Page 96 of Pierced

“Yes, Myrtle?” Valerie says, coming into my office.

“Did you take care of the invitations?” I ask, smiling at her.

“Yes. And I read them the script you wrote. Black tie. Little black dress. No Nixon masks.”

“Perfect, thank you, Valerie. I really appreciate it.”

“But there’s one problem.”

“What?”

“I’m behind on my work now. Pierce left me a million things to do while he was gone and—”

“Say no more. I apologize for monopolizing you today. I’ll make sure he knows that. In fact,” I say, standing up. “I have an idea.”

I walk out, go down to the forty-ninth floor, head into the intern pool, and look around. “You,” I say, pointing to a blond young man who looks like he should be a starting quarterback for the Broncos and not pecking away at a keyboard at a men’s magazine. Which, now that I think about it, might actually be the perfect place for him.

He looks up at me. Points to himself.

“Yes, you. What’s your name?”

“Uh….” He stands. “Bryce, ma’am?”

“Bryce, you have now been promoted to executive assistant intern to the VP of Social Media. Come with me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - PIERCE

Whoever came up with the expression “New York minute” completely nailed it. Everything in New York moves faster than anywhere else. I know. I’ve been everywhere else.

I mean, I move pretty damn fast, but New York laps me. And my dad, even at his age, he laps me too. So being with him for a week to discuss taking over a newspaper felt like being a rocket shoved into a Cuisinart or some damn thing.

But it was exciting. It was awesome, actually. For the first time in maybe ever he treated me like an equal. Every meeting we walked into, every dinner we attended, he really allowed me to speak. He allowed my voice to have purchase. About halfway through the trip I actually had the thought, Oh, shit, he’s dying. That was the only rational explanation I could come up with for why he was being so cool with me.

And then, just this morning, right before I got on the plane…

Fils, je suis très fier de ce que tu as fait avec ton entreprise. Je suis très impressionné.

He’s never told me that he’s proud of me before. Or impressed. And then he said both in two sentences. Back to back. That was… unexpected.

He went on to talk about the excellent marketing decisions I’ve made and how he now feels I’m ready to start taking on other parts of his empire myself. He noted the Paris deal as something he’s particularly excited to have me run point on.

And then I thought, Oh, shit, he really is dying!

I asked him if he was. He just laughed and got on his plane, headed the opposite direction.

But here’s the really, really weird part about the whole thing: As cool as it was for that to happen, and as long as I’ve waited for my father to show me anything resembling pride, the only thing I could think was, I wish he’d just take off so I can get back and see Myrtle.

That realization both excited me and freaked me out. Because I’ve been so focused on earning my dad’s approval for so long that to get it was awesome, and to place it in second position below the idea of seeing my VP of social media was friggin’ bizarre.

It’s heightened by the fact that I haven’t been able to connect with her all week. Every time I tried to call she was busy with a meeting or doing something. And the one time she tried to FaceTime me, I was at a dinner I couldn’t break free from. Long distance sucks. I don’t know how people do it.

We texted a few times. Mostly dirty GIFs. The seventy-year-old wife of a guy we were at dinner with saw one of them and kind of gave me the eye. I couldn’t tell if it was judgement or if she was hitting on me. Either way… awkward.

It’s so wild. I’ve known Myrtle for the better part of the last decade, but suddenly, in what feels like a New York minute, everything is different. It’s tough to start something new with a person and then immediately get pulled away from them. As usually secure as I am about things, I have to admit that I have allowed myself to entertain certain unhelpful and anxious thoughts. What if she somehow has regrets? What if she doesn’t feel the same way I do when I get back? What if she starts really reflecting on ‘us’ and concludes it’s a bad idea?

I suppose that’s a thing people do. Consider negative outcomes in order to prepare themselves for the possibility of being disappointed. I just never realized before that I was “people.” I don’t love feeling vulnerable like this, but oh, well. Even Achilles had a bad heel, I suppose.

In any case, I’ll find out what’s what soon enough, because I’m replaying all this in my mind as the elevator approaches the fiftieth floor of the TDH.