4. JACK

Sitting in Harry’s office, as I was waiting for Paul to arrive for our meeting, I momentarily thought about Emma and what she had said about finalizing a divorce process. A wave of not so much sadness but resignation passed through me. I had slept poorly, but now, in the morning, I felt okay. It was a sad thing that we were separating, but I was not too sad now that the decision was made.

Coffee and Danishes were laid out on the long meeting table. I keep a private office in New York, but it wasn’t as nice as Harry’s. I was hardly here most weeks, so it made no sense that I had to have a lot of space, and it was good for Harry’s ego to let him have the fancy one. I didn’t get stressed about things like that.

But I will say this: Harry’s office was nice. It was all glass walls and windows, inside and outside, so it offered a beautiful glimpse of the long, elegant row of Spring Street buildings outside, as well as the main office of the company.

Harry sometimes lowered the blinds that offered a privacy to the glass walls, but I didn’t like that. I liked to be seen. I liked people to think they could come and knock on my door.

Through the glass wall into the office, I watched a group of bright young people arriving at the jobs for which I paid the salaries. It was a weird thing to think in a moment like that, but I had built all this. You never entirely got used to it. There were always moments when it returned to you: Jeez, I did this…I built it from nothing. I had a vision of what all this could be. But in my pursuit of success, I had sacrificed other things that deeply mattered to me.

Suddenly, there was a tap at the door. I looked up, breaking from my thoughts. It was Paul, smiling at me.

“Hey, Jack, you good?”

I straightened in my chair and smiled back at him. I felt a wave of warm things.

“Oh, hey, Paul, yes, of course.”

I pointed at the Danishes.

“Hungry?”

He pulled a face.

“I just ate a muffin,” he said.

I laughed. The spread of pastries was more than either of us could eat.

“Well, now you can have, like, five Danishes, too.”

He laughed and widened his eyes.

“You’re the boss!” he cried happily.

Standing up, I extended a handshake. I indicated he should sit. And as we settled into our chairs, I poured some coffee.

“You have a good journey into work?” I asked. “Where do you live?”

“Harlem.”

I didn’t know why, but I said,

“Wow…”

He grinned mischievously.

“Don’t know it too well?”

I smiled and shook my head, feeling a soft blush on my cheeks. From his reaction, I knew he could see it.

“Not so well.”

“You stay near here, right?”

“Just up on Houston Street.”

“Oh, nice!” he exclaimed. And I knew it was nice.

“Here you go,” I said.

I passed him his coffee and then a plate for him to choose a pastry. Paul accepted with a soft word of thanks, cradling the cup in his hands as he took a sip. I watched him for a moment. He was one of those light-build, fair-haired guys that girls think cute rather than sexy, shorter than me, with a certain boyishness to his features.

It wasn’t attraction, rather a recognition of his appeal – that sweetness on the outside somehow reflecting his own personal sweetness. Now and then, as Paul talked to you, his big blue eyes looked up at you, and there was a sweetness to the way he did it. I don’t know why, but I wondered if he did well with women and then briefly if he liked women at all. I didn’t really know anything about him, his life, was he gay, straight, whatever.

Paul had never really been one of the people in the office who was considered much for promotion. This was an industry full of people who wanted to trumpet their ambition at you, but Paul didn’t do that.

He was very good at his job and very well-liked, but he seemed to be in his lane. But those same qualities made him a good choice to go to London, to work with the new team there, and to be a good complement to me as The Boss.

We had fallen silent for a moment as we sipped our coffees, but soon, it was time to get on.

“All right, Paul,” I began, leaning forward slightly over the table. “Let’s get down to it. We’ve already laid the groundwork for the London office and recruited personnel, but I think we need to go over there and really get them to understand the company ethos.”

“Cool,” he said.

“Like I said, this trip will be a couple of weeks,” I said. But like we said before, we might need to go back there now and then. Are you open to that?”

