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“‘No’ is a complete sentence, Emma.”
She’s pointedly avoiding my gaze now. “It’s not as easy as that.”
“He doesn’t have a job?” I can feel the pressure in my temples starting to tick up, the way it does whenever we happen to stumble into a conversation about this fucking leech.
“He used to work in a bar near Madison Square Park, actually. He was one of their best. Management track and everything. But ever since the accident…” Her eyes get watery the moment she brings it up. “It’s like he gave up on life.”
“Is that when the drinking started?”
“Pretty much. I mean, he was always a drinker, but it was mostly just social. He took some time off work after the funeral. About three months, actually. When he went back, he only lasted a couple of weeks before he was fired.”
“And after that?”
Her brow furrows and her eyes go hazy and distant. “He basically became a permanent fixture of the apartment. If he leaves, it’s either to get drunk or stoned.” She stares out the window when the silence stretches. “I know what you’re thinking.”
I lean back in my chair. “Do you?”
“You’re wondering why I put up with it, right?” She idly brushes the condensation off her water glass. “It’s because I know what it felt like to lose Sienna. How all-consuming that kind of loss is. How can I fault him for being destroyed by it when it nearly destroyed me?”
“But it didn’t.” Her eyes fly up to mine and I shake my head slowly. “It didn’t destroy you. It made you stronger.”
“I have to be strong. For the kids.”
“That’shisjob.”
Her brow creases. “It’smyjob, too. She was my sister. And she—” Her voice breaks mid-sentence. The sob is right there, dying to be released. But instead, she swallows it and composes herself with a deep breath. “She was my world. For most of our lives, she was my other half. How could I not take care of her kids?”
There’s more behind those veiled tears, but her jaw is set firmly and I’m pretty sure she’s done talking about her sister.
I can’t blame her. It’s been more than a fucking decade and I still can’t bring myself to talk about the accident that changed my life and the people I lost that day.
I’m beginning to realize I have more in common with my secretary than an office and a sex drive. I’m not sure how I ought to feel about that.
A voice breaks in. “Emma?!”
Emma’s eyes bulge in horror as she turns to see who spoke. “Fuck me,” she mutters under her breath. Then she raises her pitch with a fake enthusiasm that matches her fake smile. “Mom! Dad!”
Her parents?
Interesting.
The older couple makes a beeline straight for our table. Both are dressed to the nines, no surprise there;Jean-Georgeshas a strict dress code for their diners. But it’s clear that they have taste, too. Teardrop diamonds dangle from Mom’s ears and I note a sparkling new Birkin bag on her arm. Dad keeps adjusting and readjusting his cuffs, just in case anyone missed the Patek Philippe watch shining on his wrist.
Mom’s eyes are fixed on me even as she addresses Emma. “What are you doing here, darling?”
There’s a tremor in Emma’s voice when she speaks that wasn’t there just a moment ago. “Just having a business lunch.” She nearly knocks over her water when she stands up. I move it out of the way before she turns the table into a splash zone. “Mom, Dad, this is my boss, Ruslan Oryolov. Rus—uh, Mr. Oryolov, these are my parents, Barrett and Beatrice.”
“How nice to meet you, Ruslan,” Beatrice murmurs, batting her eyelashes at me.
Emma cringes. “Mr. Oryolov and I are just here to go over last-minute details for a charity gala taking place next week.”
“Ah, Beatrice and I support a great many charities,” Barrett tells me in a self-congratulatory tone. “Which one is this?”
“Olsen-Ferber.”
Barrett gives me an approving nod. “Ah, yes, of course. Wonderful charity. Beatrice and I have made many contributions over the years.”
I’d bet a testicle he has no idea what the charity actually does, but I’m not about to make Emma feel any more uncomfortable than she clearly already is. She’s radiating misery.
