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“Worse,” I confirmed.
“Dear Father has been really up Andrew’s ass about taking over the family business and marrying the right kind of woman.” Schwartz used the nickname we’d come up with years ago.“You shoulda been gay, man. It would have been your ticket out of this.” My parents basically ignored Schwartz’s role in the family. He was the younger brother by 18 months, and as soon as he had started working on Broadway as a physical therapist and begun dating Matt, he’d been deemed too much of a “free spirit” to run the family business.
I snorted a laugh. “If only. At the very least I’d be able to talk sports in my arranged marriage.”
Matt grimaced. “Why is he so hell-bent on bringing you in now?”
“He wants to retire but he wants money too. The endless paradox of his life. When will it ever be enough?” I sipped the small glass of wine Matt had poured me.
Schwartz jumped in. “This comes up every year or so, but Dear Father really wants more time to…whatever he does in his free time. Torture people in the basement? Plot to cut down the remaining trees in the rainforest? Unclear.”
“When he was 24, he started Markman Management LP. Today, it’s one of the biggest private equity firms in the world. Which you know, because he tried to make you sign an ironclad prenup.” I added.
At my words, Matt nodded. Our family had tried to screw him over, until Schwartz had put his foot down. If they got divorced, Matt was set for life.
“Well, when he started it, he was fresh off his MBA and drafted the management company agreement such that he can appoint a blood relative as the head of the business without consent of the other partners. Today, no one would sign such an insane document. But the few partners he brought on 30 years ago didn’t bat an eye. But with every year, getting me into the seat becomes more and more important.”
“Okay,” Matt said slowly. “But why does he want you to be involved? I mean, who cares? He should just retire and enjoy his life.”
“Ah, Matt. Sweet, sweet Matt.” Schwartz smiled lovingly at his husband.
“He thinks it means money for him and dead-head control over the business,” I explained. “Or at least as far as I can tell.”
“Either that or he just wants to mess with Andrew.” Schwartz shook his head. “I wouldn’t put it past him, honestly.”
I chewed my pasta while Matt considered. “Isn’t he, like, a billionaire?”
“Yup. He is.”
“Okay so why does he need more money?” Matt’s brows came together.
“That’s why he will always be Dear Father and we will just be…us.” He gestured at the three of us. “Remember, our parents aren’t normal. They love money more than they love anything else.”
Matt gave him a dark look, as if to saywe will never be like that.Schwartz grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.
“He has more money than God. I think he just doesn’t know what to do with himself if he’s not working.” I shook my head and took another bite of ravioli. “Matt, seriously. This pasta is so good. I don’t know where you find the time, but I wish I could cook like this.”
Schwartz gave me a strange look and I raised a brow. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, but he and Matt exchanged significant glances. I was missing something here and I didn’t think I would like the answer.
6
Margo
The day I had met Andrew Markman, we had been shiny new first year associates. And my first thought, afterwow he’s got nice hair, had beenwow, the nerve.Andrew had shown up on day one in an outrageous outfit. I still remembered how the tweed suit had pulled taught over his shoulders, which were broad from what I had assumed was years of tennis and rowing. I now knew it was from years of squash and running.
On day one of his new job, he had possessed the audacity to wear tweed. Every other person in the room had been in some shade of grey and blue. Respectable lawyers never wore pinstripes (that was for used car salesman) and never black (that was for undertakers and bankers with no money). But as a junior associate, you didn’t wear a fun pocket square, a yellow tie, and certainly not a tweed suit fit for a Columbia professor. You waited at least six months to display even a hint of personality.
But not Andrew. He had shown up in his tweed suit and his Italian loafers and acted like he fit in from day one. Meanwhile I had been in my cheap pencil skirt and uncomfortable heels, feeling like half a fraud. So of course, it was my bad luck to get on the elevator with him on this morning, of all mornings. Just 48 hours remained until we were trapped in an office together. And today I was late, I was frazzled from lack of sleep, and my hair was dirty.
I nodded at him as we got on. He still had his sunglasses on and his hair was tousled above the turned-up collar of his cashmere coat. I snuck a peek at myself in the mirror. My hair was going in three different directions and the bags under my eyes were more prominent than usual.Lovely.
“Counselor. Nice to see you.” He nodded back. I hated the wordcounseloron his tongue. He made it sound mocking but also somehow sexual. “Looking forward to the move?”
“You know I’m not,” I responded shortly.
“Going to have to do better than that if you want them to believe we’re friends,” he murmured.
