Free Run: A Novel by Andrew Grant Page B

deputy. Then the IT department’s helpdesk number. And finally, the switchboard. I got no answer from any of them. Surely the whole company couldn’t have been told to blackball me? Then another explanation popped into my head. The clock had crept past noon. The bandwidth auction would be over. AmeriTel might have sunk without a trace.
    I opened the browser on my phone and searched for news. There were plenty of stories about AmeriTel on the business pages. But they weren’t reporting a disaster for the company. They were shouting about a triumph. AmeriTel had trounced its competitors—its bigger, richer, better-connected competitors—and walked away with the plum allocations in four of the five major auction categories.
    The news was nothing short of miraculous. To do well in one category would have been a coup. But in four? The stress had been etched into LeBrock’s face yesterday. He’d obviously been pouring his lifeblood into AmeriTel’s bid. At the time I’d thought he was showing the defiance of a dead man walking. But now it looked less like honest exhaustion and more like he’d sold his soul.
    The news also explained why no one was answering the phone. They’d be too busy celebrating. The people who, till yesterday, I’d been working alongside. Who now had a rich future. People I should have been happy for. And if I’d still been there, raising a glass with them, I would have been happy. But instead, all I could think of was LeBrock’s parting shot.
We don’t want you anymore
. He was setting sail for the promised land with all his buddies, but there was no room on board for me.
    And what about Carolyn? There was room for my wife. She’d be at AmeriTel now, caught up in the collective euphoria of cheating the corporate hangman. Dodging the noose and hitting the jackpot instead.I wondered who she was with. Who was getting her drinks. Refilling her glass. Watching, as her gorgeous eyes lost a little of their sharpness. Wondering, as her sweet laugh gained an extra few degrees of warmth.
    It should have been me she was with. But my wife had turned her back on me for the sake of an errand she’d been sent to run. For a few gigabytes of surplus data. Which I’d lost, anyway. How would things have played out if I’d given in to her demands? Would we be together now, somewhere fancy, all black tie and cut crystal? Tangled up in the sheets of a five-star hotel, the way we’d toasted her last few promotions? Or hopping on a plane to Europe, as we’d done after my first product had sold?
    Maybe we’d have been together. But maybe not. Carolyn would have gone to LeBrock, anyway, to hand over his prize like a well-trained errand girl. And would she have come back to me again? I was beginning to wonder. The way she’d reacted yesterday, I was beginning to suspect I’d only seen the tip of the iceberg. And I’d been so certain our marriage was solid, too. Bombproof, in fact. I’d have sworn the needle was firmly in the green. But now? I wouldn’t even have put money on amber.
    I slipped my phone back in my pocket. My appetite for news had dried up. I needed something to distract myself. For a crazy moment the thought of more tequila crossed my mind. Carolyn would be drinking. She’d probably be three sheets to the wind by now. I could join her in spirit, if not in body. And I knew there was another bottle of Patrón in the cupboard. I remembered seeing it last night. Still in its fancy presentation box. I’d actually flirted with the idea of opening it, when the first one had run dry.
    I made it as far as the dining room doorway before sanity prevailed. I paused, still tempted, then returned to the study to look for the spare keys for the Jaguar. A bit of distance between me and the house would be good. And if I could get into town, I’d have access to the one thing that life has shown me to be the equal of alcohol when it comes to providing consolation.
    Pizza.
    Plus, my hangover had finally passed,