Mr. Hotshot CEO Page 2

  The front door opens. Jeremy and his wife, Lydia, have returned from their half-hour walk alone, which is a luxury for them now. Lydia immediately reaches for her daughter, and I hand Heather over.

  “I think she’s hungry,” I say.

  Jeremy and Lydia have been married for three years. I remember when Jeremy first brought her home, which must be at least six years ago now. I was in awe of her. She seemed like one of those perfectly dainty Asian women—completely unlike me, in other words—although that doesn’t describe her personality.

  It was actually Lydia’s idea to set Naomi up with Will. Of course, what actually happened was much more complicated than a simple setup, and it involved a fake relationship, a long weekend at a beach house, and lots of donuts. It’s like my sister is living in a damn romantic comedy.

  I miss romantic comedies. They used to make so many of them, but now they seem few and far between. I haven’t been to a movie theater in ages.

  “Do you want to see a movie tomorrow night?” Naomi asks, as though reading my mind.

  Like I said, we’ve always been close.

  I shake my head. “I can’t. I have to be at the lab until late to finish some experiments, and then I’ll probably just go home. It’s been a long week.”

  Naomi is not like me. She seems to have an endless reserve of energy, whereas my battery needs to be recharged on a regular basis. After spending the evening at Jeremy’s, I won’t feel like doing anything after my long day at work tomorrow.

  Except drinking a gingerbread latte.

  I smile at the thought of that latte. It will be well after five o’clock by the time I’m finished work tomorrow, so it’ll have to be decaf. I used to think decaf lattes were stupid, but then I realized that caffeine isn’t the main reason I have gingerbread lattes.

  No, it’s the short walk to my favorite coffee shop, eleven minutes from the lab, and the amazing aroma that hits my nose as I step in the door. It’s the cozy couches and wooden furniture, the familiar faces, the barista who chats with me and makes pretty foam art. It’s the taste of the latte, the spices. It’s feeling naughty and special for having gingerbread lattes all year long, when usually you can only get them in December. (The gingerbread latte isn’t on the menu now, but I’m a regular and they make it for me anyway.) It’s a break from the rest of my life.

  Yes, it costs five dollars, and since I have about three a week, this isn’t a cheap habit. People complain about millennials wasting money on indulgences like lattes and avocado toast, and they say that’s why we can’t afford houses. But the real reason I can’t buy a house is because houses are ridiculously expensive in Toronto and cutting out my gingerbread latte habit wouldn’t make me hundreds of thousands of dollars richer.

  It’s five dollars that contributes to my happiness, so I consider it five dollars well spent. That’s what I focus on in life—those little things that make the sun shine just a bit brighter.

  However, at some point in the near future, I’ll stop being able to appreciate such things. My niece might smile at me for the first time, and I won’t feel anything.

  There was a hint of it last week. I tried a new ice cream parlor and the ube ice cream was really good. Well, intellectually I knew it was good, but it didn’t taste as amazing as it should have. It felt like I was experiencing the world through a thick blanket of fog again.

  This week, I’m okay, enjoying my niece’s big eyes and my gingerbread lattes, but I know. I just know.

  It’s coming.

  It’s inevitable.

  * * *

  “How was the wedding?” Lydia asks Naomi at dinner. We’re eating takeout from an Indian restaurant.

  “It was great, except I discovered Will can’t dance.”

  Lydia holds a sleeping Heather in one arm as she eats. “I never imagined him as an enthusiastic dancer.”

  We all chuckle at the thought of grumpy Will heating things up on the dance floor.

  “But I figured he’d at least be able to slow dance,” Lydia says. “It’s not that hard.”

  “It is for him,” Naomi says.

  “Bad dancers are supposed to be bad in bed, but I assume he disproves that theory?”

  Jeremy glares at his wife, though it’s a fond sort of glare. I’m sure Lydia made that comment just to get under his skin. He’s still not quite used to the fact that his best friend is dating his baby sister, but at least he’s not totally against it now, which is an improvement.

  “Any plans for the weekend?” Lydia asks me and Naomi.

  “I’m going to a bachelorette party tomorrow,” my sister says.

  “Will there be strippers?” Lydia sounds quite excited by the possibility.

  Jeremy glares at her again.

  She rolls her eyes. “What? There were strippers at my bachelorette. It was awesome.”

  “I’m not sure of the details,” Naomi says, reaching for the basmati rice. “Knowing the maid of honor, there probably will be.”

  “What about you?” Lydia asks me. “What are you doing, since you don’t have a baby to look after? Going anywhere is such a production now.” She kisses her daughter’s forehead.

  “Um.” I don’t know what to say. I’m not going to mention that I have plans to drink a gingerbread latte tomorrow and go for a long walk and eat gelato—alone—on Saturday, since that sounds pathetic. “We’ll see.”

  In fact, I have no exciting plans at all for the next couple of months. Naomi and I are going to New York City this fall, in October or early November, but until then? Not so much.

  * * *

  The next morning, I get up at seven, as usual. It’s already warm enough to eat outside, so I have breakfast on the balcony. I’m going to enjoy summer while it’s here.

