Finding Cupid (Almost a Billionaire Book 2)

by Bridget E. Baker

  I shower quickly and blow-dry my hair, swiping on some mascara just as I need to leave. I knock on Trig’s door quietly, unwilling to wake him up if he’s sleeping. After all, it’s not as if his jet will leave without him.

  I may also be a little nervous, knowing Trig slept just behind this door last night.

  He opens the door seconds after my knock, his hair still mussed, his bed sheets rumpled behind him, but at least he’s already dressed. I pretend I’m not disappointed.

  I reach up without thinking and smooth his hair back. “Long night?”

  “Short.” He captures my hand and brings it to his mouth for a kiss. “Too short, but you look amazing anyway.”

  I roll my eyes. “If you like bloodshot eyes and hardly any makeup.”

  “You don’t need it, clearly.”

  Says the guy who doesn’t realize I’m wearing eye shadow and mascara already. “It was your brilliant idea to head out so early. You have your own jet you know, so we could be leaving at noon.”

  He whispers the next words, tugging me closer with the hand he never released. “I can call my pilot right now and tell him to bump our time back.”

  I’m tempted, actually, especially looking at that messy bed. “I doubt we’d get any more sleep.”

  “No,” he agrees in a husky voice. “We probably wouldn’t.”

  The guilt about sending a pilot who’s probably already at the hangar, and Ivy the flight attendant back to wait on us would eat at me. I shake my head. “You have a meeting set up already, right? And I have at least two resorts to talk to and tour, and a botanical garden. I’d love an extra day to see them.”

  He exhales and bobs his head. “Fine, fine, you’re right of course.” He ducks back in his room, presumably to grab his bags.

  “How’d the meeting go?” I ask, casting around for anything to make my wait here in the doorway less awkward. I don’t dare step inside, or I might tell him to delay that flight. “You’re about to fund another venture?”

  “Probably not the one I met with yesterday,” he says. “It’s not a numbers thing. Those add up, but I got a weird vibe from the lead. He’s a little too eager, honestly.”

  “Aren’t they all excited to meet with you? You’re their golden ticket to make something out of their business, right?”

  “Sure,” he says, “I guess, but this guy seemed desperate.”

  “He could be dealing with a bad divorce, or have a special needs kid, or suffer from insomnia. Or a hundred other things, but maybe his idea’s solid and his company still a good bet.”

  Trig shrugs. “Maybe. Just like you, Brekka’s going to press for more than a hunch to make this decision, but I’ve got some people digging deeper into his background already. You’d be surprised how often I turn up something we missed on the first pass. I never ignore my intuition, but until we find more details one way or another, we don’t move.”

  I think about the poor eager guy. I feel bad for him, but Trig’s probably right to hold off. After all, numbers only get you so far. The rest is about people.

  “That’s smart. Sometimes I have to make guesses about caterers and other vendors. My very first large solo job, I took a chance on a new baker who came highly recommended by a friend. He made my skin crawl, but he was cheap and had good samples. As a newbie, I figured my feelings didn’t matter and my clients would appreciate the price break.”

  “And?” Trig asks.

  “He took the deposit and never delivered the cake. It was a disaster. I ended up serving donut towers and grocery store cupcakes at the kid’s fifth birthday party.”

  “I bet the kids liked it.” Trig raises one eyebrow. “But a kid’s birthday party was a significant event?”

  “For this particular child, yes. His parents owned the largest privately owned shuttle company in Miami,” I say.

  He frowns. “When were you in Miami?”

  “After college, I took a job for the biggest event planning firm in Florida. I wanted to live somewhere other than home and see the world. Mark and Rob were stationed at United States Southern Command, so it was the obvious choice.”

  There’s no traffic to speak of this early in the morning, even in San Francisco, and my mention of the dead fiancé effectively kills the conversation, so the rest of the ride to the airport is pretty uneventful. Luckily, it’s not a long drive. Of course, the M6 might have something to do with that.

