Sick Day (13 page)

T
he following afternoon, I made a few calls to some of Landon’s friends in the financial services sector. Despite his bold and brash lifestyle—and his preference for male companionship—Landon was a decent guy. After the markets closed, we had a chance to talk about my area of specialization, how I could help a relationship-based organization, like a bank, know their clients so much better that they could make virtually any relationship profitable.

He seemed genuinely impressed. Then again, I certainly had the same awe in my eyes when he explained how humidity levels could impact the quality of grain that farmers fed their cattle, and as a result he needed to understand humidity so as to predict the price of feeder cattle futures.

After hanging up with one of Landon’s key contacts—we’d had a good conversation with the promise of lunch in the coming weeks—I heard the doorbell. At first, it struck me as odd, but when I opened the door to find Gordo in a business suit and a big smile, I realized I should have expected this.

“Nap time’s over, Cam,” he said. “Get your shoes on. You need to see this car I’m going to buy.”

I followed Gordo around like a good sidekick, jumping into his BMW and driving out to the Tesla dealership, where he didn’t even flinch at the $125,000 price.

“I want it,” he said, then produced an Amex card. I recognized it as his corporate expense card from Harris, and wondered what was truly going on.

“I’m sorry, sir, we can’t accept credit cards,” the youngish salesman said.

Gordo laughed like it was no big deal. “I’ll swing by with a bag of cash tomorrow.”

“How about a cashier’s check?” the salesman suggested with an arrogant smirk that told me he dealt with moneymakers like Gordon on a daily basis.

Once we left the dealership, Gordon told me he had a friend he wanted me to meet at the Burnham Park Yacht Club. “Josh ran the mortgage lending program at Wachovia before Wells took them out. He’s still unemployed, but keeps busy with some of his
other interests like slum-lording and futures trading.”

I groaned, sliding a little deeper into the seat at the prospect of meeting yet another of Go
rdon’s rich and spoiled friends who could easily be one line away from an overdose. “These guys are out of my league, Gordo. I just need a new job so I can get through this wedding.”

He smacked my knee, a big smile on his face. “Me too. But Josh knows all the players. Tell him your story, and he’ll have the decision-makers calling and offering you a job.”

“I have to be home earlier tonight. Riley wasn’t impressed about last night.” No, not impressed at all.

Gordo kept driving, but I watched his eyes blink while he steered the BMW through traffic. “How’s that working for you, Cam? Two weeks ago, you were hanging out at the office and hoping for a chance meeting with this high school fling of yours.”

“I love Riley,” was my diplomatic, seasoned response.

Gordo liked that; he laughed. “Yeah, I love her, too. But really, how’s it working out?”

I stared out the passenger window as we cruised down Lake Shore Drive.

“You know something, Cam?” Gordo said, his voice softer than I had remembered hearing it over the past few weeks. “Marriage takes a lot of work. It’s like that shitty chinaware your mother wouldn’t let you touch as a kid. One small nudge and it’s broken.”

I kept staring out the window, not really interested in what he had to say, but listening anyway because Gordo didn’t listen to the radio while he drove unless it was Bloomberg.

“Sometimes you can fix those breaks, other times you can’t. And hell, Melinda and I? We’ve broken ours a few times over.”

That got my attention. I glanced over at him again, wondering what that meant, how that matrimonial china could get broken a few times over. If he noticed my prying interest all of a sudden, he didn’t let on.

“Some of those breaks are fixed, others aren’t. Luckily, none of those breaks has been fatal, but it’s a chance we take. Like today, that Tesla I just bought? That might be the deal breaker.” He chuckled like he didn’t care, but I knew that, realistically, Gordo figured that if Melinda kicked his ass to the curb, he could turn up the charm and upsell her on a new and improved Gordo, the version that drove an electric vehicle.

So I chuckled, too. As a litigator, his wife wasn’t the softest woman ever born, but she made bank, she looked great in a skirt, and Gordo seemed to drool every time she flashed him her killer smile. “Why are you telling me all this?”

He turned off Lake Shore and stopped at a traffic light, allowing himself to finally look at me. “You want to know how to make a marriage work? You don’t give it a chance to break. There. It’s that fucking simple.”

