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Hi! Sorry for the delayed response. I really appreciate you reaching out, and your product looks great, but I don’t think it’s a good fit for me. (I’m not the biggest wine fan.) Best of luck, though! I’m sure other people will jump all over it.

Send. Done. I smiled at myself in the mirror, and I actually liked what I saw.

Hopefully, other people would, too.

I stayed there, blinking at myself in the mirror, until another person came in and gave me an odd look. I headed back out into the restaurant, where our table was clear. At my questioning look, Bennett said, “They’ll bring new plates of venison out now that you’re back.” Sure enough, it was only a few minutes before the waitress returned. I waited for him to ask me if everything was okay, but he didn’t. I did catch his eyes lingering on me as we ate our venison, though. And our steak and the collection of pastries that came out with a surprisingly mellow sesame ice cream topped by a sticky caramel brittle.

I took a deep, fortifying breath as the waitress cleared our dessert plates, steeling myself for the check. No matter what, it was going to hit me like a sock to the stomach, but if I clenched up all my stomach muscles, it would hurt less.

So, I was surprised when the waitress showed up instead with our coats. Bennett stood and shrugged his on, hesitating when I didn’t move. I cleared my throat, hating how awkward it felt to talk about money. “Um, the check? We haven’t paid?”

“Oh, I, um . . .” The tips of his ears were turning red again. He rubbed at the back of his head, turning his elbow into a wing. “I paid the check while you were in the bathroom.”

He’d paid for me. Like this was . . . a date. Maybe . . . he didn’t actually want to keep things professional?

“Not like a date,” he added hastily. “Um. Because I’m reviewing this place. I put it on the company card. They always pay for my meals. Um. That I review.”

My cheeks heated the way I was sure his ears were. Of course. I always paid for Alice when we went out. This was a business dinner. A professional business dinner. For both of us.

But as he held the door for me, as I declined a nightcap (my body was ready to give out after that hangover), it didn’t feel like one.

16

Alice and I used to text early in the morning, but no longer. Now when I texted her, she wouldn’t respond until ten or eleven. Sleeping late. Which was good; she deserved to get some rest after everything that had happened. But I thought she’d want to know about the exposé published on Jezebel that recounted the experiences of women in tech and that quoted her and Kelsey’s letter.

Thanks, Alice said. They asked to interview me, but I declined. Now I guess my name’s out there anyway.

Hopefully, it’ll be a good thing, I texted back. I considered making a joke about how she was famous, but it didn’t seem like the moment. Dinner soon? There’s this new Hawaiian place in the East Village I’ve been dying to try.

As long as you’re paying.

“Julie?” Mr. Decker called from his office. I hopped to my feet before he even said, “Come in here for a second.”

I walked into his office to find him surrounded by garment bags. I blinked in surprise. “How did these get in here?”

“Emerson Leigh must have stopped by late last night and dropped them off.”

“I see.” I girded myself. “What’s in them?”

I imagined shapeless yellow sacks she’d sent over for me since she didn’t trust my fashion sense, but if that was the case, she would’ve left them draped over my desk. Mr. Decker nodded toward them, meaning I should go ahead and open them up. I found an assortment of suits and ties, combinations I never would’ve selected in a million years. A white suit with orange trim and a glittery silver tie. A pale pink suit with a tie striped blue and green. A charcoal gray suit with a muted red tie I thought would be the least offensive of the bunch until he motioned for me to pull it up . . . which placed on display the frayed cutoffs it was paired with.

“What do I do?” Mr. Decker asked me. The pure, panicked helplessness in his eyes, that of a vegetarian brought for a birthday dinner at a barbecue joint where even the salad has bacon on it, almost made me laugh. I held my breath for a moment, forcing it back down.

“I assume she had these sent over for you to wear to her party?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Why don’t you tell her that none of them spoke to you and you’re just going to wear something from your closet that you’re comfortable in?”

Mr. Decker, small behind that massive antique desk, pressed his lips together. Over his shoulder I could see all the way down into Rockefeller Plaza, the tourists swarming like ants. Well, ants with cameras. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“Maybe there’s a compromise to be had.” I turned to study the offerings. “Like, you could wear one of the ties she picked out with one of your own suits?”

He blinked at them and scratched his thick head of silver hair. “Maybe. That’s an idea.” He turned to eyeball me. My skin prickled. I was used to him looking over me or past me or through me, not at me. “Emerson Leigh told me about your side project, and I took a look at your . . . what is it? Social media page?”

I nodded, holding my breath. I didn’t even know why I was nervous. I was a good assistant, even with only half my brain dedicated to the task. He wasn’t going to fire me for having a hobby. Maybe it was that I cared what he thought of me or that I cared that he was finally thinking of me at all.

“I really need to try that . . . what was the place?” Mr. Decker gave me a tiny smile. It looked out of place on his broad face. “The one with the lobster and waffles?”