  “This is a pretty reserved car for you,” I say. “Compared to the Aston Martin, that is.”

  He shrugs. “Well, I try to avoid San Francisco whenever possible.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “My mom lives here almost half the year.”

  “Oh?”

  “When I come into town, she tends to pounce on me. In fact, I saw her last night.”

  My eyes widen. “And how did that go?”

  He grimaces. “About like it always does. She asked my opinions on things and when I gave them, she told me how stupid they were.”

  “I’m sure she’s proud of you,” I say. “What mother wouldn’t be?”

  His eyes stay trained on the road. “She’s not the kind of person to be proud. My dad thinks I’m amazing and always has, but my mom thinks that telling me I did well at something won’t motivate me to try harder. Which means she never praises me, no matter what I accomplish. It took about six months of therapy to get that worked out and then I quit. The therapist was almost as bad as my mother.”

  “I’m sorry.” I have no idea what else to say. That couldn’t be further from my own mother, who was always proud of everything, including the time I drank a gallon of milk in twenty seconds. Never mind that I spent the next twenty minutes puking it back up.

  “How did your meetings go yesterday?” Trig asks.

  I beam at him. “Kind of perfect. Thanks for the Kabuki spa recommendation. It’s amazing and Mary jumped after she saw some photos. We’ve got the bachelorette party booked, a girls trip to San Francisco.”

  He reaches over to take my hand. “Are you going on that trip? Because I could tag along, you know.”

  I let go of his hand to swat his arm. “No boys on a bachelorette trip, plus you’ll be troubleshooting the bachelor party for me, right?” I slide my hand down his arm and place my fingers back over his. “I’ll probably be here in San Francisco since this one’s out of town. I can handle most details for the Bachelor party before I leave, thanks to all your help.”

  “Happy to do it.” His words proclaim he’s happy, but he seems closed off to me today. I wonder whether it has to do with his mom. I almost wish I’d met her, which is crazy since I’ve known Trig for a week.

  A week? It feels like so much longer. I shake my head and force myself to pay attention to the skyline, which is breathtaking.

  On this flight, Trig sets up the chess board without even asking me. He beats me again, but I notice he takes a long time between each move.

  “How about a timed game?” I ask.

  He frowns. “Why?”

  I try not to show my hand. “No reason. Just to change things up.”

  “Sure,” he says. “Why not?”

  Once we’re on a timer, I beat him three times in a row.

  He swears after the third time. “How are you so good at chess?”

  “I might have been a child chess prodigy.”

  “Are you serious?”

  I shrug.

  He whistles. “I should’ve known. I think hearing you were a cheerleader threw me off. But you’re always looking for ways to mitigate risk. I might have a good position for you at Nometry if you ever decide you’re sick of planning events.”

  “Might?”

  “Well.” He leans toward me and places one hand next to my thigh. “It would be harder to do this if you’re working for me, but easier if you lived closer. So it’s a tradeoff.” He leans over and kisses my cheek. And then he kisses the spot between my cheek and ear. And then my temple. My forehead. My nose. And finally, when I’m ready
to scream, his mouth closes on my lips.

  We should have delayed this flight.

  As it is, I’m far too aware that Ivy might walk back in here any minute. After a few moments of no thinking at all, I slide away and press one hand to his chest. “Have you done your reading for tomorrow’s meeting?”

  He blinks several times. “Excuse me?”

  I laugh. “I don’t really plan to join the mile high club today, and we’re headed that way.”

  He yanks back like I’ve scorched him. “No, that wasn’t—I’m not—”

  I place a hand against his cheek and almost pull him back down toward me. “I like you a lot, Trig. Maybe too much. I haven’t liked anyone since—” I think about how any mention of Mark seems to shut him up. “Well, in a long time. A very long time.”

  He gulps. “I get it. It’s a lot to process. We’ve been in three states in a week, and we’re headed for an island in the middle of the Pacific. I’ll go do my reading.” He presses a kiss to my hand and shifts back into his seat.

