“Who is the market?” I get out of bed and start putting my clothes on—underwear, skirt, bra. “Have you met them?”
Mark Winterson gives me another indulgent laugh. “The individual choices of millions of people that move as their own force, take on a will of their own. And, you know—our shareholders.”
My discarded shirt is flung over a chair in the corner, and I cut across the room to retrieve it, but he blocks my path with his body.
“Seriously though, Ruby.” Mark Winterson grabs my wrist. “Don’t go through my things.”
“It was a book you left open!” I wrench my hand back. “I was curious what you were reading.”
“I mean it.” The edge in his voice makes me shiver.
“Okay! Okay, I won’t.” I rub my wrist. “Sorry.”
I’m suddenly very aware that we’re surrounded by ocean, and I can’t exactly make my own way home.
Chapter
29
It’s jarring, going back to real life on Monday morning. That moment on the yacht rattled me, but Mark Winterson was so charming at dinner that I forgot about it for a while. He laughed at my jokes, stole a kiss on the cheek, fed me some lobster. I took as many pictures of the fancy spread for Mom as I could, and afterward, we went back to his place again.
Now the TKCORP lobby is bustling, and that whole thing feels like a scene from a different world. Voices echo around the high-ceilinged room, and there’s a bottleneck forming around the entrance to the elevator bank as people are slow to badge in.
There’s Greg, up ahead—somehow I’d recognize the back of his head in any crowd. He’s standing with Sarah, Morgan, Al, some of the accountants.
And I remember with a start that I went all weekend without responding to his texts, and I probably ought to talk to him.
“Greg!” I call across the lobby, and he turns and meets my eye.
But then Mark Winterson sidles up on my right and slips an arm around my waist.
“Hey, there you are,” he says, kissing me on the cheek. Right here, in the middle of the lobby, in the bright light of day.
Wow, hard launch, okay!
My co-workers are all staring at me. I can practically hear Morgan’s jaw drop.
“I looped in HR, of course,” Mark Winterson says in my ear. “It’s fine, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Greg’s still turned this way. And it’s strange, but I can actually see his face shift as though in slow motion, like he’s registering the scene playing out before him on a delay.
He’s usually so relaxed, always laughing at everything. Alllife is too serious to take it too seriously.But I can’t remember the last time I saw him looking this crushed.
Sarah tugs on his sleeve from behind, and he follows her as they swipe through to the elevators.
I squeeze Mark Winterson’s arm and say, “Late for a meeting!” before I dash across the floor, through the turnstile, and slip into the elevator.
But as the doors close, I realize the mistake I’ve made. We’re all packed in here—my teammates, a bunch of the accountants, a smattering of people from other departments—and everyone is gawking at me.
Grace from Sales giggles and nudges my shoulder. “Damn, girl, didn’t know you had it in you!”
Beside her, Sarah swats her arm and mouths something I can’t make out. Somewhere in the far corner, Al coughs.
Greg’s standing by the elevator buttons. I’m on the opposite side, trying to catch his eye over the heads of the people between us, but he seems very determined not to look.
Some people get out on the third floor, and I take the opportunity to loudly whisper: “Greg! Greg, can we talk?”
Morgan leans in, on alert for gossip.
