Chapter Text
From: [email protected]
Date: November 8, 06:47 UTC
Subject: Re: Making friends is hard to do
Dear M,
Sorry to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure my night was just as lacklustre as yours. My friend’s friend actually seemed lovely, but there were a few somewhat significant issues that made getting to know her better functionally impossible:
- She was on her phone a lot during the evening. To her credit, it wasn’t like she was actively looking at it while we were talking, but I definitely noticed at times that she seemed more interested in her phone than in engaging with anyone in our group. The bigger problem is that I wasn’t even annoyed about it, because I may have also been checking my inbox to see if you’d sent an update about your evening, which admittedly was very rude of me (sorry).
- Like with you, the “so-what-do-you-do” part of our introduction was a disaster. I had a bit of a panic when she started talking about where she works– not because of what she does for a living, but because of the danger I pose to her livelihood. (That sounds much more menacing than I had intended.) I’ll spare you the specifics, but the salient point is, I was so distracted thinking of all the reasons she’ll inevitably hate me that I just clammed up completely.
- Right when it seemed we might finally be able to have a proper, non-panic-inducing chat, my friend/sort-of boss (I feel like I’ve mentioned him before, but let’s call him R) showed up. I tried my best to suggest that he come back later since we were in the middle of a conversation, but he refused to take a hint and dragged me away. I felt terrible leaving her there on her own, especially since R didn’t even have anything urgent to tell me, just basic business stuff (ironic since he spends very little time actually working when we are in the office together).
I would love to be able to tell you I was able to peel myself away from R and actually try again. Unfortunately, that was not the case. I didn’t get to talk to her for the rest of the evening, and any time I did catch her eye, she looked away so violently that I have no other choice but to conclude that she thinks I’m…well, a dick.
Please share a fact of the day so that I can feel better.
Yours in despair,
T
From: [email protected]
Date: November 8, 09:55 UTC
Subject: Re: re: Making friends is hard to do
Dear T,
Oh my goodness, I’m sorry to hear that your evening didn’t go well! I can’t imagine how awkward that was for you…we’re just two peas in a pod, aren’t we? There may still be hope for you, if it makes you feel better. When my sister met her husband years ago, she thought he was a stuck-up asshole. Turns out he was stupidly in love with her the whole time, but just didn’t know how to articulate his feelings without sticking his foot in his mouth. Anyway, they eventually figured it out, so I’m sure you’ll find a way to make a better impression next time. Me, not so much.
That said, with regard to your preemptive worry about how your work threatens hers, I really don’t think you should feel bad– or at least, you shouldn’t see yourself as the instrument of this girl’s misfortune. Surely that has to be an exaggeration? Do you work for rival companies or something? (Don’t worry, I won’t make you answer that.) The point is, I know you don’t love your job, but I’m confident that you try to do it with as much integrity as possible. So even if what you do for work has some negative impact on her business, I think it unlikely that she would blame you specifically for her troubles.
And for the record: even with your work situation holding you back, that girl is an idiot for not immediately realizing how awesome you are. I’m allowed to say that as your friend.
As far as the R situation goes— I hope I’m not testing The Rules by saying this, but I’m starting to get the sense that things seem to be getting harder when it comes to working with your friend? If you need to vent, please don’t hesitate to talk to me.
In response to your request, this morning I read that one teaspoon of soil contains more microorganisms than there are people on the entire planet. I find that remembering how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of the universe can be oddly soothing.
The horrors persist, but so do we—
M
“You are most definitely not working.”
Tom looked up to see Will Ryder leaning on the doorjamb, grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world…or a company to run.
A few quick keystrokes, and the window with Macaulay’s message disappeared from the screen. “What makes you think that?” he asked warily.
Will smirked. “You just have the look of someone who is entirely too…thoughtful…to actually be productive.”
Tom smirked back. “And I suppose you’re an expert on that, Ryder?”
“Ouch,” Will said, clutching his chest dramatically. “I did some work this morning.”
“You came in at 10. It’s now 11:30.”
“I made some calls,” Will replied with a wave. “But that’s not why I came in here to talk to you.”
Tom leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “How can I help?”
“Who was the girl you were talking to last night before I arrived? With the glasses?”
The question threw him for a moment. “You mean Mary Bennet?”
“Mary,” Will repeated. It surprised Tom how much it annoyed him to hear Will say her name. “Is she single?”
“Will, no.”
“No, as in she’s not single?”
Tom leaned forward, propping his forearms on his desk. “No, as in, don’t even think about it. She works at The Game Garden.”