  But I catch him looking at me almost every time I look up. And I look up a lot. Too often.

  By the time the flight finally lands, I’ve finished my novel.

  “Who did it?” Trig asks me.

  “Huh?”

  “In your crime novel. Who killed him?”

  I glance at the title. Widowmaker’s Justice.

  “The groomer,” I say. “Over a poodle.”

  He shakes his head. “You like those?”

  I shrug. “I like trying to work out the ending. It’s a puzzle.”

  “The real world is infinitely harder,” he says. “Books limit what information you have, so the answer is obvious.”

  I shake my head. “They throw in red herrings, too. At least in real life you’ve got the ability to pursue any lead, and to see and evaluate people yourself. With a story, you’re in a partnership with the author, and you’re trying to outwit them.”

  He laughs. “Reading’s just another chess game to you.”

  “I struggle to find partners, so I guess it is something like that.”

  “I didn’t peg you for a crime novel aficionado, but that makes sense.”

  “I love all books, but I figured you’d mock me less for that than for this.” I slide a paranormal shifter romance out of my bag.

  He snags it and reads the title, his eyebrows sliding up to his hairline. “Breaking the Horse Lord? Really?”

  I snatch it back. “It’s a really good series, actually. There’s this witch’s curse that—”

  He’s laughing at me silently, his chest shaking.

  “You know what?” I ask. “Shut up. It’s better than your boring reports.”

  “Nope,” he says. “I’m basically searching for buried treasure. Or, you know, the modern day equivalent.”

  I roll my eyes. “You don’t get to make fun of my choices for free time. These make me happy.”

  His eyes soften. “Then I won’t make fun of them again.” He makes an x shape over his chest with his index finger. “I promise.”

  “That’s better,” I say. “If you’re really good, I might even let you read it. It’s an advance copy. I’m friends with the author, or I’d have to wait until April first to read it.”

  “Oh?” he asks. “You don’t say?”

  “She’s this awesome lady with five kids who’s a lawyer and kick boxes and writes. Even you’d like her.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Just that you’re a little judgmental, but she’d pass muster with you I think.” I grab my bag, but Trig takes it from me.

  “I’ve got this.”

  I don’t argue. I kind of like watching his biceps bulge as he carries my bag and his.

  “Another Land Rover?” I ask when we reach the car.

  He shrugs. “I like having cars I don’t need to think too much about driving. This was a good fit for beach crawling and whatnot.”

  Makes sense, and as I climb into the Range Rover, I can’t even fault him. It may not be as fast as the sports cars, but it’s at least as luxurious. “So what time is your meeting?”

  “They’re coming to my place at five,” he says. “I figured we’d head that way now. There are plenty of things to do and see on the way.”

  “Wait,” I say. “Your place? You didn’t say anything about staying at your place. In fact, I distinctly recall you said we’d use your miles.”

  “We did in San Fran, but I own a house here.”

  Of course he does. And there’s no built in chaperone this time.

  “I hope that’s okay,” he says. “I figured you’ll be able to relax while I go over the nitty gritty with the lead before tomorrow’s barrage of meetings.”

  “What are you evaluating?” I ask.

  “Surfboard tech. It’s supposed to revolutionize the stability of the board.”

  “Wait.” My eyebrows draw together. “Tomorrows barrage of meetings?”

  His sideways smile tugs at my heart. “A few of them might be out in the ocean.”

  “You’re surfing tomorrow?” I ask.

  “You’re welcome to come. I feel obligated to test out the tech myself.”

  “I bet you do,” I say. “Speaking of. I’ve been meaning to ask why do you do all the crazy stuff you do. Don’t you worry about getting injured?”

  Or dying? I wonder whether Trig’s antics make Brekka nervous.

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “You know, all the skydiving, cliff jumping, extreme skiing, motocross and NASCAR. Aren’t you worried you’ll break a leg, or worse, your skull?”

