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“Can I get you anything?” he hesitated. “Elizabeth, right? Booker?”
“Ella,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry. “Ella Booker. Water, please?”
He pulled out an elegantly curved bottle and decanted it into two tall glasses while I pulled out my notebook and pencil and seated myself in one of the stools. He joined me after a moment, passing me my drink. I took a sip, cleared my throat, and asked my first question.
“So, Mr. Prince,” I didn’t miss the slightly surprised eyebrows. “As you know, the CityStyle is running a profile on Natalie Marke, new CEO of the Omegas in Tech foundation, in which you are rumored to have invested.”
“Yes.”
“And you are friends with Ms. Marke, correct?”
“Yes, I would say I consider her a friend. She’s a colleague, really.”
I uselessly wrote “colleague” in my notebook. “Did you work together at any former companies, or..?”
“No, but she advised me during the founding of my startup.”
“How did you meet?”
“She was assigned to me as a mentor during my last year at school.”
“You went to school together?”
“No, I went to Collingswood, and this was through an internship program there. She was already an established quantity, and took me on as a student mentee.”
This was the most boring interview I had ever done. Charlie was answering my questions, sure, but there was no interest in his responses, no passion, no nothing. I put my pencil and notebook down on the marble countertop and took another sip of water, trying to think.
“Did you go to Collingswood?” Charlie asked. I nodded. “What class?” I knew from my background research that we had graduated three years apart, and I told him. “Oh, you’re only two years younger than me, then; you were a freshman when I was a junior.” He chuckled. “I graduated in three years, I don’t know if you found that doing whatever stalking you did before this interview. Maybe if I had stayed around, we would have crossed paths…” He cut himself off, seeming to realize what he had said. “Sorry, I didn’t–I didn’t mean stalking, I meant–I meantreporting, your job.” I pressed my lips together to stop my smile as he continued to fumble his words. “Sorry. Seriously, sorry. I never give you people–I mean,CityStyle–interviews because I know I’ll sound like an asshole. I mean–fuck–I don’t do well with interviews. I’m not much of a public speaker. I just said yes to this one because…” He rubbed his face with a hand. His nails were short and clean.A man’s nails,I thought.
This was the Charlie I had met at the gala, the Charlie that had made my heart flutter… before I realized just who exactly he was.
“Sorry, La–Ms. Booker.Let me start over.” He smiled, a professional smile that reminded me of his brother Philip’s. “My name is Charles Prince. I’m the founder and former President slash CTO of–well, I’m sure you don’t care about that part, you’re here about Natalie. Natalie and I met when I was still in school. She was–is–brilliant. A genius engineer. Through her, I learned the challenges that omegas face in the workplace, not just in tech, but, perhaps, especially there. It’s mostly betas, and then when you get to the C-suite, there are a lot of alphas.” Here he almost seemed to cringe, as if apologizing. “I had obviously known this was the case, but… I grew up with a lot of privileges, and I hadn’t experienced it myself. That’s not an excuse, but that’s my reason. I realized the challenges facing people like Natalie embarrassingly late.”
Okay, I thought, scribbling furiously in my notebook.This was more like it.I could pretty much just transcribe his words and my article would be written. Charlie “I don’t do well in interviews” Prince was obviously better than he thought. But–
“Natalie was an inspiration for me, a wonderful mentor not just as an engineer or as a founder, but as a human. She taught me a lot, not only about business, but about…”
I stopped listening. Charlie “I don’t do well in interviews” Prince was feeding me a script. Had he memorized it? It sounded almost as if he had.
“I’m so, so, thankful for her mentorship and her friendship. I know that once she gets in the room, she can blow everyone away, so I provided some seed funding and some names and networking just to get her on people’s radar. I’m confident that, once it’s more established, OIT will provide that foot in the door for future omegas.” He laughed, self-consciously self-deprecating. “They shouldn’t need me, that’s for sure.”
This wasCharles Prince. I watched as he took a sip of water, placed his glass noiselessly back on the countertop, and gave me a charming smile full of white, straight teeth. I almost fell for it–his facade was nearly perfect, even though I had seen the flubs and the swearing behind the scenes, before he had really gotten started.
“And your relationship with Ms. Marke?” I asked, to stall for time.To stall for time? Really?I put that thought away.
“Not–not romantic. Strictly professional.” His charming smile was still in place, but I saw a hint of a blush. “I’d prefer if we didn’t discuss my personal life.”
He pivoted back to his relationship–strictly professional–with Ms. Marke, detailing how her mentorship, while still at college, was a major factor in his founding his own company just before graduating. Speaking highly of the college’s internship program, while gently chiding it for not taking the “very real” effects of designation into account when assigning mentors, how Natalie’s foundation would be expanding to run workshops and summer camps in addition to its flagship mentorship program. He was a good interviewer, this Charlie, and I saw how he had found such success so early in his life. He was poised, and confident, and just self-deprecating enough to make him interesting, to add a slight tarnish to his silver-spoon image.
But… having seen even the barest glimpse of the real him–or what Ithoughtwas the real him, at least–even this location felt contrived: he probably thought that meeting in his kitchen felt casual, without realizing that this shiny, glossy, untouched kitchen as big as my apartment was as far from cozy as it got, at least to someone like me. We had both gone to Collingswood, sure, but I had gone on a merit scholarship. Charlie’s dad had built a wing of the library, if I remembered correctly.
And why was he acting like this, anyway? My note-taking pencil stilled as I half-listened to his contrived patter. I had hoped, despite the small voice inside me saying it was impossible, that maybe Charlie would greet me at the door, would smile in recognition–as hehad,I reminded myself, for just that brief moment–and we could carry on as we had at the gala.
Obviously, that was not the case.
That Charlie was forLara. Editor Stevens, in the blue silk designer dress. It had been funny to tease the wealthy, snobbish donors at the gala when we had both, he assumed, beenpartof that crowd.
Ella, on the other hand, was greeted by this cold, almost mechanical version of the man I had caught a glimpse of before, as if he had been replaced by a tech-bro robot. The house, the speech, the polite, disinterested smile… was that all Ella was worthy of? I forced myself not to slump in my chair, to pay attention to his charming anecdotes as we wrapped up the interview. He took another sip from his glass of water, and placed it back on the counter with a sense of finality.
