Page 28 of The Love Losers

Good, me too. I should probably warn you that I’m not on time as a general rule.

Amusement rolls through me, and I find myself gathering my things to leave. Just before I get up, five knocks land on my door in a familiar musical pattern. My mood plummets.

“Come in.”

It’s my second-in-command, Simon, walking in with a jocular smile that doesn’t meet his flinty eyes. He’s a big man with a head of thick brown hair he pretends he doesn’t color and eyes so dark they’re almost black, small and buried beneaththick eyebrows. He always wears suits and suspenders and a different bow-tie every day of the week.

Everyone who works here, from the admin assistant at the front desk to the cleaning staff, worships him.

He remembers their names, their birthdays, and their children’s names and birthdays.

My mind doesn’t work that way, which isn’t to say I haven’t tried. One week, early on, I made flashcards—and I still bought birthday cupcakes for the wrong person on the wrong day. Which led to me having the nickname “Cupcake” for a year.

I know Simon was the one who started it, although he’d never admit to it, and no one would ever tattle on him.

I’d fire him, but the other employees would revolt.

They’d ask the board to push me out.

They’d tar and feather me.

They’d send me petitions signed by thousands.

“You’re still here too, I see,” Simon says, pulling on the suspenders he’s wearing under his suit jacket.

“Big few weeks for us.”

“We’re making the right call.” He gives me a nod. “This deal is going to save us.”

Of course he thinks so. He’s not the one who has to give up his dream, his money, and his sense of dignity to back it. Though, as far as I can tell, Simon has no sense of dignity.

“Why don’t you come home with me for dinner, Anthony?”

Odds are his daughter will be there. Possibly with three or four friends of appropriate ages and differing appearances, like the time he invited me out for a man-to-man lunch a week after Nina moved out…and surprised me with five guests.

“No, thanks,” I say. “I have a date.”

His smile looks more displeased than he probably realizes.

“Well…if you change your mind, feel free to drop by whenever. You know you’re always welcome.”

I nod.

“How’s your mother doing?” he asks, rocking back on his heels. I can feel my mood curdling again, like milk squirted with lemon juice. Because Simon was on my mother’s list of previous lovers. After telling us so, she made a face and shrugged, saying,“Curiosity killed the cat. Suffice it to say, I know why he’s divorced.”

After which Nicole made a comment I immediately tried to scrub from my brain.

“She’s well,” I say flatly.

“Good, good. I look forward to seeing her at your wedding.”

He gives me a pointed look.

I give him a pointed look. I don’t bother asking whether he got a phony phone call from my mother. I doubt he did—he’s underscoring what he sees as my duty to my father, the company, and himself.

“Well. I guess I’d better go put in some work on that count.”

“Remember,” he says. “Come over whenever you’d like. Anytime.”

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