Chapter 2: The Merger Dinner Where We Shared One Umbrella
A client dinner, a downpour and a single umbrella force two professional enemies into an unreasonable amount of proximity.
Subject: Mandatory: Merger Dinner, 7 p.m., Business Formal, No Exceptions The firm was courting a company called Brightwater, which had money and a CEO who liked to be flattered in person. Management chose its two best closers to attend. This is how I ended up in a restaurant with white tablecloths and a wine list written in the font of a legal threat, seated beside Julian Voss, my sworn enemy and, tonight, my plus-one in all but name.
We were excellent, which is the annoying part. He opened with the numbers, I closed with the vision, and at one point he finished my sentence so smoothly that the Brightwater CEO said we had 'the rhythm of a long marriage.' I smiled the smile of a woman declining to correct the record. Under the table, Julian's shoe nudged mine once. I decided it was an accident, and I decided it again.
We were excellent, which is the annoying part.
Then came the weather. We stepped outside to find the sky emptying itself onto the pavement with enormous commitment. The company car was forty minutes away. Julian produced a single black umbrella, held it open, and said, 'Statistically, one of us gets wet unless we cooperate.' I told him I preferred to drown on principle. A gust of wind made the case for him.
Let me describe the geometry. An umbrella built for one person, two adults, and a pavement that dipped into shallow rivers at every crossing. His arm ended up around my back to keep the canopy steady. Mine ended up on his sleeve to keep myself upright. The wool of his jacket was warm and smelled like cedar and rain, and I made a mental note to hate that later, when I had the time.
At the corner he stopped under a awning and did not lower the umbrella. 'You were good in there,' he said. 'Annoyingly good.' I said, 'Likewise,' and meant it in the worst possible way, because my voice came out softer than I had budgeted for. A taxi finally slid up. He held the door. I got in alone, damp and furious, and carried his scent home like contraband.
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