by Adam Mitzner
Will was reaching into his pocket when Sam said, “You’re showing your age, Lloyd. Nobody uses business cards anymore. Tomorrow, I’ll email Will’s contact information. Call him Monday morning to set things in motion.” Then he shook Fieldstone’s hand. “Will and I are going to make the rounds. Enjoy yourself, old man.”
Sam made half a dozen introductions in the next hour, all of which proceeded along the same lines. Rajat Singh was a tall, thin man with a full beard who had several business concerns, mainly telecommunications, on the subcontinent. Dae-Hyun Rhee was pear-shaped and wore oversize eyeglasses. He was from South Korea and in finance. George Kennefick, from Australia, had a blond, middle-aged surfer look to him. His business was oil, although he called it petroleum. His story of meeting Sam involved several women; Sam cut him short before he could retell it in all its glory.
“Speaking of breathtakingly gorgeous women . . .” Kennefick said. “Where’s Eve?”
“She’s here somewhere.”
Sam was being intentionally unhelpful. Sam and Will were looking straight at the terrace. Eve was directly in their sight line. She was hard to miss and still chatting up Gwen. Kennefick could have simply been told to turn around, but Sam had chosen to deny him the opportunity.
“You’re not hiding her, are you, mate?”
“Not at all, George. But maybe she’s trying to keep her distance from you.”
He let loose a loud guffaw. Will had the distinct impression that Sam was not joking, and that meant there must be an unspoken history involving the three of them.
If that was right, Kennefick didn’t seem to appreciate the subtext. He put his arm on Sam’s shoulder and said, “She’s the reason I came halfway around the world to a party. It wasn’t to see your ugly mug, I’ll tell you that straightaway.”
Sam looked at Kennefick’s hand the way you might a bug that has landed on you. For a moment Will thought Sam might actually swat at it. Instead, Sam grasped Kennefick by the elbow and said, “Always a pleasure, George. When I see Eve, I’ll be sure to tell her that you were asking for her. Until then, though, I need to introduce Young Will here to some other people. Please excuse us.”
“Very nice meeting you, Mr. Kennefick,” Will said, extending his hand.
At the beginning of the handshake, Kennefick kept his focus on Sam. When he finally met Will’s eye, he said, “Very nice to meet you too, mate. Hopefully we’ll get to do some business together in the near future.”
After that, the names and businesses blurred. All told, in the hour or so he was in Sam’s company, Will must have been introduced to a dozen men, each with a successful business in a faraway land.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Will said after the introductions were complete and the two men were talking alone in the corner of the terrace. “You’ve literally changed my life. I keep asking myself—”
Sam completed the thought: “Why you?”
“Yeah.”
Sam put his arm around Will’s shoulder. “There are a million guys trying to suck up to me every day to get a piece of my business. I don’t even answer the phone when they call. But like I told you when we met, I see something in you, Will. That indefinable thing that separates the winners from the losers. Call it a gut feeling or intuition or whatnot, but I sense the opportunity for us to do some great things together. And make a lot of money doing it. Am I right about that?”
“Yes. One hundred percent.”
Will thought back to all the “meeting Sam” stories that had been shared with him in the last hour. Perhaps someday, he mused, he would be introduced to a younger man at one of these parties and Sam would say, “Will here is in finance, and we met by chance at a Devils game.”
Will felt a swell of pride, but then he realized that there was still a battle on the horizon.
“I have a favor to ask.”
Sam smiled. “Have I not done enough for you already?”
Will felt one inch tall, but he had to ask for Sam to meet with Wolfe.
He could have lied and told Sam it was a pro forma thing that Maeve Grant required before opening any new accounts. But he figured Sam would see through that, having undoubtedly had other brokers in the past. Besides, he got the feeling that Sam would appreciate the honesty.
“I’m sorry to even have to ask. But my boss, unfortunately, is a world-class dick. He’s demanding to meet with you. He thinks that he’ll charm you into letting him put his name on the account as cobroker so that he can grab half the commissions. When I pushed back, he said he’d go to Compliance—” Will caught himself. “I figured it’s just easier to ask you to sit down with him, if that’s okay. And even if you do, I can’t guarantee that he’s not going to demand to meet the people you introduced me to as well, if any of them want to open accounts.”
Will braced for the worst. In his mind he heard Sam say, Maybe I misjudged you, Will. I mean, if you can’t work out this petty dispute with your boss, I’m uncomfortable entrusting you with so much of my money.
But instead, Sam smiled as if it was of no concern. “I’m heading out tomorrow morning for a meeting in the UK but expect to be back by Wednesday. Set something up for Thursday. Anytime. I’ll make myself available.”
“Thank you, Sam. I’m sorry to have to make you jump through this extra hoop.”
“It’s no problem at all, Will. I’m more than happy to meet your dick of a boss. And don’t worry. I’ll make it crystal clear to him that you’re my guy. I’ll tell him I never want to see or hear from him again, and neither does anyone I refer. Trust me, you won’t have an issue with him again.”
16.