“Sure,” he replied with some enthusiasm. “I am totally up for it.”

Again, it seemed an enthusiasm for a new experience rather than the sharper ambition most of his colleagues would have expressed, and in truth, I liked that. He did not ask me where this would lead or how he could turn this into something else “career-wise.” He just seemed up for the experience.

This mattered because I also wanted to have a good experience, too, a stay in London with someone who wasn’t forever bugging me about their next job opportunity. Someone closer to a friend, in fact, although, of course, boss and employee can never truly be friends. That’s what I thought, anyways, no matter how cool people were with each other.

“Great,” I said, returning to focus on the matter at hand. “First things first, we need to start putting together some projects to showcase ourselves to the European market. We’ve got quite a few potential clients lined up in the UK, and London is one of the most important markets in the world because of its power in other markets, such as Mumbai, Hong Kong, Singapore, and upcoming places like Lagos.”

He nodded as I spoke. Those big blue eyes stayed on me very closely. He had a funny little habit of pressing his quite full lips closed so that they became pert and pink as he concentrated on whatever you were saying.

I continued: “I’ve been in talks with a few companies in the healthcare sector – they’re looking to implement AI-driven solutions to streamline their workflows and improve patient outcomes. It’s a big opportunity for us, Paul, one that we can’t afford to miss.”

His eyes glinted, his lips pursed pert again.

“That sounds like a fantastic opportunity, Jack. I’m excited about it.”

“The potential is endless,” I said.

“We like endless potential,” he joked.

He broke into a beguiling little grin. Maybe he did do well with women.

I smiled.

“Me too.”

“I’m with you, Jack. Let’s make it happen.”

We worked for a couple of hours going through the new office and its immediate tasks and then going through some of the key staff that had been recruited. We ended up sitting on the same side of the table, our bodies close to each other, on parallel chairs.

We got lost in a mood of industry so that now and then, our legs might touch under the table or the sides of our hands gently brush – that electric moment of warm skin on warm skin – and he would laugh and go, “Oh, sorry!” as if there had been some intrusion.

By late morning, we had already accomplished a lot, but I thought it would be good to take a break. I looked out through the glass wall at the beautiful yellow sunlight all over downtown Manhattan.

“Paul,” I said. “It’s a beautiful day out. How about we take a break from the office and grab a coffee? We can have a quick stroll and breathe the air.”

A smile appeared at the corners of his lips. “That sounds like a great idea, Jack. A little fresh air would do us good.”

I laughed.

“The lovely clean air of SoHo, New York.”

He grinned.

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

We walked together out of the office to the elevator. We chatted idly about the project and where the London office was: ironically, in their version of Soho.

“I guess the original one,” I half joked.

Paul started telling me that the origins of the names were different: that the New York one just means south of Houston Street, while the London one was an ancient hunting cry from when the area was the King’s private estate.

“What did they cry?” I asked.

He laughed kind of goofily.

“So-ho, I guess.”

“I feel you don’t know that much about it, really,” I teased, and he shook his head.

“Maybe not.”

“There’s a Soho in Hong Kong, too, you know,” I said.

“Oh, man,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t ask me about that one’s name.”

The elevator doors opened. As we stepped out onto the sidewalk, the city enveloped us, the streets alive with their eternal activity. People hurried past, lost in their own worlds, in their own phones, while the stop-start hum of Manhattan traffic reverberated on the air.

We walked side by side, our conversation continuing effortlessly as we made our way to the nearest barista café. The conversation made its way from work to other things, funny observations about what we were seeing.

I wasn’t sure I had ever talked this much to Paul, but I found him easy to be with, funny, smart, but kind of quiet, modest, too. I really liked his company.

The warmth of the sun on my skin was invigorating, too, its pale golden glow elevating my mood. I was feeling really good despite everything that had been going on lately.

As we reached the café, I held the door open for Paul, ushering him inside with my hand on the small of his back. It was a friendly gesture, but as I did it, his eyes caught mine.

Inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the murmur of customers’ conversation, work contacts, husbands and wives, and friends meeting for a catch-up.

It was one of those hipster places that told you what kind of bean they were serving today and how its taste was the sort of thing you never associate with coffee: strawberry, melon, champagne.

“I never drink coffee and think, this tastes like champagne!” Paul murmured to me as we queued to ask for “just the house blend, please.”

I shrugged.

“I’ve drunk some champagne that tastes like coffee.”

He laughed as we picked up our paper cups.

We found a table in the window, and the spot was bathed in sunlight. We had ordered flat whites because you weren’t supposed to drink cappuccino anymore in places like this, I guessed.

“There’s no paper cups in London,” I said.

His brow twitched.

“How’d you mean?”

I mock-whispered:“It’s all china cups and silver spoons there in places like these.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Fancy!”

As we sipped at our drinks, we fell silent for a moment. It was the first time we hadn’t been chatting since we had first sat down together that morning.

The café had an unmistakable aura of that Downtown hipster chic, exposed brick walls unadorned except for bags of coffee, AeroPresses, and espresso pots, all priced exorbitantly. The soft pulse of electronic ambient music played in the background.

The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden hue over Paul’s face, glinting pale on his eyes. Not speaking for a moment, we watched the world go by outside. Eventually, it was time to talk.

“So, Paul,” I began, turning more toward him. “Do you know London at all?”

He shook his head.

“No, I’ve never been. I always dreamed of going but never did it. That’s part of why I’m so excited about this opportunity.”

“You have a passport, right?” I asked suddenly, realizing I hadn’t before.

“Oh, sure, yes. And I can’t wait. Really. London…”

“It’s an incredible city, full of history and culture. You’re going to love it.”

“Have you been a lot?”

“Yeah, my wife and I used to go a lot.”

His eyes held mine a moment, and then he blinked and spoke.

“I can’t wait. It’s going to be amazing.” Then, quite abruptly, he looked mortified.

“What?” I asked.

“I mean, I know we’re working, too. I haven’t forgotten that.”

I laughed and shook my head.

“Don’t worry, Paul. I’m up for some fun, too. It’s a great city.”

“You sound like you know it really well?”

“Oh, yeah,” I replied. “I spent a year there during university, and then I went back a few years later, and since then, I’ve been back for work a lot. And like I say, with Emma, my wife, it’s a city that gets under your skin, you know?”

He was smiling.

“How so?”

“You know,” I began. “London is a city of contrasts, a melting pot of old-world charm and cutting-edge innovation.” I paused, reflecting. “There’s the historical side – the famous landmarks, Big Ben and Buckingham Palace, and then there’s the new, the hip, the innovative – areas like Shoreditch, which I guess are like Brooklyn – and then just the nightlife of Soho and the center. Plus, all the districts are really different. It’s kind of the best of New York and LA, but then with all the history and romance of Paris.”

“Romance?” he asked.

“Oh, sure,” I said. “It’s a really romantic place. It would be a great place to go with your girl, you know.”

He looked at me for a second.

“What else do you like about it?”

He was kind of hanging on my every word. It seemed odd, in the moment.

“Oh, its energy,” I said. “It’s always evolving, always reinventing itself.”

As I spoke, memories of my time spent living in London flitted around me – late nights, lazy afternoons, the culture, the people, the fact that people there think about and discuss things, but they’re funny. “Man, British people are funny, too,” I said. “I think London has a way of capturing your heart, of leaving its mark on you, you know?”

“Sounds amazing,” he said. “You’re really selling it to me.”

The warmth of the sun was bathing us as we sat side by side at the window, our knees brushing against each other. As he drained the last of his coffee, I stole a glance at Paul.

“Ready to head back?” he asked, setting the cup down.

I hesitated. And then, impulsively, I found myself saying, “Do you want another coffee?”

