“I’m sending this all to finance,” Nick says. “I want you reassigned to the branding project as soon as you can hand off your retail design responsibilities. Amanda too. Chloe, you’ll report to me.”

“But I just said no to being the face of O.” I’m calm and clear. No.

“Then if you won’t be the face of O, you’ll be the brains behind the operation,” Nick says in a voice as firm as mine. His face is blank, those sapphire eyes piercing me.

“I already am.”

The placidity cracks, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Touché. You and I will work on the branding. I want you driving the train.”

He stands up, and Amanda and I follow. She begins gathering up all the materials on the table.

“Thanks, Chloe. This is going to be so much fun. I’ll call you.” And she’s out the door.

I’m left looking at Nick.

And he’s looking back at me.

“How long do you think it will take to clear your schedule?” he asks.

“Nick, you can’t just pull me out of daily operations of O like this! I have projects there, and there’s no one who can just take over—and I love my job!” I pause. “Plus, I’m cutting back my hours starting in the next few months.”

He looks at his watch. “Let’s go to lunch and we can talk about it.”

That does seem like a good idea.

I lift my white leather bag off the back of the chair, and as I am slinging it over my shoulder, the bamboo handle comes unhooked. The bag drops, bouncing off the chair and hitting the floor, and of course it lands sideways. Most of what’s inside it spills out, makeup and pens and perfume, aspirin, keys. And—oh please no—my lipstick vibrator rolls under the chair.

Nick is on one knee, gathering coins. I kneel down too, and reach for the little vibrator but he gets it first.

“That’s a big lipstick,” he comments, holding it up.

“Economy size,” I smile brightly, reaching for it.

“Is this one of the mock-ups of O cosmetic packaging?” he asks, pulling the hot pink cap off.

“No!” I say, but too late.

Nick looks down at the USB charger he has just uncapped. Then he looks at me, puzzled.

“Yes!” I backtrack. “Yes, that’s a mock-up, yes it is. Part of my next presentation. Phase Two.” I hold up my hands like a TV game show announcer. “‘The Power of O’ is what we are calling it.”

I’m babbling.

I hold out my hand.

He smiles.

“I’ll keep it with the other package ideas,” he says, and drops it in his pocket. “You can tell me your plan for it at lunch.”

My plan for it was to reduce stress while caught in rush-hour traffic tonight. But maybe it would make a good new product line. Driving accessories! Is that dangerous?

‘O’verdrive.

I love my job.

* * *

This new little restaurant in The Fort shopping complex looks completely full, but somehow they find a table for Nick, tucked into a corner.

“It’s the Anterdec table,” he explains. “As long as James McCormick’s not in town, I can always get in here.”

“Tell me about Charlie,” I say. “What’s he doing now?”

He looks at his plate of grilled fish. “Charlie’s trying to figure out what he wants to do when he grows up. He’s on his third career and his second divorce. He’s actually been living with me for a few months, though he’s out of town right now. I have a lot of extra room with my kids all away at college.”

“I can’t believe that…even as a kid, he always knew he wanted to be a lawyer. He was going to be a public defender, help people who had nowhere else to turn. What happened?”

“He got into Yale Law School, but the pressure was too much. He took a leave of absence and never went back. Then it was culinary school, and now it’s some website selling surfing equipment for kids.”

“From Yale to surfer dude,” I say with a smile. “Only Charlie could pull that off. How’s it going?”

“Not well. Kids don’t have credit cards.” He sighs. “At least culinary school has come in handy. He makes dinner every night. He’s pretty good, too.”

“And your kids are all in college?” I know I should turn the conversation back to work now, but I’m just so curious. “You don’t look old enough to have—”

Shut up, Chloe! I scream inside my babbling mind.

My face must betray my thoughts, because Nick just laughs. “I’m flattered.” He won’t look away. I’m trapped, that electricity between us from earlier arcing, rising up. “My son went to NYU for summer session to get a jumpstart on his freshman year. Couldn’t wait to flee to New York. My daughters both work on campus at their colleges here in Boston. It’s quiet at home.”

“What’s it like to have an empty nest?” I blurt, back to safer territory, because a quiet home means an empty bed and....

He thinks for a second, as if dazed. Does he feel it, too?

“I’m at Anterdec because they acquired my company. I had a branding consultancy called FireBrand. Built it from the ground up. We did about $25 million annually, 37 employees. The McCormicks agreed to keep my whole staff.”

This is not the answer to my question.

“It was a great opportunity for everyone,” he continues. “Some of my people have really moved up fast, working for Anterdec subsidiaries all over the world. They learned the business from me, at FireBrand, and now they’re succeeding on a global level. I’m so proud of them.”

Still waiting to see where this is going.

“But I used to see everyone every day, and now I don’t. They’re launched. I just get the occasional email when they have a problem, or want to share some good news.”

I get it. “Two empty nests?”

“Exactly.”

“Ouch.”

He laughs, looking up from the rim of his wine glass to meet my eyes. “More like freedom. So close...”

Funny, though. He doesn’t look very free.

There’s a little bustle at the door. I look up to see Jessica Coffin headed toward our table, with three apparent clones behind her. It’s like the Neiman Marcus display window mannequins woke up and went to lunch. They are followed by the maître d’. Aren’t they supposed to be following him?