Chapter Eight
One Week Later
“They’re ready for you, Miss Monroe,” Lydia said, sticking her head into Emanuela’s office. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Nope, thanks, Lids!”
Emanuela drained her coffee cup before collecting the materials she needed for the meeting. She jumped right back into the thick of things after she returned to New York. It wasn’t difficult keeping busy. There was still the matter of finding a manufacturer for Finn’s and Simon’s smart limbs, and creating a demand among medical appliance companies, hospitals and the like before the innovative technology hit the market. Philip met her in the hallway.
“Morning, Em. Wow.” He glanced at the stack of papers in her arms. “What’s all that?”
“Supporting materials for Brian.”
Philip chuckled, shaking his head and matching her stride.
“I don’t intend to sit in the conference room all day, so I took the liberty of printing everything he’ll interrupt me to ask for ahead of time,” she said.
He allowed her to precede him into the conference room. “Your foresight is very much appreciated.”
“Good morning,” she said, distributing handouts to the six other people in the room. She approached Brian’s seat, and his eyes grew wide at the more significant stack she handed him, shooting her a dubious glare.
“I know how much you hate to be unprepared,” she said, with saccharine civility before moving to take her own seat.
Philip reclined in his chair beside her, resting his elbow on the table and nodding the okay for her to start the meeting.
“This won’t take long,” she said. “There are some significant changes taking place this time around, and I’m prepared to answer any questions you might have moving forward.”
Before anyone else could reply, Brian chimed in. “I don’t see why we need to sabotage the business practices that have been working for us for years. We’ve had partnerships with Chinese manufacturing companies for over a decade,” he said, as though Emanuela was oblivious to the company’s history and needed a refresher course.
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “We’ve enjoyed an amicable business relationship with Chinese manufacturers over the years; however, as the first item in your packet shows, the changing economic climate here in the States demands that we reevaluate where we send our business.” She surveyed the room to gauge the reactions of the others. Deciding they were with her, she moved on. “I understand this change will incur higher costs on our end, but we have a pretty impressive list of new manufacturers, both here and in Mexico, who can compete with the quality and efficiency of Chinese manufacturing companies. The cost of—”
“What’s the difference between going with the manufacturers in China we’ve already built relationships with and shipping everything off to Mexico?” Brian asked.
If you’d let me finish my thought, you’d have your answer, asshole. A migraine was coming on, and she willed it away. “The cost of transport and warehousing will be significantly lower with more localized manufacturers.” Prick. He took a breath to speak again and she snapped, “You’ll find NAFTA regulations in the second item,” without looking at him.
She didn’t need to look to know Philip’s grin was there, and some of her irritation faded. “Not only will nearshoring our business improve relations between us and consumers, but if we can establish production sharing between us and Mexico, even Canada, we’re likely to see a boost in economic activity between the regions.”
“Which makes us all a little more money,” Philip said. “I like where this is going, Em.”
Emanuela smiled. Her attention to detail was second nature to her, to lift every edge and turn every leaf. She was Philip’s biggest asset in the firm and everyone sitting there knew it, including Brian, who clearly couldn’t resist speaking up again.
“It makes the laborers more money, too,” he said, somehow making the statement sound perverse. “We’re paying to transport them to and from facilities, regulatory costs, materials, labor—the list goes on and on.”
Emanuela’s patience unraveled. “It shines a spotlight on us as a leader in ethical business practices, as highlighted in item three in your packet. Ethics concern most of us in this room. I would hope it’s pretty high on your list of priorities too.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted uncomfortably, and Emanuela caught Philip’s look of concern. Mercifully, he took over. “I’m sure we can all agree that change is necessary and good, but also comes with its own unique set of challenges. We need to work closely over the next few weeks to make sure we transition smoothly. In order for us to do that, we need to communicate effectively and often. Whatever concerns we have, we hash it out here. Understood?”
The meeting carried on for the further space of an hour before everyone felt confident enough to execute their individual tasks with limited supervision. Emanuela moved to get up from the table, and Philip gently grabbed her arm. “Is everything okay, Em?”
“Yeah.” She looked at him with a strained smile. “Why do you ask?”
“What was that?”
She rubbed her temples and released an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I went berserk.” She was accustomed to Brian’s passive aggressiveness and would typically have a laugh at his expense or just ignore him. He was an asshole, but he was a valued member of the team and, as head of the financial division, his input mattered.
“Oh, Richards deserved every bit of the lashing you gave him,” Philip said of Brian dismissively. “He’s an ass. But it’s not like you to let it get to you, so what gives? Do you need some time off? You’ve certainly earned it.” He rubbed her wrist with his thumb.
