It’s Just Business

That’s it. I’m done.

Done with men. Done with today. Just done.

It took all of a single minute walking as quickly as I could down the crowded street before the tears started falling. I didn’t even try to stop them. I cried for the wasted time with Evan, the unexpected and public heartbreak, and the loss of the future I thought I had on lock with him. I cried for bombing my important meeting, losing any chance at the job with Sharpe, and for the interview turning into a request for a semi-date situation. Thankfully, the tears stopped before I made it to the subway, replaced with anger that’s carried me the rest of the way home.

“Fuck it all!” I growl as I unlock my front door, struggling with the key like it wants to let me down too. Down the hall, Mr. Anderson, our neighbor who seems to spend all of his time in the combination of sweatpants and a bathrobe regardless of the time of day, the time of year, or what he might be doing, shoots me a judgmental glance. “What?” I bite back, not interested in his opinion of me at this moment.

“Nothin’,” Mr. Anderson says, even though the scowl of moral high ground is still firmly in place. “Just⁠—”

“In this city, the word ‘fuck’ is heard more often than ‘thank you’, and I’ve had a rough day, so can you give me some grace?” Finally getting my door open, I step inside, and before he can answer, I slam it closed behind me. The sound is as final as my chances with Sharpe.

Laughter and chatter in the living room stops instantly, all eyes landing on me and my loud entrance. Maggie and her best friend-slash-sorority sister, Ami, are sitting at opposite ends of the couch, wine glasses in hand. They both work remote jobs, based around deadlines rather than hours, but it’s unexpected for them to be here mid-afternoon. It’s like they were waiting on me, ready to toast my new job the moment I walked through the door. Too bad that’s definitely not happening now.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Maggie says, holding a hand up dramatically. “What happened?”

I can’t even begin to process how to explain what happened, so I start by hanging up my bag and slipping my heels off as I mumble to myself.

How could I have been so blind? How could Evan break up with me so… easily? So cruelly? And to twist the knife even deeper, he’s been cheating on me for who knows how long with his secretary? And he did it all today, of all days. I can’t get over that, either. He’s cost me years of my life.

Because instead of getting the job I would be perfect at, I’m offered a fucking date instead. Bullshit!

I wish I were dreaming. I wish this were all a nightmare I could wake up from. I pinch my arm, but no luck. Maggie and Ami both look at me like I’m crazy.

“Raven?” Maggie says, her voice gentled in concern.

“You okay?” Ami asks. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

Ami’s tall frame and straight blonde hair are at complete odds with Maggie’s perfectly curled reddish brown, but both look back at me with matching widened eyes and worry.

“I… I…” I start, but before I can form a full sentence, Maggie’s right there, hugging me.

“Shh, come on, whatever it is, you’ll be okay,” she says, her chin digging into the top of my head. I’m not short by any means, but she’s model-tall so she can tuck me up under her chin in a motherly way I didn’t know I needed right now. “Come here. The couch has a spot with your name on it.”

I nod. ‘Okay… yeah,” I whisper, and I can see Maggie and Ami exchange looks. Without a word, Ami pours me a glass of her white wine, bringing it over and handing it to me before sitting on the floor so I have room on the couch. “Thanks.”

“We were ready to celebrate, but we can commiserate too,” Maggie says, sitting down next to me. “What happened?”

I take a deep breath, and a sip of wine. It helps, but I set the glass back on the coffee table to tell them everything. “Well, I got to Lionfish with about five or six minutes to spare, and got seated just fine when… Evan showed up.”Content rights by NôvelDr//ama.Org.

“Evan?” Ami asks, her eyes narrowing. Her tone turns harsh. “What the hell was he doing there? He knew how important that meeting was to do on your own…”

“He was there to… he was there to break up with me,” I tell them, waiting for the tears to fall. But for some reason, they don’t. I mean, I still feel like I’ve been socked in the gut, but I don’t feel like crying. I’m more angry than anything else. “He’s been cheating on me with his secretary.”

“That fucker,” Maggie hisses quietly. “I knew he could be an asshole sometimes, but… shit. I didn’t know about Elise, Raven. Swear to God.”

Maggie and Ami are from families that do well, but nothing like Evan’s family, who reign from the tippy-top of the hierarchy. Still, those circles can be interwoven, especially when you take into account that New York City is smaller than people think, and you typically don’t need six degrees of Kevin Bacon to find a connection with anyone.

“I know,” I say, reassuring her. She’s a good friend, and if she’d had any clue about Evan, she would’ve told me right away. “Anyway, after Evan breaking up with me exactly five minutes before my interview, I had to pull myself together. I still felt like a total mess when Mr. Sharpe walked over and introduced himself. It… didn’t go well. He saw everything.”

