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I hang up on his protests, feeling a headache forming.
I donothave a half hour to spend chatting with Hazel. But if I want to be CEO, this is what my lunch breaks are going to look like for the foreseeable future.
I cross my arms and steel myself for Hazel’s arrival.
I miss my P-51 Mustang. Whenever I get an afternoon of free time, I drive to an airfield upstate and take my favorite plane up in the air. There’s something about being up in the air, just me and the sky, that settles me. Unfortunately, I haven’t had a free afternoon in over a month.
There’s a timid knock at my door, and then Hazel opens it without waiting for an answer. “Joey said I could come in?” She smiles and steps into the office. “I was hoping we could start over after yesterday.”
I grunt. “Fresh starts are for people who already failed.”
Hazel’s smile sharpens. “Did your father teach you that?”
He did, but I’m going to give her the satisfaction of saying that.
Today her sweater is a tight maroon V-neck. A delicate butterfly necklace flirts with her cleavage. It’s ridiculous, and somehow perfectly her.
I’m distracted enough by her necklace, it takes me a moment to notice that my office now smells like...Chinese takeout?
Hazel sets a plastic bag on my desk and starts unpacking takeout containers. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I bought a few things. This is going on my expense account by the way, so don’t thank me.”
I stare at the food, confused. “You...brought me lunch.”
“You said you always skip it. It’s probably why you’re so grumpy.” She opens each of the white cardboard cartons, and the sweet tangy scent of General Tso’s chicken and fried rice fills the room. Hazel tosses me a plastic fork. Then she selects her own food and settles in the chair across from me.
“Is this to get me to lower my guard?” I demand. “Because it won’t work. No personal questions.”
Hazel rolls her eyes. “It’s because you’re human and deserve food, you idiot.” She shoves fried rice into her mouth. “Are you always so suspicious?”
Yes, I think.For good reason.
I can’t remember the last time someone made sure I ate.
I can’t remember the last time someone did something nice for me, with no ulterior motive.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say gruffly, reaching for a carton of dumplings.
She nods and pulls out her recorder. “Let’s start with something fun. You went to Harvard, right? Tell me something fun you did. People love stories about rich people being human.”
“Nice to know my humanity was in doubt,” I said.
“Come on,” she coaxed. “Cooper said you guys did something with the a cappella group?”
I bark out a laugh. I’d forgotten about that. “My dad willnotlike it if you put that in the book.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” she says. “Come on, tell me the story.”
I mean to tell her to move on to the next question, but she’s smiling at me, wide and generous, and what comes out of my mouth is, “There’s two things you need to know to understand this story. A student a cappella group was supposed to sing the school fight song at an upcoming football game. And Professor Wagner was a massive dick.”
She bites her lip. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“He fucked with Cooper’s GPA just because he could, and Cooper almost lost his scholarship,” I say. “Also, he made a girl I was dating cry. I didn’t like him.”
“Understandable,” Hazel says.
“I knew he was going to be at that football game. He loved football. So Cooper and I rewrote the school fight song to make fun of him. And then I bribed the a cappella group to sing it at the game.”
“You didn’t!” Hazel says, her eyes wide.
