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private equities are…groups of people with lots and lots of money and spare time.
“Uh…in the rainbow world you live in, maybe. Have fun frolicking with the unicorns, Rue. There’s no way Florence has the money.”
Do you guys have any friends, aside from each other?” “I have Bruce.” “Bruce is a cat, Tish.” “And your point?”
“Neither of us has the emotional constitution for job insecurity.” “Nope.”
“There, there.” I patted her leg comfortingly. “At least we’ve never pretended to be anything but what we are.” “Dumbasses?” “Apparently.”
they seemed…normal. Approachable. The long-haired woman was at ease in her jeans and seemed pleased with the turnout, and so did the broad-shouldered man who stood just a little too close to her. The tall figure in the well-groomed beard surveyed the room a touch haughtily, but who was I to judge? I’d been told several times I didn’t exactly inspire fuzzy warmth. And the fourth man, the one who joined the group last, gait unhurried and smile confident, he seemed… The blood congealed in my veins.
Her silence was answer enough. “Nope. Get out,” he ordered, at once amiable and menacing. Eli’s entire professional life relied on his ability to find something that would motivate people to successfully do their jobs, and in his expert opinion, this shithead needed to be scared a little.
He liked that she didn’t say can’t, but don’t want. The lack of apology in her tone. Her serious, quiet expression.
“As you prefer,” she told him, indifferent. She clearly couldn’t care less whether he took his phone out and booty-called half the city or swore his undying loyalty to her, and Eli bit back a smile.
“If I know bad news is coming, I’m never going to be able to enjoy the good one. Best approach is: Tell me the good, allow me five minutes of happiness, and then break the bad. How many times have I explained this to you?” The dry “feels like hundreds” in the background was quintessentially Sul’s.
“Do you happen to have more good news?” Minami urged. “Like a good news Oreo?” “You know I don’t, because I told you in advance. Aren’t you happy you were adequately prepared?” “No.”
I knew he was referring to the gravitational energy between us. We were both caught in it.
We’d agreed that mutually satisfying sexual activity would be the period terminating the sentence of our acquaintance.
“Do you have a minute to talk?” I wondered if it was going to be about Eli. Then whether I was losing my damn mind: we were two engineers in a professional setting—surely we could pass the Bechdel test.
