by Ellie Danes
“Oh, I know,” he said casually. “I'm a black belt in BJJ. I was the Californian champion for a year, actually.”
“Really?” I said, unable to hide the skepticism in my voice. “It's kind of . . . weird that I haven't heard of you.”
He chuckled and almost looked as if I had called him out.
“Well, it was a few years ago,” he mumbled. “And anyway, I now do a new sport that takes a lot more balls. I just couldn't get the rush I needed from BJJ. It was getting too easy to defeat my opponents, and I have to have a challenge.”
“Oh really, huh. You could just, like, beat anyone who stepped into the ring with you, could you?”
“Yeah, I could, actually.”
I nodded. He could see that I didn't believe him, but he shrugged this off with a smirk and a cool sneer.
“So, what is that you do now that takes 'so much more balls' than BJJ?” I asked.
“Free climbing. You know, rock climbing up vertical cliffs. No safety ropes, nothing. Just you, a bag of chalk, and a cliff to conquer. Now that—that you need grip strength for. When the fingertips of one hand gripping a quarter-inch lip of rock are all that stand between you and certain death a mile below, you have to have pure faith in your grip strength.”
“I bet.”
“Could you two quit jabbering?” asked my aunt, annoyed. “You're wasting my time.”
“Of course, Mrs. Ameson,” said Cory, putting on an attitude of fake politeness, sneering at me all the while. “Come, let's go have that meeting.”
“If you'll excuse me, Everett,” she said, “Cory and I have a few things to discuss—in private. There's a butler who can take care of whatever you need while you wait. We'll be about half an hour. There are plenty of means to amuse yourself in my household, but I'd suggest picking a book on effective finance and management strategies from my library and immersing yourself in it while I'm busy. You have a lot to learn, young man, a lot, before your company goes public. So, don't waste any more of your time or mine. Go on! Busy yourself!”
She then turned to Cory and beckoned him over.
“Come on, Mr. Burton,” she said. “We have business to discuss.”
“Yes, we do, Mrs. Ameson, yes, we do,” he said, walking away and locking me with a mocking stare every step of the way.
He was going to be trouble, I knew it. I could feel it in my bones . . . he was going to be trouble.
Chapter 5
Marie
I drove toward the city, wracking my brain on what to get Isaac for dinner. Plant-based diet? What the heck was he on about? I'd heard the term before, of course, but had never paid much attention to it. And I'd always imagined it was something that, you know, hippies or animal rights activists or other weird fringe types did. Not elderly billionaire investors.
Still, as mundane as it was, he had set me this task, and I better do it and do it right. I felt sure that it was just a matter of convenience that he had asked me to do this. Maybe his regular dinner person or whatever was taking a day off, and my real work would start tomorrow. Maybe it was some sort of test to see how efficient I was and how much attention I paid to details?
I didn't know, really. It could be any number of things. I sighed. I was supposed to be learning how to run an investment firm, so that I could start my own. I was supposed to be getting valuable tips from a grandmaster in the field—not buying his dinner for him like some domestic helper.
Still, what could I do? I couldn't argue with him, not on my first day on the job.
I had been driving for around ten minutes when I realized that I had no idea where I was going. Plant-based food? Where the hell was I going to get that? I didn't even know what it really meant.
I pulled the car into a parking spot alongside a small park and killed the motor while I got my phone out to do some searching. All right, first, I needed to find out exactly what this plant-based eating thing was all about.
A bit of online searching revealed that it was a way of eating that excluded meat, eggs, and dairy—pretty much anything that came from an animal. That seemed pretty extreme to me, not to mention immensely restrictive. I didn't think that he wanted a plain salad with no dressing for dinner. Besides, he’d said something about the meal being steaming hot or something. But what else could I get him?
I searched “plant-based restaurant NYC,” and surprisingly quite a few options came up. The place with the highest ratings happened to be just a few blocks away, and it was a takeout place. A quick scan of the menu revealed that most items on the menu were in the ten to twenty-dollar price range.
I put the directions into my navigator app and drove there. The takeout place was called Plant Power, and when I got close, I was surprised to see that there was a line extending out the door, and no open parking spots on the street. I drove around the block and managed to find a spot, and then walked over to Plant Power.
I joined the line. The guy in front of me in the line fit the stereotype of the type of person I imagined would be eating here—a skinny white guy with red dreadlocks, lots of tattoos, and ethnic jewelry. The other people were not such stereotypes though; it looked as if people from all walks of life were queuing up to eat at this place. .
A voice behind me interrupted my thoughts.
“Excuse me, this line is for Plant Power, right?”
It was the voice of a younger man, slightly gruff and pleasantly deep. I turned around and saw a guy in shorts and a t-shirt standing behind me. He was tall—around six-foot-two or six-foot-three, I'd guess, and very well built. His muscular, tanned legs were slick with sweat, and the arms that extended from the sleeves of his t-shirt were similarly powerful and muscular. He had dark hair, slicked back in a trendy cut with really short sides, and his strong, square jaw was dark with a five-o' clock shadow. His brown eyes were intense beneath strong eyebrows.
