
I spin the pen faster.
What do I know, anyway? About loyalty and family and being a man who keeps his word?
Tristan leans in closer. "You bored?"
I force the pen down. Leave it abandoned on the table. "To death," I lie. Truth is I could be anywhere and thinking about her right now.
Whether or not I blew the whole fucking thing by crossing the line between us.
He chuckles. We're far enough from the speakers, sitting opposite the long conference table. Both of us don't have to be here, strictly speaking, but it was clear the organizers very much wanted two-fourths of Acture Capital here.
No doubt there'd be a photo op with the speaker after this.
"The Globe could benefit from his budget theory," Tristan says. "If you can convince Anthony and Victor it's still worth keeping intact."
I nod, jaw working. A few more months to turn the ship around in the eyes of my partners, or they'll want to sell it for parts. If the roles were reversed I'd probably advocate for the same exact thing.
But they're not. And I've promised to save the paper.
I run a hand through my hair and re-focus on the speaker. Whatever happens with Audrey, I know one thing. I can't be the reason her dream job falls through.
When the talk's over, Tristan and I are carefully asked if we'll consider taking a picture with the speaker. "For posterity's sake," the organizer says with an artful chuckle.
For your PR team, I think. But I give him the charming smile I've perfected over the years, the one that never fails me. The one that Audrey seems to see right through.
"Definitely a moment to preserve," I say.
His smile falters a tiny bit. My cynicism had bled through, and damn it, I'm turned all the way inside out.
Tristan and I make our way down to the social afterwards. The hotel is filled with people already, a sea of suits and blazers. We're escorted straight past the line for the open bar to the section where the other keynote speakers and investors are waiting.
"Here we go," Tristan mutters at my side. He'd always been good at this too. It had been him and me playing good cop with investors, and Anthony and Victor playing bad cop.
We'd been a team.
But it seems like neither of us are feeling the charm tonight. Tristan has bigger things to concern him now. He'd married his longtime girlfriend earlier in the year, and together with his young son, his interest in networking has dwindled.
It takes time from the people who matter to him.
I accept a glass of bourbon and have a seat. It burns going down. What would it feel like? To know you have a wife and child at home. A family waiting for you, a puzzle where you're one of several pieces fitting perfectly together?
I imagine going home to a wife after this. The image in my mind is of a woman curled up on my couch, a blanket around her knees. She's reading a book. Maybe she'd even look up at me with warm eyes, eyes that are happy I'm home, eyes that don't expect me to perform.
I take another deep sip of my bourbon. My mind has given her Audrey's looks, and I like the image a little too much.
"Mr. Kingsley," the man to my left says. He's giving me a courteous smile. "Of Acture Capital, is that right?"
"Just so," I say, extending my free hand. "A pleasure."
"Likewise. Jacob Finch of Rosen Investing. We've heard about your purchase of the Globe and have been following the development closely."
I push all thoughts of Audrey down. Of a life outside of this.
This is what I know, this is what I do. I network and I perform and I talk.
"That's right," I say. "Care to hear more?"
I'm three bourbons deep when I step away from the VIP area. It's guarded off by a pathetic little rope, more to signal to the other minglers to stay out than for any security reasons. When did I start living my life in roped-off areas?
I click her name on my phone. We haven't texted at all in three days. Not a word, my phone quiet in my pocket.
Carter: Having a fun night?
Tell me about it, I think. Tell me about anything that's not here and anything that's about you, so I can pretend I'm there too.
When Tristan calls the night to an end, I do the same. We shake hands with the people who haven't gotten to us yet. Our joint Acture assistant gives us a tired thumbs up.
"Only one more day," she says.
Tristan rolls his neck. "I'm heading out after lunch tomorrow. Carter, you'll handle the dinner tomorrow?"
"If by handle," I say, "you mean I'll gain Acture thirty new potential investors, then yes."
He smiles. "That's the spirit."
"Good night."