Page 28 of Brooklynaire
“Not true. The model incorporates player stats in real time. And the Bruisers are dominating the puckcontrol.”
I can’t believe I’m arguing with a machine. What I wouldn’t do for a glass of wine right now, dammit. There are less than three minutes left in thegame.
“GOAL!” Bingley yellssuddenly.
My eyes fly to the screen. I can’t help it. The lamp is lit, and O’Doul is celebrating. The camera cuts to Nate in the box, rubbing his hands together. There’s a smug little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t celebrate yet!” I shriek. “It’s toosoon!”
“We now show a ninety-four-point-seven percent chance of winning,” Bingleyadds.
“YOU shutup.”
He does. And for a second I wonder if I’ve hurt his feelings. Onlyhe’s amachine.
I’m losing my mind, but the pain only lasts another three minutes. And then it’s really true—the Bruisers have advanced to roundtwo.
“I have to get better,” I say over the announcer’s glee. “This sitting at home crap isn’t forme.”
Bingley doesn’t answer, and I’m weirdlydisappointed.
“Hey,Bingley.”
“Yes,miss?”
“Can you give Nate a message forme?”
“Voice ortext?”
“Uh, text. Tell him Rebecca sends hercongratulations.”
“Certainly, my dear. Are we adding anyemojis?”
“No, because we’re nottwelve.”
“Noted.”
The TV screen goes dark a minute later, and I pop off the couch. “Good night,Bingley.”
“Good night, miss. Shall I wake you for your doctor’s appointmenttomorrow?”
“Sure.Thanks!”
“It’s my pleasure. Nate has replied to your text. He reminds you to get somerest.”
Of course hedoes.
8
Two Years Earlier
Nate’s kingdomgrows into an empire. Once again his castle has been upsized—he now owns the entire midtown office building. He has relocated his office again—into the penthouse C-suite. As onedoes.
Gone is the Ping-Pong table. Gone are the jeans and the sneakers at work. (Except on weekends.) These days our prince must dress the part. He wears a suit, even if he rarely puts on a tie. His office has floor-to-ceiling windows offering a sweeping view of the East River andBrooklyn.
Some things haven’t changed, though. He takes the ferry to work each day, just like any commuter, because sitting in traffic is for suckers. And he’s still among friends at work, although most of them are wearing suits,too.
But not Rebecca. When Nate peeks through his office blinds to see her at her desk, she always looks terrific and professional. But never boring. She favors vintage skirts or brightly colored dresses. She puts a unique stamp on everything she touches. And her smile still lights up theroom.
It’s a bright Tuesday in March, and Nate has a meeting in exactly twelve minutes. He sips his excellent coffee and skims the technologyheadlines.
