“I’m so happy for you! You should totally have dinner with those guys. It’s a great opportunity. And I have to work late anyway. I didn’t do any actual work this weekend,” I told him, rolling my eyes.

Sam turned away from me and nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I should start putting my career first too.”

His last word jabbed at my chest, and I had to bite my tongue not to say “What career?” I waited for him to register my reaction, but he was focused on the papers again, so I took my suitcase into the bedroom to unpack everything I’d brought for a weekend away with another man.

*

There were rare mornings peppered throughout my weeks when emails drifted into my in-box gradually, with little urgency, allowing me to ease myself into the day. That Monday morning wasn’t one of them. I woke up to seventy-one fairly urgent emails from our Hong Kong office, with whom we were working on a merger for a Chinese company. I didn’t shower and took a Quality car in to work so I didn’t need to break from emailing while I didn’t have service on the subway. Around two o’clock, I welcomed the first email that wasn’t urgent or deal-related.

From: Jordan Sellar

To: Alexandra Vogel; Morris, Taylor; Rinker, KJ

Subject: Dinner

Want to get dinner tonight?

From: Rinker, KJ

To: Jordan Sellar; Alexandra Vogel; Morris, Taylor

Subject: Re: Dinner

Taylor and I are in. Craving steak.

From: Jordan Sellar

To: Rinker, KJ, Alexandra Vogel; Morris, Taylor

Subject: Re: Dinner

Strip House. 7pm. Alex, you in?

I stared at my computer for a prolonged moment, then allowed the memory of Sam accusing me of putting my career first to dispel any trace of guilt I might have felt.

From: Alexandra Vogel

To: Jordan Sellar; Rinker, KJ; Morris, Taylor

Subject: Re: Dinner

I’m in!

Strip House coaxed the most awful, delicious parts of humanity out into the open. I scanned framed pictures of full-figured strippers as I absentmindedly unbuttoned the top of my blouse for air. I rolled my neck as I released it from the grip of my collar. The thick white napkins with red figures of dancing women somehow encouraged me to take a goose-fat-fried potato with my fingers, if only to make use of the linen. The dark floors and red walls allowed my shoulders to relax after my long day and lean into the raunchy conversation swirling around me.

“She’s absolutely insatiable. Honestly, I should never have started sleeping with her,” KJ said.

“Dude, you definitely should not have started sleeping with her! On top of the ethical reasons, she has zero discretion. You’re an idiot,” Taylor told him.

I looked up from my phone. “Wait, what did I miss? You’re sleeping with somebody at work?”

“His analyst. So fucking cliché,” Jordan said with a sneer, getting out of his seat. “Jesus, I’m exhausted from this closing. Give me a minute to get myself together.”

I grimaced at KJ as Jordan walked toward the men’s room. “Your analyst? You’re better than that.”

“I can’t help it. She’s nuts. In a good way. She makes me finger her during meetings. With other people in the room. It’s . . . it’s wild.” He looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

“Stop it. I don’t believe you. Like, what, under the table? How does she make you do that?”

“Obviously, she doesn’t,” Taylor muttered.

“Whatever, she didn’t make me, but she didn’t stop me,” KJ said, then signaled the waiter for a refill of scotch.

I stared at KJ, wishing Jordan were there to tell him that he was taking advantage of the girl who worked for him, that he was an abusive boss, that he could get fired. How demeaning it must be for that analyst, who was probably twenty-three at the most, to have her supervisor—a man she at best had feelings for and at worst was too worried to reject—touch her in front of other people. My blood pressure rose on her behalf, the back of my neck growing clammy as I pictured the scene, wondering if the other men around the conference table were blind to KJ’s behavior, chose to ignore it, or actually encouraged it.

“Don’t pretend to be so shocked,” he went on, pounding his fist on the table. “Just because she is open about what she wants when the rest of you pretend to be so proper when you all really want us to dominate. You have one set of rules for the bedroom, and one for the boardroom, and we’re supposed to keep it straight? Fuck that! I play by one set of rules, and this chick LOVES it.” He was practically yelling.

“Easy,” Taylor warned him, then turned to me. “He’s kidding.”