Ami chimes in, “What the hell does getting broken up with have to do with stocks?” Her tone is full of indignation on my behalf. “It’s about how fucking hard you’ve worked.”

Maggie agrees, and I take a deep breath. Instead of trying to explain more, I pick up the glass of wine and take a small sip, but Maggie upends it, making me gulp down the rest. “Good, now breathe,” she coaches helpfully.

“It’s going to be all right,” Ami says, trying to sound hopeful, but we both know the financial district eats hard cores for breakfast and flosses their teeth with the bones of the dead.

“So,” Maggie asks, “he didn’t offer you the job, or do you just think that the interview didn’t go well?”

“No. I don’t have the job, but…” Something confusing stirs inside of me as I remember his offer.

Ami lifts an eyebrow. “But?”

“He said he saw what happened between me and Evan, and apparently, those two have history. He asked for details, and I was honest with him. Mr. Sharpe called Evan a fucking idiot.” A smile steals across my face, and then an unexpected chuckle escapes at the memory. Maggie and Ami snort out laughs of surprise as well. “I wasn’t in the mood to object, obviously. But he said that I wouldn’t be a good fit in his firm. He didn’t give a reason, but I got the feeling that it was because of Evan, so I guess I can thank that asshole for that, too.”

“I officially hate that guy,” Ami declares. She’s likely planning a smear effort on-par with a political attack campaign, something she’s entirely capable of spearheading.

Maggie holds up her hand in solidarity. “Me too.” She’d design, print, and distribute the Evan Sucks pins at every club in a five-block radius if I asked her to.

“Well… maybe there’s something else,” I reply. “Even though he didn’t hire me, he said he might have an opportunity for me.” As wary about the sound of that as I was, my friends raise their brows skeptically.

‘I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” Maggie warns.

“This Friday is the Faulkner fundraising event, and he offered to take me as his plus-one.”

“He asked you on a date?” Ami asks, horrified. “Are you serious?”

She’s offended on my behalf, and while I’m grateful she has my back, and despite my thoughts initially being along the same line, I’m not sure I have another option right now.

“It’s not a date,” I protest a little too vehemently. “He basically said he’ll introduce me to a colleague of his, someone who might have a position for me. It’s networking. And a little bit of poking the bear on Dylan’s behalf, I think? He said something about knocking Evan off his pedestal.” I shrug, not exactly sure what he meant but pretty on-board with some pedestal crashing myself.

“Uh-huh,” Maggie says, smirking. “And the fact that Dylan Sharpe is sexy as hell doesn’t have anything to do with it?”

As part of my interview preparation, I learned everything I could about Dylan Sharpe and his firm. That may or may not have included showing Maggie some pictures I found of him online. To say he’s attractive is like saying the sun’s a little warm. More important to me, though, is his mind, and the man is whip-smart and a prime example of the trajectory I’d like to follow myself, working up from the ground floor to create an empire. An evening picking his brain and watching him work is a wish come true.

“Not really,” I reply, my voice surprisingly steady. “Though the idea of showing up to Evan’s fundraiser with a man who’s hotter and maybe even richer sounds… intriguing.”

“When you put it that way…” Ami says with a smirk. “Break out the petty confetti! I’m Team Raven!”

Maggie seems less sure but agrees reluctantly. “Team Raven, all the way.” But after taking a sip of her wine, she warns, “Be careful, though, okay? Play it smart and do what’s best for you, and not anyone else. I get the whole ‘get over one guy by getting under another’ vibe, but these aren’t guys from Tinder that you’re rebound fucking. You’re playing with the big dogs, and either of them, or both of them, could tank your career before it even starts.”

She’s right, obviously. And while I’m not as experienced in chess-level maneuvers as Evan or Mr. Sharpe—no, Dylan—are, I’m not completely without skills. I can attend the fundraiser, press palms to make the connections I need, show Evan that he didn’t break me, and leave with my head held high.

“Or,” Ami drawls out dramatically, “you leave Evan in your dust, make Dylan Sharpe fall in love with you, and get that big corner office in the sky.”

I shake my head. “That’s not happening. I haven’t even fully committed to going to the fundraiser yet. I told Dylan I’d let him know by tomorrow so I didn’t sound desperate.”

“You’re going,” Maggie declares, seemingly reversing her previous doubts. “What other choice do you have?”

None. I have no other options, no more interviews scheduled, and only a couple of resumes I haven’t heard back on yet. I wouldn’t let that stop me, but a little shortcut to a possible opening at another firm is a gift I can’t refuse. Even if it comes with complications, like going to my ex’s family fundraiser on the arm of the man whose company I desperately wanted to work for.

“I’m going,” I agree. “I’ll let him know tomorrow.”