Chapter 23: Variance, Closed

"Two chairs," Odette said again, to a ballroom that had stopped breathing.

"Roz Szymanski and Drake Hollister will be co-heads of Product. Equal titles, equal pay, one budget between them."

"They'll fight each other at every meeting and sign the same paper at the end."

"If they can't, I'll find out in a month."

The room came apart in applause.

Laney was standing on her chair, screaming, with her legal pad in the air.

Drake turned and looked at me with his whole face open, and neither of us could hear the room anymore.

That night Laney pressed a key card into my hand in the lobby.

"The company booked you a suite," she said. "Nineteenth floor. Suite 1901. I'm told it was Odette's idea."

"Laney."

"I'm not asking. I don't want to know. I will see you at nine on Monday."

She kissed my cheek and sprinted for a cab.

Drake and I rode the elevator up alone, and the doors had barely closed before I had him pressed into the mirrored wall.

We had not touched each other since the garage.

Eight days.

I had counted every one.

The suite was a long cream room with a sofa, a bed the size of a boat.

One wall was a window over the lit-up city.

He kicked the door shut behind us.

We stood in the middle of the carpet, panting, a foot apart.

"Rules," he said.

"You're going to say rules."

"The bet is still on."

"The bet is on until one of us breaks."

"Whoever breaks says the other's line is better."

"At the all-hands."

"On Monday."

"And leave?"

"Nobody gives leave," said Drake. "That's the game. We just find out who can't stand it."

"You first."

"Szymanski."

"Hollister."

We undressed each other, slowly, one button at a time, in the light from the city.

His hands shook on my zipper.

Mine shook on his belt.

When we were naked, I took off my glasses, and put them on the sofa.

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