This, coming from the guy who had just admitted to dropping and breaking that fragile marriage of his, seemed a little hypocritical. But that was Gordo. He seemed to want for me what he could not have for himself.

He hit the gas when the light turned green, and I told him that my being out with him these past couple of days was giving my marriage a chance to break. “And I’m not even married yet.”

“Nah, this won’t break the marriage.” He glanced over me, his eyes surprisingly serious. “But that girl you’ve been waiting for? She will.”

} i {

S
omewhere out in the middle of Lake Michigan, where we could no longer see the Chicago skyline, Josh killed the power and offered refreshments. He didn’t drink alcohol, so neither Gordon nor I agreed to a beer; we all settled with a Diet Pepsi and dug into a bowl of nachos. The boat rocked with the waves, which were substantial enough to provide an explanation as to why so many people might get sick out here.

While Gordon and Josh talked about the latest theories on people management and the problems facing American financial institutions, I stared out at the vast body of water. To either side of this large 60-foot
SeaRay Sundancer sport yacht, all I saw was the cold blue of the lake and followed it to where it met up with the warm blue sky at the horizon line. The sight inspired me.

As much as I wondered whether I would make it home early enough to have my heart-to-heart chat with Riley, I wished more than anything that Hope could be here on this boat with me. I imagined her smiling, sitting next to me, her hand edging toward mine on this white faux-leather bench, and her fingers brushing against my knuckles, teasing me.

I also remembered the dinner cruise scene from
Our Story,
where Olivia and Oliver fell deeper in love. I hated that my thoughts focused on Hope instead of Riley, hated that—

“Right, Cam?” Gordo said, slapping me so hard on the back that I nearly spit the fantasy out of my mouth. “You’re free this weekend for a boys’ trip to the islands?”

I gave my best banker grin, held myself back from using my famous senior-manager word (which was “absolutely”), and instead shook my head. “Can’t. We’ve got wedding stuff planned.”

Gordo scowled, but Josh shrugged. “No worries. How about next weekend? You’ll want to hang out with us; it’s always a blast. My college roommate
is the VP of analytics at Citigroup, and he’d love to have a mind like yours on his team.”

Although next weekend didn’t work either, I gave another banker grin and nodded this time. “Yeah, absolutely—”
Fuck, I said it, didn’t I?
“—next weekend is perfect.”

Handshakes and smiles all around.

Josh turned the captain’s chair around and started the big diesel engines. Before leaning into the throttle, he turned and winked at me like all was good in the world.

} i {

D
uring the drive home, Gordon asked me where my attention had sailed off during our brief tour on the boat. “This is important shit, dickhead. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not opening all of these doors for
me
. This is all you, all about finding
you
a job so you can get your shit straight with Riley.”

His approach surprised me, catching me off guard. “Funny, I thought you needed me around to make sure you stayed out of trouble. Last night at Landon’s, today on that big boat…what’s your true angle here, Gordo?”

“You forgot the Tesla,” he reminded me, chuckling but allowing it to fizzle out. “Once Melinda finds out what kind of severance package they gave me, she’ll kill me.” He glanced at me, slowing for the thick traffic up ahead. His eyes seemed to have a pleading quality to them. “Let me enjoy the next few weeks before my wife clues in and puts another crack in the chinaware of our marriage, okay? If you do that for me, if you let me have this brief time to myself, and in the process allow me to introduce you to some real big influencers in the industry, I’ll make sure you’re employed before your wedding day.”

Gordon had never let me down, so I had no reason to distrust his words now. “But, Gordo? Why me?” He had his own problems, not to mention a huge electric bill to worry about.

We stopped. With rush hour congestion at its thickest, we weren’t going anywhere very quickly. “Cam, you’re at a turning point in your life right now. Whatever you decide over the next few weeks and months will determine your happiness level forever.” We edged forward less than half a block, then stopped dead again. “I can’t help you with Riley or this Hope girl, but I can help you with the career. Because after everything you’ve done for me and the others at Harris, setting you up with a new gig is the least I can do to show my thanks.”

I couldn’t help but smile, but then it sunk in, and I started laughing.

