Page 99 of Think Outside the Boss

“Better than this?” I sweep an arm out at the lavishness. One of Exciteur’s office spaces has been transformed, and food-laden tables surround a tastefully decorated Christmas tree. “What more do we need?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A beach. A raise. A longer vacation to look forward to,” Toby suggests with a grin.

“God, I’d love a longer vacation. What are you doing for yours?” I ask. “Both of you?”

Quentin frowns into his glass, but he shoots a sideways glance at Toby. Toby, who is almost forcefully cheery. Who hasn’t made a single snide, cheeky remark about Quentin. “I’m staying in New York. Well, I’m going to my family in Jersey for the holidays, but that’s only thirty minutes away.”

I glance at Quentin, but he doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t make a comment about how Jersey isn’t New York. “I’m staying here,” he tells us both.

“That’s nice. You two have someone to hang out with, then,” I say. “Just in case, I mean. I know I spent some lonely weekends here when I first arrived.”

They don’t look at each other, but nervousness flavors the air. Perhaps they’re navigating the same turmoil that Tristan and I have, working at the same firm. But for them it might amount to no more than a slap on the wrist. For me and Tristan? A junior trainee and the company’s CEO looks awful, from both perspectives.

“But not anymore, not when you have us,” Toby says. “Because we’re going to the opera in January.”

Quentin groans at this, but I don’t. “Really?”

“Yes,” Toby says, clinking his glass with mine. “I’m going to make a real New Yorker out of you.”

“And this comes from someone raised in Jersey,” Quentin mutters, but his voice is fond. My attention slides from their ensuing banter to our mingling co-workers. To the company I’ve just started to get to know.

And there he is, across the room. The man I’m falling in love with.

He’s talking to Sharon and Clive in the far distance of the employee-packed room. There’s an uncomfortable tilt to his shoulders, like he doesn’t want to be here. He shakes both of their hands and disappears toward the hallway.

I watch him retreat just like I did at the conference in Boston. We don’t have a rooftop terrace here, though. And he’s not going home, not when he hasn’t grabbed the mic yet and wished everyone here a Merry Christmas.

My heart speeds up as I tell Quentin and Toby I forgot something at my desk. I ride the elevator to the thirty-fourth floor instead. There’s so much churning emotion inside of me that I barely register the familiar fear.

Milan is my decision, and yet Tristan hadn’t wanted me to make the one my heart is telling me to. You’re ambitious and brave, and that’s what I like about you. Would he think less of me if I turned Italy down?

And worse, would I think less of myself?

I walk down the empty hall on the top floor, passing offices I’ve never entered. Heading to the large one at the end of the hall with the emblazoned letters on the door.

Tristan Conway.

I knock and he responds a few seconds later. His voice is familiar, and yet not. Because this professional tone isn’t one I’ve heard him use toward me since… well. Ever.

Even in the Gilded Room, he had his walls lowered more than he does here, in the company he owns and operates.

He closes his laptop when he sees me. “Freddie?”

“Hi.” I push the door shut. “Are you hiding from the party?”

“I couldn’t be down there. Besides, they don’t want me there.”

“They don’t?”

He pushes back the chair and rises. “No. They want to gossip and blow off steam. They want to talk about me, not with me.”

I frown. “That sounds sad.”

He waves a dismissive hand, coming around to lean against his desk. Not crossing the distance to me. Not wrapping his arms around me or pressing a kiss to my temple. Just calm, collected, restrained. A man who’s made up his mind.

“We haven’t spoken this weekend,” I say.

“I’ve been busy. So, I take it, have you?” The voice isn’t unkind, but it is determined. “I heard you accepted the job.”

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