Corner Office Confessions

“Well, if it isn’t my big brother.” Mason took a sip from his Dartmouth Class of 2017 mug and set it down directly on the desk’s mahogany surface, not on the coaster each executive had been provided. Behind him, the floor-to-ceiling windows presented a panorama of Philadelphia’s Bond Street skyscrapers in the late-morning sunlight. A flock of birds sailed past, peppering the sky with coordinated movements that never failed to mesmerize him.

Samuel had rehearsed the next few words carefully in the privacy of his own office, but experienced strange difficulty saying them now.

Moving aside the suit jacket sprawled across the chairs opposite Mason’s desk like a discarded husk, Samuel seated himself. “I need—” he paused, his mouth suddenly filled with sand “—a favor.”

Mason’s grin might as well have revealed a bunch of yellow canary feathers as he leaned back in his chair, kicking his shoes to rest among the clutter. “You, asking for a favor? Is this one of the signs of the apocalypse?”

Clearing his gravelly throat, Samuel sat forward, thumbing the perfect pleat in his trousers. “You know Willow Creek has been struggling.”

“Maybe not Dad’s best acquisition.” Mason twirled a pen in his fingers.

Samuel did his level best not to grind his teeth. “I’m thinking of assigning the styling shoot to Arlie as a first project, but frankly, I’m a little concerned.”

To Samuel’s great surprise, a furrow appeared between his brother’s eyebrows. “About?”

“She’s not especially familiar with the brand. And beyond that, I met a former coworker of hers from Gastronomie last night, and while she didn’t tell me anything concrete, I got the impression that there might have been some challenges around her departure.”

“What kind of challenges?” Mason asked.

“Again, I didn’t get any specific information. This is just my impression.”

“Are we talking about that weird psychoanalytic thing you do where you watch someone’s face and make large, sweeping decisions about their motivating factors and moral compass?”

Biting down on his irritation, Samuel forced a smile. “That’s not how I would describe it, but yes.”

“What exactly would you like me to do?” As usual, Mason proved nearly impossible to read. Sympathy would have been helpful. Or unabashed self-interest. A motive Samuel trusted even more.

“You know how important this project is.” Samuel looked his twin directly in eyes the precise color of his own. “I need feet on the ground. I need someone I can trust.”

“I see,” Mason said. “And you’ve trusted me since—” he hesitated, appearing to consider “—since when?”

Samuel released a heavy sigh. So much for the brotherly solidarity angle.

“I know in the past I may have come off somewhat...rigid.”

“Somewhat?” Mason snorted, rocking back in his chair. “I’ve met steel rebar more flexible than you.”

“I respect your perception.” Each word felt like a shard of broken glass. “Which is precisely why I would like us to try and work more closely together. I thought this project might be an opportunity to do that. Provided you’re available this weekend to help get the ball rolling.”

Mason swung his feet beneath the desk and sat up straight. “I’ve got it covered.”

“You’re sure?” Samuel pressed. “You don’t have any plans?”

“Plans?” Mason’s smile was maddeningly obtuse. “What sort of plans do you think I might have?”

The sort that involved Mason’s face buried so deep between female thighs that answering emails between 5:00 p.m. on Friday to 8:00 a.m. on Monday would be a near impossibility.

“If you do, it’s fine. I just need to know now so I can—”

“I won’t let you down, big brother.” Mason rose from his chair and browsed among the copious piles of paper on his desk, thumbing each stack like an oracle reading runes.

“Honestly, you can stop with the big brother thing anytime. Sixty-three minutes hardly qualifies me for that title.”

“It does in my book,” Mason said. “And in my planner too. Which, thanks, by the way.” He held aloft the hand-sewn, leather-bound planner Samuel had ironically gifted to him on their shared birthday. Frankly, he’d expected him to have tossed it in the trash at his earliest convenience.

“You use it?” Samuel asked.

“All the time.”

If he had been forced to guess, Samuel would suspect it was mostly the contacts section. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He stood up, facing his brother.

At moments like this, the strangeness of being a twin hit him with full force. Mason was an exceedingly inaccurate mirror. Every cell in their bodies was once exactly identical. But how different they were and had always been. How different they would always be.

“I’d appreciate if you could let me know how it goes,” Samuel said.

“Oh, believe me, I will.”

Samuel paused briefly in the doorway. Imagining Mason when confronted with what he’d laid in store was one thing. Imagining Arlie if everything went according to his plans was entirely another.

He crossed the marble breezeway back toward his office, stopping at Charlotte’s desk. “Think you can get me a flight to Napa this weekend?”

“Of course.” Charlotte nodded enthusiastically. “Flying out Friday after your four o’clock steering committee meeting?”

“Yes,” he said. “Returning Thursday evening. Main cabin,” he said. “Not first class.”

Her look of surprise was almost canine in its purity and confusion. “Not...first class?”

Samuel knew exactly how strange this request must be. All Kanes flew first class according to his father’s decree. When not via private jet.

“Main cabin,” he confirmed.