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“Yeah. It was great. They’ve really got the cheat code to life. Big house, yacht, all the money they could ever need. It’s good that they’re sharing it with the little guy.” He tugs on his tie. I wait for him to move on, but he stands there like an NPC in a video game expecting me to give him a command. “You too,” he says. “You’ve got the life cheat code,” he clarifies when I don’t respond. He drops down to the seat that Harlow was just in.
I raise my eyebrows. Rick isn’t paying attention. He looks around. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d eat at a place like this.”
“A restaurant?”
“It’s kind of down market, though. A place someone picks because they don’t have money or taste.”
Is he insulting Harlow?
“You’re here,” I point out.
He grimaces and runs his hand down his tie. The tip is a darker blue. He did end up dunking it in the coffee. “Had to come. Meeting someone.”
“And the meeting?”
“Never took place.” He shrugs. “It was a long shot. Some chick had a condo opening at the Grand. Those places never come up for sale, and because they’re all owned by senile old people, if you get in early enough, you can practically steal it.” He reaches over and taps my papers. “You got a hot tip to share? Like, every investment you’ve ever made turns to gold. I could use a little luck.” He rubs his hands together. This was the guy Harlow was going to marry and live with for a year?
“Only proceed when you know the answer.” Such as don’t sit down at a stranger’s table when you’re not invited. I fold my notes in thirds and tuck them into my inner jacket pocket. I think I’ve paid Rick back for stealing his girl. He wasn’t right for her anyway.
“Good advice. Good advice. Hey, you’re not going anywhere, are you? Your plate’s nearly full.” He points to the sandwich I never got around to eating.
“Lost my appetite.”
“I never had mine in the first place. Like I said, not a great place. Let’s meet up at your club next time?”
I stand. “Probably not.”
Rick’s eyes widen. “Why are you saying that?”
“I don’t like you. I don’t know how you got an invite to Shift’s charity event, but I don’t foresee you getting another one.”
“You barely know me,” he yells at my back as I’m leaving.
I know enough. Harlow needed me to be there. Fate, God, some higher power said she needed saving. Who am I, a mere mortal, to argue with the heavens?
Back at my office, my assistant Trident hurries over to take my overcoat. “You were gone for so long,” he tuts. “The office almost fell apart.”
“Almost but not quite.”
“Well, I”—he puts his hand on his chest—”am here so of course it is still standing.”
“That’s why I pay you the big bucks.” I shrug out of my suit jacket and hand that to Trident, too.
“You should be paying a stylist more money. Where did you get that hideous tie?”
I glance down at what I have now dubbed my lucky tie. “I don’t know but get used to it. I’ll be wearing it to every deal negotiation from now until the robots take over.”
Trident grimaces. “I’m going to need a raise in order to endure things like that. Are those tiny goats on the silk?”
I flip up the end. “No idea. While you’re crying about my clothes, I’m going to need you to prepare a dossier on the board members of The Grand. It’s a co-op condo building?—”
“I know what The Grand is. That gorgeous limestone in the middle of Park and Seventh? I drool over the iron gates every time I walk by it.”
“I didn’t know you lived over there.” Last thing I knew, Trident lived on the thirty-third floor of a high-rise overlooking the park.
“It was when I dated that theatre actor whose daddy was the hedge fund manager at Beluga & Beluga. The daddy was not a Beluga, but they had quite a bit of money and owned a townhouse just up the street from The Grand. Kenny, that’s the actor, wanted his daddy to buy him a condo there, but they just never go up for sale. Kenny insisted that all his daddy had to do was offer someone the right amount of money, but his daddy said that the co-op board votes on whether you’re fit to even get a tour of the place. I’m dying to go inside. I’m going to do these interviews in person.” He picks up a notebook and starts for the closet where he just deposited my overcoat.
“What are you going to say as your pretextual excuse for going there?” I’m not opposed, only curious. Trident is always getting himself into shenanigans. It’s amusing and half the reason I employ him.