  “How do you know about any of that?” he asks. “We haven’t talked about it.”

  Uh. Crap. “I might have googled you.”

  He laughs. “Why would you do that?”

  I turn toward the window where we’re hugging the coast as we head north. I can see people surfing right now. “I might have missed seeing your face after I told you not to call me again.”

  I expect him to gloat. Or maybe to tease me. I brace myself, preparing for what I deserve.

  He reaches over and sets his hand on my knee. “I miss your face when you’re gone too.”

  My heart eases, which makes me more desperate to know the answer. “You never answered. Why do you do it?”

  He pats my knee. “Do what?”

  “Why risk your life all the time?”

  “Look at me, Geode.”

  I turn and meet his eye briefly before he glances back at the road. “What?”

  “Why do you care?” He turns to face me again. His eyes bore into mine and I’m exposed.

  My broken pieces and parts are all on display. He’ll realize how shattered I am, I know it. “I care.”

  He smiles. “I’m glad you care. And I don’t know how to explain it.” He turns back to the road. “I didn’t used to do any of it. Brekka was the force of nature, the one who couldn’t be contained. She was always the one who risked everything, but feared nothing. But then.” He swallows hard. “She broke her back, and she couldn’t do anything. I felt so guilty.”

  His voice drops and his hands grip the steering wheel at ten and two. “It was my fault. The car that night. I was driving.”

  “It’s not your fault she’s paralyzed,” I say. “I know it’s not.”

  He shakes his head. “It is.”

  “Were you drunk?”

  He gasps. “No, of course not.”

  “Then I’m sure it was an accident.”

  His lips compress into a line.

  “I can ask Brekka if you’d prefer,” I threaten, not really meaning it.

  “I was on my phone,” he says. “I was negotiating the details of a deal Brekka had found. If I hadn’t been distracted, I’d have seen the semi crossing the midline. She’d still be fine.”

  “No,” I say. “That’s not your fault. I already told you. We make decisions, we do our best. I bet you don’t talk on the phone while driving anymore.”

&n
bsp; “Never,” he says. “But it’s too late.”

  “She was a risk taker, huh?” I think about Brekka’s delicate bone structure, her tiny frame. I don’t see it.

  His eyes light up. “Brekka was…” He pauses. “I don’t know how to explain it. Have you seen footage of wild mustangs?”

  I nod.

  “Or maybe dolphins spinning through the air in the open ocean? Or an eagle diving? She was like all of those things and more, because in addition to that complete ease of motion, she also possessed an intelligence that as far as I can tell is unrivaled.”

  His admiration for his sister almost makes me jealous. Which is nuts. “She was smart and graceful. Got it.”

  He shakes his head. “It was more than that, especially on the slopes. The first time she skied, she was three years old, and Mom told me I had to watch her. I was ticked off, actually. But then I watched her on her first run, and it was like she’d been missing an extension of her body for years. I don’t think I ever saw her fall. She had complete body control. Watching her was like what I imagine it would have been to watch Van Gogh paint. Did you know he did many of his later paintings in an hour or less? Before he lost the light on location. Brekka was like that. Like she knew her mobility had an expiration date, so she pressed everything to the limit.”

  “Why does that perfection mean you have to skydive? What am I missing?” My heart goes to my throat, thinking of Trig breaking his neck, or worse, his head. I think about the images the Marines finally released of Mark and shudder.

  “I promised her,” he says simply. “At first after the accident, I stuck to her side like glue, but one day she begged me to do what she couldn’t. I vowed I would, every single thing she would have done if she could. I’ve done it all ever since.”

  His eyes plead with me to get it. He was truly understanding about my mom and I know I should try to cut him some slack on this stuff. I get his reasoning, I really do. I can relate to the desire to do anything you can to atone for a mistake you feel you made. I’ve even felt obligated to someone who suffered for me.

  But knowing he’s never going to stop flinging himself out of airplanes and driving across the ridge of mountains on a dirt bike?