“So?”
“So, DB+R Properties is actively in the process of acquiring the site of their business,” Tom gritted out. “You know, 16 Gracechurch Street? The same address that Catherine wants to be the site of the company’s next luxury development?”
Will’s smile froze. “Oh. Well, I suppose that might put a damper on things.”
“The fact that your family firm is going to be directly responsible for displacing her employers, possibly putting them out of business? Yes, I think it might.”
“If you knew all this, why were you talking to her?”
Tom sighed. “Ann’s been trying to get us to meet for weeks. Mary’s a good friend of hers, and she thought we might hit it off. I only discovered the connection once we started talking.”
Ann’s voice echoed in his head as he spoke. “Mary’s absolutely brilliant, Tom. The two of you are like, kindred spirits. She’s really kind, and sweet, and she’s like, exactly the same kind of nerd that you are…”
The truth is, there had been something about her that Tom had found himself drawn to that evening. For a split second, he pictured her as exactly the kind of person Macaulay would be like if they’d met in real life. She had said she was meeting someone new that night, hadn’t she? But in the next moment, that feeling had passed. He was just projecting. Not only was it unlikely that they lived in the same city (given the timing of her replies, he suspected that they lived in the same time zone, but to investigate further would have constituted a severe breach of The Rules), but there was something closed off about Mary that he could not reconcile with the vision he had in his head of his friend. Whereas Macaulay had expressed a sense of nervousness, Mary seemed uninterested, if not outright repelled by the idea of Ann setting them up.
Not that he was interested, either. But he had been surprised to feel a bit of a sting, regardless.
Will’s voice cut into Tom’s reverie. “I think you’re overthinking this, mate,” he said blithely. “I mean, it’s not like you’re going to marry the woman. Anyway, aren’t you into someone else?”
Tom tensed. “What do you mean?”
“Oh come on, Hayward. I know you think of yourself as a man of discretion, but there’s a look you get.”
“A look.”
“Yes, a look. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. It’s the kind of look someone gets when they aren’t just invested in what they’re doing— they’re enjoying themselves, too. I only ever seem to catch that look on your face when you’re typing away on your computer, or when you’re on your phone. But since we both know that our business, lucrative though it may be, is not particularly stimulating, the only conclusion I can come to is that you’re seeing someone on the down low. At the very least, you’re trading messages. Messages of a particular quality, perhaps?” Will waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Tom schooled his expression into one of nonchalance. “For a law school dropout, you certainly are adept at asking leading questions,” he said. “But you won’t be getting any confessions out of me.”
Will pouted. “Fine, keep your secrets. But my point still stands about Mary. Speaking as your boss—”
“Oh, here we go,” Tom scoffed.
“Speaking as your boss,” Will repeated emphatically, “There’s nothing wrong with striking up something casual, or even friendly. Mary’s not the one who owns the building. She doesn’t even own the business, right?”
“You’re missing the point,” Tom argued. “There might not be a direct conflict of interest, but the fact is we know things about this deal that will have a direct impact on her job. Things we aren’t allowed to divulge until the deal goes through. There are legal and ethical considerations to take into account.”
“Calm down, Hayward,” Will said. “You’re acting as if having a drink with her at the pub is tantamount to engaging in corporate espionage.”
“It might be one and the same to Catherine,” Tom pointed out.
“Don’t worry about my aunt, she's always been like that. Besides, the Gracechurch negotiations won’t drag on forever. Didn’t you say the deal was nearly done?”
“We’re about 80 percent there,” Tom confirmed. “Anyway, none of that really matters,” he added, replaying the events of the previous night in his mind. “I’m pretty sure Mary already hates me.”
Will grinned. “So what you’re saying is, I have a chance.”
“Have you been listening to me at all?”
Will raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Mary Bennet is off limits. At least until the deal goes through, right?”
Tom just shook his head.
—
From: [email protected]
Date: November 11, 13:03 UTC
Subject: Personal vs Professional
Dear M,
Friendship is a strange phenomenon, isn’t it? Especially when you mix it with something else, like love, or competition…or in the case of myself and R, business.
You are absolutely right that working at a place my friend technically runs (I hesitate to call R a business partner, but the truth is that I’ve somehow taken over the day to day running of the company) is starting to take a toll on me personally. Don’t get me wrong. R is a genuinely good guy (we bonded over a shared love of poetry back in university, so that has to speak in his favour), and I can’t complain about having a lucrative job fall into my lap immediately after finishing school. But it’s been a few years now, and lately I’ve found myself thinking more seriously about leaving the company and getting back on a professional path that’s more in line with my goals and values. But I do worry about what that says about the state of our friendship, and/or how it will be affected if I decide to quit.
