After dinner, Will went back into the kitchen and returned balancing four dishes of sorbet. Sasha made a derogatory comment about “rich people ice cream,” but I noticed she cleaned her bowl anyway.

“Rich on your palate,” Will said smugly.

Sasha turned to me with a pleading look on her face. “Take him back,” she said.

“Not until tomorrow,” I said. I wiped my lips with my napkin and pushed my chair back. “On that note, I need to get going. Will, thanks for dinner. Sasha, thank you for inviting me. Yolanda, thank you for being the least obnoxious person in this apartment.”

“Hey!” Will protested.

To my surprise, Sasha followed me out of the apartment when I left.

“You don’t need to walk me downstairs,” I told her. “I won’t get lost.”

“I know,” she said. She closed the door behind her, and then, one hand still on the doorknob, pushed up on her tiptoes to kiss me.

It was a brief, sweet, light kiss, and then she pulled back and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” and disappeared back into the apartment.

It took me several seconds to remember that I was supposed to be walking down the stairs.

* * *

The buyout went exactly as planned.

The contingent from Bywater showed up fifteen minutes late, postured the expected amount, made a few empty threats about reneging on the deal, and then finally signed the fucking papers. Reginald Martin glowered from the corner the entire time, arms folded over his massive chest, but he didn’t block the sale as I had feared.

And then it was done: the first major transaction I had planned and executed from start to finish, and a major coup for the Turner Group. This acquisition would allow us to expand into new international markets and solidify our domestic holdings.

It was, in short, a fantastic day.

After some celebratory champagne in the conference room, I took a cab to the West Village. Even traffic couldn’t ruin my good mood. Will would be out of Sasha and Yolanda’s hair and safely under the watchful eyes of my parents; my workload was about to return to normal levels of stress, instead of exploding radioactive volcanic ulcer-inducing stress; and I would be able to take the weekend off, and spend most of it in bed with Sasha. I couldn’t imagine a better reward for the hard work I’d put in over the last several months.

When I arrived at Sasha’s apartment, Will was sitting on the front stoop, his duffel bag at his feet.

I got out of the cab as he stood up and jogged down the steps. “Looks like they finally kicked you out.”

He laughed. “Nah. I haven’t been out here long. Yolanda’s still at work, and Sasha wanted to go to her yoga class, and there’s no way for me to lock up without a key.” He slid into the back seat, holding his bag on his lap.

I climbed in after him and gave the driver our parents’ address. “I was hoping to speak to Sasha.”

“I didn’t cause any trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said. He looked over at me, eyebrows drawn together. “How do you know her, anyway? She isn’t like the rest of your friends.”

“She’s not a friend,” I said, making my voice flat and cold. I had absolutely no desire to talk about her with Will, and I hoped he would take a fucking hint and drop it.

But Will had never taken a hint in his life. “I find that hard to believe,” he said. “You don’t volunteer someone for babysitting duty if they’re just a random acquaintance. Are you fucking her?”

“That’s none of your business,” I said sharply.

He grinned. “So you are. Fascinating.” He tapped one finger against his chin, an obnoxious habit he had picked up from watching too many old movies. “And yet Yolanda had never met you. Regular booty call? But that still wouldn’t qualify Sasha as a friend, necessarily.”

For Christ’s sake. “She works at the Silver Cross,” I grated out. “She’s one of the dancers. Now drop it.”

Will whistled low. “Damn. Fucking the talent? I take it Mom doesn’t know about this.”

“And if you know what’s good for you, she never will,” I said.

“You’re really not as intimidating as you pretend to be,” he said. “Sorry, man. I’m the one person in the world you’ll never be able to impress with your Ice Cold Financier act. I saw you crying when Whiskers died, remember? The macho stuff has no effect on me.”

“Whiskers was a gentleman and a scholar,” I said. “The best cat who ever was and ever will be. Just keep your fucking mouth shut about Sasha and I won’t tell Mom that I think you have a lot of deep and painful emotions that you need to cry about a lot while she asks you probing questions.”

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

“Gladly,” I said. “Sasha’s none of your business.”

He looked at me more closely. “You have feelings for her, don’t you? Wow. This is getting better and better.”

“We’re fucking,” I said. “It’s casual and uncomplicated. I mean it, Will. Mind your own business.”

The cab driver was watching us in the rearview mirror, his eyes darting back and forth. “You mind your own business, too,” I said to him, intensely aggravated, and he snapped his eyes forward and center.

Everyone in my life was determined to torment me.

My good mood thoroughly ruined, I spent the rest of the cab ride glaring out the window. Will made a few attempts at conversation, but I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say to me. I should have dropped him off the balcony when he was a baby.

When the cab pulled up outside our parents’ building, Will said, “You should at least come up and say hi to Dad.”

“I’ll talk to him later,” I said. “Goodbye, Will.”

With a sigh, he heaved himself out of the cab.

I gave the driver my address, and then leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. Home was quiet, had abundant quantities of good liquor, and best of all, was free of anyone who would harangue me.

I would get in touch with Sasha tomorrow. For now, I just wanted to read a book and fall asleep early.

It was probably a sign that I was getting old.

I slept for a glorious twelve hours that night, and woke up a little before noon when my phone beeped. The battery was dying. I plugged it in and sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing my eyes, while my email loaded. I had the usual “urgent” overnight emails that were only urgent to the people who had sent them. I spent a few minutes dealing with those, and then sent Sasha a text message: 8pm at my place.