Page 53 of I'm Looking for a Man in Finance
“When was the last time you actually wentinto the office?” But he was already halfway out the door and no longer paying me any mind.
“I guess it’s just the two of us.” Hallie slid off the stool at the kitchen island. “Lead the way, my esteemed tour guide.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. But let’s take a different car. My dad has his whole collection here.”
Which was how the two of us ended up cruising back toward town in my dad’s favorite classic convertible. Hallie’s laughter floating along the wind whipping through her hair. My phone pinged with another update on the current state of the market. They wouldn’t close for a few more hours. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d left work before the market closed—maybe twice?—but when I’d asked for time off this weekend, I had promised myself I wouldn’t let it pull me away.
The chance to spend this weekend with Hallie was too good to pass up. Despite the insistent itch in my fingers to check for urgent investor updates on my phone, the device remained stubbornly in my pocket. I wasn’t about to waste a moment of this.
“How does even the grocery store look as luxurious as the houses?” Hallie asked as I pulled the car into the parking lot. The white-accented shaker-style architecture of the local store mirrored that of many houses in the area.
“I don’t think we need much,” I told her, grabbing a cart as we headed inside. “We have dinner plans every night and one breakfast reservation. So, we just need enough for two breakfasts, lunches, and snacks.”
Hallie walked alongside me, the two of us throwing items in the cart as we circled the store. Her eyes widened comically as I reached for my cereal of choice, the shock evident on her face. “You’re picking Cheerios over Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”
“They’re good for your cholesterol. Says so right there on the box.”
Hallie snatched the box from my hands only to put it back on the shelf, replacing it with Cinnamon Toast Crunch. “We’re on vacation, James. Live a little.”
“So now my cereal choice isn’t exciting enough?” I teased, as we continued through the store. “First you think I’m a carbon copy of everyone else that works on Wall Street and now even my breakfast is boring? Should I get Raisin Bran instead? Really live up to the Mr. Old Fashioned character?”
Hallie tensed. Her knuckles whitened as her hand tightened around the handle of the cart.
“I never thought you were boring, James.” Looking up, a heavy weight of regret settled in her eyes, clouding their usual sparkle.
It looked like both of us were working through a jumble of confused emotions. Breaking down preconceived notions. Venturing back into previously avoided territory. And neither of us knew quite what to do about any of it yet.
“Let’s get some lunch meat for sandwiches and then I think we should be good. We should probably get back to make sure that Sebastian and Roxie don’t kill each other.”
The easy camaraderie we’d shared since arriving in the Hamptons had vanished, replaced by a tense silence. We’d transported ourselves back to those first few weeks where we were on opposing ends. But I no longer wanted to put on the boxing gloves and go a few rounds in the ring. Sparring with her was starting to feel like taking a swing at myself.
19
Hallie
Guilt. It’s a terrible thing. It starts as a subtle discomfort, a tiny seed, but with each passing day, its tendrils wrap around your heart, growing larger and more painful. Until it consumes you and there’s nothing left but that ugly vine inside of you.
My stomach churned as we drove back to the house from the supermarket. I could still hear James’s laughter in the background, his easy-going attitude just as infectious as ever, but all I could focus on was the feeling gnawing at me. The guilt over how I had unfairly judged him before getting to know him. My discomfort intensified when I realized I was trapped between continuing articles that unjustly portrayed the finance-man archetype and missing out on a once-in-a-lifetime career chance.
We finally made it back to the house, and as I carried the bags inside, my thoughts only became more muddled. My heart pounded when James was near, a sure sign of my undeniable feelings. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to feel this way. By Monday morning, my boss would expect a detailed article in her inbox, covering every aspect of the weekend’s events.
Were the stakes worth the reward? James had made it clear he didn’t mind being the anonymous subject of myarticles, but the more real our dates felt, the more like a fraud I became.
“What’s going on in that big, beautiful head of yours?” Roxie leaned over to ask me quietly as we sat in the back of yet another of James’s father’s fleet of cars, on our way to the dinner reservation that James had planned for the evening.
“I’m just thinking about all the great food we are about to eat.”
Roxie narrowed her eyes at my deflection, seeing straight through me. “Spill,” she whispered.
I stole a glance at James in the driver’s seat, his laughter echoing over the sound of the engine as he chatted animatedly with Sebastian, completely engrossed and oblivious to us in the back.
“I think I’m having regrets.”
Roxie’s touch was firm but gentle as she reached for my hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “Regrets over what?”
“‘Love on Wall Street’.”
Roxie inhaled knowingly. “You’re feeling guilty writing about James.”
