“No. You’re my best friend.”
Because Ben would never see me as someone he’d pursue romantically. I’ve experienced the truth of that firsthand.
I drain the glass in a single drink, two hundred dollars of tequila burning down my throat.
“D? You good?”
I blink to see his handsome face drawn in concern—for me, for my state of mind.
I set the glass on the table and force my attention back to the screen. “Yeah. We should play.”
We do, falling into familiar rhythms, the challenge and thrill of experiencing life-or-death in a safe way burning off some of the frustration in my bloodstream from the week. By the time we finish, it’s after two.
“Good job, partner,” I offer as I stand, stretching to alleviate my cramped muscles.
He follows my actions, high-fiving me once we’re both upright.
“Surprised Lily isn’t here,” he comments as he takes the glasses to the sink and tucks the remaining tequila into a cabinet.
“She’s staying at a friend’s.” I reach for the bracelet on my wrist on instinct, and his sharp gaze follows the motion.
“You still think about her,” he says, but he doesn’t mean Lil.
I swallow, drawing in a slow breath. “Of course.”
Do you still think about her? I want to ask the question, but I’m not prepared for the answer.
Once Ben has his jacket back on over the T-shirt, he steps close. His thumb grazes my jaw, his fingertips brushing the hair at my nape. The touch isn’t unusual.
But tonight, I swear he takes his time, not wanting to step back.
“Why do you touch me like that?” I blurt.
He frowns as if thinking about it for the first time. “Because it feels like you’re half somewhere else. I want you here with me and when I touch you, you are.”
My chest aches. I am here. I’m all the way here, Ben.
I wish to hell he would see it.
His thumb on my cheek sends sparks that have me parting my lips, and it takes everything in me not to let my traitorous gaze fall to his perfect mouth.
“Get some sleep,” he murmurs, those dark eyes searching my face. “I'll see you at brunch in a few hours.”
Then his touch is gone, and a moment later, so is he.
I lean back against the door, wrapping my arms around myself because I’m suddenly cold in this dress.
“I want you here with me and when I touch you, you are.”
The irony burns.
There’s no way Ben and I would happen, because he doesn’t see me that way. Because we have too much history as friends, because he’s too precise and controlling, because our lives are too demanding.
Because before she left…
My twin sister had him first.
2
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Tris drawls over the Bluetooth in my car. “I take it you saw an investment you liked in LA?”
I shift in the driver’s seat of the Tesla Roadster I bought earlier this year, navigating the early-morning weekend traffic. “A new networking app. The demo they showed me was unreal. I’ll pitch it Monday at our partners’ meeting.”
“You know Holt’s pitching a second round of funding for that health services company he’s sweet on.”
I shake my head. “We need to cash out and free up funds for new ventures. We’re a VC, Tris, not entrepreneurs. We have to get in and get out at the right time.”
My company invests in early-stage ventures and helps them scale. Me, two other partners, Xavier and Holt, plus Tris—our corporate counsel and also my brother—run the show.
Since I started with the firm two years ago, Holt and I have disagreed on most things. I’ve built my reputation of being strategically impulsive. I have big ideas others don’t. I take bold risks, but they’re calculated. It’s what I love about my industry. I get to help make things real, make products that change lives, turn smart kids into millionaires or sometimes more.
“Well, I’ll see you at brunch. What are you doing until then?” Tris asks.
“Meeting Xavier.”
“Wait, what?”
“Got to go,” I say, clicking off as I pull up to Xavier’s house and park in the private lot around the corner.
Our industry never sleeps, but it’s still unusual for our senior partner to invite me for coffee at his brownstone on a Saturday morning.
His housekeeper shows me into a masculine study, full of dark wood and leather-bound volumes. Scattered in between are pictures of family in bright frames.
“Benjamin.”
I turn to see our senior partner, more casual than normal in a dark sweater and chinos.
Everyone in the industry, and in the city, knows Xavier Cousins. Valedictorian of an Ivy League business school, and one of the first black leaders of a major venture firm, he's built his reputation—and his fortune—by balancing patience with decisiveness.
I wanted to work with him, to learn from him, as soon as I finished grad school.
Growing my trust fund fiftyfold was enough to get me on his radar when he expanded his Manhattan firm.
“Thank you for coming this morning.”
He gestures to two wingback chairs by the window, and I sink into one.
"You nominated me for this award. It means a lot to me.”
“A nomination isn’t a win,” he says. “You’re capable, ambitious, but young.”
“I’ve made this firm more money in two years than anyone has in the last five.”
“I’ve noticed. And as I’m sure you’ve noticed, there have been rumors about my retirement. Though I can’t confirm the timing, I am thinking about succession planning. I want to see you do well, but you need a lot to move up to the next level.”
“I have a Harvard MBA.”
“You need more than that. You need a life outside of work. Holt’s ten-year anniversary is coming up.”
A laugh escapes as I think of our other partner, but it dies when I realize Xavier’s not laughing with me.
Holt might have a circle of high-powered friends, but he lacks the vision and integrity to lead the firm into a new generation. His decisions are conservative because he can’t stand a blemish on his record—to the point he’ll get his hands dirty in order to save face.
He’d rather be seen dining with the right people than actually do the work behind the scenes. Holt doesn’t waste his time rolling up his sleeves and involving himself in nonprofit governance when he can just cut a check and bask in the kudos and tax credits.
Every associate on our team has horror stories about his demands—from the Yale grad he tried to fire when he learned she was pregnant to the intern he demanded go through his office and home closets on the weekend while Holt was traveling to find a jacket he wanted cleaned for when he returned, only to find out later that Holt had it with him all along.
He’s in it for the prestige, not the job. The only place Holt would run our company is into the ground.
Xavier might not be privy to Holt’s indiscretions, but he must know Holt misses great opportunities, especially from up-and-coming entrepreneurs, that could pay off.
“You’re joking,” I say.
“I’m not. And don’t think I’m entirely old-fashioned. I’m not saying you need a woman. I’d say you need a man, if you were into that.”