Page 62 of Engineering a Love Story

And I can attempt all that as soon as I put this meeting with Ronald Spillane behind me. I take the Metro to the Washington/Wells stop, as Ronald instructed. It’s raining, so I purchase an umbrella from a vendor outside the covered station and walk several blocks to the coffee shop.

Ronald is waiting for me at a round table in the center of the café, wearing a worn navy suit that’s a little shiny. Ronald often goes on about how many years he’s worked in tech and it looks as though he’s had this suit for all of them. A quick flash of Seth in his crisp pink shirt and purple tie pings in front of me, and my chest constricts.

Ronald stands and shakes my hand. “Can I get you coffee?”

“I’ll just grab a water.” I hang my laptop bag on the arm of the chair and turn to the nearby counter where a barista waits, but Ronald insists on getting the drink for me. I shrug and sit.

When he returns, Ronald swings his chair around so it’s right up against mine. He starts talking before he’s even fully heaved himself onto it. “Sofra signed two big clients in the last week of the quarter,” he announces. “And the fourth quarter will be even stronger.” He goes on about the company’s rapid growth, barely taking a breath. “And we’re getting ready for the full launch of our bill-pay product next week. We already did that pre-brief for you last month.”

Knowing Sofra is about to publicly announce this product eases my mind. Whatever confidential details were in that presentation Seth stole will be public now, and perhaps my indiscretion will matter less.

“This release is going to put us out in front of the competition once and for all,” Ronald continues, staring at me with creepy, dark eyes. I place my water on the table and covertly wipe its condensation from my palms onto my slacks. “No one has a product like ours. IBM isn’t even close. And the fact that Aurelian PayNow is vaporware is the worst kept secret in the industry.” Ronald holds my eyes. “But you know that.”

I consider asking him what he means, but of course I already know.

“You see that Forbes article?” Ronald asks with false ignorance, shaking his head and watching me. “That Sales VP, what’s his name? Murphy? Sounds like he’s in over his head.”

Sweat pools in the ridges of Ronald’s bulky forehead and he’s sitting so near to me, I can smell his sweet cologne. This sends a sweep of nausea through me, and I turn away, looking left and out the window where rain bounces against a metal trash can in an alley. With my focus averted, I don’t notice Ronald’s meaty paw creep from the table and reach toward my neck. One of his fat fingers touches me just below my ear lobe, and he runs that finger back beneath my hair. “I wondered, when Howard Volpe brought you on and put you in the hottest area of fin-tech,” Ronald says, his voice low. “What you did to curry his favor.”

I jump up so quickly I knock the plastic bottle to the floor. Water gushes at my feet. Ronald’s hand falls onto my chair.

“What’s the going rate for a Gilroy endorsement these days?” he asks. “More than dinner, I take it?”

I simply stare at Ronald, absorbing what he’s suggesting, my feet rooted in the pooling water. He watches me and I can see it in his eyes—he’s enjoying this.

Anger flushes through me, but I’m too shocked to defend myself. “You should brief Howard,” I say tightly, tossing this out as a bribe and hoping to contain Ronald, at least temporarily. Vendors always want to meet with Howard, and he rarely agrees.

“That would be great.” Ronald nods slowly.

Mumbling something about my flight, I turn to go. I itch to say something more or possibly even to reach back and slap Ronald once, hard and fast across his cheek, though I’ve never done anything like that in my life. And I’m in no position to be slapping Gilroy clients. Plus, I know there’s no point. I’m not going to change Ronald Spillane.

On the street, rain soaks me instantly. I forgot the umbrella, but I won’t go back. I check for my laptop bag, which is on my shoulder, though I don’t remember grabbing it. A cab approaches and I stick my arm out. Mercifully, it stops and I climb in, rainwater running on the seat around me. I rest my head against the seat and watch water traverse the car’s window in halting, circuitous streams.

The driver has the radio tuned to a sports-talk station, and it’s one of those call-in shows. Two days prior, the New York Yankees won the World Series. Again. The callers and show hosts are lamenting the sorry state of the Cubs organization, doubting it will ever emerge from its decades-long drought to a win a championship. Their dismay feels right. We’re all losers.

Replaying the scene with Ronald, I’m disgusted with him and myself. It had been worse than anything I’d feared. And I appeased him. I’m a little carsick, remembering it. My lack of a denial makes everything he said seem true.

I have to confess to Howard now. I don’t know what he’ll say, but I have to make sure he hears about this mess from me.

Thirty-Six

Speaking with Howard will have to wait until Monday though, as it’s late Friday night by the time I’m back in Cambridge. I stop at a convenience store for nighttime cold medicine and a bottle of red wine. Tonight I’m leaving nothing to chance—I have a wedding to attend tomorrow.

Happy as I’d been to receive the invitation from Simon and Tracy, it now seems silly going to the wedding of people I hardly know. I have to physically force myself from bed in the morning, with a hazy head and buzzing ears. The day is cool and bright—perfect for a wedding—and that does help me face the shower. Then I go to my closet to find something to wear, a decision I’d been too stressed in the previous days to even consider.

I choose a navy sheath from my collection of dresses worn to earlier weddings. I can’t even remember who got married while I wore this dress, but it goes nicely with the heels I bought for my last trip to New York. I also dig for the soft wrap I purchased months ago in San Francisco. I’m not sure it matches the dress and it will be weak defense against a cool fall evening, but I wear it anyway.

I drive into Boston in the early afternoon to collect Evan, my date. Next, I swing onto Dartmouth Street to pick up Travis and Daisuke, who wait in the sun on the brick sidewalk outside their condo.

On the drive north, I’m distracted, thinking of the talk I need to have with Howard. I want to discuss it with these guys and get their advice on how to approach that conversation, but they’re in festive moods, and I don’t want to wreck the day.

The inn, when we arrive, is storybook-lovely, its white clapboards bright against the deep green of the fall grass. Flowers and ribbons guide us to the back of the property where a wide lawn holds an arbor and lines of white chairs before rolling to the rocky shore. It’s so pretty, it looks unreal, though the beauty isn’t enough to dent my anxious mood.

When the ceremony begins, Simon and Tracy stand luminous beneath the flowered arbor and recite their vows. They kiss for a long time and people cheer, though I’m slightly embarrassed for everyone involved. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to sit earnest and hopeful at a wedding again.

Cocktails and hors d’oeuvres are served on a patio. Hotel staff place heat lamps near high-top tables as the sun moves lower in the sky. We get drinks and stand at a table, Daisuke snagging every waiter who passes with a tray.

Simon and Tracy make the rounds. When they arrive at our table, Tracy is a swirl of russet hair and perfumed white satin. She leans in for a light hug, her shoulders dewy and warm. She holds my eyes with her deep brown ones for a moment and gives my arms a little squeeze. “I’m so glad you could join us.”