Unfortunately, I simply don’t have the ability to say “it’s not personal, it’s business” and just walk out the door (I freely acknowledge that this does not make me the most cutthroat of businessmen, but in fairness, I did not actually attend business school). R is my friend, and that makes it both hard to leave and hard to stay. For one thing, he has never truly experienced rejection in his life, and consequently has no idea how to take no for an answer. I suppose it’s partially my fault for enabling the man all these years, but it’s been difficult to air my concerns about the direction of the business, let alone broach the subject of me eventually leaving…
Ha. Look who’s rambling now?
I feel a little guilty for laying all of my problems at your door. It’s not that I don’t have people in my life I can talk to; it’s just harder because they all know R as well. Also, I might currently be on the outs with my other good friend, since she’s the one who tried to set me up with that girl from the other night (and we all know how that went). Suffice to say that between my personal and professional life, right now I feel…adrift. Being in touch with you is one of the few things keeping me grounded, but I understand if it feels like a little too much to listen to, given the boundaries we’ve set.
In lighter news, I went for a run this morning to clear my head, and I caught the sunrise while I was out (don’t worry, it wasn’t actually that early…in my part of the world, sunlight is a rare commodity at this time of year). Though I wasn’t running on Westminster Bridge in London (and I imagine the view of London from Westminster Bridge looks very different now than it did in the early 19th century), the sunrise I saw was quite beautiful. Naturally, it made me think of Wordsworth:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Your fact of the day was, indeed, oddly soothing. I hope this email finds you at peace today.
Yours, etc
T
From: [email protected]
Date: November 12, 08:03 UTC
Subject: Re: Personal vs Professional
Dear T,
I’m really sorry to hear that work is getting harder for you, and I certainly don’t blame you for feeling conflicted. For one thing, money is money. I wish I had a better paying job, even though I absolutely adore the people where I work, so I can’t really fault you for staying at a job you find difficult- especially since it also sounds like things could get messy if you were to try to leave. I mean, if things get to a point where you decide enough is enough, I would one hundred percent support you on that– and if you quit, I’d better be the first one to know. But I can see how it’s easier said than done.
I wish there was more I could say or do to make things easier for you, but if it makes you feel better, you’re not alone. What’s funny is that while you are itching for a change, I feel the opposite; I have this feeling that everything around me is about to change, and I’m not prepared for any of it. It’s taken me a long time to get to a place where I feel comfortable in my own skin— I’m not completely there, of course, but moving away from home has made a big difference— and between work and my tiny social circle, I’ve carved out a little space for myself. But I can sense that something is coming that’s going to force me out of my comfort zone again. At least our email friendship is one constant I can rely on! I know it’s not the same as being friends in real life, but it means a lot.
With regard to you worrying that you are burdening me with your problems, there are two reasons you should not. The first: I do the same thing, literally all the time (case in point, see previous paragraph). The second: there are actually some really interesting studies that have come out in recent years about how expressive writing (especially on topics that require some measure of vulnerability) can actually help improve physical health outcomes, boost the immune system, and help with cardiovascular regulation. So, next time you feel guilty that you’re complaining to me about work or friendships, remember: we are literally saving each other’s lives.
Thanks for that poetry excerpt, by the way— believe it or not, I ended up looking up the full poem as well. I won’t say I teared up when I read it, but I won’t say that I didn’t, either.
I hope the rest of your day goes a bit more smoothly.
Take care of yourself,
M
Tom breathed deeply as he walked northward along Gracechurch Street.
Although it was an unusual practice for someone at his level, Tom had long been in the habit of conducting site visits while negotiations for major acquisitions were underway. Part of it was simply him doing his due diligence on behalf of the company; while neither Catherine nor Will had ever expressed any interest in following suit, they did not object to his methods, either. But Tom had another, more furtive, motivation for behaving as he did. Despite the fortune he was quickly amassing through his position at the company, it never stopped him from checking in on the people and businesses that stood to lose from every deal he helped close. Even if there was little he could do to help, he still felt compelled to keep discreet tabs on whoever might be impacted by DB+R’s various projects. Unlike Catherine de Bourgh and William Ryder, Tom knew what it meant to work for what he had. He refused to turn into the kind of person who forgot what that was like.
Of course, the trouble with trying to maintain a conscience whilst working as the senior legal counsel for a real estate developer was that it was fucking exhausting.
