When the Lights Go Out in Manhattan Chapter 2

The next day was Monday. I went straight from the hotel to the office.

As soon as I sat in my cubicle, my supervisor, Mary, gave me a weird look.

"Eleanor, HR just told me you called in sick today."

Julian was the Vice President of our private equity firm.

If he said I was "taking a rest," HR wouldn't dare argue.

I forced a smile and told her I was feeling much better.

During my lunch break, I went to the 48th-floor pantry to make coffee.

Julian appeared unexpectedly.

He usually stayed in his glass kingdom, never deigning to visit our department.

For this rare visit, his expression remained as cold as a block of ice.

"Staying out all night. Eleanor, that’s a new low for you. You know how I feel about that. If there is a next time—"

I interrupted him, my tone as flat as if discussing the weather.

"Don't worry. There won't be a next time."

We were going to get divorced soon.

We would go our separate ways.

Naturally, there wouldn't be a next time.

He looked at my calm profile, seemingly stunned.

He probably didn't expect that I wouldn't have a single question about last night.

Once the coffee was brewed, Julian frowned and snatched it from my hand.

He took a sip, then poured the rest into the sink with a look of disgust.

"Meet me in the parking garage after work. We're going to dinner."

I knew this was his insincere, half-assed compensation for standing me up yesterday.

It worked out. I had something to say to him too.

So I said, "Okay."

Back at my desk, I saw a cupcake from Magnolia Bakery and a chai latte.

A sticky note next to it read: "Happy Birthday, Eleanor!" It was from my colleague in the next cubicle.

I turned my chair around, back to everyone, and secretly wiped my eyes several times.

After eating the cake, I threw all my energy into work until 5 PM.

Then I followed Julian's instructions and went to the underground garage.

When I saw his black Tesla, he started the engine.

The car slid silently past me and drove straight out.

Julian didn't even glance in my direction.

My phone rang immediately after.

He said an important client dinner came up last minute.

He told me to go to the restaurant and wait for him.

I arrived at the French bistro in Tribeca.

Acting out of character, I didn't wait for him.

I called the waiter and ordered my favorite steak frites and a glass of Bordeaux.

Julian was always busy.

After we got together, I had unknowingly gotten used to waiting.

My stomach ulcers were a result of all that waiting.

The steak was cooked perfectly.

I ate the whole thing alone, satisfied.

So when Julian texted again to say he couldn't make it, I didn't even feel angry.