Finding Cupid (Almost a Billionaire Book 2)

by Bridget E. Baker

  When he doesn’t reply right away, I want to curl up in a fetal ball and die. What if he’s on a date? What if thinks he dodged a bullet?

  I force myself up off the floor. It’s only six p.m. I will not sit around staring at my phone. I put on my workout leggings and the jacket I haven’t worn in ten days and plug my phone into the wall. I probably shouldn’t go on a run in the early evening without my phone, but I have to get away from it. Leaving it feels safer than running with it.

  I run nearly seven miles, which might have been too ambitious on my recently sprained knee. I’m hobbling toward the park exit when I see the cutest yellow lab bounding along in front of a familiar face.

  Paul Manning.

  I barely know the guy, but pride’s a funny thing. I force myself to jog instead of walking, and secretly hope he doesn’t recognize me. I do not feel like making small talk.

  “I’ve been jogging at night for nearly a week, and I finally catch you!”

  So much for being passed without him noticing me. Sometimes I really hate my face.

  “Paul.” I force a smile. “You haven’t been running every evening.”

  His dog doesn’t bark, but if tails could wag right off, its tail would. I crouch down, ignoring the complaint from my knee, and pet his head. He licks my face, which I don’t love. But he has a pretty face and soft fur.

  “If Trig can stalk you from fifteen states away,” Paul says, “I can certainly run a little later.”

  I snort. “Trig’s not stalking me. He isn’t even talking to me right now.”

  Paul frowns. “You’re kidding.”

  “It’s complicated I guess, but I think it’s safe to say that we broke up.”

  His eyebrows rise. “So you were together? Because last week I thought I witnessed him asking you on your first date.”

  “Trig moves fast, I guess.”

  Paul shakes his head. “Molasses moves faster than Trig. Tortoises do. Snails race past him. I’ve known him a long time, and I’ve never even heard him call anyone his girlfriend. The fact that you needed to breakup is notable.”

  Tears threaten and I take a huge gulping breath.

  “Are you okay?”

  “It’s just my knee. You haven’t seen me out running because I sprained my knee last weekend skiing up in Vail. I might have run a little further than I should have.”

  “I parked not far from here. Need a ride?” he asks.

  “Nah, my condo’s around the corner. It’s probably closer than your car.”

  “I’m happy to help you over to it, in the least creepy way I could possibly say that. I swear I’m not hitting on you, at least not when Trig’s not around. I couldn’t help myself earlier, and I’m sorry. He and I have a stupid rivalry neither of us can quite let go.”

  “He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to be competitive,” I joke.

  Paul chuckles. “I suppose when he and Luke hit it off, I was a little jealous.”

  “I could see that.”

  “Well, if you won’t accept my assistance, I’ll at least stop delaying you. Let’s get together for that lunch though. I promise not to hit on you, or press you for info either. And bring the list of names. I probably know the dirt on most of Luke’s half of the guest list. Maybe it’ll help you with seating arrangements.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I really appreciate it.”

  I hobble the last hundred yards to my condo and ignore my phone on my way to the shower.

  Only after I’m clean do I check the screen. He’s replied to my question about whether he enrolled my mom, but not in a satisfying way.

  NO.

  That’s it. Nothing else. No, “Did she get in?” or, “Why do you ask?” or “Have a good life.” Not even a “How could you leave me like that, you tramp?” Just no.

  Nothing else.

  I type in the words, I MISS YOU. I LOVE YOU. Then I delete them.

  Four times.

  I flop back on my bed. I can’t cry anymore, not when it’s my fault I’m in this mess. He proposed. He bought me a ring. I flipped out on him when I saw some papers that he hadn’t even given me himself, and then I took the slightest provocation to run, far far away. Like a bratty baby.

  When Mark died, I would have given anything to get him back. Now Trig’s alive, probably baffled as heck by me, and I can’t bring myself to apologize and tell him I miss him. What is wrong with me?

  Is it because he’s such a risk? What if he keeps performing idiotic stunts and he dies too? I don’t share his belief that God will shelter me from hard things. But at the end of the day, his stunts make me nervous, but he’s made it this far so clearly he’s pretty coordinated. And he’s never made me do anything I don’t want to. I chose to ski with him. And before I hurt my knee, I had fun. Quite a lot of fun, actually.