“I really need to get out,” Tom mumbled to himself as he arrived at his destination.
His gaze was immediately drawn to the large, cheerful letters painted on the window. THE GAME GARDEN, it read. He could see a woman in the shop standing by the letter N who appeared to be helping a customer.
The woman turned, and for a moment, their eyes locked from either side of the glass.
It was Mary Bennet. He should have expected to find her there.
The moment passed. Eyes widening, Mary vanished from sight almost immediately.
Tom sighed. His site visit to 16 Gracechurch Street was one that he had particularly dreaded that day. While negotiations with the building’s owner were proceeding apace, he was still bemoaning the discovery of a connection between the deal he was running point for and Ann’s pretty friend…and their flash of an encounter did little to reassure him.
He pulled up short at the thought. Why had the first descriptor he’d come up with for Mary been that she was pretty?
Tom shook the question aside, trying to focus on the task at hand. He began with his usual inspection of the exterior, noting the overall condition of the structure (excellent) and the potential for acquiring neighbouring buildings (considerable). Within a few minutes, Tom confirmed what he had already concluded after reviewing previous reports: 16 Gracechurch Street was going to be an excellent location for the company’s next mega-project.
But that would mean displacing the current tenants…just like it did with every deal he had negotiated since joining the company, he thought mournfully.
“Can I help you?”
Startled, Tom whipped around. His eyes landed on a man standing at the entrance of the shop.
“Ed Gardiner,” the man said, stepping forward to extend a hand in greeting. “My wife and I run The Game Garden. I assume you’re here on a site visit for the developers?”
Tom’s shoulders straightened as he shifted into lawyer mode. “That’s correct.” He took Ed’s hand, shaking it. “Tom Hayward, senior counsel for DB+R Properties.”
“Heh. Interesting that they’d send someone like you just to do a run-of-the-mill building appraisal, no?”
“It’s not commonly done, no,” he admitted. “But I’m leading the negotiations, and your landlord extended an invitation for me to stop by and have a look at the place for myself. Mr. Dashwood let you know in advance, I hope?”
Ed nodded in confirmation. “Indeed. But if you’ve finished looking around, please feel free to come in. Have a drink. Browse a bit,” he added with a grin.
Tom hesitated. It was clear that Ed knew why Tom was there, and what he was doing. And yet, the man did not appear to harbour any ill will toward him. If anything, there was an ease to Ed’s manner that indicated he was utterly unbothered.
Ed seemed to sense his discomfort. “Come, Mr. Hayward. We won’t bite, I promise.”
Tom allowed himself to be ushered into the building. He looked around. The place had a warm, cozy feel that relaxed him instantly. Bookcases lined the far wall, filled with a wide variety of board games. Booths hugged the sides of the room, occupied by groups of young people playing games; at one table, a particularly boisterous young man was attempting to trade sheep for wood. Customers were lined up at a long counter positioned toward the back, functioning both as a bar and a cash register for purchases. But the centrepiece was what looked like vines of wisteria that hung from the ceiling, creating the impression that they were standing in a secret garden rather than a retail shop/cafe in the middle of a bustling city.
“We have space upstairs for tabletop events, as well,” Ed said by way of explanation. “D&D is making a resurgence, but we also host the occasional trivia night.”
“This is fantastic,” Tom marveled. “You’ve done a really wonderful job with the place. It looks like business is doing well?”
“It is,” Ed confirmed proudly. “We’re almost at a point where we’re considering expanding. Thought we’d have at least a couple more years here before making that kind of leap.” He looked at Tom meaningfully. “It looks like we may have to push our timeline up a bit, though. Not sure if we’ll be able to make it happen, what with rents being what they are. If it doesn’t work out, we might be headed for an early retirement.”
Tom deflated somewhat. “I see.”
Ed seemed to clock his reaction. “I wonder, though, if I might be able to pick your brain some time about the status of London’s current market,” he mused. “Informally, of course. Nothing that would constitute a conflict of interest. I wouldn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position.”
Tom considered this. The Gracechurch deal was too close to wrapping up for him to stop it, even if he had that kind of clout. But could there be a way to thread the needle and help the Gardiners out in a different fashion?
He handed Ed his card. “Why don’t you hold onto this, just in case. Perhaps we could schedule a meeting the next time I need to make a site visit?”
Ed smiled. “We could do that,” he agreed. “Or I could just introduce you to Mrs. G. right now…”
By the time Tom left 16 Gracechurch Street, he had not only purchased a board game for his niece (at a substantial discount, courtesy of Ed), but he had also accepted an invitation to dinner with their family the following week. He had even offered to bring the wine.
