Page 19 of The Lookback

The men and women stand, but the one who speaks is a tall, handsome man at the front. “We named our group Pratt McFarland in the hopes that people would assume we were a single man.” The man grins, and I realize that I know him.

It’s Oliver, my business school boyfriend.

My very first boyfriend.

The one who stole my idea.

I was hoping that if I ever saw him again, he’d be fat and bald. If he also had bushy nose hair and a unibrow, well, that would not upset me. Unfortunately, he looks just fine. He also doesn’t appear to be the least bit surprised that I’m here, so I assume that he’s kept up with where I am and what I’ve been doing. He knows he’d have been better off helping me with my idea than he was stealing it and giving it to his dad. That gives me at least a small twinge of satisfaction.

I modify my presentation to address the fact that it’s not a single person but a group, not letting on that I recognize Oliver or even know who he is. By the end of the meeting, they still won’t sell me their shares, but they’ve at least agreed to vote with me when the time comes.

“It’s been disappointing, really,” a woman named Alexa Pratt says. “This company had so much promise, but Gonzago’s imploding.”

“It’s time we do something about that,” I say.

“I think we all heartily agree,” Oliver says.

I don’t leave anything to chance, of course, so I pull out the documents I prepared for this contingency. Once I have the proper signatures in place for their proxy, I stand. “It’s been a pleasure,MisterMcFarland.” I’m smiling as I turn to leave.

“Helen, wait.” Oliver jogs to catch up with me just before I walk out the door.

I turn around, glad I wore my four-inch heels so he’s barely taller than me, and look him over as if I’m trying very hard to place him. “Yes?”

“It’s me,” he says. “Oliver—from Harvard.”

“Oh,” I say. “Right. Business School.” I nod. “I knew you looked familiar.”

He frowns. “Surely you remember?—”

“I’m kidding, Oliver. Of course I know who you are.” He was my boyfriend for nearly two years. He was the first person I thought I loved. I didn’t really know what love meant, but losing him still really hurt. “What did you want?”

“Do you have time to go to dinner? I thought we could catch up.”

“Catch up?” I lift my eyebrows.

He sighs, finally having the decency to look a little embarrassed. “I could apologize if you’ll hear me out.”

I purse my lips. “You could apologize for dumping me and then shamelessly stealing my idea, but I’m not sure what good it would do.”

“I’ll pay for dinner—anywhere you choose.”

“Anywhere?” I arch one eyebrow.

He shrugs.

“Citrine and Mélisse,” I say. “I loved Citrine, and I hear it’s still excellent now that they’ve moved and joined forces.”

He cringes a little, and that makes it worth it. For a split second, I wonder whether I ought to ask David whether it will bother him—me going to dinner with my ex. But then I think about the idea of a grown woman having to askpermissionfrom someone to do something, and I want to burn this hotel down.

It’ll be fine.

I’m only going with him in order to extract an ounce of flesh from someone who wronged me. Which is why, when I reach the restaurant in my own car and toss the key to the valet, I breeze past Oliver. “I’m not doing the tasting menu.” I can’t help my tiny smirk. “Prepare to pay through the nose.”

“I expected nothing less,” he says.

About five hundred dollars in appetizer and dinner selections and a thousand-dollar bottle of wine later, I’m ready for him to grovel.

“You know, I could have squashed your family’s little bank into the ground.” I fold my arms. “You should really be thanking me instead of apologizing. If I were a vengeful person, you’d be eating at McDonald’s right now.”

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