Page 59 of Engineering a Love Story

“Seth. People will figure it out. You weren’t in a relationship with Greg Kielty.”

He chuckles. “No. I suppose that’s true.”

I can’t believe he laughed. I pull the magazine closer, peering at the picture of him on his fraying sofa, in that apartment I have imagined but will never see. Seth shines in the photo, out of place in the dingy surroundings and among those roommates, who appear to be only normal people. I know others probably don’t see it that way. I also know I will take the magazine home and keep it forever, squirreled away in a box somewhere, maybe something I’ll take out once in a while and remember.

“It doesn’t matter, right? It’s over. I can tell Howard it was an irresponsible thing I did. But it’s done. You ended it. It says so right here in the article.” I let the magazine fall back into my lap, its cover flopping shut.

“I never told anyone that.” He denies the telling but not the truth of it. My tears threaten to spill.

I say I need to go and maybe he tries to say something more, but I hang up and immediately stand, knowing if I sit there and replay the conversation, I will sob.

Thirty-Three

I don’t speak to Howard that afternoon. I can’t face it. Not after he took a chance on me, invited me to be on his team, and encouraged me. I worry about possible repercussions from the Forbes article—of course I do. But mostly, I’m embarrassed.

I go home and assess my options. For a while, I try to convince myself this isn’t a big deal. I think back to how Evan urged me to enjoy that dinner with Manish. Vendors are always taking us out, and there’s a gray area between when we’re being influenced and when we aren’t. Isn’t there?

What happened with Seth went well beyond dinner though, and it’s ludicrous to pretend otherwise, which is why I avoid Howard. That afternoon and for the rest of the week. I lay low and wait to see what will happen.

Anxiety about the potential for professional blowback distracts me too from the anguish of knowing Seth is gone. I try to avoid thinking about it head on, but I know it’s true.

That night, I have more difficulty than usual sleeping. I jerk awake repeatedly, like I know there’s something I need to be worrying about and I’m not allowed to forget it. In the morning, I’m not rested and it’s worse the second night. By the end of the week, I’m hardly sleeping at all. Issues with sleep aren’t new, but this is the first time they plague me badly alone in my apartment.

I worry about everyone reading that article and also about my Market Spotlight. If what Seth said is true—that Vitalik’s team hasn’t delivered PayNow, it can’t be an ‘innovation leader,’ as I wrote in that report. I need to edit and republish. But can I make that correction now that my relationship with Seth has been exposed? Or will that only call more attention to my indiscretion, possibly make me appear vindictive to Aurelian now that I’ve apparently been dumped? These issues tangle in my mind, seeming worse with every sleepless night. In bed, I roleplay conversations I’ll have to have with Howard or other senior staff at Gilroy. Or clients like Dinesh at Citibank. Even Ronald Spillane, I think with a groan.

And if I somehow don’t get fired, I wonder if these interactions will make my job unbearable. If I need to move on again, where will I go? The balance printed on my credit card statements and the amount due every month for this apartment flash like neon signs in my sleep-deprived mind.

I can’t solve it all immediately, but that doesn’t stop the thoughts. And the less I sleep, the more irrational my worries become.

Despite my anxiety, all is calm in the days after the article’s publication, though I am skittish like a cat, looking over my shoulder and ready to run. But I have calls with clients and vendors, and no one mentions the article. I do nothing about the Spotlight.

On Wednesday night, I listen to the final presidential debate, nervous too about Gore’s performance. I’m pleased when he seems less pedantic. Even on the radio, you can tell there’s less sighing and he shows more respect to W, which only makes Al appear to be more generous and likable. At least I hope this is true. Still, George exudes charm.

It’s infuriating, the national appetite for charisma. People think W would be fun to have a beer with, but I don’t see cause to optimize for such an unlikely scenario. Is being vaguely likable really all that’s required for him to be successful?

There’s also another issue rubbing against my raw nerves. Details from our mediator arrived a few days ago. On Friday, Ash and I are due in court.

Thursday after work, I resist an invitation to the Blue Note from Travis and Lian, who know about the article and have listened to my increasingly erratic ramblings all week. The distraction of blue drinks is appealing, but I want only quiet and hope desperately for sleep.

I haven’t spoken to Ash since our last session with the mediator. I’ve followed the admonishment from Boops to leave him alone, and he hasn’t reached out either. Still, I think of him often, when I cycle past a restaurant in Cambridge we used to frequent or hear a song on the radio I know he likes. I’ve wondered how he is but have resisted my impulse to check.

I’m digging in my dresser for the earring box that holds my diamond engagement ring, which I plan to return to Ash tomorrow, when I hear my phone. Seeing Seth’s number on my caller ID, I crawl into bed. I’m leaking tears before we even start speaking, though my eyes become faucets when I’m overtired. Once they’re activated, it’s difficult to turn them off; I’ve been fighting tears for days.

I’m also angry and hurt Seth hasn’t called sooner. “What if I’d been fired? How would you even know?”

“Were you fired?” he asks.

I admit I haven’t lost my job. That I haven’t spoken to my boss yet.

Seth huffs, but he says he’s sorry. “This has been a difficult week. There was more discussion of this article at our board meeting on Tuesday than there should have been. They wanted to understand how a PR … stumble like this one occurred and how it will be avoided in the future. One board member, this real blowhard, went on in excruciating detail, as if it weren’t already blindingly obvious to everyone in the room, how detrimental a bad write-up from Gilroy would be—”

“I would never—”

“I know. Claire nearly did lose her job—”

“But she didn’t? She’s okay?”

“Yes,” Seth says. “And rightly so. That article was Manish’s fault.”