Gwen’s first impression of Eve was far from charitable. Stunningly beautiful in a way that couldn’t help but be off-putting to other women, and a good decade younger than her very wealthy partner, Eve seemed to be the textbook example of a gold digger.
But then, apropos of nothing they’d discussed previously, Eve posed a question that shattered all of Gwen’s preconceived notions.
“Don’t you tire of being the girlfriend?”
Gwen’s surprise was not because the question wasn’t on point. In fact, Eve might well have been reading Gwen’s mind. Still, the sentiment was usually not so bluntly put. But more important, up until that moment, Gwen had been certain that not only would Eve never tire of being the girlfriend, it seemed like her raison d’être.
As she was processing this sudden turn of events, a very handsome waiter approached. “Another glass of champagne, ladies?”
Eve smiled and said, “Yes. Thank you.” She removed two from the man’s silver tray.
Gwen was reasonably sure that Eve would not have pressed for a response. It was as if raising the issue was sufficient to make her point. But something compelled Gwen to join the issue.
“I’m actually not even the girlfriend yet. This is only our third date.”
“The all-important third date,” Eve said with a smile.
Gwen could feel herself blush. She pivoted the conversation back to Eve’s romantic life. “How long have you and Sam been together?”
Eve took a long sip of champagne. “You know that test that they apply to movies? Whether any of the female characters have a discussion with each other that’s not about a man?”
“Yes, the Bechdel test.”
“Right. We should do the sisterhood proud and stop talking about the men in our lives. Let’s show some interest in each other. So, Gwen, tell me about you.”
Gwen suspected that this was Eve’s way of avoiding having to discuss her relationship with Sam. Still, she wasn’t going to be responsible for setting back the cause of female empowerment.
“I’m a lawyer at a law firm called Taylor Beckett.”
“Smart and beautiful, then. What type of law do you practice?”
“I’m in the litigation group. Right now, I’m on the team working on the murder trial of Jasper Toolan.”
“I’ve read about that. Fascinating. Did you always dream of somed
ay defending famous men who were accused of murdering their wives?”
Eve said this with a smile, but to Gwen it was no joking matter. “No. I’m sadly a top-notch sellout. I went to law school to help the disadvantaged, but I’m about a million miles away from that now.”
“That’s the great thing about losing your way, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“You can always find the path back.”
“Smart and beautiful?” Gwen said with a smile of her own.
“No, just someone who has made her fair share of wrong turns.”
“And what do you do for a living?”
“I’m an interior decorator. What’s the joke? If you can’t change the world, change the decor? That’s my life, in a nutshell.” Her eyes looked back into the apartment. “Exhibit A.”
Gwen considered the space again, now with the knowledge that Eve had decorated it. “Does that mean that you’re responsible for the Rothko?”
“In a matter of speaking, I suppose. Which is to say, it was selected by me, but of course Sam paid for it.”
“It’s wonderful.”
“I agree. I absolutely adore the way it makes you feel. Almost as if you’re at one with color. Of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. When I brought it home, Sam said that he thought he could have painted it himself. Right now, I’m on the lookout for a Pollock for him. I’m quite certain he’ll find the chaos soothing.”
Gwen noticed that Sam and Will had moved on from the others and were now engaged in what appeared to be a serious tête-à-tête. She wondered what type of art Will Matthews favored.
“And here we are, back to talking about the men,” Eve said with a laugh. “You try your best to be a feminist, but men have a way of dominating the conversation even when they’re not in it.”
“You know, I don’t think Will told me what business Sam is in,” Gwen asked.
“I’m quite certain he didn’t.”
Gwen knew that Eve wasn’t just being flip. “That sounds mysterious.”
“I think Sam likes it that way.”
The lawyer in Gwen didn’t like things that sounded mysterious. Transactions that seemed odd—a wire transfer from overseas, a payment from a shell company incorporated in the Isle of Man, anything that was explained as being done for “tax reasons”—might not be illegal, but were, at the very least, a red flag that something might not be on the up-and-up.
She wanted to believe that Will couldn’t possibly be involved in something criminal, but all of a sudden she questioned that assumption. Gwen had met enough brokers to know that many of them lived by the credo that if you weren’t engaged in something shady, you weren’t trying hard enough. Then again, practicing law had jaded Gwen. She was like the doctor who specializes in genetic abnormalities and was convinced that everyone’s got one. Being rich—or in Sam’s case, super rich—was hardly a crime. Nor was being private about your business interests.
Apparently sensing Gwen’s apprehension, Eve said, “Sam’s a hedge fund guy. Nothing that mysterious about it. And like all hedge fund guys, he dabbles a little in real estate. And he likes to own other expensive things.”
Gwen was disappointed in herself. It was like watching a magic trick that amazed you and pestering the magician for the secret, only to be told that it was something as simple as hiding the quarter between your fingers to make it seem as if it had disappeared. Although you got the knowledge you had been seeking, what you gave up was clearly of much greater value.
“Don’t you just love a man who thinks that good fortune is bound to come their way?” Eve continued. “Like latter-day Jay Gatsbys? Sam’s that way, and I have a feeling Will is too. Maybe it’s just an offshoot of white male privilege. But Sam really believes that the world will bend to him if only he puts in the work and gets lucky at the right time. Women know that the world doesn’t work like that. So we assume that when something is too good to be true, it’s not true.”
