Aidan has the second-highest GPA in my class after me. He also has zero social skills, which makes him turn a violent red and babble incoherently ev
Every time a girl pays attention to him. It wouldn’t take much to convince him to let me copy the solutions.
“If you show him a boob he might copy it for you,” she snorts. “In addition to coming in his pants.”
“You disgust me,” I say.
“You need to get laid again.”
I only realize what she’s up to when I hear a distant dialing sound. I leap from my cross-legged position, sending my laptop crashing to the ground in the process, and launch myself over the table.
“Don’t. Jess, I swear-”
It’s futile. She holds my phone up in the air, too far away for me to grasp it. Jess is my best friend in the whole wide world, but sometimes-like now-I get the strange urge to throttle her. “Jessica Haydn, hand me that phone.”
“Certainly,” she says after a few excruciating seconds, and I know there can only be one reason for it.
He picked up.
“Hi…” I say, straightening up and struggling to even my breathing.
“Serena. To what do I owe this surprise?” The sound of my name in his mouth instantly brings back memories of all the other times he called my name and it has the devastating effect of erasing anything else from my mind.
Like why I am calling.
“Umm,” I look up at Jess, who mouths the word plans over and over. “I was wondering if you… already have plans for tonight?”
“What do you have in mind?” he says, sounding amused.
“Nothing special,” I say quickly, feeling more embarrassed with every second.
“Then you can drop it?”
“Drop what?” I say confused and Jess slaps her forehead.
“The nothing special you had planned and join me.” He sounds even more amused than before.
Jess gives a triumphant squeal. I’d do the same if I weren’t on the phone.
“Where?”
“You think I’ll tell you?” he teases and I can feel his conceited smile forming at the other end. “Can you be ready in half an hour? I’ll pick you up.”
Jess desperately shakes her head, pointing to my hair and mimicking that she’s applying lipstick.
I roll my eyes at her. “Sounds good.”
“Perfect,” he says and hangs up, leaving me breathing heavier than when I answered, though for quite different reasons.
“Help me pick something to wear,” I tell Jess.
Half an hour later I’m waiting in the courtyard, wondering when exactly I lost my mind. Probably the same time I lost my decency.
I smile to myself. I’m so much better without them.
I check my outfit in my reflection at the front door. Jeans and a white top, a choice Jess vehemently criticized. She brought me an array of her shortest skirts, insisting that this is not the time to shy away from showing some leg. To me, it just seemed like trying too hard.
The sound of a car roaring behind me causes something in my stomach to flutter violently. I turn around, expecting the familiar Rover, and find a gray Porsche instead. The flutter in my stomach becomes almost painful as I open the door and slide into the car.
James looks even hotter than I remember, wearing a dark green polo and stylish Ray-Ban sunglasses. I’m glad I can’t see his eyes because that would make coherent thinking even more difficult.
“New week, new car?” I ask as he drives away.
He raises an eyebrow. “You thought I would arrive in a Range Rover with a driver? That is Dad’s car. And Peter is his driver.”
“So where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he says and the corner of his mouth lifts in his trademark smile. “I promise we’ll have a lot of fun.”
The hair on the nape of my neck stands on end at the word fun.
I was expecting some awkwardness between us or mentioning the silent week that has passed, but it’s like it never existed.
“So how come the next Zuckerberg,” I say mockingly, “gets to leave his office on Friday at five o’clock?”
He chuckles. “If you also mention the TechCrunch article from last Monday, I’ll seriously consider reporting you for stalking activity. And by the way, I hate that comparison.”
“Yeah, it’s unfair. You’re much hotter than he is,” I say without thinking. My face instantly feels like it’s on fire and I look away, burying myself in my seat.
“That’s very sweet of you.” I can’t tell from the tone of his voice whether he’s mocking me or not but don’t dare turn and check for fear my cheeks are as red as they feel. “We pitched to the last investors for this round today. It went well so I let everyone take off and celebrate.”
“How high is the investment round?” I say, sitting up straight.
“You just read the title of that article, didn’t you?” he smirks.
Damn.
“Sort of,” I admit jerkily. I make a mental note to check what exactly he’s doing when I get home.
“Two hundred million.”
“Impressive,” I say. “What’s your valuation?”
“Nine hundred million.”
“Wow,” I say, stunned.
“We’re hiring, by the way.”
“I’ll consider putting you on my long application list,” I joke.
“Why not?” he says seriously.
“Because what you do is far too risky for me. I’ve heard of enough entrepreneurs going bankrupt.”
“True, but that’s part of the beauty in this. The risk.”
“I’m a corporate girl,” I say, thinking that I’ll prefer the security of a paycheck to reckless risk any day. Of course, I’ve yet to receive any kind of positive answer from any bank I’ve applied to, so I hope that paycheck won’t just remain wishful thinking. I fist my palms tightly, hoping the usual anxiety over my future won’t show up now.
“So where did you apply?” he asks.
“To every investment bank I could find.”
He laughs softly. “I remember you saying you also take computer science classes along with economics. Not applying for a job in that area?”
I look at him, truly stunned that he remembers that since I just mentioned it in passing when we first met at the bar. “Computer science is just my minor. And I’m not very fascinated by it.”
“I see. So you want to work in investment banking?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you ever worked in investment banking before?”
“I did an internship at Merrill Lynch last summer,” I say proudly.
“Christ, I did one at Goldman Sachs before my senior year. Most boring three months of my life.”
“I liked it,” I say briskly.
“Really?”
No, not really. But then again, what do I like? I’ve been having this dilemma ever since I started jotting down on a piece of paper the names of banks to apply to back in October. Jess handed me a second piece of paper (with the title What I Want to Do in My Life written in pink tones with a little heart-shaped cardboard attached to it), insisting that I fill it with the things I love doing most. I looked up professional chocolate-tasting jobs for a few hours before giving up.
The What I Want to Do in My Life paper remains a blank page.
But the page with the list of banks I plan to apply to is anything but blank. It keeps growing every day. It was embarrassingly short in the beginning-I only looked at cities close to San Francisco, so Michael wouldn’t have to commute to work once I got a job and we moved in together. Which I was sure was going to happen once I graduated. I almost snort at the thought now. Once he left me, I found out the world was much larger. New York and Washington made my list the night he broke up with me. I could put London on the list too since it’s one of the best cities for a job in investment banking. But the thought of returning to the other side of the ocean, of being in London again, is still one I cannot bear. I think I never will.
“What makes you so sure I’d be of any use to you?” I ask.
“Dean Kramer,” he answers.
My jaw drops. “Who’s the stalker now?” I ask in a strangled voice, but the fact is, I’m elated that he talked with someone about me. Dean Kramer, no less. So James hasn’t altogether forgotten I exist.
“He called to ask me to give a talk next week and I casually
y told him we’re looking for people. He wouldn’t shut up about you.”
I smile brightly, despite the sting of disappointment. As much as I like Dean Kramer, I wish James had been the one not shutting up about me.
The feeling of disappointment increases exponentially when I look out the window. The vast, perfectly cut fairways of the golf course lie on our left.
“You’ve got a really low standard for fun activities.”
“We’re not going golfing, Serena,” he chuckles.