It had been four excruciating days, and things had not improved. He’d gotten worse, far worse. He hated being in the penthouse by himself. His first hour home he’d thrown her craft desk and broken it. He asked Dugan to order a new one. Evelyn’s presence was everywhere, on their sheets, in his closet, under his sink. There was no place she hadn’t left her mark.
He decided only to use the penthouse for sleep, coming to the office before the doors opened to the public and working long past closing. He’d taken to having his meals delivered to his desk, dining out by himself for late suppers, and last night he had lost his nerve to go home to his empty condo altogether.
He spent the night at his place of work, sleeping on the stiff couch in his office. He showered and shaved that morning in his executive bathroom and found several suits hanging in his closet, a cautionary expense from his days as a bachelor. Freshly laundered dress shirts hung like empty skins all in a row. The lower drawer of his desk was filled with brand new T-shirts, underwear and socks still in their packaging and tissue. How much longer could he go on like this?
Jeff cleared his throat. “Would you like me to come back, Lucian?”
Lucian turned the page, not really paying much attention to what he was seeing. Jeff had worked for him for almost a decade. He trusted his ideas, which had been validated by their profits over the past several years. “No.”
He turned the page again. Everything was perfect. Lucian could find no room for improvement, which for some reason pissed him off. He shut the portfolio with a slap and met Jeff’s eyes. “Do you feel this is the best you can give me?”
The man’s expression hitched. He seemed to consider his answer before giving it. “I put three months into that, Lucian. It’s everything you asked for.”
“That doesn’t answer the question. Is this the best you’re capable of?”
Jeff frowned. “Do I feel it’s the best I’ve ever done? No, but I’ve done over one hundred pitches for you. Every one can’t be the best or my favorite—”
“Why?” he snapped. “Why shouldn’t everything you put on my desk be the best, Jeff? Do I come in here, day after day, and give only a percentage of what I’m capable of? No. I work my balls off so that things can get done around here and you and all the other people who depend on me can get paid.” His voice had risen by the end of his reply.
“Look, Lucian, if you want me to give it another look—”
“I want the best you’re capable of! Why should I have to wait longer because you slacked off? I gave you three fucking months to do your job. You should have done it right the first time!”
Jeff stiffened. “That’s damn good work there. Go ahead and look around if you think you can find better.”
“Perhaps I will,” Lucian threatened back. “Maybe it’s time to rearrange some things around here. People are getting a little too cozy, and I won’t have Patras taking the brunt of everyone’s indolence. I expect perfection and nothing less.”
“Are . . . are you implying you want a new ad exec? You wanna look around, fine, but my contract isn’t up for another six months.”
Lucian didn’t want a new advertising executive. He liked Jeff, liked his work, liked his wife, Debbie. He was invited to his children’s birthdays.
“Contracts . . .” he mumbled, leaning back in his chair.
Jeff waited a few minutes. “Lucian, are you all right? You don’t look too good. Your color’s a bit off and you look tired. Maybe you should call it a day, go home and get some rest.”
“I don’t need rest, and the last thing I need is to go home.”
Several moments passed in awkward silence. The mood of the room seemed to settle and slowly right itself. “Look, if you want me to redo the ad I will. I can have something back to you by the end of the week. I have some other dormant ideas I was playing with that I could expand on and see how you like them—”
Lucian pushed the portfolio forward. “No, this is fine. It’s good. Take it down to Silberstein and have him order the space. I want it up by April first.”
Jeff’s mouth opened and shut. He took the portfolio and stood. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
He hesitated a moment before leaving. “Look, Lucian, this weekend we’re having a little get together. Deb and the kids would love to see you. Why don’t you try to make it?”
Lucian forced the muscles of his face into closest impression of a smile he could manage. “I’ll let you know. Thanks, Jeff.”
A while later, after he finished up with Jeff, his intercom buzzed. “What?”