The Nest(62)

“This isn’t a meeting.” Nathan tossed a credit card on the bar, started pulling on his coat.

Now Leo was annoyed. He deserved better. “Come on, Nathan. Don’t be like this.”

“Like what? In a hurry?”

Leo tried to think of what he could say to persuade Nathan to stay. The credit card on the bar was a black Amex. Leo couldn’t believe Nathan was doing that well.

“Do you need money?” Nathan asked, noticing Leo staring at the card.

“What? No.”

“Because if this is about money, I can float you a loan. I can do that.”

“It’s not about money. Christ. Why would you think I need money?” Leo was furious remembering that he had thought about borrowing money from Nathan. Hell would have to freeze over.

“I talk to Victoria now and then.”

“Fantastic. Fucking fantastic. Victoria, the most unreliable narrator of all time.”

“To her credit, I had to drag the information out of her.”

“It’s not to her credit; she signed an agreement. In fact, I find it very interesting that she’s trying to turn people against me—”

“Cut the bull, Leo. I asked about you as a friend. I was worried. Nobody’s against you.”

Leo took a deep breath. “So put me on your calendar. Let me give you my presentation. Just hear me out.”

“You say you’ve done your homework?” Nathan said.

“I have.”

“So you know who our CFO is?”

“I didn’t memorize the organization chart, no.”

“Peter Rothstein.” Nathan signed the bar copy and started ripping his receipt into tiny pieces, which he carefully placed back on the edge of the plastic bill tray. Leo frantically tried to remember why the name might be significant. Nothing.

“His brother was Ari Rothstein,” Nathan said.

Leo felt a vague familiar nagging, but still—nothing. “Do I know him?”

“That’s one way to put it. The one who gets it done. Sound familiar?”

Leo’s heart sank. Ari Rothstein had been one of the last SpeakEasy stories of his tenure. A community college kid—kind of portly, dull looking—who sent in a video résumé for a tech-support job. Leo had come to the office one morning to find everyone standing around a monitor, hooting and laughing. The tape started with Ari Rothstein in an ill-fitting suit reeling off his technical experience and then absurdly and awkwardly interrupting himself by removing his jacket, putting on a baseball cap, and singing a nonsensical rap parody about tech support. The chorus was the inelegant and forgettable “I’m the one to get it done.” (I’m the ONE. I’m the ONE. I’m the ONE to get it DONE!) It was awful, and hilarious.

“We’re putting it on the site,” Leo had said, before he’d even watched the entire four minutes and thirty-two seconds. Everyone thought he was kidding at first, but he knew clickthrough gold when he saw it. It was SpeakEasyMedia’s first huge viral video, and Ari Rothstein had been vilified and mocked for weeks, everywhere—online, in print, on television. His clip ended up on a Today Show segment called, “How NOT to Get That Job You Really Want.”

“You hired that guy?”

“Noooo.” Nathan drew out the word as if he were talking to someone incredibly dim. “That guy is dead. He overdosed a few years ago. His brother was with the company before they acquired us, and he didn’t speak to me for more than a year. It took a long time to gain his trust, convince him that I didn’t have anything to do with the incident, and that I regretted it, which I do. What we did back then? It was okay. It was fun. But it wasn’t exactly honorable, Leo. It’s not what I want to be remembered for.”

“I don’t either. That’s my point.”

“I can’t, Leo. I can’t. I’m not saying the Ari thing is your fault—our fault—or anything like that. I’m saying things are different. The business world is different. I’m different. I hope you’re different. And I can’t hire you.”

Leo sat for the first time since entering the bar. He was trying to think of the right thing to say, the sensitive and appropriate thing, but what came out instead was a joke, one the old Nathan might have found amusing. “I guess Ari Rothstein really was the one to get it done.”

After a long silence, Nathan said, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Good luck, Leo. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Don’t be. I have other irons in the fire.”

“Good.”

“Not that you asked, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that in my opinion you should have some concerns about throwing your financial efforts behind Paul Underwood.”

“Is that right?”

“I like Paper Fibres, too, but things are completely chaotic over there. I don’t think Paul has the kind of leadership you’re going to need to bring this forward. I don’t think he’s your guy.”

Nathan stared at the floor and then slowly looked back up at Leo, pityingly. “I was hoping you wouldn’t show up here and still be a prick, Leo. I was really hoping.”

“Don’t misunderstand. I like Paul—”

Nathan put out his hand and Leo reluctantly stood and shook it. “Best of luck, Leo. I hope you get your shit together. For Stephanie’s sake.”