“Um yes, yes, it is,” I managed to stammer. He was so attractive, I was having a hard time speaking. “I’ve never been here before, though.”
He smiled at me, revealing a mouth of perfect, white teeth.
“It's a great spot, especially for a recovery shake after a good run. As you can see, I've just been running. I hope I don't smell too bad,” he said with a chuckle.
I laughed. “I don't smell anything…yet,” I added with a wink. “So, you're a regular here?”
He nodded. “It's one of my favorite spots in the city. What brought you here?”
“I actually know almost nothing about this whole plant-based eating thing,” I admitted. “It just seems kind of weird. I mean, what on earth can you eat if you're cutting out all of the stuff that makes food tasty?”
He laughed. “You know, that's exactly how I used to think. But trust me, you'll change your mind after eating here. And as you can see from the line, many people who presumably had the same thought process that you do have also changed their minds about it.”
“I can see that,” I said. “So, this place is doing really well, huh? Is it always like this?”
“Yeah, these days. They've been here for around two years now,” he replied. “Now, back when they first started, I could walk in, get my smoothie, and pretty much be in and out in less than two minutes. Now . . . well, you can see for yourself.”
“It's quite amazing,” I said. “I just never would have thought that an idea like this would actually have worked.”
“It hasn't just worked,” he remarked. “It's exploded. This was the first Plant Power restaurant, but now there are two more branches in the city, another in New Jersey, and they're opening two in Virginia and Maryland next month. They've got plans to expand to the west coast next year as well. I bet there are plenty of people who wish they'd bought shares in this little business when it first started.”
Suddenly, it clicked. This was why Isaac had sent me here! This wasn't just about getting him dinner—this was learning about trends. I smiled.
The handsome guy looked at me quizzically. “What are you smiling about?”
“Oh uh, I just remembered something,” I replied. “Nothing important.”
Our eyes met, and as each of us held the other's gaze, a feeling of intense, fiery attraction burned deep inside me. Wow. I hadn't felt this attracted to a man in a very long time. It was just so unexpected, though. Meeting a guy had been the absolutely last thing on my mind when I set out earlier.
“So, seeing as I've never been here,” I said hurriedly, interrupting the gaze between us, which was becoming unnervingly intense, “what do you, as a regular, recommend? I'm buying dinner for two.”
“Oh, for you and your boyfriend?” he asked, a little too hastily.
“No, no,” I replied, “for me and my boss.” I hadn't given away the fact that I was single—but, why hadn't I?
“Well what sort of stuff does he like?” he asked.
“Um, it's actually my first day on the job, and I've only just met him, so I don't actually know!”
He chuckled, and again I was struck by just how handsome he was when he smiled. “That doesn't help, does it?”
“Well, I would guess,” I said, “that he probably likes more traditional fare, seeing as he's in his eighties.”
“Wow, huh, he's in his eighties and still working. Sounds like my aunt. My great-aunt, actually. But ugh, never mind her. I don't really want to think about her right now, she can be exhausting.”
I could see that he meant that; a strange look came across his face as he said this.
“Anyway,” he continued, “don't assume that all you're gonna be able to get here will be like, green juices and fruit smoothies and salads and stuff. They do burgers, steaks, fries, curries, all sorts of stuff.”
“Really?” I was listening to his words, but very focused on the feeling of attraction between the two of us. I couldn’t be imagining this. From the way his gaze kept darting to my lips, I couldn’t be the only one feeling it, either.
“Yeah,” he said. “And I know what you're thinking, it's gonna taste weird, bland, gross, whatever—right?”
I smiled. “You read my mind. How on earth can you make a burger without beef? How's that gonna taste?”
“Surprisingly delicious,” he said. “But I'll let you find that out on your own.”
Suddenly, my message tone sounded. I glanced down at my phone and saw that it was a notification from my sister Alice.
“Oh boy,” I groaned. “Another Quickchat from my sister. That kid really needs to get off her phone.”
The guy smiled weirdly. “Quickchat, huh,” he said, still smiling strangely, as if he knew some great secret that he wasn't going to tell me.
“Yeah, all the kids have it these days . . . and uh, adults like me too, I guess,” I said.
He nodded, still grinning with that I-know-something-that-you-don't smile. “A lot of them do, yeah, or so I've heard.”
All the time we'd been talking, the line had been moving along, and now I found myself at the counter.
“Welcome to Plant Power!” said the server at the counter enthusiastically. “What can I get you?”
“I'll have the peanut butter and chili burger, with fries, and pasta with pesto.”
“Anything to drink?”
“Get the blueberry and pineapple smoothie,” said the guy I'd been talking to, winking at me as I turned around.
I smiled at him and then turned back to the girl at the counter.
“Yes, two blueberry and pineapple smoothies.”
“All right, that'll be thirty-seven fifty.”
I handed her the two twenty-dollar bills and got my change and then stepped to the side as the guy ordered.
“I'll take the Power Salad and a kale smoothie,” he said.
“So, that's your recovery drink, is it?” I remarked.
“It is. It's packed with goodness,” he laughed. “I sound like a salesman for these guys. Not that I know much about this business,” he added hastily. “But seriously, it feels like I'm ingesting liquid energy when I drink this thing. Plenty of greens and protein in there, just what I need after a good run.”
