"Of course you do."
Chapter Two
Gavin
"With all due respect, Mr. Gordon, you are talking out of your ass right now. Why don't we both agree to cut through the brochure babble and just speak to each other like men?"
My assistant chokes on a gulp of water to one side of me, but I don't bother to look over. Her drowning due to faulty drinking technique is not my concern right now. I have to deal with the lackluster stream of bullshit coming from the men lined up like a study in the detrimental effects of cheap suits. The suits alone were enough to turn me off from wanting to work with them. These men have more money among them than some small countries, yet they came to the meeting with me in clothes better suited for a new college graduate. Maybe not even that. Usually those men at least had their daddies buy them a nice suit before booting them out into the workforce.
It says a lot about them. Not that a person's wardrobe is the end-all-be-all in terms of defining their character. Arriving here in a poorly-fitting, cheap suit, however, tells me they didn't pay attention to detail. They were willing to cut corners and go for the bottom option while pinching their pennies and didn’t bother to have them fitted. No matter what the impression or final effect. Even more, they doubted my intelligence and integrity. They were arrogant enough to believe I would be so dazzled by their complicated speech and flashy portfolio that I wouldn't notice how they presented themselves.
They don't realize when I call someone into my conference room; I'm evaluating them as individuals even more than their presentation. This is a test drive of sorts, testing how they fit into my office and my team. So far, the men lined up along the side of the conference table have the energy of dominoes waiting to topple. Their eyes slide over to Mr. Gordon. His shoulders square off as he swallows hard. I can almost imagine the next ramble of buzzwords he'd caught up in his mouth and forced back down when I stopped him.
"Alright," he says. His voice has lost some of the booming quality he's been using since sitting down at the table.
"Good. Now, let's discuss the real reason you came here today."
Twenty minutes later, I've dismantled the deal they presented, and we've agreed to reconvene later when they had restructured their presentation. It's a courtesy more than anything. Most of the time, if I'm not impressed by an initial meeting, there isn't a second one. But I have my reasons for giving them a second chance. It doesn't go any further than that. If they don't come back prepared to change the way I see them and their visions for our companies working together, the next meeting won't be nearly as long.
"Did you seriously just tell Andrew Gordon he was talking out of his ass?" my assistant asks out of the corner of her mouth as we head back to my office.
"Yes."
She lets out in incredulous laugh and shakes her head.
“You know, only you could get away with that kind of ridiculousness.”
“Which is why I'm the one sitting at the head of the table, and they're not,” I point out.
“Do you realize how much those men are worth?”
I glanced up at Marla and scoff.
“Combined? About half what I am. But you don't seem to worry about the way you talk to me.”
"I know you too well to care," she points out.
"And they're accustomed to having their asses kissed because of their money. But their bank accounts don't matter. It's about the quality of the work and the vision, not the money. They came in here thinking they were going to be able to woo me with their SAT words and puffed up self-important presentation. What they actually gave me was nothing.”
I toss their files into the bottom drawer of my desk and slam it closed with a sigh. “That's it. I'm not going this weekend.”
“Yes, you are,” Marla frowns. “We've been through this.”
“I'm aware, but the situation is different now.”
“The situation isn't any different than it was the last time you tried to weasel out of going to Shadow Creek this weekend.”
“There's just too much going on here for me to leave for four days,” I protest. “Beck and Ruby will understand.”
“Like they understood that you punked out of going to their wedding? You've been promising them you were going to go for a visit for months now. You're not backing out this time. Besides, I can hold down the fort. The three hundred pages of instructions you printed out and put in the middle of my desk yesterday will make sure of that.”
There's a hint of bitterness in her voice, but that's not totally unexpected. Marla was the first person I hired when I started my company, and she probably knows its almost as well as I do. She can manage overseeing daily operations for the Friday and Monday I won't be at the office. But knowing she's capable of doing it, and actually being willing to leave the office for that long are two different things. There is no such thing as a day off in my world. Even when I'm not at the office, I'm on my phone or my computer.
"And if something happens that isn't in those notes?"
"Then everything will go to hell, and the company will crash and burn before you're able to get back from Shadow Creek."
"You sure know how to fill me with confidence," I mutter.
Marla lets out an exasperated sigh and tosses herself into the chair across the desk from me. She has her own office down the hallway from mine but vastly prefers my own corner spot. Last year her partner thought it would be funny to play an April Fool's joke and move Marla's desk into my office. We worked that way for the rest of the week. Stacey didn't find that nearly as funny as she hoped it would be.
"Gavin, listen to me. It is going to be fine. I can handle two days at the office without you. The projects are not going to go up in flames, and if they do, Shadow Creek is not all that far away. I'm sure you could swoop back in here and save the day before all is truly lost. You deserve a break. And if that doesn't work, you already committed. They are expecting you. There's probably a room set aside for you and Ruby already called to find out your favorite coffee flavor," Marla says.
"I guess I can't in good conscience leave coffee unaccounted for," I muse.
She smiles.
"That's the spirit. I promise, a few days without working isn't going to cause any irreparable harm. Besides, it's Halloween. How can you not have fun celebrating Halloween?"
