She seemed smart, beautiful, capable, sweet … and, honestly? Boring.
He’d returned to San Francisco on January 1, heartbroken over being apart from her. Three weeks later, moving across the country to start this firm was his stupid romantic grand gesture to win her back.
And he was willing to throw away his career — and our future — for her.
I pressed down my resentment and waved a dismissive hand. “We’re business partners, he can do what he wants.”
Because I knew Alexander. The day we met, I’d recognized the ambition in his eyes, a mirror reflection of mine. Other girls fawned over his good looks and charm, but they lost his attention eventually. I’d been the only one in our class who outperformed him and he hated coming in second.
Any minute now, his logic would prevail and his ambition would reawaken. He’d blink as if waking from a dream, look around this upstate city, meet my eyes and say, ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here.’
Within an hour, we’d be on our way to New York City, relocating our empire.
“He dragged you here to pitch you, then put you on the spot. Total asshole move. You don’t have to agree to this,” Mallory’s glittery pink fingernail gave the thick business card a satisfying flick.
Cute. She thought I needed rescuing.
Affection bloomed at her naïveté. Had I ever been that young and idealistic?
I scanned my mental rolodex about Mallory — Alexander complained about her playful irreverence and progressive feminism — and reassured her by acting like I was letting her in on a juicy secret.
I forced my shoulders to loosen into a casual pose, leaning my elbows against the porch railing as I sighed out a confession.
“I’ve spent 20 years working in corporate offices, pounding against that glass ceiling, and all I got out of it was broken nails.” I flicked my wrist to display my classic French tips, a sharp contrast to her flashy glitter. Her mouth split into a supportive grin.
I flicked a thumb over my shoulder towards the conference room behind us. “During that pitch, while your brother was rambling about poaching nanotech clients to get revenge,” I said dryly, earning an even bigger smile by disparaging her know-it-all brother, “I realized something. I’m tired of punching up to take a man’s spot. The only definitive way to come out on top is build something from the ground up.”
The concern in her eyes was replaced by admiration. Good. I’d just become the founding partner of a newly minted firm and planned to grow it into a prestigious empire. I didn’t need anybody’s pity.
“Maybe … could you help me do that too? Build something bigger?” Mallory asked, her big blue eyes brimming with a mix of doubt and hope. “I know you told Alex you’d help me find space for a second location, and I appreciate it. The Chamber of Commerce runs a business incubator, but the guy who runs it? He’s not, well … he’s not you.”
I assessed the sweet ingenue. I’d visited her yoga studio last month, when Alexander’s little crush almost derailed a merger negotiation. Even as I’d stormed through her lobby to retrieve him, I’d appreciated her design decisions and calculated ways to improve her sales.
“And not just me,” Mallory said idealistically. “You could help entrepreneurs from marginalized communities break their glass ceilings.”
“Send me the details,” I said to placate her while silently considering all the magazines that skewed more innovative and entrepreneurial that would overlook my crusty grandfather.
And mark my words: Within six months, I’d be out of this quiet upstate city and back in Manhattan, where I belonged.
I glanced over my shoulder at Alexander and his beautiful soon-to-be-ex girlfriend, then turned back to Mallory, my future sister-in-law. I opened my mouth to tell her that I was exactly where I needed to be … but Mallory’s head swiveled to a baritone down the street.
“I threw a wish in a well, don’t ask me I’ll never tell, I looked at you as it fell.”
A muscular man ran towards us, golden skin peeking out from his winter hat. It was an unseasonably warm January night and he wore compression pants that clung to his strong legs. His lungs must be iron to sing in the cold at that speed.
I straightened from my casual pose as he approached. His inhuman pace slowed as he saw Mallory, still singing: “I trade my soul for a wish, pennies and dimes for a kiss …”
I knew almost nobody here, but I recognized him: the young, overly-friendly teacher from the self-defense class I’d crashed when Alexander stopped returning my calls.
He jogged in place as Mallory batted her lashes with a flirtatious wave. “Hey Cruz.”
Cruise? What the hell kind of ridiculous nickname was that?
Cruz nodded politely to Mallory, immune to her coy charm. Then his gaze flickered to me and his tongue darted out along his bottom lip, showcasing a painfully bright smile. Our eyes locked and his voice dropped from baritone to bass. “Hey Cobrita.”
I dipped my chin in acknowledgement to get him to move along. As he continued his effortless run, I tore my gaze away from those tight pants clinging to his firm ass to ask Mallory, “Cisnita?”
“Little swan. My friend Kate’s been calling me a swan since high school, says I’m graceful and elegant, but also predatory with a loud honk,” she explained with an appreciative laugh. “Cruz is known for giving out affectionate nicknames. What was yours, Cobrita?”
Growing up, I learned rudimentary Spanish from my family’s housekeeper to catch all the household gossip.
‘Little Copper,’ he’d called me for my strawberry blonde hair. Most guys defaulted to ‘Red.’
Surprisingly, I didn’t hate it.
“I have no idea what it means,” I lied, covertly admiring his departing form.
He twisted to run backwards without breaking stride, caught my eye and winked as he sang loudly, “Before you came into my life, I missed you so, so bad.”
As he turned the corner, Mallory teased, “Guess I’ll be introducing you to more than just business connections.”
A towncar pulled up to the curb, ready to take me back to Manhattan civilization. I slid Alexander’s spiral bound business plan that outlined our future into my Hermes bag to read on the drive. “Not interested. I’ve got an empire to build.”
About Bailey Seaborn
Meg Casebolt writes under the pen name Bailey Seaborn, named after the two copywriters in The West Wing. (Yes, she is that big of a nerd.)
She's also the founder of Love At First Search, an SEO marketing agency singularly devoted to helping entrepreneurs & small businesses to show up on Google, Podcasts & Amazon.
