The Futures(14)

She smiled, like she knew something I didn’t. “Oh, of course. Henry and I do a lot of work together. I do all the publicity—which I guess you know by now—so I’m really the gatekeeper when people want to talk to Henry. We’re very close. And they are quite involved in the event planning. This gala might drive me mad, actually. Henry is as sweet as they come, but Dot can be a total control freak.” Eleanor ashed her cigarette. “She’s so stubborn. I swear, everything I suggest, she wants to do the opposite of. I don’t know what it is about her. You know what I mean?”

So this was why she had asked me to lunch. Even behind her sunglasses, I could see the hunger for gossip. Truth be told, I didn’t really know much about the Fletchers. Not at that point, at least. I’d said hello to them at parties for years, but that was it. They were rich, that was the main thing to know. I mumbled some assent, and Eleanor’s gleam faded to indifference, as fast as a scudding cloud. She glanced at her watch, calculating how much longer she’d have to endure with me.

We passed the time with empty back-and-forth. She perked up when I mentioned that Evan worked at Spire. “Oh, they’re great. Their CEO, David Kleinman, he bought a table at our gala last year. Those guys are legendary.” She laughed. “So I guess you’re doing well for yourself, then.”

After our plates had been cleared and we were awaiting the check—she kept looking over her shoulder to hurry the waiter—someone called her name from down the sidewalk. She pushed back her sunglasses, and she smiled for the first time.

I turned in my seat. Then I went cold, despite the sunshine. I turned back, and reached for my water to erase the dryness in my throat, my hand shaking. The person waving at her was Adam McCard.

Eleanor kissed him on the cheek. He turned to introduce himself to me just as I was standing up and trying in vain to smooth the wrinkles from my dress. Before I could remind him who I was, his mouth fell open.

“Julia Edwards!” he shouted.

He remembered me. Of course he did. He laughed, then hugged me. “I can’t believe it! It’s been—how long? Two years?”

“Something like that.” I smiled. Then I exhaled. My nerves were already fading. I felt shy, empty of anything to say, but a little part of me felt an old comfort return. Adam could always make me feel like I belonged, which in those tricky months after graduation was the most important and elusive feeling of all.

I saw Eleanor watching us—watching me—with unconcealed disdain.

“How do you two know each other?” she said.

“Wow. I can’t get over it.” He shook his head. “El, Julia and I went to college together. We both wrote for the same magazine on campus. Shit, we go way back. Wait—how do you guys know each other?”

“We work together,” Eleanor said. “Julia’s an assistant at the Fletcher Foundation.” She pronounced the word assistant with a distancing sneer.

“Man. This is crazy.” Adam looked at his watch. “Shoot, I’m actually late for something. Jules, I’m so glad I ran into you. I didn’t even know you were in New York. I’ll give you a call, okay? Eleanor, beautiful, you look as amazing as ever.” He walked backwards down the sidewalk, waving before he continued on his way.

“Well,” Eleanor said, donning her sunglasses again and reaching for the check, which had arrived at last. “You just know everyone, don’t you?”





Chapter 3


Evan



“Do you want to ride in together tomorrow?” Julia had asked the night before. We were lying in bed, her blond hair fanned out across my chest. It was the first day of work the next morning, for both of us.

“Nah, that’s okay. I have to get there early.”

“Evan.” She turned to look at me, like she could sense the anxious jump in my stomach. “You’re going to be great. You know that, right?”

I drank my coffee too fast on the subway ride down and burned my tongue. My pace quickened on the sidewalk in midtown, to keep up with the other workers hurrying toward their air-conditioned refuges. Outside my building, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass and started—I wasn’t used to seeing myself in a suit. Up on the thirty-ninth floor, a receptionist typed rapidly behind an imposing front desk branded with Spire’s logo. She sized me up in one glance. “First day?” she said.

I’d gone through several rounds of interviews back in the spring. My third and final interview had been with Michael Casey, the second in command at Spire. Back in March, he’d come to fetch me himself from the thirty-ninth-floor lobby, jerking his head for me to follow. He was on the short side, and his hair was going salty from gray. Other people stepped back as Michael walked past with an impatient stride, giving him a wide berth. In his office, he pointed for me to sit. He looked pissed off. He hadn’t even shaken my hand. He must hate this part, I thought—sifting through résumés, trying to discern some difference among us. It was all a big waste of his time. The interview was doomed. It was stupid of me to ever think I’d get the job. But then Michael picked up my résumé, and at that moment his expression changed. Softened. He looked up at me, back down at the résumé, and nodded carefully.

“You’re from Canada,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”