  Am I afraid his interest in me won’t stick? Am I worried about the prenup? Does my fear over that outweigh what I feel for him?

  No. Which is why I said yes when he proposed.

  So why did I freak out?

  I set my phone on my nightstand and the photo there catches my eye. Mark. I pick it up. I used to feel a sharp pain like being burned and stabbed simultaneously with a hot poker every time I saw his face. Missing him was a constant ache, a hitch in my side, a silent agony I had to push past every day to swing my feet out of bed. To brush my teeth. To call clients. To check out venues.

  I made up wild excuses and drove ten miles out of the way to avoid every location I had considered for our wedding.

  Now I look at the photo with a sort of dreamy fondness, the pain softened with time. I miss Mark, my first love, my protector who adored me and made me feel safe.

  But I’m not gutted when I think back on Mark anymore. Because I love someone else now. Maybe I feel guilty about that, but I think that’s only part of it.

  Loving and losing Mark turned me into a coward.

  The more time I spend with Trig, the more I’ll love him. Which means the more it will hurt when he gets Alzheimer’s. Or his chute doesn’t open. Or he dies from cancer. Maybe that’s why I never told him I loved him back. Everyone dies at some point. And the more people you love, the more people you lose, and the more pain you feel.

  I can’t live this way. I stand up and look in the mirror. I stare myself down. “You will tell him you love him.”

  I pick up my phone and text him back. I can’t bring myself to say anything else, so I keep it short.

  I LOVE YOU.

  The text goes through and I have a sudden impulse to run another eight miles. Or drink a bottle of vodka and pass out. Or bang my head against the wall.

  Because he still hasn’t replied.

  I check my phone to see how long it’s been since I sent it. How long has this painful, awful silence stretched?

  Two minutes.

  It feels like a week.

  I want to text Brekka. I have to delete her number and our text chain to keep from doing it.

  I stare at my phone like a dog watching the door for its master’s return for almost an hour. When it finally rings I drop it on the floor. I pick it up with shaking hands and look at the screen.

  It’s Mary. I swear and answer.

  “Thanks for the stuff you sent over,” she says. “Normally I wouldn’t bother you on a Sunday, but since you sent it over today I figured you might not mind.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “I’ve been thinking about the bachelor/bachelorette parties. I was planning to have you come with us to San Francisco, but since Paisley’s coming, maybe you should be on hand for the bachelor party, in case anything goes wrong? What do you think?”

  Spend the weekend with Trig after he’s completely ignored my declaration? I’d rather swallow a bucket of nails. Acid dipped nails.

  “I love Paisley, you know I do, but while she’s great with lists, she’s not level headed when something goes wrong. If the spa messes something up, I’d rather be there to handle it. Plus, I have the advantage of being the o
ne they promised the moon to, which helps. Besides, I’ll be here this week to check and double check details for the guys.”

  She exhales. “I’m so glad we hired you. That makes perfect sense. Thank you.”

  “Did you have a chance to look at the information I sent on the botanical garden in Kauai?” I ask.

  “I did, and it looks heavenly. I think we need to talk to our guests and find out who would could make it to Hawaii. Once we’ve run that down, I’ll give you our final decision and we can prepare invitations. I love the pressed linen samples you sent. How long do we have to decide?”

  I feel bad putting Ethan off, but he said he’d book the weekend now and hold it until the day before without a deposit. “I think I can put him off for another two or three weeks. I knew the owner back in college, so I’ve got a little latitude.”

  “You’re a miracle worker,” Mary says.

  My phone dings in my ear, which means there’s a text.

  “Well, if that’s everything?” I say, “I’ve got a conference call to hop on.”

  “On a Sunday night?” Mary asks. “And I thought I worked hard. I won’t keep you, but Amy said she misses you. She offered to make fish sticks again if you were coming over this week, but I told her you might not want the same thing every time you come. One of her teachers at preschool told her fish is good for your arteries, and she’s obsessed with them it, but the only kind she likes are the fish sticks.” Mary groans. “I’ve never been more sick of anything in my life. I actually miss the Fruit Loops.”

  Mary’s such a good mom. She reminds me of my own.

  When she hangs up, I close my eyes. I hold the phone to my heart and take a deep breath in and out, and then I force myself to look.