Paul’s eyes widened in surprise. Maybe he was expecting me to get him to punch the clock and get back to work.

“Sure,” he replied. He went to get up as if to go to the counter. I put my hand on his.

“No, this is on me,” I said.

His eyes held mine.

“Are you sure?”

My hand clenched his lightly, my fingers in his palm.

“Of course, man. I pay.”

He blinked, and I let his hand go.

“Thanks, Jack.”

I rose from my stool as I reached for our empty coffee cups.

“You self-clear?” he joked.

I laughed.

“At college, I was a busboy working to earn some money.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t tell me you grew up poor, Jack, and built an empire out of nothing.”

He was funny. I liked funny people. I didn’t have a lot of friends. I was a likable dude, but I worked so hard that sometimes I neglected that side of my life. When I wasn’t working, I wanted to spend time with Emma, and eventually, there was hardly even time for that. I wasn’t going bowling once a week, you know? But I liked Paul.

“Man, we were dirt-poor. We were so dirt-poor we dreamed of being regular-poor.”

He laughed as I got up to go back to the counter. I turned back to look at Paul and found him staring straight at me. Our eyes locked, a silent acknowledgment between us. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, and he did the same. I felt good about us going to London together.

“What can I get for you?” the barista asked, and I turned back to her.

“Two more flat whites, please.”

As she set to work preparing our drinks, I looked over at Paul, quite idly. Now he was looking at his phone, checking messages.

Returning with the cups in hand, I made my way back to where we were sitting. Setting them down before us, I took a moment to savor just a cool, friendly moment with another guy.

“Here you go, man,” I said.

Paul met my gaze with a warm smile as he reached for his cup, his fingers brushing against mine as I slid it across the tabletop.

“Thanks, Jack.”

Paul lifted his cup to his lips, taking a slow sip. His eyes were wide over the lip of the cup. I followed suit, and we sat there, lost in the quiet of the moment.

Suddenly, he spoke.

“You’ve been married a long time, Jack?”

“Oh,” I said, not expecting the question. “Fifteen years.”

He raised his brows as he put his coffee cup down.

“Wow, a long time.”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I mean…”

I fell silent.

“Is everything all right, Jack?”

Paul’s question hung in the air. Is everything all right? He meant my silence, of course, but he could have as good as meant about me and Emma.

I met Paul’s gaze, the warmth of his eyes penetrating me. I felt exposed and vulnerable. That was stupid because we hardly knew each other. My instinct to conceal myself, to hide myself, to keep my vulnerabilities out of sight, was so strong.

But as I looked into Paul’s eyes, something shifted within me. There was a kindness there, a gentleness, a humanity. It was strange. I had wanted to have something like a friend. Don’t friends talk about themselves, open up?

“Everything’s not all right,” I admitted. “My wife and I are splitting up.” I paused. “No, we have split up.”

“Wow!” he went. “Sorry, I had no idea.”

I shook my head.

“There’s no reason why you should.” I cleared my throat. “God, it’s not like me to be so open.”

He smiled.

“We’re cool,” he said with real kindness. He mimed zipping his mouth closed. “It’ll go no further.” And for a moment, I just sat there, thinking: Yeah, we are cool.

Eventually, we headed back. There was still a lot of work to get through. Reaching the office building, I held the door open for Paul, just a gentlemanly courtesy.

He passed through the doorway, looking up at me – I was six four, so I guess he was five ten or so – as I held the door for him. I couldn’t help but notice the physical difference between us as we stood there next to each other. I towered over him, my frame much larger and more masculine than his. Yet, despite the contrast in our sizes, somehow, we fit together.

“Thanks, Jack,” he said softly, his eyes glinting, almost feminine, and suddenly, I wondered, was it possible that I had misread the situation? Had I misread things so completely? Was Paul actually gay?

Then I stopped myself. What was I even thinking? So what if he was? We weren’t going to go to London and fall in love.

At most, we might end up being friends.