Page 5 of No Such Thing as Serendipity

I snuggled against the oversized pillow on my sofa and rubbed the soft fabric. The bright white, overstuffed cushions made me feel as if I were resting on a cloud. I tempted fate with the glass of red wine in my hand, not caring if I spilled.

Funny, as much as I hated light in my office, I couldn’t get enough of it in my living room.

Just like my work office—I swallowed hard—just like my former office, it was a corner room, so I could view the city from two directions.

But, by far, my favorite was the one that faced Central Park.

The lush greenery of spring made it easy to forget how the city looked at street level.

The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the area with the fading light from the sun. I leaned back and craned my neck to see past the archway that led to the kitchen. The smells wafting in from there caused my mouth to water.

“Hey, how much longer?” I called to Emma. “I’m starving.”

“Stop trying to rush perfection,” she answered. “Get your butt up and set the table.”

I groaned. “But I’m comfortable.”

“Tough.”

I smiled for the first time in two days. The shower had refreshed me, but I didn’t plan on telling Emma how good it felt. Nor would I let her know how comforting it was having her prepare a home-cooked meal. Somehow, she’d managed to get a full complement of groceries delivered within the hour.

“Fine.” I extracted my legs from under me and stretched them out as far as I could before I stood. They were still stiff from camping at my desk for the past two days.

When I padded into the kitchen, garlic and onions were the first aroma I registered, followed by the acidic scent of tomatoes and sweetness of the basil.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

Spaghetti. It was my comfort food. The dish our mother always prepared for us when we’d had a bad day.

Granted, Mom’s sauce came from a jar and the Parmesan cheese from a green container from Kraft. Still, the feeling was the same.

“Take the garlic bread out of the oven,” Emma said, pulling me from my memory.

“Oh, fancy.” Just to mess with her, I said, “I didn’t realize they still sold Texas Toast.”

She gave me a side eye but didn’t justify it with a response.

Before I opened the oven door, I grabbed a mitt. I plucked a large piece of garlic off the French bread and popped it into my mouth.

“Don’t pick all the garlic off,” Emma said from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder. She had her back to me. Figures. She knew me too well. “It was a small piece.”

“And that would be a lie. I never put small pieces of garlic on my bread.”

“Fine, it was smallish.”

“Whatever. If you want to eat anytime soon, pull the bread out and set the table.”

The meal had been delicious, and to Emma’s credit, she’d not quizzed me about Fortitude. We’d talked about everything but my career. I knew the restraint wouldn’t last, but at least my stomach was full before the inquisition began.

Emma stood and gathered the plates. “I’m going to get the dessert, and then you’re gonna talk.”

“Dessert?”

“Chocolate mousse.”

Another one of my favorites. “You had time to make mousse?”

“No, I bought it premade from the deli.”

I put my hand against my chest and pretended to swoon. “The horror. I’m not sure I can eat it.”

“Shut up.” She gave me her crooked smile. “You are such an ass sometimes.”

I grinned back at her. “Part of my charm.”

With Mom gone, Emma was the only person I felt completely at ease with. I needed her here more than I’d realized, even though telling my story would still be humiliating.

“Should we eat our dessert on the sofa?” I called to her.

“No. We’re not eating chocolate on your white couch,” she answered from the kitchen.

“I can buy a new one if we spill.” I wasn’t clear why I pushed the issue. Probably so I wouldn’t have to sit across from her while we talked.

“That’s not the point,” she said as she returned. She set a large dish of mousse in front of me and dropped a spoon next to it. “Is that enough?”

“Do you think I need to drown my sorrows?”

“After the way I found you—”

I held up my hand. “Don’t remind me.” I shoved an enormous spoonful of the mousse into my mouth.

Emma laughed and dipped her spoon into her dessert. Her serving matched the size of mine. She thrust it into her mouth, and her eyes danced. Through the mousse, she said, “Don’t think taking ginormous helpings is gonna get you out of talking.”

I took my time, rolling the creamy mixture in my mouth, letting it melt down my throat before I said, “Okay, ask away.”

“I don’t know what to ask. Here I showed up with the balloons thinking it was a done deal, so you’re gonna have to catch me up on what happened.”

“I’m not sure I even know.” My appetite was gone, so I set down my spoon as I launched into my story.

To Emma’s credit, she let me finish my monologue without interrupting. Despite our similar looks, our personalities were the opposite. I wouldn’t have waited for her to finish without interjecting.

