A week passed in a relentless cycle of structural analysis and editorial critique. Theodore Vance was an island of cold competence and I had become his closest satellite.
"The progressive structure is now viable," Theodore observed one Tuesday. "You are proving to be consistently the opposite of cyclical".
It was the highest praise I could receive. I was the anti–Julian and I was succeeding.
Then, on Friday afternoon, the two worlds collided.
Theodore: "I need fresh coffee. Black, no sugar, from the café downstairs. Get it, and return immediately, don't linger. We have work here."
"understood, Mr. Vance," I replied, grabbing the company card and I took the elevator down to the massive lobby walking towards the sleek café outside the security perimeter. As I walked in, I was already moving fast, mentally calculating and then I stopped, my professional mask almost cracked wide open.
He was there, not alone but seated at a small, stylish table with an expensive looking pastry and a large coffee. It was Julian Vance. He was leaning back, looking utterly relaxed, laughing at a text on his phone.
I pulled the "Ghost with the briefcase"persona tight. My goal was the counter and back to the office. Julian was a mirage.
I managed to order the coffee, my voice thin but functional, when I heard his voice, loud and clear, carrying across the quiet café.
Julian's voice : (into his phone, sounding annoyed but deeply relaxed) "No Dad, I am taking a break. I told I needed a change of scenery before I drown in law. I am staying Ted in Atlanta for a week or two. He seriously needs to loosen up and accept the cyclical nature of the market, but he just keeps ignoring me. Honestly, I am tired of the inheritance talk and the endless contracts, dad–"
I grabbed the black coffee, the hot cup searing my palm. He was here for a break. He was staying with Theodore. The two worlds were not just connected, they were to share a breakfast table.
I paid for the coffee, turned and walked swiftly towards the lobby entrance, never once glancing in his direction. I was a professional courier, moving facts and caffeine.
I reached the security turnstile and was swiping my card when Julian's voice came again, but closer this time around, and tinged with frustration.
Julian's voice : "I told you, I am here to corner him. He never leaves this building, so I am waiting for him. I swear sometimes he thinks he is above the entire family–"
I sped up, taking the stairs two at a time. I finally made it to Theodore's office, I placed the coffee silently on his desk and stepped back.
Simone : "coffee, Mr. Vance. Black, and I returned in four minutes, nineteen seconds."
Theodore : (taking the cup, taking a sip and nodding once) "Efficient. Now, the new client notes.
The authors structure is too vague. Where is the ambiguity?"
I plunged back into the man use, my mind racing to find the facts, so despery to bury the reality that the man who had comforted me on the balcony, the one who ignited a connection so immediate, so confusing was currently downstairs. The familiar feeling of intense emotion, that one time fantasy was here.