  I LOVE YOU TOO, MORE THAN YOU KNOW. BUT I NEED A LITTLE TIME.

  I wasn’t quite out of tears after all.

  22

  Trig

  DID YOU ENROLL MY MOM IN THE PHINEAS TRIAL?

  When the text comes through, my heart stops dead. I can’t breathe. Geo’s messaging me. She walked out without a backwards glance, and I’ve been working on fixing my mistake for days without any idea whether she would even see me again.

  I want to tell her yes. Yes, I contacted the trial and I donated two million dollars to their research and they agreed to extend the date of entry for her mother. But I can’t bring myself to do it. She needs to believe that she didn’t fail her mom. This needs to be her save, not mine. That clinical trial is her Hawaiian beach house. It’s the reason she’s planning a wedding for the first time in four years.

  Geo beats herself up about enough things that aren’t her fault. Besides, all I did was turn back the clock on one thing in her life and set it right. I had the ability to do it, so I took action. I wish I could mitigate the entry fee for her, but she’s too smart. She’ll be suspicious enough as it is.

  NO, WHY DO YOU ASK? I type, my finger hovering over the send button. I desperately want her to respond to me. I’m craving interaction with her. I’ve been desperate for it for days. Maybe if I handle this right, she’ll even invite me over.

  I’d call my pilot and fly out immediately. And then she’d yell at me about the prenup again. Or I’d blurt out that I love her and she’d look at me in shock or disdain or pity, and I’ll die inside a little more. I breathe in and out. I need to calm down. I know she loves me and she’s just scared. I have a plan to put her fears to rest and show her how serious I am about marrying her.

  That’s why I can’t engage with her, not yet. I have a court hearing set for Thursday. Then the bachelor party. After that, I’ll be ready. After that I won’t be speaking hollow words. I’ll be demonstrating with action.

  I delete the WHY DO YOU ASK? and send only the NO. I really hope it doesn’t hurt her feelings. I hope she’s not crushed. I hope she’s not wondering whether I love her, like I’m wondering how she feels. I hope she knows I love her, and that I’m sorry, but in case she doesn’t, I need time to do more than say the words.

  When I get a text from her later, I LOVE YOU, I crumple. I have to text her back.

  I LOVE YOU TOO. I’M GETTING ON A PLANE NOW. I CAN BE THERE BY MIDNIGHT.

  No. That’s all wrong. I delete it.

  I’LL BE IN ATLANTA TOMORROW. LET’S TALK. That’s not as pathetic or desperate. I can wait a bit and send that.

  Except I’m back to where I was two hours ago. I’m not ready yet. I have only words to share, nothing concrete.

  I clench my fists and scream in frustration.

  My chef, Antonio, peeks his head around the corner. “Are you okay, sir?”

  I forgot he was still here. “No, I mean, yes, I’m fine. You can go home.”

  “You haven’t had dinner yet, sir.”

  Of course I haven’t. “I’m not hungry.”

  He frowns. “Tiger Prawns sir? Just flown in? Or maybe a filet, rare?”

  I shake my head. I think about asking his opinion, but I have to figure this out myself. I can’t make anyone else translate for me. Besides, no one else knows Geode like I do, not even my brilliant Brekka. I need to hold the course.

  How I wish I could push pause on her life for a few days until my ducks are in a row, spare her the pain I’ve been feeling without her here by my side.

  I can ask for time, but she’ll think that means I’m not ready to see her. Or that I can’t forgive her. I puzzle over it for a long time, but I can’t see any way around it. I need to demonstrate to her that she matters more to me than any amount of money. I need to show her I’m not my father, or my mother, but I can’t do everything in a day. She’ll have to be patient.

  I LOVE YOU TOO, MORE THAN YOU KNOW. BUT I NEED A LITTLE TIME.

  When I think of how she’ll feel when she reads my text, my heart breaks. She’s strong though. So strong. I hit send. She doesn’t reply, and I force myself not to send anything else either.

  By Wednesday, I have all the details ironed out, so I text Geo. I KNOW YOU’RE SWAMPED THIS WEEKEND. CAN I SEE YOU MONDAY?

  Dots. I hate the infernal dots. But it does tell me she’s live and has seen my message. I love the dots. I can’t look away from them. Until a message pops up.

