this. “You’re not serious,” I insist, looking for the angle. Surely there’s something I can say… “I thought we had a gentleman’s agreement here. And when you factor in the sure success of Verity Lange’s new novel—”
“Oh, that reminds me!” Briggs says, voice brightening. “My wife loves her. Any way I could get you to send me an autographed copy?”
I hang up without bothering to say goodbye. My mind is racing, and a splitting headache is already beginning to gather at the base of my skull. Briggs’s words echo in my ears. The loans are due as planned. And we’ve got no money to pay them. Which means if I don’t liquidate the entire company—immediately—we’ll spiral into bankruptcy, and then there’ll truly be nothing left.
Celeste was wrong, I realize, as the full extent of the situation becomes clear. I’m not a pair of safe hands. Anything but. I’m going to have to sell the Post-its out of the supply closets.
I’m going to have to let everyone go.
I take a deep breath, trying not to panic. It’s nothing I haven’t had to tackle before, obviously. If there’s one thing I’ve got experience doing, it’s cleaning house.
But this is different.
I look out the window of my office, where Eliza is still chatting with Rachel the admin, her smile wide and carefree. She loves this company—and over the last few weeks I’ve started to love it, too. How am I ever going to tell her that it’s over?
I can’t.
I ignore the voice in my head telling me to be rational and business-minded about this—the one that sound suspiciously like Aisling’s—and tell my assistant to cancel all my meetings for the rest of the morning. There’s got to be another way to save Sterling.
And I’m going to find it.
But there isn’t.
I spend the next few days holed up in my office, avoiding Eliza as much as I can. I can’t tell her about my epic failure just yet, so I try to work the numbers every which way, call in every favor I can imagine, but there’s no avoiding it. Even if Verity’s book sells beyond our wildest imaginings—and that’s a big if—Sterling is done.
“Try not to beat yourself up about it, dude,” Jase says, sliding a bourbon across the bar in my direction. He insisted I come by the Clubhouse to drown my sorrows, and though I down the amber liquid in one miserable gulp, barely even tasting it, it doesn’t do anything to help.
Jase raises his eyebrows before pouring me another. “It’s not like you didn’t know the place was doomed from the start. You literally went in there with the express purpose of doing this exact thing.”
“I know,” I say, rubbing a hand over my tired face. I haven’t exactly been sleeping well.
Or sleeping at all.
“But somewhere along the line I got it into my head that maybe Sterling wasn’t too far gone to save.” I say. “I really thought we had a chance…”
Jase shrugs. “You gave it your best shot,” he reminds me, “and that’s admirable. But it was a Hail Mary from the start.”
“I suppose,” I admit grudgingly. It’s true, of course. Logically, this little experiment was never going to end any other way. But I still can’t help but I feel like I let everyone down—like I let Eliza down most of all. How am I ever going to tell her that this company she loves is finished? That she and all her friends and colleagues are out of a job? The thought of it makes me want to lie down in the middle of the subway tracks and let the rats have their way with me, once and for all.
“I just don’t want to let her down,” I say quietly, and Jase knows exactly who I mean.
“You said she’s smart, and successful. She’ll find something else.”
But Eliza loves that company. And I’m the one who drove it into the ground. She’ll be devastated. Unless…
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Jase, grabbing the phone and dialing even as I’m heading for the exit. “I’ve got to make a call.”
20
Eliza
“Hey there,” I say into Liam’s voicemail, idly fingering the hem of a strapless silk gown as Maddie and I stroll through the formalwear department at Bloomingdale’s. “It’s me. Again. And I guess I missed you. Again? Anyway, I’m out doing some last-minute shopping for Verity’s big launch party tonight. Stay tuned for dressing room selfies.” I lower my voice. “I might even be wearing a dress in a few