“Oh, totally,” Eleanor said, jolting me out of my thoughts. “We just don’t have much time. Especially if we’re also trying to figure out the West Coast office logistics. But I’ve already pinged Paul, since he knows every interior designer in the city.”

We needed Paul to come through. The guest list for the party included the most important people in the financial and environmental worlds, people we wanted—no, needed—to impress. If we didn’t pull this together, we’d look like amateurs, which wouldn’t be good for our business or our bottom line. Or my stress levels, for that matter.

Suddenly, a cocktail seemed very necessary. “Hey, do you and Henry want to grab a drink tonight?” I asked Eleanor.

“I’m going out to Montauk, remember?” she replied, a sympathetic look on her face. “I’m meeting Henry at the Jitney after lunch.”

Eleanor turned back to her computer, tapping her inbox open. “Are you getting together with Perrine this weekend?” The question was casual, but I knew what was up: Eleanor was searching for info.

“I think so,” I said, not looking up from my phone screen. Perrine was on call all weekend. But maybe we’d get together. So not a lie, in theory.

“Hey!” She paused to look up at me as she stood and began piling the trash on her desk. “Why not take the rest of the day off? Give yourself a little break to chill?”

“Didn’t we just establish that we have a ton of shit to do?” I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed.

“We did, but the entire city will be shutting down at one o’clock today for the long weekend. You need a full day off, but I know you won’t give yourself that, so at least take a couple hours.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said to placate her as she grabbed a bottle of Tums she’d placed on her desk earlier this week and twisted the cap off, popping two pale-pink tablets into her mouth.

“One afternoon to relax, Hayes,” she said, and I could tell she was annoyed that I was resisting.

I shrugged. “I’ve been up since five. I got all my relaxing done already.” I’d gone for my run. Showered. Scrolled through every social media app on my phone.

There was nothing left for me to do but work.

“I know, but…” She shook her head in irritation. “One afternoon! The company can survive without you for one afternoon, I swear.”

She was right. The problem was, I couldn’t survive without work. I had figured this out thanks to the four therapy sessions I’d had after Angie and I first separated. She had blamed my career, and the hours I spent devoted to it, as the reason our relationship had stalled out, dried up.