Page 56 of Engineering a Love Story

But after the waiter leaves, Seth swallows his own first mouthful of wine, then he runs a finger along the stem of his glass. “Something has happened,” he says. I hold my eyes steady on the steep angles of his face. “Maybe I should have told you before, but I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” Seth explains that the previous Friday he was at LAX running late for his flight when Manish called looking for Aurelian’s latest customer list. “I hate it when he does that. We have a CRM system now, he shouldn’t be asking me for lists of customers, saying he wants to make sure he has all the Q3 deals. He does that shit all the time—”

“Seth. What is it?” But I already know. As soon as he mentions the customer list, I know.

The waiter puts a plate with two airy-looking puffs between us. Seth takes a bite and pushes the dish toward me. Goat cheese.

He sent the wrong email. Seth forwarded Manish a customer list but one attached to our email thread. “Going back months. I was rushing, about to miss my flight. The usual chaos.”

I let my head tip forward. Seth finishes the cheese puffs, and the waiter appears to remove the dish. He replaces it with two plates, the kitchen having kindly split the next course for us. We each have exactly two ravioli. I look at them. Had the waiter said beef cheeks?

“I’m sorry,” Seth says. “My fault, of course.”

“It was silly of us to not use a different email.” I watch as Seth cuts into a ravioli. “And then?”

“I landed at SFO and had seventeen missed calls from Manish.” He was at their apartment when Seth arrived home. “He was angrier than I thought he’d be.”

“I’m not sure why that surprised you.”

Seth lifts a shoulder, his focus on the ravioli. “He was pissed at me and not you, just to be clear. He questioned my motivations. Suggested I might be taking advantage of your …” He motions at me with his fork. “Emotional state.”

“My emotional state?” I take a long drink from my wine glass.

“Yes.” He flicks his gaze up to me. “And then Vitalik came home. Claimed he already knew. About us.”

“The hotel,” I say. “He saw me at the hotel.”

Seth looks back at his plate. “Yes. And me, though he never mentioned that before. Says he knew for sure when I took that day off. Though honestly? Vita doesn’t give a shit about you.”

I huff a laugh. “That’s not news.”

But Manish convinced Vitalik that it was an inappropriate relationship. That Seth acted unprofessionally. What if he’d accidentally sent those emails to someone else? Someone outside the company?

Seth says, “Manish can be quite persuasive, when he wants to be. Once he had Vita on his side, he suggested we discuss the whole thing with Jack, our CEO.” I don’t mention I’ve met Jack Meckler, as I’m finding it difficult to say anything to Seth, who is stabbing the ravioli, his fork pinging against the porcelain. Anger pours off him. Toward Manish or perhaps even me. Definitely toward his pasta. “You have to try this.” He points at my plate.

I put one soft square in my mouth, aware of its luscious richness, even as I find it difficult to swallow. I have not seen Seth angry before and for the moment, this distracts me. Maybe scares me. It’s my first solid awareness that I’ll lose him.

“What’s he going to do?” I ask as the waiter removes our plates.

“Manish? What do you mean?”

“Is he going to complain?” I try to picture Manish, his cheerful voice and meandering conversation, and can’t quite imagine him calling Howard to say I’ve acted inappropriately and put Aurelian at a disadvantage in the market. Yet Seth has detailed Manish’s competitiveness and the degree to which his company comes first. Manish would be within his rights to make that call.

“Manish won’t do anything. Provided it’s over.”

The food keeps coming. There’s some kind of meat in a rich sauce, followed by a beefy thing Seth calls ragu, though I thought ragu was red and came in a jar. Divided between us, the portions are somehow both minuscule and yet more than I can eat. Seth continues to rehash the drama with Manish, but I want to twist the conversation around to what it means for our future, even though, as the meal goes on, I know we have no future. But Seth’s frustration makes it difficult for me to break in.

Eventually, the waiter removes our dishes. He takes a long time, refilling our water glasses, removing crumbs with a white plastic scraper. Finally, he leaves thick cards listing desserts.

“Does Manish know you’re here with me now?” I ask.

“He knows I’m in New York. I didn’t inform him of your travel plans. I think we’ve entered the don’t-ask-don’t-tell phase of our relationship. Your friend Bill would approve.” Seth taps the dessert card on the table. “This is a downer. Let’s talk about something else. Do you want dessert?” He juts his chin toward the menu.

I say I can’t eat anything more.

While Seth sorts the check, I visit the ladies’ room and take a moment to assess my image in the mirror. The silky dress that felt so sexy two hours ago now seems flimsy. I pull my sweater more tightly around me.

Seth waits on the sidewalk, hands jammed in his pockets. He holds my eyes for a moment, then shifts his attention forward and begins moving.

Walking beside him, I ask what he wants to do. “I mean, about us.”