"I'll be sure to take pictures."
"Get out of here," Marla orders. "Your plane is scheduled to leave in two hours, and I know you're not packed yet."
"I'll have my phone and computer with me. Check in with me daily, and if anything changes, get in touch with me immediately."
She gives a sarcastic salute, and I get my briefcase, heading out of the gradually emptying office into the late October evening. My car has already pulled up in front of the building, meaning Marla contacted him as soon as I stepped out of the office. She is eager to get me on this trip. Either because she honestly thinks some time away will be good for me, or she is tired of coming up with ways to turn down invitations for me. Possibly a little of both.
I wish I could say I'm surprised when the car pulls up to my house, and Eva is perched on my porch. She's posed in a way that supposed to look casual but sexy and comes across as awkward. I wonder how long she's maintained that particular posture waiting for me to get home.
"What are you doing, Eva?" I ask, getting out of the car and reaching in for my briefcase. "Daryl, I'll be back out shortly."
My driver gives a nod and reaches into the glove compartment for a paperback. He always has at least one book about his person, and despite the tablet I gifted him last Christmas, none are digital. At any moment, he can whip one out and bury himself in whatever fictional world he's chosen that day. Today it seems he's tagging along with a spy trying to prevent a national disaster.
Just something light and fun for the evening.
"What kind of way is that to greet me, Gavin?" Eva asks, standing with a pronounced flounce.
A sweater spread out under her protects
her from the horrors of sitting directly onto the brick of my porch. It would do better to cover the cleavage tumbling out of her tight shirt. The low cut is about to give way and expose a nipple to the crisp air.
"The kind of way someone greets a person who shouldn't be at their house. I have a gate for a reason," I say tersely.
"Sam is such a doll. When I explained why I'm here, he just let me right through."
My security guard is going to need a quick review on the purpose of a gate and cameras.
"What is the big emergency, Eva? Talk fast, please, I have somewhere to be."
I climb the steps beside her and unlock my front door.
"A date?" she asks in a voice that vacillates somewhere between slimy and whiny.
My housekeeper cuts her eyes at Eva as she takes my coat.
"That's not really a question you get to ask anymore, is it? We broke up a month ago."
"Which I still don't agree with," she calls after me, following me up the stairs toward my bedroom.
"You don't really have that option." I face her with a frustrated exhale. "What are you doing here?"
"I left something," she says.
"What? I'm fairly certain we settled everything when we broke up," I frown. Loosening my tie, I make my way to the walk-in closet to get my luggage. "In fact, I distinctly remember sending all your belongings back to your house the next day."
"Not my favorite t-shirt," she tells me.
"Your favorite t-shirt?" I ask.
She nods.
"You know, the really soft one with the cute little logo on the front?"
Her voice has gotten softer and taken on the slick, too-sweet tone I know all too well. It's the tone she uses when she wants something and is hoping to use her appeal to get it. It usually works for her. She's beautiful. That's not a debate or even a compliment, just a basic observation. Doe eyes and blonde hair make her look sweet and delicate, and countless people have fallen under her spell. Me included.
But I see past it now.
"You mean my fire department shirt?" I ask.
She nods, appearing at the door to the closet and leaning her head against it. Her long lashes flutter at me.
"I love that shirt," she says. "Don't you remember when I used to wear it while I made you breakfast?"
Pushing away from the doorframe, she walks up to me and runs her hand down my chest. I catch it by the wrist before it ventures beyond my belt.
"If by making me breakfast, you mean putting the food Olivia made on a tray and carrying it upstairs," I roll my eyes. "You need to go now."
"What about my shirt? I've had such a hard time sleeping without it."
"You mean my shirt. You wore it once. We're done here, Eva. I need to get ready to leave."
"I can help you. Where are you going?" She bounces past me into the closet and runs her hands along the clothes hanging there. "What suit will you need? Is this a black suit situation, or would the navy be better?"
"I don't need your help."
Taking the clothes I already chose, I bring them to the bed and start tucking them into my luggage.
"Come on, Gavin," Eva pouts, coming up beside me and running her hand along my back. "This is silly. You made your point this month. I get it. I was a bad girl. Why don't we just say I'm reformed, and you can give me a fresh start?"
Her hands slide around my waist, but I stop her.
"Listen to me, Eva. I'm done. I've been done. We're not going to have a fresh start. We're not going to have anything. If you really are reformed, congratulations. I'm sure there is a man out there who would be happy to test the theory. It won't be me."
With my clothes packed, I turn my attention to the toiletries from my bathroom. Eva continues to pout as I usher her out of the bedroom and down the stairs. She's still angling for my shirt, but I've blocked her out. Eventually it will sink in that our relationship is over. In truth, there wasn't much of it left even before it ended. Eva is the type of woman used to getting everything she wants. She can't imagine I'm actually not taking her back.
I make sure she gets in her car and drives out ahead of my car. A long breath escapes my lungs when she finally disappears down the road.
Maybe Marla's right. A break from here might be good for me.