From: [email protected]
Date: November 12, 18:03 UTC
Subject: An interesting development
Dear M,
I think I may have found a way to do my job without feeling like complete garbage (at least, for now).
Unfortunately, I can’t tell you any of the details (not just because of The Rules; there are professional ethics I also need to take into account). Don’t worry, I’m not doing anything illegal. In fact, I’m looking for a way to follow your advice and do my job with as much integrity as possible. What I have in mind might be a little unconventional, but for the first time in a while I’m actually feeling a little hopeful.
At first I felt awkward about even considering it, like what I’m doing is just some half-assed attempt to alleviate my guilt for being a capitalist cliché. But the truth is that I genuinely like people I’m trying to help. They’ve built something really special together. What’s more, they are incredibly kind and understanding (despite the threat my company poses to their current situation). In my line of work, that’s a quality that’s increasingly difficult to find.
Anyway, I have you to thank for inspiring my secret plan, so please accept my heartfelt appreciation. I’ll leave you with some Emily Dickinson, since she seems to have captured my improved mood:
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
Keeping my fingers crossed that you, too, will find a path forward despite all the changes you feel coming. As always, I’m here if you need me.
Feeling hopeful,
T
From: [email protected]
Date: November 12, 22:10 UTC
Subject: Re: An interesting development
Dear T,
I’m really thrilled to hear that you’re feeling more in control of your destiny, even if you can’t tell me much about the secret plans you’re cooking up. It’s all very mysterious, you know. I’m a little miffed to be left out of the loop.
I’m only kidding. I’d never want you to break your code of professional ethics– or The Rules, for that matter. Regardless, I hope that whatever you have going on goes well, and that you don’t run into any issues with R, or anyone else at your company, as you go about your (secret) business.
As for me, I have little of interest to report. The only thing that happened to me was that I spotted the guy my friend tried setting me up with while I was finishing up at work today. Would it be shameful of me to say that I ran and hid? Luckily, he ended up getting pulled into a conversation with my boss, and I was able to make my escape out the back. I didn’t stay long enough to find out why he was there, but if I was reading his facial expression correctly, he was surprised and even a little perturbed to see me.
Here’s hoping that our chance encounter was a true coincidence as opposed to what the philosopher Carl Jung called “synchronicity.” I don’t know how I’d feel if it turned out the universe was trying to send me a sign about the future of my life by repeatedly forcing awkward interactions with a man who so clearly dislikes me.
That’s all I’ve got for now. In the meantime, I’ll be thinking of you and hoping things continue to get better in your world.
Take care,
M
Tom sat back in bed, the light of his phone illuminating his face as he reread Macaulay’s email. For someone who knew so few specifics about what was going on, she was incredibly perceptive.
It was true what she had alluded to; helping Ed and Madeline Gardiner would not be without its challenges. The need for discretion was paramount. While Will wasn’t likely to notice, Tom knew that Catherine was not the most trusting person by a long shot; if she found out what he was up to, she would not look upon his pro-bono consulting with a friendly eye.
And it didn’t change the fact that the Gracechurch deal was all but ready to sign. It was inevitable that The Game Garden would have to close, even if only temporarily, until the Gardiners secured a new location. That would mean putting their employees out of work– putting Mary out of work– and there was literally nothing he could say to warn her.
Mary. He hadn’t seen her again that afternoon, though it was likely that was only because it had been so busy in the cafe. It wasn’t as if he’d been looking for her, either; he’d been far too absorbed in his conversation with Ed and Madeline.
He hoped rather than expected the next time he saw her would be easier.
Tom thought about Macaulay’s advice again, and her reassurance that Mary was unlikely to blame him for her impending employment woes. He wondered how Macaulay was able to say that with so much confidence, but he also couldn’t help but feel good about the fact that he had her in his corner. Considering that Macaulay didn’t even know his real name, she always seemed to know exactly what he needed to feel like himself. Whoever and wherever she was, he was certain that she was as remarkable in person as she was over email.
If only The Rules didn’t prevent them from getting to know each other for real.
Sighing, Tom set his phone down next to his glasses and sank into his pillow. It wasn’t useful to think about things like this. He knew they had both agreed to set firm boundaries to protect themselves, and to help build the kind of trust necessary to keep their experiment going. Macaulay needed The Rules, and the truth was, so did he.
But not for the first time, he found himself wishing he could break them.