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I don’t answer at first, trying and failing to stuff my neck pillow into my carry-on. I’d barely slept last night, tossing and turning in anticipation of today. I hope that I can manage to get some quality sleep on the plane ride to Paris. Of course, when it comes to Nick, I’ve been having a hard time sticking to my script.
Am I sure it’s a good idea? Not really. Or, at least, definitely not as certain as I made it out to be in the strip club. Or to Dan.
Bailing for two weeks to Europe to party with a famously irresponsible DJ would be a hard sell to any boss, even one as accommodating as Dan.
“Are you sure you’ll even convince her that she’ll like working with you two?” he’d asked on our call yesterday. “I mean, Nick Madison is notoriously prickly, and while I think you’re great, who knows what qualities a young woman like Kara Kon is looking for in the people she works with? She could try to get you to do drugs!”
When I’d relayed the latter to Mickey, her response had been, “Lucky. Kara Kon probably has the best shit on the market.” But still, Mickey had agreed with the problems Dan had voiced, namely that Nick doesn’t seem to get along that well with anyone.
“He’s too used to being in charge,” she’d said. “A guy like him never has to compromise, never has to think about anyone other than himself and his company. Something tells me Kara Kon isn’t going to find those qualities particularly charming.”
Her words had cut with an added twist. Our evening together on St. Mark’s had revealed a new side of Nick, a charming and funny side that has me falling harder and harder, even as my instincts tell me that I need to slow down, to proceed with caution.
Mickey had received a condensed version of our evening together. She’d called it disappointingly tame but probably for the best. I’d agreed but still felt guilty for giving her a half truth, even if in reality we’d only held hands. It had felt like we’d done a hell of a lot more. And in truth, fucking Nick would probably be easy. Getting him to voice even a smidgen of emotional vulnerability on the other hand? Nigh impossible. That’s what’s so hard to put into words about Friday night. And that’s why her assessment of the man hurts me. Because there’s already a number one in Nick’s life: his company. And after Brent I’m never playing second fiddle to a man’s passions again.
Of course all of that is irrelevant when it comes to the purpose of our trip. And Mickey is absolutely correct in saying that Nick and Kara Kon are about two of the most dissimilar people I’ve ever shared a conversation with. And if Nick isn’t much of a partier, then I’m an eighty-year-old grandmother compared to him. Maybe it’s a bad idea leaving Mickey behind after all. I’m at least confident in her ability to hang.
But ultimately I still just shake my head at her question. “I’m not sure of anything except my confidence in you to hold down the fort while I’m gone. Do a good job and I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you get a job offer at the end of the summer.”
Mickey beams. “That’d be fantastic.” She gives me a salute and rolls off my bed to her feet. “Consider me your loyal soldier on the home front. I’ll keep these fuckers in line while you’re off…” She hesitates. “Actually I’m still not sure what you’re going to be doing exactly.”
“That makes two of us,” I mutter. I finish pushing all of my clothes into the suitcase and squeeze it shut with a snap. “My plan? Keep Nick and Kara’s meetings to a minimum and try to avoid making waves. Drama sinks deals. So I’m going to go in amicable, friendly, and ready to please.”
“And you’ll do great,” Mickey says. “She’d be an idiot not to love you.”
Mickey is just being supportive, and I really try to feel the truth of her words. But ultimately I spent a lot of time trying to fit in with Brent’s friends and still never quite felt like they liked me. However, sometimes you just don’t click with people, and there’s a lot of money resting on my ability to party for me to go in fully comfortable.
I treat Mickey to breakfast at the brunch place down the street and then finish getting ready to go. I normally dress up a bit for a flight, but I opt for some comfortable sweats with my pillow slung around my neck for this one. I need to rest up on what I’m assuming is going to be Nick’s private jet. I’d asked about flights and he’d said he’ll take care of it. He’d also said he’d pick me up at eleven, and so after giving Mickey a surprisingly emotional hug goodbye, I head to the street to wait for him.
An SUV with dark-tinted windows pulls up right at 11 o’clock. Horus, Nick’s driver, gets out and helps me with my bag, even opening the back door for me to get in.
I brace myself for Nick’s presumably grumpy attitude, but my anticipation turns to confusion when the backseat is revealed to be empty.
“Where’s Nick?” I ask.
“He sent me ahead to get you,” Horus says. “He’s running a bit behind, but we’ll go and get him now before the airport.”
Horus turns on a pop station for me and we drive in relaxed silence uptown to Nick’s apartment on Central Park. Taylor Swift’s Love Story is playing, and I take it as a good sign. It’s unlike Nick to be running late, but I suppose issues come up that even a man like him can’t predict.
We pull up in front of the doors of a predictably massive skyscraper that looks like it’s filled with apartments in the range of tens of millions of dollars. The views of Central Park must be incredible. I’m brought back for a moment to our conversation on Friday. Can he really still feel like he hasn’t escaped his childhood, even looking down on the world from this glass tower?
I don’t have long to ponder the question; Nick appears suddenly, striding through the held-open door, a leather bag in one hand, a clench in his well-defined jaw.
It only takes one look to see that he’s pissed.
He makes it halfway to the car before a teenager bursts out of the doors, startling the doorman, and storms after him. After a second, I recognize him as Jack, Nick’s younger brother. They look very similar, the same lean frames, the same dark hair and deep brown eyes. Oh and the same expressions of anger distorting their handsome features.
“I said I wasn’t done talking to you!” Jack yells after Nick. Despite the car door being closed he’s completely audible. I freeze and then press myself back in my seat so I’m not gawking at them.
Now only able to hear, I have to imagine Nick turning back to his brother, and when he speaks I can perfectly picture the expression on his face.
“Get back up there. This isn’t the place for this.” His tone is low and dangerous, enough to send terror spiking through the heart of any sane man.
Jack doesn’t seem to care. Or maybe he’s beyond caring. His own voice sounds wild and pained. “You fucking promised! You said you’d go and now you’re just going to fuck off to Europe without even telling me? I had to find out from your goddamn secretary?”
“You are embarrassing yourself. Suck it up and stop making a scene.”
“But—”