“But that’s because we’re right, and they’re wrong,” Gwen said sharply.
“Are we, though?” Eve smiled. “I mean, look around you. Sam’s doing okay following his belief system.”
“Maybe you’re right. There’s this joke they tell in law school about how you can tell who’s destined to be a lawyer from a young age. We’re the people who read the back of the ticket to the roller coaster, where a disclaimer says that you waive any liability by riding, which basically means that the company could shoot you while you’re on it and there’s nothing you can do. Everyone else is just excited to be on the ride.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Gwen. Will’s very lucky to have someone who’s smart and beautiful by his side, looking out for him. Just don’t let your well-honed sense of cynicism rub off on him too much. I think his future is going to be very bright. At least from the way Sam talks about him. He thinks Will is truly someone special.”
Gwen once again surveyed the room. She couldn’t deny that Eve had a very strong point. There they were, among the 1 percent of the 1 percent, and Will was the new golden boy. Gwen had certainly heard her fair share of stories of twentysomethings who had struck it big. They were always risk takers—never lawyers. People who believed in themselves and the possibility that great things could happen. People who were like the dog. And who was more like the dog than Will Matthews?
17.
At midnight, Gwen leaned in and whispered in Will’s ear, “Would you mind very much if we left?”
“No. I was thinking the same thing.”
Gwen gave only her address to the cab driver. Will was smart enough to keep quiet as the car headed for her building.
The doorman smiled at Will, suggesting he was envious of what awaited Will upstairs. In the elevator, Gwen pressed the button for the twenty-fourth floor. They stood in silence as the car ascended. Will remained mute as they walked down a long corridor that reminded him of a hotel because of the way the pattern on the carpeting repeated every twenty feet.
Once inside the apartment, Gwen took Will’s coat and carefully placed it on a hanger in a closet beside the door. She then did the same with her own, again revealing the dress that Will had had trouble keeping his eyes off all night.
“You should make yourself a little more comfortable,” she said. “Take off your shoes and tie. You’re off the clock now.”
She was right. Earlier was work. This was pleasure. He should relax.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked.
Will very much wanted something to calm his nerves. He had limited his alcohol consumption at the party because he needed to keep some semblance of control, but he didn’t mind ceding that to inebriation now.
“Sure. Whatever you’re going to have.”
“I have a bottle of white wine in the fridge. How’s that?”
“Perfect.”
Gwen’s living room was almost exactly as he had pictured it in his mind. Grown-up looking, which made it a sharp contrast to his living space that still resembled a college dorm, if not a frat house. Her sofa almost certainly had been purchased new, and he suspected she’d selected the fabric from a swatch. An upright piano sat in the corner, and the walls were decorated with framed art.
Gwen joined him on the sofa a minute later, handing Will a glass of wine before kicking off her own shoes. “That was quite the party.”
“I know, right? Just your average Saturday night for Will Matthews.”
He was determined to wait until they had both finished their wine before making a move. That would serve the dual purpose of relaxing them both while also increasing the sexual tension. At least, that was what he hoped.
“Thank you so much for coming with me, Gwen.”
“It was everything you promised and more. On top of which, I got to wear a dress that I thought would hang in my closet forever.”
Will felt himself leaning in toward Gwen, as if he could no longer control the timetable he had previously established in his own mind. As they kisse
d, he sensed Gwen placing her wineglass on the coffee table. A second later, he felt her hand come up to his neck. His hands were on her bare back, feeling the softness of her skin.
Then Will’s lips dropped to Gwen’s neck, and she let out a light moan.
On Monday, Will woke up in his own apartment with a renewed purpose for living. He lingered in bed, reliving the weekend that had just passed—a highlight reel that he wanted to etch into his brain. Shutting his eyes, he again saw the curve of Gwen’s breasts, how his hands had covered her nipples as she hovered over him, the way her head lolled back, and how she tightly clenched her eyes shut when she climaxed.
But what he remembered most vividly was her laugh when it was over. The way she left no doubt that she had enjoyed herself. It was the kind of laugh you let go after an amusement park ride, when the thrill has subsided but you remember how exciting it was in the moment.
He couldn’t recall ever having a weekend like this one. That both his personal and professional lives could simultaneously be on such an upward trajectory seemed more like a blessing from above than mere coincidence.
His thoughts were no longer about survival at Maeve Grant. Now he was thinking about just how high he could fly. If only a fraction of the men he’d met Saturday night invested with him, he’d be earning in the mid six figures in no time at all.
Will arrived at the Maeve Grant Tower decked out in the blue chalk-stripe suit that Mario had sent over with the tux. In the lobby he saw Brian, who jogged to catch up to him. When he did, he looked Will up and down from head to toe.
“Did you get captured by GQ or something?”
“A little wardrobe update, that’s all.”
“Zegna? Valentino?”
Brian prided himself on being something of a fashionista. He owned suits by each designer—purchased on his parents’ credit card, of course.