Chapter Three
Scarlett
“Great holy gumball!”
Sylvia flings herself forward away from the grasp of the creature wearing a burlap mask and clothes that are more stage blood than fabric. He sinks backwards into the cornstalks, knowing I've already seen him, so there's no point in trying to come after me. Laughing, I follow Sylvia. By the time I turn the next bend in the maze, she's pressed herself against her brother Jackson's back and is seeking protection and solace in his red flannel shirt. Plaid solves everything.
"They can't touch you, Sylvia," I offer.
"I'm aware." Her voice is muffled in the shirt, and Jackson is now dragging her along like a sled dog. "I just have a highly developed instinct for self-preservation."
The corn beside us rustles. A clear indication her instincts are about to go into overdrive. I want to turn to look but make myself stay focused ahead. The haunt actors are less likely to come for you if they know you're looking at them. It takes away the element of surprise. That might be what Sylvia is hoping for, but I'm here for the startle. There's nothing quite like that little spike of adrenaline that comes in between the moment my brain thinks a gory death is imminent and the one when it processes all the rubber and plastic. It makes for a night of screaming jumps quickly followed by dissolving in laughter, and I wait all year for it.
Every year Sylvia says this is going to be her year. She's going to throw herself into the festivities and enjoy the rush of the fear. I have to commend her. This year she actually made it through the first house before her fingernails ended up latched into any of us. It was the middle of the second house when a girl dressed as a broken doll dropped down out of the ceiling in front of her and offered a sip of her moldy bottle that pushed Sylvia right over the edge. But she's been a trooper. Insisting on seeing all the attractions, she's been locked in a vicious cycle of being lulled into complacency and then having the living hell scared out of her.
Fortunately for her, this is the last of the attractions for the night. We've already been through all the houses and ridden the new haunted hayride, but purposely saved the new haunted corn maze for last. This year the owner of the attractions spread further out into the farmland at the edge of Shadow Creek to create a bigger, more immersive experience. The back of the maze butts up against the wide swath of land surrounding the town owned by the Ferris family. As we wind our way through the rows of corn, it brings us further and further from the rest of the festivities. The distance creates darker shadows and an eerie quiet, elevating the feeling of anxiety creeping along the back of my neck.
But I love it. It’s finally Halloween.
I get a few steps past the rippling corn and a large figure in a costume that looks like a spider that has been partially dissolved by acid scrambles across the path in front of me. Sylvia doesn’t even see it, but the sound it makes inspires a squeal that doesn't stop until we run through the final gauntlet of weapon-wielding monsters and out of the maze. Peeling her away from Jackson, I turn her around and look into her face.
"Sylvia," I say. "Sylvia, it's over. You made it through."
The high-pitched sound stops, and her eyes pop open, flickering back and forth to confirm I'm not lying to her. I grin encouragingly.
"We're out," she says.
I laugh. "Yes, we are. You showed all those fake monsters who's boss."
She nods.
"I didn't. But thank you. I need a drink."
Jackson tosses his arm around her shoulders.
"I happen to know a place," he tells her.
"Is that place Mom's house?" she asks.
"She made some apple cider today, and if Dad didn't find them, there are some caramel cookies in the top cabinet
. I hid them."
Sylvia nods at her older brother.
"You're on." She turns to me. "Want to come?"
"Don't you think you should call her first?" asks Betsy, who just moved to Shadow Creek and works with Sylvia, from the other side of them. "It's pretty late."
"I live in the guest cottage behind their house. I sneak in there all the time," Jackson tells her.
Betsy laughs.
"You are the only person I've ever met who sneaks into his parents' house."
"They wouldn't care anyway. If she hears them, their mom will come down in her housecoat, scolding them for coming in so late, while she makes them cider and warms up their cookies. Then their dad will come down and set up the Monopoly game, and they'll play most of the night."
Betsy nods. "Wow. So, what you're telling me is Sylvia and Jackson live in an Ovaltine commercial," she says, flashing a teasing look toward Jackson. "Where do I sign up?"
He smiles at her, and I think I see a bit of a spark between them.
"Betsy, you should absolutely go. Mama Bevins makes the best apple cider, and her caramel cookies are the threat to keeping thighs under control everywhere. I'm actually going to stay here for a while longer."
"You are?" Sylvia asks.
"Yeah. The corn maze says it's a different experience every time. I want to test that. I'll just swing through another couple times and see if they can surprise me." I look at Sylvia and widen my eyes slightly, hoping she'll catch my message. "Sylvia, why don't you stay with me? You can see how much farther you can get without closing your eyes this time."
"Fuck no," Sylvia snaps. "Did you see that dude with the burlap? That's a whole lot of nope right there. I'm going home for some cider and a Golden Girls marathon."
Nicely done.
"Okay. Well…" I start backing toward the maze. "I guess I'll talk to you guys later."
Any second now, Sylvia is going to catch on. She's going to see how Betsy and Jackson are looking at each other and know they'd rather be sipping their cider without her fuzzy blanket and Blanche, Rose, and Dorothy around for the fun.
Baby and the Billionaire Page 2
