Page 65 of Engineering a Love Story

“What I want to know is if it’s true,” he says.

“It’s not—”

“Is it true?”

“I’m trying—”

“Don’t make me question you again. Do you know—for a fact—that Aurelian PayNow is not a functioning product?”

“Yes.” I hold Howard’s eyes. “I do know that. But I—”

“Did you know it when you wrote the Spotlight?”

“No. Of course not. I only just found out.” Though it’s a blur in my mind now. What I knew and when. I’m having a hard time thinking clearly and can’t begin to mount a defense as to why I didn’t fix the Spotlight weeks ago. I’ve simply been too tired.

“Well. Bottom line. IBM doesn’t want to work with you any longer. Evan will take over your coverage of online banking, effective immediately. He’s ready for the promotion anyway.”

My head snaps up, looking to see if Howard is joking about Evan, but he’s dead serious. He finds his sandwich again and tears off another bite.

I try to stall. “Is it … weird that we’re arguing about my objectivity when IBM is dictating terms? They don’t even have an online banking product yet.”

“Chelsea, grow up,” Howard says around a mouthful. He swallows. “We can’t alienate IBM. We all know how this goes. They’re behind now, but IBM will own online banking eventually. Just like everything else in fin-tech. The internet changes things. But not that much.”

“So. I’m fired,” I finally say, forcing myself to admit the obvious.

“We don’t need two full-time analysts for online banking anymore. The bust is causing hesitation and delay among our banking clients; I’m not sure why you can’t see that. We can pause some of our coverage for now.”

Howard won’t meet my eyes. He folds up his now-empty wrapper and stands. Our meeting is over. As is, apparently, our working relationship. My sandwich still sits uneaten on the table. I leave without saying another word.

I go to find Evan.

He’s in his cube staring at his screen, his back to me, and I start in so loudly, he jumps before turning around. “You couldn’t resist, could you? Spilling it all to Jason. You told him on Friday. And then danced with me on Saturday? And you didn’t think to mention it? Maybe give me a heads up?”

I’m nearly yelling, past the point of caring that everyone in the analyst pen can hear. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of me now.

Evan’s face goes splotchy. “I was going to tell you. But then it seemed like everyone already knew. So what was the big deal?”

“The big deal? I just got fired! Maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference, but the warning would have been nice. I thought we were friends.”

Lian appears and places a hand on my arm. Quietly, she says, “You don’t want to do this here.” I allow her to lead me from Evan’s cube, though my anger feels white hot and satisfying, and I can’t resist calling back. “Oh, and congrats on the promotion!”

Thirty-Eight

In my apartment, I let my bag, coat, and everything else Lian grabbed for me fall to the floor. After my outburst, she led me away from Evan’s cube and settled me outside on the grassy area behind Gilroy’s building. Then she ran back inside to collect my things. “I just brought everything,” she said. “But I have to go back in for a call. I’m sorry.”

Lying on my sofa, I expect the tears to come, but they don’t. Maybe there’s nothing left.

I shouldn’t waste time. I need to start looking for a new job right away, especially while I still have my Gilroy laptop. I contemplate reaching out to Paul Igo at Aberson Research to see if they have any openings, but then I think they probably get Forbes in that office too, and I can’t face it.

I simply lie there. For hours. Too exhausted to do anything. My phone rings a couple of times, probably someone from Gilroy’s HR department calling to initiate my termination. Or maybe Lian, checking on me. I don’t answer it. I don’t eat or even use the bathroom. At some point, I fall asleep. No reason now to lie awake worrying about what might happen.

The sun is just peeking over the building across the street when I wake. I spend a few disoriented minutes looking around, trying to digest the fact that it’s morning. Sleeping the whole night, even in my clothes on the sofa, feels like a victory.

A light layer of ice etches my windows outside, though there’s a damp dripping inside. A collision of hot and a new cold, which must have moved in overnight. Still, I have an urge to go out on my bike, something I haven’t had the energy to do in days. I dig in a crate of hats and scarves, unused since I moved in here, and find a workable pair of gloves.

Outside, I head straight for the bike path, which I have almost entirely to myself on this chilly morning. I cycle for miles, a satisfying heat burning in my thighs and contrasting with the cold fire in my lungs.

What happened with Howard plays repeatedly in my mind, a scene that must have rolled even in my sleep, as the memory feels worn already. I’m mortified that Howard had to defend—or even discuss—my inappropriate behavior with his peers. Despite my financial worries, I’m glad he fired me. At least I won’t have to see him again.