  My balcony is another thing that brings me joy. For a few months of the year—no longer than that, not here in Canada—it’s like having another room. I could have gotten a cheaper apartment in another building, but this one has a balcony, and it’s near Broadview Station, which is only a short subway ride from the university. It’s worth the extra expense.

  Not only do I have a balcony, but it’s a huge one. I have a comfortable lounge chair for reading, plus two other chairs and a small table. I don’t know why I have multiple chairs, since I never have company out here, but I do.

  I sip my coffee and look up at the sky. My apartment faces east, and the sun warms my face.

  It’s going to be a good day, I can just feel it.

  After I finish breakfast, I head into work and get started on some experiments. I’m about to take a break for lunch when one of the post docs approaches me.

  “Your sister’s here,” he says.

  How odd. Naomi rarely visits me at work, but she works downtown, not all that far from me, so it isn’t too inconvenient for her to come here.

  I head out to meet my sister in the hallway, and she’s missing her usual smile.

  “My car broke down,” she says. “I just got off the phone with the repair shop, and it’s going to cost more to fix it than I initially thought.” She frowns. “I can’t go to New York. I don’t have the money.”

  I feel a tightness in my chest.

  Every five years, like clockwork, I get depressed. It started when I was sixteen, and it’ll be coming back soon. It’s hard to explain how, but I can already feel it coming.

  Naomi and I had planned this trip to New York for when I was unwell. Of course, it wouldn’t solve my depression, but it would give me something to look forward to—as much as I can look forward to anything when I’m struggling with depression. Getting out of my regular day-to-day life often helps when I’m feeling that way, too.

  I was counting on that trip.

  So much for thinking today was going to be a great day.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says.

  She doesn’t suggest I go by myself or find a friend to go with me. She knows that’s not an option. I can’t travel alone when I’m depressed; that’s a disaster waiting t
o happen. It’s not good for me to be alone for days at a time, and I need someone else to deal with the travel plans and maps because my brain turns to mush and the tiniest things seem like insurmountable problems.

  And it has to be Naomi. She’s my sister and best friend.

  She’s the only one who knows what to do with me when I’m unwell.

  I consider whether I could pay for her share of the trip, too. I’m doing okay financially, and I can afford gingerbread lattes, but I’m hardly rich. Plus, I need to have a decent amount of savings in case I’m unable to work for a while due to my mental illness. Because I spent so many years in school, I haven’t saved as much as I’d like.

  I have to accept it. We’re not going to New York. I can’t justify the expense.

  “That’s okay,” I say, not wanting to let on just how disappointed I am.

  I had that trip to look forward to, but now, all I expect of this fall is a blur of heaviness and gray and sleepless nights.

  Naomi squeezes my hand. “You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it, even though we can’t do this trip. I’m really sorry. I just...I can’t. And Will and I haven’t been together long, and I don’t want to ask him for money.”

  Since one car repair threw off my sister’s budget, I’m a little worried about her financial situation, but I don’t ask, not now.

  “I just wanted to tell you in person,” she says.

  We talk for a few more minutes before she leaves and I head to lunch with a friend, my heart heavy.

  * * *

  After lunch, I return to my experiments. I’ve always liked science, always liked understanding how things work. It’s incredible how much we can explain, isn’t it? From the microscopic scale, out to the universe beyond our solar system. When I was in high school, I’d already figured that I would get a PhD and do research, though exactly which field, I had no idea. I found a number of things interesting. The fact that we can explain natural phenomena only makes them more amazing to me, not less, and science can do so much for us.

  But when I try to lose myself in my work today, I’m not successful. I can’t help thinking about the trip that won’t happen, as well as my sister’s finances.

  At eight thirty, I pack up my bag. Some of the tension in my body drifts away as I head toward my regular coffee shop, one of my favorite places in the city. Still, I can’t completely shake my disappointment.

  If only a few thousand bucks would drop out of the sky and into my hands...

  Chapter 3

  Julian

  Even though I didn’t set an alarm, I wake up at five o’clock on Friday morning.

  In an attempt to fill some of my free time, I try to go back to sleep, but at five thirty, I’m still awake, so I get out of bed and start my usual routine. Working out, eating breakfast, reading the news. Vince has confiscated most of my electronics, but I still have my desktop at home, surprisingly enough. So I could, in fact, do some work if I wanted to.

  Well, I’ll save that for later, for when I’m really desperate.

  I make myself another espresso and sit back in my recliner with a copy of Like Water for Chocolate in Spanish. Como agua para chocolate.

  I’m still reading at nine o’clock when Elena, my housekeeper, comes in. She’s about my mom’s age, but unlike my mother, she has three grandchildren, whom she likes to talk about the rare times I see her. Most of the time, I’m at work when she’s here.

  “I can hardly believe my eyes!” she says, putting her hands to her cheeks and opening her mouth wide in an exaggerated expression of surprise. “You’re home on a weekday!”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Not by choice, I assure you.”

  “I know,” she says. “Your mother told me all about her plan.”

  “You approve?”

  “Of course I do. You work too hard. You need some time off.”

  Hmph. Everyone’s on the same side but me. What’s wrong with hard work?

  “I’ll make you something for lunch today,” she says. “What would you like?”