I squeezed my nails into my palms beneath the table, fighting the urge to punch him.

“I’m not shocked,” I said instead. “I think it would explain why you’re suddenly upping your suit game in the office. You usually look like a schlub.” I relished KJ’s confusion at which one of my statements to focus on as I gestured to his gray suit with threads of burgundy and navy running faintly throughout for emphasis.

KJ looked down, adjusting his lapels. “Zegna. You like?” he asked, ignoring my insult.

“Love,” I stated flatly, then raised my glass, hoping to wash down the sour taste of disingenuousness in my mouth.

I felt my phone buzz in my purse, which was hanging from the back of my chair, as Jordan returned to the table, holding his nostrils together as discreetly as he could.

“Got any for me?” KJ asked him, and he reached into his breast pocket and handed him a vial from a downturned palm. As KJ excused himself, I looked at my phone, welcoming the distraction.

Sam: Are you stuck at work?

Alex: :(

Sam: Hope you’re not going to be too late tonight. I should be home from dinner at a decent hour . . .

Alex: Me too! But I have no idea when I’ll be out of here. It’s a bit crazy today. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours. See you at home. Can’t wait to hear how your meeting went.

I watched the ellipses appear and then disappear, but no further text arrived. Taylor and Jordan talked about golf as I spooned thick creamed spinach onto my plate, vowing to work out in the morning, even though I knew deep down I’d be too hungover and too slammed at work to engage in any form of physical activity come daylight.

KJ plopped himself down in his seat, then sneezed loudly into his napkin.

“Fuck!” Jordan exclaimed, and I looked up to see thick red blood streaming out of KJ’s nose, staining the white parts of the cloth.

Our waiter appeared out of nowhere, deftly took the bloody napkin from under KJ’s nose and replaced it with a paper one, and gestured to the men’s room.

“Watch it!” KJ growled as he made his way to the bathroom, disentangling himself from a passing diner he smashed into. “Fuck.”

My heart skipped. I blinked hard and refocused on the back of the other man’s head as he walked away, clearly disgusted by my coked-up colleague, before he turned and locked eyes with me.

Sam stared at me, his face stoic, then he shook his head almost imperceptibly before joining two men in suits by the door whom he followed out of the restaurant without so much as a word to me.

I heard Jordan and Taylor chatting somewhere in the background, then KJ settling down again, applying pressure under his nostril with a new napkin. But I sat there motionless, processing. Sam’s life was so removed from mine—the start-up world seemed to be centered around happy hours in grimy bars, daytime meetings in coffee shops, and long hours in WeWork common spaces. Why was he suddenly there, in my world, in my expensive steakhouse that catered to corporate expense accounts and middle-aged hedge-fund portfolio managers trying to impress their twentysomething girlfriends?

“One more time . . . hello!” Taylor yelled at me. I blinked twice and coughed, then gulped down a glass of water along with its ice. I waited for the chips lodged in my throat to melt before I spoke, grateful that just then the waiter appeared with our dinners.

“Sorry,” I said, and shook my head. “I spaced.”

“You okay?” Taylor looked at me.

Jordan watched me closely, wondering what exactly I was doing and why I was ruining the mood at a dinner with his most important client. I nodded as convincingly as I could manage. It was time to push myself back into client development mode.

“Thank god this place is already red,” I joked, touching the side of my nose and pointing to KJ.

Jordan seemed to relax his shoulders as the banter resumed. “Taylor, you have to try this veal!” He cut a piece and put it on a bread plate, shoving it in his direction.

“I don’t know, man. Who orders veal? Very suspect. And don’t even get me started on Alex with her tuna.”

“It kills you that I don’t eat steak, doesn’t it?” I narrowed my eyes and leaned into him. Taylor nodded, knowing he was being toyed with. “How much will you give me to eat one?” I asked him, my voice low.

He leaned back, loving the negotiation. “A steak?” he asked. I nodded. “Five hundred.”

“Six,” I said, knowing he would enjoy proving to me that he could spare it.

“Five-fifty.”

My mind bounced, calculating the angles I was toying with. “You’re senior enough to choose counsel. Give us your next merger, and we’ll call it even.”