To signify I was done speaking, I picked up my spoon and took a much smaller dollop of mousse this time.

Emma stared for several beats before she bit her lip and nodded.

“Do you plan on saying something?” I glowered at her.

“Give me a second.”

“You had the entire time I was talking to formulate a response, and ‘give me a second’ is the best you can do?”

Emma bit harder on her lip. “Unlike some people, I listen to what others are saying without planning my response while they’re talking.”

Damn it. It was a good answer, and I’d look like a jerk if I argued. “Fine, take your time. I’ll just sit here and eat my mousse.” I made a show of plunging my spoon into the dessert and taking another spoonful.

After I’d swallowed and Emma still hadn’t spoken, I said, “Since Wednesday, I’ve been researching my options. Putting together a plan.”

“How much did you say your severance package was?”

“I didn’t,” I said. Her question had caught me off guard. We never discussed money, but my success was no secret. She and her husband, Andrew, were comfortable, but neither came close to the financial success I had.

She stared at me until I said, “Eighty-four million.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Eighty-four what?”

I know she heard me since she got the eighty-four right, but I repeated, “Eighty. Four. Million.”

“Jesus.” She shook her head. “And I find you half naked, unshowered, poring over a damned spreadsheet in desperation.”

I bristled at her characterization. Probably because it was accurate. “What’s your point?” I didn’t care if my tone was hostile.

“My point is, you never have to work again.”

“I’m in my prime. Forty-two. Why would I want to retire? I thought I’d be running one of the top private equity firms in the country, not collecting unemployment.”

She crinkled her nose. “Can you file for unemployment with eighty-four million in severance?”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know. It was a figure of speech. I’m not planning on rushing to the unemployment office.”

“But you’re already looking for a job.”

“Of course, I need to show those sons of a bitches they made a huge mistake. All of them. Fortitude. Terrence. MetaForce.”

“Or you could take time to re-evaluate your life.”

“What’s wrong with my life?” I snapped.

“Things haven’t been going your way lately.”

I stood from the table and snatched up my half-eaten bowl of mousse.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve lost my appetite.” I dropped the bowl onto the table and pushed it toward her. “Do you want the rest?”

“Sit down and stop being melodramatic.” She shoved the bowl back to my side of the table.

“Melodramatic, really? I just got tossed out on my ear after fifteen years. Poof.” I raised my fist and threw my fingers open to signify how quickly everything disappeared.

“I get that you’re upset, but it’s just a job.”

Now she’d gone too far. “Just a job,” I said, raising my voice. “It’s not just a fucking job. It was my life.”

She sighed and shook her head. “And therein lies the problem.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Judging by the heat in my cheeks, I must have been ten shades of red.

Emma’s eyes softened.

It enraged me, so I pointed at her. “Don’t look at me like that.

I don’t need your pity.” In typical Emma fashion, her eyes softened more; whereas, if I were in her shoes, I would have met anger with anger.

“Easy for you to judge me since you have the perfect life.” I crinkled my nose as if I’d bit into a lemon.

“I know you’re hurting, so I won’t engage in your hostility.” Her voice was low and words measured. “You have the rare chance and means to do what few people get the opportunity to do. Step back and figure out what’s important.”

“I’ll tell you what’s important—my career. At least it was until it imploded.”

“Blake, you know I love you, but private equity isn’t exactly something to build your life around. It’s a means to an end, and you were just given that end.”

I stared at her in disbelief. While I knew she never understood my ambition, I hadn’t expected her response. “Thanks for letting me know the level of contempt you hold for my profession. Of course, my lowly career will never measure up to yours—shaping the minds of future generations.”

“Your anger is misguided.”

“Oh, I forgot.” I waved my hand toward her face. “You’ve been studying pacifism.”

“It’s Stoicism, but that’s not the point.”

“What is the point then?”

“You. You’ve been unhappy for a long time. The more you try to control things, the more your life spins out of control.”

“What the fuck? My life isn’t out of control.”

“Isn’t it?”

I glared at her. “I lost my job. And according to you, it’s no big deal because it was a pointless career, anyway. But once I put myself out there, I’ll be buried in options.”

She smiled. “Buried. Interesting choice of words, don’t you think?”

“What is your problem? Where is my supportive sister?” I decided not to add passive for fear it would only egg on her aggression.