“I’m speaking from my heart, jackass,” he said, feigning a broken heart as traffic opened up and the BMW reached thirty mph.

“Nah, you’re speaking from your bank account. You know what Harris paid me—and yes, it was generous, even at my level—but better than all of that, you know what Harris paid
you
. And you know that the disparity between our pay-outs means you owe a few favors.”

A momentary silence separated us, then Gordon started laughing. He laughed so hard that tears began pouring down his face, but once he managed to rein in the hysterics, he patted me on the leg.

No words were exchanged, but I knew it. I knew that whatever Harris had paid him to walk out of that office yesterday had been tremendous. In fact, it had been life-altering because guys like Gordo never signed an employment contract without the benefit of a termination clause that gave most people wet dreams.

} i {

Present Day

11:12 AM

A
rriving at Chuck’s this early in the day affords us our choice of table. Because I once mentioned this place to Newman, I suggest something in the back, pointing to a U-shaped booth. The waitress doesn’t object and within a few minutes, we’re seated—Gordo across from me, and Hope between us in the booth’s elbow, her back against the purple-satin wall. The combination of the restaurant’s dim lighting and Hope’s dark, almost-black hair makes her absolutely stunning in my eyes; her beauty captures my attention, something that Gordon notices right away.

His eyes jump between us as he assesses the situation. “Okay, lovebirds,” Gordo says, clearing his throat. “You want to tell me what’s going on today?”

I make an elaborate wave toward Hope, giving her the stage.

Gordon focuses on her. “Hope?” he asks. “Can you tell me what the fuck today is all about?”

A defiant smirk tickles the edge of her lips. She spares me a glance and says, “Told you I missed him.” Then to Gordon, “I don’t know.” Then back to me, “I think that was a question for you, Cameron. What is today all about?”

They both turn their attention to me. I shrug and shift my attention to Hope. “You know what I want out of this.”

She consults Gordon. “I’m moving back out West next week, and—”

He nods, dismissing her words with an impatient wave that reminds me of his VP days at Harris. “I realize that. And I told him today was a bad idea. I told him it was a bad idea two months ago.” He shakes his head. “Even after the huge fucking mess three years ago. Shit. So why don’t you just tell him you’re not into him? He needs to hear it.” Gordon stares me down. “Cam, you need to let go of this bullshit. You married Riley, and you’re chasing someone who will never love you.”

In a soft voice, Hope quietly admits, “I love him, Gordon. I love him a lot.”

It’s the first time Hope has ever admitted to loving me. My head spins at the prospect of this day turning out the way I planned, another first when it comes to Hope.

Gordon slaps the table then growls one of his favorite words, “Fuck.”

“But it doesn’t mean I’m not moving—” Hope starts, but Gordon scoots out of the booth and motions at Hope and me to follow him.

“What is it?” I ask, concerned by how wide his eyes have grown.

Nodding past me, Gordo says, “It’s Newman. He just walked in. We need to get out of here.”

Part of me wants to say,
fuck it
, but the realistic part of me understands that, with the recent shift in the value of our currency, if I don’t keep my job, I have nothing left to pay the bills. Unemployed, with all of my capital in my condo, is a bad scene. So I automatically slide out of the booth before I even realize what I’m doing, and Hope is right there on my heels.

“Go,” she urges behind me, giving me a soft shove. “He might’ve seen us.”

I follow Gordon into the kitchen area. A few of the staff glance at us but don’t overthink the situation—I’m guessing people make emergency exits like this all the time. I offer a few nods and smiles to the cooks, or whatever they’re called. I don’t see Chuck back here. I would recognize him because he gets quite the media coverage in the smaller, local publications.

As I chase Gordon outside, he launches into a semi-sprint, reaching North Michigan and heading left. There are more tourists north of the river, and I figure he plans on getting us lost among the crowds.

“Where are we going?” Hope asks, not exactly sprinting but walking pretty damn fast. I have to jog to keep up with her.

Gordon glances back as we reach the bridge, then eases up. “I think we’re safe,” he says, slightly out of breath.

For the first time since leaving Chuck’s, I feel calm. Hope loves me, and that’s all that really matters.

} i {