“Excuse me, miss, here's your order,” another guy said at the takeout counter as he handed me a bag.
“Hey, thanks for the advice,” I said, extending a hand to the handsome guy I’d been talking to.
“Jace,” he said as he shook my hand. “My name's Jace. And your name is?”
“I'm Marie,” I answered.
“Great chatting with you, Marie. Maybe we'll run into each other here again sometime, huh?”
“Maybe we will,” I said with a smile.
I walked out with a nagging feeling in my gut, making me wonder if I should go back in and ask for his number. I was certain the attraction wasn't just one-sided. But surely if he felt the same he would have done something, said something, tried to get my number.
I paused outside the doorway and looked back in. He was chatting on his cell phone to someone.
I sighed. It was probably his girlfriend or something. And if he had really felt the same intense attraction for me, he would have asked me for my number. Instead, it looked as if he had already forgotten me.
I walked away with a strangely bittersweet sensation of both happiness and disappointment. I rounded the corner of the block, got into my boss’s BMW, and drove away thinking about the tall, handsome, dark-haired man all the while.
“Jace, huh,” I whispered to myself as I drove away. “I like that name. Maybe we'll run into each other again. I hope we will.”
Chapter 6
Jace
Talking with Marie had been the best part of my day by far. As I saw her walking out, I knew that I had to do something. These kinds of connections didn't exactly come around every day, and the chances of finding her again in a crowded city were practically nil. I had to get her number, I just—
My phone rang in my pocket. Annoyed, I took it out and saw that it was Matthew.
“Damn it, Matthew, perfect timing, as always,” I grumbled as I answered. “I'm in the middle of something now, can I call you back in two minutes?”
His voice sounded serious. “Can you get back to the office? I really need to talk to you right now.”
Whatever his issue was, it was something critical. Matthew never spoke in a tone like that unless he was truly upset. “All right, I'll come back. See you in a few minutes, all right?”
“Yeah. Actually, can we meet back at the Ironwood? I’m done with work.”
“Sure thing.”
“Thanks, man. See you soon.”
I took my smoothie and salad and pushed out the door, hoping to catch Marie before she was gone while simultaneously worrying about what was up with Matthew. I got out onto the sidewalk and peered up and down the street, but there was no sign of her. She must have already gotten into her car and driven away—and now I had no way of finding her or contacting her.
“Damn,” I muttered under my breath.
I shook my head and trudged over to my Maserati. I got in, revved the engine, and drove over to the Ironwood, pushing the powerful motor hard—both because of my haste to get to Matthew, and because of my frustration in not getting Marie's number.
I pulled into my spot outside, grabbed my smoothie, and jogged inside, saying a friendly hello to Javier Hernandez, the doorman. He looked like he had some of his wisdom to share, but I had to wave him off. Matthew needed me, and I didn’t want to get slowed down at the moment.
Matthew’s apartment was a couple floors below mine. I headed straight to his door and knocked.
“It's open,” he announced from within.
I walked in. Matthew’s penthouse in the Ironwood wasn’t as large as mine, and he didn’t have the special elevator in his bedroom. Still, he’d decorated the place well, in black and white.
When I saw him slumped on the couch, I nearly dropped my bag and cup. He didn’t look good. What the hell had happened? His round face, which usually had a broad smile on it, looked haggard and pale. Several candy bar wrappers litter
ed the usually pristine coffee table. Like me, he was very physically active and paid close attention to his diet, so snacking on candy bars wasn’t a good sign. It had to be because of whatever was stressing him out.
“Thanks for coming, man,” he said, his voice weary. “Sit down.”
I pulled up a seat next to him and took a swig of my kale smoothie before speaking. He looked like a wreck, and I wasn’t sure what to say.
“What's going on?” I asked. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
He nodded and looked at the ground. “It's my dad.”
Matthew had grown up in a single parent household. His mother had been an alcoholic and had died in a drunk driving accident when he was young. He had been raised by his father, Caleb, who had been the pillar of strength and support in his life. I thought of Caleb as family, too. I had spent so much time at their house growing up.
“Oh no, Matthew, what's happened?”
“He—he has cancer.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
“Oh no, man, oh no,” I murmured. “Jeez, I'm so sorry to hear that. What—how—who told you?”
“He just called me now from New York. He was getting a regular checkup with his doctor a couple of weeks ago. He'd been coughing like crazy for months, thought it was bronchitis or something. They did a biopsy on some lung tissue—and they just got the results back. It's lung cancer, and it's pretty advanced.”
“Oh, my God, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. What are they going to do?”
He sighed and shook his head, cupping his chin in his hands.
“They're going to try chemo—an aggressive course of it—but the experts have told him that the chance of the chemo working is maybe one in twenty. And if it doesn't work he'll . . . he'll . . .”
He started choking on his words, and tears began running down his cheeks. He coughed, wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and continued.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I'm just . . . it's hard.”
“That's all right man, just let it out.”
He nodded, sniffing, and wiped his eyes again. “They’re giving him less than a year,” he managed to utter, and then started crying again.