Emanuela became hyper aware of his touch on her skin, and eased her arm from his grasp. “I’m fine. I think I just need to eat. You pay me well but the food here leaves much to be desired.” She threw a pointed look at what was left of the assortment of danishes and donuts on the table.
Philip laughed. “Come on! Those are good! Catered, not store-bought.”
His look of feigned insult made her giggle, improving her mood. She gathered her things and walked through the door he held for her.
“They’re delicious,” she said, “but maybe some fruit would be good? Or something with some degree of nutritional value at all?”
They stopped in front of Philip’s office, since his was closest to the conference room.
“Are you asking me to feed you?” he asked.
“I—” She was oddly nervous.
They had always shared an easy camaraderie and had lunch together often enough that his question shouldn’t have seemed out of the ordinary. This felt different. He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time, and she could sense that this wouldn’t be one of their typical lunch excursions to him.
She couldn’t process what her intuition was picking up and formulate a careful response on the spot, so she opted for something he would accept without suspicion that she was blowing him off. “I’d love to, but I think I’m gonna work through lunch today. I have some momentum going and I really want to finalize our top three manufacturing options today.”
He nodded. “Best. Guy.”
He winked and retreated to his office. She sighed and headed back to hers. She felt anxious. Tense. It was the third day in a row she’d felt this way.
Emanuela approached Lydia’s desk. “Miss Whitney called during your meeting,” Lydia said. “Also, there was a sign-for. I left it on your desk for you.”
“Thank you.” Emanuela grabbed a mint from the candy dish on Lydia’s desk. “Hey, Lids?”
“Yes, Miss Monroe?”
“I feel a headache coming on so unless it’s something big—”
“Do not disturb.” Lydia nodded once.
Emanuela smiled warmly at her assistant and shut herself into her office. Kicking off her heels, she trudged to the desk and sat down. The package Lydia signed for was small, a perfect cube of a plain white box. The sender was a well-known printing company. She frowned. A successful business would have no reason to send free gifts. Grabbing the envelope opener on her desk, she slit the tape and opened the box. Nestled between packaging foam was a white coffee mug filled with an assortment of chocolate truffles. Cute. She lifted the mug from the box. Printed in black typewriter font against the stark white of the mug, was:
I’m jealous of the morning sun
who gets to be the first to see you
or the coffee cup
who gets to kiss your sleepy lips awake.
It was cheesy, but something about it was so personal that her heart trilled in her chest. There was no one she would expect such a gift from except— She emptied the box, looking for a note, a receipt-anything that would tell her who sent it, but there was none. She unwrapped one of the truffles and popped it into her mouth as she picked up the phone and speed dialed Allie.
“We’re still on for lunch tomorrow, right?” Allie asked, sounding winded.
“We are.” Emanuela’s brows knit together. “Where are you right now?”
“Ugh! One of my weddings has been pushed up and I’m scrambling like mad to finish everything for back-to-back receptions this weekend! I just picked up the last of the supplies I need for the displays,” Allie said, now completely out of breath.
She was the proud owner of Sugar, a premier wedding cakery in Lower Manhattan. They met in business school, and Emanuela was surprised to discover that Allie wanted to own a bakery. A few other students enjoyed jokes at her expense, thinking her ambitions weren’t lofty enough. Now, her business was in high demand, especially during the spring and summer months, and hopeful couples needed to book well in advance if they wanted one of her gorgeous cakes.
“You’re a magician, Allie,” Emanuela said. “You’ve managed well under much more hectic circumstances.”
“I know,” she said, distracted.
“Glad I could help.”
“Thanks, Em. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Emanuela sighed and selected another chocolate. She was paying attention this time when she peeled off the thin foil wrapper. Then she saw it. There, printed on the inside in bold white letters, were three simple words:
I miss you
Her head jerked to the side a bit, then she opened another, and another, and another. Every single one contained the same three words. Her mouth spread into a wide, blissful grin, and she reached for her cell.
****
Finn’s email notifications had been pinging away since seven-thirty that morning. It was hard to keep up with all of the messages in this particular encrypted account, but he managed to put a significant dent in it over the past few days and he was feeling pretty good about it. He was about to sign off for the day and then stopped, recognizing a familiar digital signature attached to a message. He hurried to open it, entering his private key and waiting for the message to finish decrypting.
Hello, Doctor.
I pray this message finds you well and in good health. We are so thankful to you for the supplies you sent. Maddie has grown a great deal and the prosthetic arm you sent last year is still functioning very well. The younger children here believe she is a superhero.
Simon Peter has not been faring as well. The meningococcal virus was diagnosed too late and the infection has spread to his leg. I’m afraid we will have to amputate. I am writing to urgently request a prosthetic leg for the boy.
Greatest discretion will be practiced, as always.
Your grateful friend,
Dr. Albaedo
“Dammit.”
