2
Oliver
Oliver was eating a chocolate croissant at La Belle Étoile, Kip’s go-to breakfast place for clients. Waiters in crisp vests wove by him, delivering trays of Colombian coffee with ceramic creamers. Shunning pancakes and bagels, the menu offered crepes, tartines, and twelve-dollar pots of organic loose-leaf tea.
He wore a pair of black-rimmed glasses that pinched his nose. No contacts today. No three-piece suit or loafers. This client called for a different kind of costume: a slim-fit T-shirt and jeans. Evan was practically a boy, a college dropout. He was only a few years younger than Oliver, but he’d already launched a digital music start-up with millions in venture capital backing.
‘Your company is the future,’ Oliver heard himself say. It came out flat. The exaggeration was
