I’ve heard variations of this line for months now. Cyrus has made no progress at all. “Cyrus,” I say, my voice dangerously flat, “this deal has dragged on for months. In the meanwhile, other, better opportunities have come and gone, and we’ve missed them because our focus has been on Ryan Communications. Here’s a guarantee for you. If Ryan does not sign in three weeks, we walk. Is that absolutely clear?”
“Don’t go ballistic at me,” he grouses. “I’m just the messenger.”
“No. You are not just the messenger. You are the Chief Operating Officer of Hartman, Cyrus, and you are not making any progress. I find myself questioning your judgment.”
He stops dead in his tracks. “I’m your uncle,” he says, his voice cold. “I taught you everything you know.”
“Aren’t you the one who always tells me to put the firm first?” I snap. “Well, I am. Get the fucking Ryan Communications deal done, Cyrus. Else, I assure you, there will be consequences.”
When Cyrus is gone, I lean back in my chair and look absently out of the window. Normally, the view of the city invigorates me, but today I just have a headache. Last night, I counseled Sebastian to fire his sous-chef Ben. Right now, I have a feeling that I’m going to need to take my own advice.
“Hey Sophie,” I press the button on the phone to talk to my assistant.
“Yes, Mr. Hartman?”
“Can you arrange a lunch meeting with my mother, please? As soon as she’s available.”
If it’s time to fire Cyrus, I need to enlist help. As ridiculous as it sounds, I need my mother. After all, she is the biggest shareholder in the company.
25
I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I'll go to it laughing.
Herman Melville, Moby-Dick
Bailey:
The next two days are a blur.
Work is busy, but because I spent most of the weekend in my office, I’m done with my end of a paper I’m co-writing with Dr. Pierre Landrieu. Our topic is the adaptability of gender roles in isolated communities. My section is predominantly about my experiences in the Taiga, and requires no new research, just a re-read of the diaries and the blog I kept during my time there. Dr. Landrieu’s section will include his experiences from his time in Patagonia. Pierre Landrieu is a star in my world - one of the pioneering voices in cultural anthropology, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to co-write a paper with him.
I get several teasing messages from my girls about missing Monday night drinking. Each one makes me blush. Gabby doesn’t text me - instead, she calls and demands that we have lunch. “I refuse to be kept in the dark, Bails,” she says.
We meet for lunch and I tell her everything, Daniel’s stupid comment Friday night, the gift of vodka, which I finally picked up from FedEx, the Hartman Foundation grant to NYU, and finally, the proceedings of Monday night.
“So,” I ask her when I’m done, “do you think I’m a fool?”
“Normally I’d give you grief for sleeping with Daniel after he acted like an asshole,” she says thoughtfully. “But you know what? I’m tempted to give him a one-time pass. For some reason, Daniel Hartman is always in the tabloids. He’s probably sick of it.”
My heart sinks a little. Daniel didn’t come across as a player, but I can’t really trust my judgment about men. After all, I spent eleven months with Trevor. My instincts are horrible. “Is he always in the tabloids? What about?”
“That’s the thing,” she replies, taking a bite out of her egg salad sandwich. “He’s never doing anything particularly newsworthy. He could be walking down the street, and he’d make the Post. He’s dated some Hollywood actresses casually, but nothing that warrants this kind of coverage.”
“Yikes. He’s dated actresses?” I wince. “He’s definitely slumming it then.”
“Will you stop?” she demands. “You are beautiful and smart and accomplished.”
“That’s what they keep saying,” I confess. “Sebastian and Daniel. They get very irritated with me when I’m insecure.”
“In that case,” Gabby announces, “I think I like them. It is immensely irritating when you put yourself down. So this wasn’t a one-time thing?”