Finn designed each and every prosthetic limb, printed them from a 3D printer he bought with three thousand dollars of his own money, and shipped them abroad to patients in need. To doctors, nurses, missionaries and others, he was simply “Doctor.” All correspondence between him and his colleagues abroad was encrypted to maintain anonymity and protect the small charitable movement he created.
He was elated to hear about Maddie’s recovery. She was a precocious twelve-year-old who dreamed of becoming a nurse. Her arm had been crushed beneath the rubble of her collapsed apartment building during the devastating earthquake in Haiti in 2010. Her family could not afford the extensive surgery needed to save her mangled limb. She was now fitted with the second prosthetic arm Finn designed and would receive another in four more years after she outgrew that one too.
He removed a photo of the small Haitian boy from his wallet. Simon Peter was seven years old. Like many in his impoverished area, he didn’t have access to sufficient health care. As it was, his family had traveled more than four hours from their shantytown on foot to reach Dr. Albaedo’s clinic and, by then, his condition was severe.
Such a shame. He was pulling for the boy. He glanced at his watch. Simon was teaching all morning and wouldn’t return until the afternoon, so he powered on the large monitor on his desk and, using the unique program he created to customize prosthetics for small children, got to work on Simon Peter’s new leg.
He had been at it for two hours when his cell phone vibrated so hard it almost slid from his desk. He considered ignoring it, but he saw Emanuela’s name on the screen and quickly answered. “Hey you.”
“Hey.”
There was a singsong quality to her voice, although it was hushed.
“You’re calling me from work.” He smiled. “I didn’t expect to hear from you until later.”
“Oh, I could call back if now isn’t a good time.”
“Now’s good. Now’s great. How are you?”
“Honestly, I was having kind of a rough morning until this mysterious box showed up on my desk.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it’s quite the intrigue. The sender left no note or any way to identify him. I think I’m being courted by The Phantom.”
Finn laughed and leaned back in his chair. “You don’t say! And what was in this mystery box?”
“The one thing, apparently, that I haven’t bought for myself yet.” She grinned. “There was a coffee mug with the sweetest, although corny, message printed on it and some delicious chocolates. Now there’s just the mug.”
“Corny? I’ll have you know that I commissioned the finest poets in all of mass market printerdom to forge such a masterpiece, and you mock me for it.”
Emanuela laughed outright, unable to keep up the charade. “I love it! I needed one. I think my assistant might personally thank you, so look out for that.”
“Noted,” Finn said, happy to hear her voice. “You said you were having a bad day. Wanna tell me about it?”
“No. At least not now. It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve been told I’m moody today and I think it’s because…”
He frowned at her hesitation. “Emanuela?”
“I miss you too.”
Though she spoke at a near-whisper, he still heard. He was thrilled at the confession. The feeling that he was becoming much more emotionally invested than she was plagued him ever since he overheard Philip address her with such gentle familiarity back in Simon’s garage. Finn was certain she felt the same pull toward him that he felt toward her, but thought perhaps she had something going with her boss, however insignificant, before he met her again. Hearing the sincerity in her voice restored his confidence that they were in this together. A wave of longing rose and fell through his body, starting in his arms and legs and flowing straight to his heart.
“That’s—oddly, comforting to hear,” he said. She sighed, and his arms itched to hold her. He crossed them over his chest and tried to lighten the mood. “You’re not going to stand me up tonight, are you?” he asked. “Emanuela,” he prodded gently after a long moment of silence.
“No, I won’t stand you up.”
Her voice sounded small, and he understood. This instant, she was the one most affected. Last night, it was he. They alternated this way each night of the last week, trapped in an emotional maelstrom that had them giddy at the start of every conversation and pining for each other at the end. Neither of them wanted to be flung out of the whirlpool that snared them, so around and around they went.
“Good.” He made a valiant effort to sound upbeat when this was eating him. “I’ll see you then, Emanuela.”
****
The call ended, leaving Emanuela almost in tears. She hadn’t realized the magnitude of her growing affection for Finn until the plane that carried her back to New York began its descent. She was usually very relaxed during landing, accustomed to the feeling similar to being on a roller coaster where her stomach dropped and she felt a little lightheaded. This time had been different. She hadn’t wanted to look out the window at the night sky or the city lights. She couldn’t. She had felt nauseous, sitting ramrod straight with her head back, her palms gripping the armrests and her eyes sealed shut against the dizziness that overtook her.
The plane taxied to the gate, and she made a concerted effort just to stand. It was then that she came to terms with a very real sense of loss. Finn hadn’t gone anywhere. He was right where she left him, with three thousand miles of land and trees, water and mountain ranges between them. Part of her was still with him, the absent chunk bigger than she could have imagined.