“My daughter is five years old.”

“Well, she called when you forgot to pick her up from Irish dancing lessons last Thursday.”

“That doesn’t count,” he said, rolling his eyes, “because my five-year-old daughter isn’t going to lose the company hundreds of millions of euro, is she?” Once again he didn’t wait for a response. “Have you received any complaints from people who do not share my surname?”

Alison thought hard. “Did your sister change her name back after the separation?”

He glared at her.

“Well then, no, sir.”

“Again, what’s with the sir thing?”

“I just thought,” she said, her faced flushed, “that if you’re going to treat me like a stranger, then that’s how I’ll treat you, too.”

“How am I treating you like a stranger?”

She looked away.

He lowered his voice. “Alison, we’re at the office; what do you want me to do? Tell you how much I enjoyed screwing your brains out in the middle of discussing our appointments?”

“You didn’t screw my brains out; we didn’t quite get that far.”

“Whatever.” He waved his hand dismissively.

Alison’s jaw tightened. “Oh yes, and Mr. Patterson’s secretary called to ask me to remind you not to miss any more meetings today.” She seemed to get satisfaction from relaying the message. “It seems Alfred mentioned to Mr. Patterson that you missed the meeting with Alan Fletcher yesterday.”

“Alfred made that appointment after he learned I’d be out for an hour,” Lou said, shooting up from his chair. “You know that.”

“Yes, I do.” She smiled sweetly.

“Did you tell Mr. Patterson that?”

“No, I—”

“Well, call him and tell him,” he snapped. “Make sure he knows.”

Lou’s blood boiled. He spent his life running from one thing to another, missing half of the first in order to make it to the end of the other. He did this all day, every day, always feeling like he was catching up in order to get ahead. It was long and hard and tiring work. He had made huge sacrifices to get where he was. He loved his work, was totally and utterly professional, and was dedicated to every aspect of it. So to be called out on missing one meeting that had not yet been scheduled when he had taken an hour off angered him.

It also angered him that it was family, his mother, that had caused this. It was she on the morning of the meeting whom he had had to collect from the hospital after a hip replacement. He felt angry at his wife for talking him into doing it when his suggestion to arrange a car had sent her into a rage. He felt angry at his younger sister, Marcia, and his older brother, Quentin, for not doing it instead. He was a busy man, and the one time he was forced to choose family over work, he had to pay the price. He hated the excuses that other colleagues used—funerals, weddings, christenings, illnesses—and swore he’d never bring his personal life into the office. To him, it was a lack of professionalism. Either you did the job or you didn’t.

He paced by his office window, biting down hard on his lip and feeling such anger he wanted to pick up the phone and call his entire family and tell them, “See? See, this is why I can’t always be there. See? Now look what you’ve done!”

“Right.” His heart began to slow down, now realizing what was going on. His dear friend Alfred was up to his tricks. Tricks that Lou had assumed, up until now, he was exempt from. Alfred never did things by the book. He looked at everything from an awkward angle, came at every conversation from an unusual perspective, always trying to figure out the best way he could come out of any situation at someone else’s cost.

Lou’s eyes searched his desk. “Where’s my mail?”

“It’s on the twelfth floor. The intern got confused by the missing thirteenth floor.”

“The thirteenth floor isn’t missing! We are on it! What is with everyone today? Tell the intern to take the stairs from now on and count his way up. That way he won’t get confused. Why is an intern handling the mail anyway?”

“Harry says they’re short-staffed.”

“Short-staffed? It only takes one person to get in the elevator and bring my bloody mail up.” His voice went up a few octaves. “A monkey could do that job. There are people out there on the streets who’d die to work in a place like…”

“What?” Alison asked, but she got only the back of Lou’s head because he’d turned around and was looking out his floor-to-ceiling windows at the pavement below, a peculiar expression on his face reflected in the glass.

She got up and slowly began to walk away. For the first time in the past few weeks, she felt a light relief that their fling, albeit a fumble in the dark, was going no further, because perhaps she’d misjudged him, perhaps there was something wrong with him. She was new to the company and hadn’t quite sussed him out yet. All she knew of him was that he reminded her of the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, always seeming late, late, late for a very important date, but managing to get to every appointment just in the nick of time. He was cordial to everybody he met and was successful at his job. Plus, he was handsome and charming and drove a Porsche, and those things she valued more than anything else. Sure, she’d felt a slight twinge of guilt when she had spoken to his wife on the phone, but then it was quickly erased by his wife’s absolute naïveté when it came to her husband’s infidelities. Besides, everybody had a weak spot, and any man could be forgiven if his Achilles’ heel just happened to be Alison.

“What shoes does Alfred wear?” Lou called out, just before she closed his office door.

She stepped back inside. “Alfred who?”

“Berkeley.”

“I don’t know.” She frowned. “Why do you want to know?”

“For a Christmas present.”

“Shoes? You want to get Alfred a pair of shoes? But I’ve already ordered the Brown Thomas hampers for everyone, like you asked.”

“Just find out for me. But don’t make it obvious. Just casually inquire, I want to surprise him.”

She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “Sure.”

“Oh, and that new girl in accounts. What’s her name…Sandra, Sarah?”

“Deirdre.”

“Check her shoes, too. Let me know if they’ve got red soles.”

“They don’t. They’re from Top Shop. Black ankle boots, suede, with watermarks. I bought a pair of them last year. When they were in fashion.” With that, she left.

Lou sighed, collapsed into his oversized chair, and held his fingers to the bridge of his nose, hoping to stop the migraine that loomed. Maybe he was coming down with something. He’d already wasted fifteen minutes of his morning talking to a homeless man, which was totally out of character for him, but he’d felt compelled to stop for some reason. Something about the young man demanded that Lou stop and offer him his coffee.

Unable to concentrate on his schedule, Lou once again turned to look out at the city below. Gigantic Christmas decorations adorned the quays and bridges—oversized mistletoe and bells that swayed from one side to the other, thanks to the festive magic of neon lights. The river Liffey was at full capacity and gushed by his window and out to Dublin Bay. The pavements were aflow with people charging to work, keeping in time with the currents, following the same direction as the tide. They power walked by the gaunt copper figures dressed in rags, statues that had been constructed to commemorate those during the famine who had been forced to walk these very quays to emigrate. Instead of carrying small parcels of belongings, Irish people of today’s district now carried Starbucks coffee in one hand, briefcases in the other. Women walked to the office wearing power suits and sneakers, their high heels packed away in their bags. A whole different destiny and endless opportunities awaiting them.

The only thing that was static out there was Gabe, tucked away in a doorway near the building entrance, wrapped up on the ground and watching the shoes march by, the opportunities for him not quite as hopeful. Though only slightly bigger than a dot on the pavement thirteen floors down, Lou could see Gabe’s arm rise and fall as he sipped from his cup, making every mouthful last, even if by now the coffee was surely cold.