  “Whatever you want. We’ll eat together, and you can tell me about your grandchildren.”

  I need to fill the time somehow.

  * * *

  By three o’clock in the afternoon, I’ve read more than half of Como agua para chocolate and watched two episodes of a telenovela. I’ve also eaten too much moussaka, talked to Elena for an hour, spent another hour in the gym, and tried to pull out most of my hair.

  That’s it. I’m going to the office. I’d planned to stay away until Tuesday, but I can’t stand this any longer.

  I put on a suit and embark on the ten-minute walk to Fong Investments. We have several floors in a building in the financial district. As I take the elevator up to the twenty-seventh floor, I can feel serenity seeping into my veins. Yes, this is where I belong.

  I step out of the elevator and walk purposefully along the corridor. A couple people look at me strangely and elbow each other.

  Priya immediately jumps up when I walk into her office, which is connected to mine.

  “Julian, you’re not supposed to be here.”

  “I beg to differ. I’m the president and CEO, and it’s a workday.”

  Raymond enters her office. “I heard you were in.”

  Priya holds out her hand. “Ten dollars, please.”

  He sighs and deposits a ten-dollar bill in her hand.

  “We had a bet,” Priya explains to me. “I bet that you would show up at some point today, whereas Raymond thought you’d be able to make it a full day without coming into the office. But he was wrong.” She smiles triumphantly.

  Just then, I hear movement on the other side of my office door.

  “Priya, who did you let into my office? Nobody should be in there but you and Raymond, and you two are out here.”

  The door opens. “Hello, Julian.”

  It’s Vince.

  “What the hell are you doing in my office?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Need to make sure things don’t crumble to dust in your absence.”

  “I bet you’re flirting with my employees.”

  He shrugs again, a smile on his face, then turns to Priya. “You owe me ten dollars.”

  Priya hands over Raymond’s ten-dollar bill.

  “What the hell?” I bellow. “I’m away for one day and this place turns into a gambling hall?”

  “Just a friendly bet,” Vince explains. “Priya and I both knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away from the office today, but she thought you’d show up before noon. I, on the other hand, had a little more faith in you and trusted you wouldn’t show up until this afternoon. And now, you and I will vacate the premises.” He takes my arm and starts walking down the hall. Before we get on the elevator, he pulls out his phone and makes a call. “Hi, Mom... Yes, he did. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he has fun tonight... Uh-huh... Okay, talk to you later.”

  Well, isn’t this just lovely.

  “How did you fill the first half of your day?” he asks when we’re in the elevator.

  “Television and—”

  “It was Spanish television, wasn’t it? Even on your day off, you tried to be productive by teaching yourself Spanish.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “You need a hobby,” he says.

  “Learning languages is a hobby.”

  “You already speak five languages fluently. Isn’t that enough?”

  “What do you want me to do? Crocheting? Woodworking? Birdwatching?”

  “Or videogames.”

  I frown. “That’s a waste of time.”

  Vince puts his hands to his chest as though he’s been shot.

  “Cut the melodrama,” I snap.

  I swear, my blood pressure must be higher than it would be during a stressful day at the office.

  * * *

  By eight o’clock, I feel like my brain is rotting. I’ve spent the past few hours playing videogames at Vince’s and eating pepperoni pizza. Admittedly, the videogames
were not an entirely unpleasant experience, but I’m ready for something new.

  Vince helps himself to another slice of pizza. “Remember I mentioned a party?”

  “I don’t think I’m dressed properly for the sort of party you’d take me to.” I gesture to my suit. Yeah, I’m wearing a suit while playing videogames and eating pizza. I’m classy.

  “Actually, that’s perfect. It’s a rather fancy party.”

  “Oh?” I’m intrigued. Maybe...

  “Where there will be no opportunities for networking.”

  Damn.

  “I mean it,” he says. “Don’t embarrass me by talking business.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re in the back seat of a town car, heading to the Bridle Path, an upscale part of Toronto.

  “Tell me about your friend who’s hosting the party,” I say.

  “Brian Poon. His family owns some kind of big multinational company.”

  “Which company? And who does Brian have looking after his money?”

  Vince gives me a look. “Can you pretend you don’t run an investment firm just for an hour? Please?”

  “I was joking.”

  “Yeah, sure you were.”

  “I didn’t ask to go to this party, you know.”

  “But it’s exactly what you need.”

  The driver approaches a grand house of gray stone with elaborate wrought-iron gates, which are open. He continues along the crescent-shaped driveway and stops in front of a fountain with a nearly-naked man and woman carved of marble. The garden is lush and has an abundance of flowers, and the entrance is framed by two-story columns.

  We head to the door, and an Asian man in a blue suit answers. He smiles at Vince before turning to me. “You must be Julian. I’m Brian.”

  We shake hands.

  “Tell me,” he says, “is this your first orgy?”

  Chapter 4

  Julian

  I drag Vince back to the car and haul him inside.

  “Could you excuse us for a minute?” I say to the driver, and he steps out. Then I turn to my brother. “You brought me to an orgy?”

  “Look how tense you are,” Vince says. “You need to get laid. Badly.”