  CLIENT EVENT THAT NIGHT.

  What the heck?

  I text Luke. ANY IDEA WHAT GEO HAS GOING ON MONDAY NIGHT?

  He’s always quick to reply. HER BIGGEST CLIENT OWNS SOME CAR DEALERSHIPS OR SOMETHING. THEY HAVE SOME BIG BLACK TIE CASINO NIGHT.

  ON VALENTINE’S DAY?? I ask.

  APPARENTLY IT’S AN ANNUAL THING. IT STARTED AS A WAY TO IGNORE VALENTINE’S. HE INVITES A LOT OF BIG BUYERS IN ATLANTA. NOW IT’S LIKE AN ATLANTA FIXTURE. IT’S CALLED LIKE HOT FOR HONDA OR SOMETHING. GEO KNOWS WHAT SHE’S DOING, AND SHE MARKETED THE HECK OUT OF IT.

  Of course she did. Her big client has got to be Rob. Maybe that’s why she didn’t consider her Monday night dinners a date. Rob’s her client. That makes sense.

  I hate the idea of him spending Valentine’s Day with her. That ruins all my plans. Geo says he’s a good guy, so I look him up and take a calculated risk. I dial his office and wait patiently when his secretary puts me on hold. He might refuse to talk to me. I probably would, if our situation was reversed. I’m betting on him being a better man than me.

  “Rob Graham,” he says, his voice deeper than I remember from Macaroni Grill.

  “Rob, this is Trig Thornton. I’m in love with your best friend, Geode Polson.”

  “I know who you are.” And he hasn’t hung up on me yet. I don’t hate him as much as I did.

  “Thanks for taking my call. I’m sure you considered refusing to talk to me. I’ll cut to the chase. I have a favor to ask.” I hate when people act all chummy and fake, trying to butter me up. When I have a favor to ask, which isn’t often, I get right to it. “It’s a big ask. I know you have a Casino Night Monday. I know Geo’s going to be there. I could have just bought tickets through a shell company, but I don’t play that way. I’d like to see her, and I’d like it to be on Vale
ntine’s Day.”

  “I broke my back four years ago,” he says. “But it’s healed now, and once a Marine, always a Marine. I’ll end you on Monday if Geo leaves my party without a smile on her face. I don’t care the reason.”

  “Fair,” I say. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  “You’ll be on the list.” He hangs up.

  I still detest him, but he’s exactly the kind of guy I want Geo to have around if things don’t go my way. I wonder what his best friend Mark was like. I’m sure he didn’t deserve Geo, but I’m beginning to think he was probably a decent guy.

  Luke loves his bachelor party, I think. And I manage not to spend the entire time looking at the photo of Geo and I on my lock screen like a dope. Paul only mocks me for it about six million times. How he knew we broke up, I don’t know, and I don’t even care.

  I’m a ball of nerves on Monday. I send Brekka fifteen photos before I settle on a plain black tuxedo with a sapphire blue tie. I slide the ring I bought in Hawaii into my pocket. I consider buying her a different one, but it’s part of our story. Her bad reaction that day wasn’t to the ring I chose. I think I got that right. My screw-up came later. I think she’ll want the original ring, if I’m not way off base. And if I am, well, maybe I don’t know Geo as well as I think I do. But I think I know Geo better than she knows herself, at least in the ways that really matter.

  I hope.

  I valet my Vantage exactly half an hour after the Casino night starts. She would have arrived early, checked on everything, dealt with any issues and she should be in a lull, according to the event planner we use for Nometry. I hope Victorine’s right. If not, I know who I’ll hire to replace her.

  My heart’s racing a mile a minute when I walk into the huge ballroom, decorated like the casino from Ocean’s Eleven. Geo did an amazing job.

  At first I don’t see her, which is strange because she’d stand out in every crowd I’ve ever walked into.

  Then she enters the room from the back, talking to one of the bus boys as she walks. He’s clearly smitten with her, and it’s easy to see why. I’ve never seen her look more breathtaking. She’s wearing a hot pink sheath dress and tall pink wedges. Her hair falls down her back like a waterfall of shimmering ebony. She’s wearing an onyx necklace surrounded by sapphires. Whoever gave her that had a good eye. The black for her hair, set off by the blue of the sparkling stones.