Page 43 of Maid For Each Other

“Is there a lot of money in that?” he asked. “In being a writing professor?”

I shook my head, knowing this was the part of the story he wouldn’t be able to understand. “No. But there is enough. If I can earn a decent paycheck doing what I love, that’s all I need.”

“Interesting,” he said, and I felt like he meant it. He probably meant it in athat’s-interesting-that-people-don’t-always-care-about-moneyway, but he still looked like he was interested in what I was saying.

“So tell me, Declan, what do you like about your job? Is itjustthat you’re good at making lots of money, or are there other things about it that you enjoy?”

Was that insulting? I hadn’t meant to sound insulting, but maybe it’d been insulting.

“What do Ilikeabout my job?” he repeated. “Other than the money?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “For example, do you love that you get to make PowerPoint slides, or do you work with a super-fun bunch of wild-ass execs, or is it all about the joy you get in composing memorandums? What is your favorite part of the vice presidency?”

He tilted his head. “No one ever asks me that.”

“About the memorandums?”

“No, about my favorite part.”

“Well they should, and I’m dying to know.”

He furrowed his brow and looked into space for a momentbefore saying, “I like exploring the potential of an idea, I guess you could say. I like combing through data and drilling into possibilities for new directions. There is nothing quite like the buzz of coming up with a new strategy and seeing it come to fruition.”

“If itdoes, right?”

He smiled. “Right.”

“Did you always want to be a businessman?” I asked.

“Definitely,” he said. “My great-grandmother started the business, and I grew up watching my grandmother expand all of her work. She was always looking for new and better ways to grow CrashPad’s footprint and I guess I’m the same way with Hathaway.”

“I can’t imagine having a family business,” I said, but really thinking that I couldn’t imagine having a realfamilyat all. It’d always just been me and my mother; that was it. “I bet you’re so proud of it.”

“I am,” he said. “I mean, technically it isn’t the family business anymore; it’s a Hathaway company. But it still feels like ours because we’ve stuck to the same core principles.”

It was confusing to my brain, listening to him talk about his job, because itseemednice. I respected the way he seemed to be super committed to his family’s company and now the company they’d merged with; it felt loyal and it was obvious he worked his ass off. I mean, when he wasn’t schmoozing with other Hathaway people, he was constantly on his phone.

And the man wasn’t checking his Instagram or playing Candy Crush.

No, he wasalwaysengaging with his email.

But as impressive as it was that he was a hard worker, I stillcouldn’t write off the fact that he lived in a multimillion-dollar apartment and drove a luxury car that he’d hadcreatedspecifically for him. His work ethic might be admirable, but he was still a man who was okay with spending millions of dollars on stuff.

And I needed to remember that.

“So did you grow up here?” he asked. “How many siblings? Give me your origin story, Mariano.”

I looked down at my food and tried to come up with a way to make it sound more interesting than it was.

Tried and failed. I said, “I did. I grew up in Omaha, am an only child, graduated from Millard South.”

“Do your parents still live here?”

I took a bite of potato, and after I swallowed, I said, “My mom does, but my dad died when I was in grade school. So my family pretty much just consists of my mother and me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, getting a crinkle between his perfect dark eyebrows. He looked genuinely sad for me, and I imagined that for someone like him, it was the most pathetic origin story he’d ever heard. “I mean, I know a lot of time has passed, but it still has to be hard.”

“It’s fine,” I said awkwardly, then took a gulp of wine.

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