“Imagine if we kept seeing each other secretly and then broke up and some investment I recommend goes bust. Grip can legitimately complain that I was distracted or working against him, or vengeful and gave him bad advice and sue Swire and Yallop. You can’t sleep with your clients in the finance industry for good reasons, Vera.”
“No wonder bankers are so boring. If you think Grip would sue you then he’s not who you think he is. He’s an arsehole.”
“He’s the furthest thing from an arsehole.” He was a honey. He was honest. He did everything with his whole heart. He was loveably enthusiastic, a little goofy, and much more intelligent than he liked to let on. She was lying to herself to think she didn’t know who he was.
“I’m not going to give him dud advice and he’s not going to sue because we’re not going to keep doing this.”
“God, when did you become such a stickler for the rules? You’re into each other and it’s no one’s business. What if you told him it had to stay a secret?”
“That would just make it worse because we’re not some star-crossed second-chance. We were never a first chance.” She shook her head. “We don’t belong in each other’s lives. I do suits and heels and building a secure future, he does band tees and collector’s edition sneakers and he could burn out tomorrow.”
“You did not just rule out a relationship over clothing choices.”
Oh, that was Vera’s best think about your life choices, you disgusting bag of blood voice.
Embarrassed, Mena tried to make eye contact with waitstaff. She needed something to chase the sweetness of the mango away and suck up that mistaken characterization. “It was a bad example. He bangs drums. I calculate risk. He’s a touring rock star. I’m not a groupie anymore. We don’t fit. We hardly know each other, and I’ve been lying to him the whole time.”
Vera lifted a finger and two waiters almost collided on their way over. “You’ll trash your whole career over one night with a good guy you don’t know and don’t care about.”
That was a brilliant summation of her hypocrisy. “When you say it like that, I want to throw myself in the ocean and float away.”
Vera ordered their regular coffees while Mena brooded. She did care about Grip as a client, as a talented musician. As a lover. It didn’t feel like it was enough. What she wanted and what she needed to do were water and oil.
“The mistake you made,” Vera said, breaking into her misery, “was not making a weekend of it.”
“A weekend?”
“Go out with a big bang. What difference is it going to make to your ethical position and how fucked you are how many times you assume the position and get fucked.”
It was impossible to suppress a groan. Vera had a point. Whether this was one night or a weekend affair, the effect was the same.
“What do you want to do, right now?” Vera said.
Get her hands on Grip, dig her fingers into his muscles and wrap her legs around his hips, get mindless on his kisses. She wanted to ride his tongue and make him swear when he came. And not come up for air for days. “Filthy, filthy things.”
“Where does the part that you’re two consenting adults come into it?”
“It would come into it if he weren’t paying me a fee for advice I’m supposed to give him while fully dressed and focused on his financial future, not any place I might have in it. The only way I can limit the damage is agree with him that I resign his account for some other reason.” It would have to be a good one, not to cause suspicion.
“And then you’d be free to ethically fuck.”
“I’m not sure it would work like that.” But it could. Maybe. Did she even want it to? Wasn’t this the kind of thing that was hot and heavy for a while and then fell apart the moment you discovered the other person picked their nose in public or never hung up the wet towels.
Their coffee arrived, and Vera pointed out a woman who was wearing what looked to Mena like an old man’s bathrobe. Vera said was fashion-forward athleisure. Was she being too black and white about Grip? Was there an or that didn’t involve risking everything.
“You’re just like athleisure, Mena. Pretending to be workout sweats while being street clothes. You wanted to be with this man enough to risk your promotion, your job and your career, but you’re going to ignore him all weekend because you’ve forgotten that just because you dress like a bore doesn’t mean you don’t have the ambition to be happy?”
The ambition to be happy. Sounded like a movie title, not her life. “I don’t—”
“You don’t whatever you were going to say.” Vera tossed her ristretto back in one gulp. “Go find out what you’re risking everything for.”
Like that made sense. “I can’t just show up at his house and ask for sex.”
Vera shrugged. “Why not? That’s how you met him the first time.”
Mena almost choked on her long black. “Oh, my heavens. I’d call first.”
“Text darling, you don’t want to look too desperate.”
Mena felt her body unclench for the first time since she left Grip asleep in her bed, looking disgustingly sexy. Once upon a time, she’d been daring.
