Cousins (Cousins #2)

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  I practically roll my eyes at the smirk that spreads across Jade's face. She loves it when she wins.

  "How do you know she's staying there?"

  "Juliette mentioned it."

  "So you want one of the penthouse suites?"

  I usually get the best that my money can buy when I travel, but not this time.

  "No. Find out what tower she's staying in and book me the best room they have on her floor. It has to be on the same floor."

  "What about Joseph and the Kings?"

  "It's none of their business."

  "You are working cases right now Roman. You've got the clubs too. You're going to have to say something to them."

  She's right as usual. That's why I have Jade around. She gives me shit, and drives me crazy, but she keeps me on point. She knows my business is everything to me. It's all I really have that matters.

  "Joseph and Juliette know that she's in the Bahamas on business, so there's no point in telling them anything different. I'll have Cutter cover the clubs and Camden can work the DUI job. Just tell Cam and Cutter the truth. Tell them that Elizabeth may be in some trouble, and that I have to go out of town to handle it. Play it down though. No red alerts. No telling the old man that I went there. You feel me?"

  Jade nods with satisfaction. "I'm glad you've finally come to your senses. While I know that it's possible that Elizabeth may be sitting on a beach, catching a tan, and reading a novel, there's also the small chance that this Ethan guy is up to something. Once upon a time you helped me out of a messed up situation that nobody gave a shit about, and I just think that someone should have Elizabeth's back too."

  "Understood."

  "What about killer over there?"

  Jade points over to the corner at Mr. Tibbs. Jade is not a dog person. Usually I have someone house sit him if I travel, but this is too last minute. Plus I like giving Jade shit sometimes.

  It completes me.

  "Raw chicken backs and turkey necks are portioned in Ziploc bags in the freezer. Feed him twice a day. No treats. He also gets three walks a day. And clean this place up and water my plant while you're at it. Juliette gave it to me.”

  "I'm not touching any raw chicken backs or turkey necks! I swear that damn dog is going to starve.”

  I walk away grinning like a Cheshire cat as I hear Jade's cries of protest behind me. It's a pleasure to piss her off as I head to my bedroom to pack, and go see about kicking some ass in order to bring my cousin home where she belongs.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ELIZABETH

  All I hear are piercing squeals of joy.

  Rolling laughter.

  Playful shrieking.

  These are all sounds that are probably delightful to a mother's ears, but are like nails across a chalkboard to my delicate, twenty-three year old ones. But that's okay, because if you told me last week that I'd be snacking on the freshest shrimp cocktail of my life while watching families of four sliding down a massive water slide into a crystal blue manmade lagoon, I would have never believed it.

  The only place my family has ever vacationed is Disney World, and that was a big damn deal. My parents would save up all year, and we'd go with my mom's best friend Miss Janet and her two monsters (I mean kids) and end up lost, hot, and exhausted most days. No squealing. No shrieking. Minimal laughter. As my parents often complained, “Disney World was a week of work and not a true vacation.”

  They were right; it probably was work for them, not to mention disappointing for me, because they'd never buy me a new Disney Princess dress as a souvenir. Just a pair of Minnie Mouse ears. And how many pairs of those does a girl need?

  But this right here, this whole Bahamas thing is what I've always imagined vacations were supposed to be. Relaxing. Fun. Lush. Serene. Good food. Fruity drinks. Surrounded by beautiful people.

  It probably helps that Mr. Lambert and his team have treated me extremely well, especially for someone only here to give them a fifteen minute pitch. They flew me non-stop for three hours in business class to Nassau, Bahamas, then I was picked up by a car service and taken to the hotel, where I was checked in immediately to the most beautiful room with an ocean view.

  The only thing I'm not really happy about is that I'm literally two minutes away from Florida, but my cell phone service is spotty at best. It's almost like I'm in some sort of third world country with no cell phone towers, when it's obvious I'm not. While beautiful in places, the Bahamas is definitely not some untouched island. It's actually like one huge city with a few pretty beaches.

  So if I wanted to, I could cross the street and order a six piece Chicken Mcnugget and fries; and in my opinion if there is a damn McDonald’s nearby then there certainly needs to be reliable cell phone service. When I get home I'm going to have to have a long talk with my phone carrier.

  Luckily for me, I'm only here for a day or so, so being out of touch is not such a big deal. I've already called my Aunt Juliette and my mom from my room to let them know that I've arrived safely, and that I have an amazing view. Of course Juliette offered to upgrade my room to an Azure or Sapphire Suite, which I politely declined. My deluxe oceanfront view is fantastic already. Anything more would be overkill.

  My two calls back home will be charged to my final bill, which I can cover at checkout with a credit card, but I need to cut myself off there. No more international calls. No more frivolous spending unless I nail this pitch and get a definite yes. I would have liked to talk to Sloan for a second though, because she is totally responsible for setting this meeting up, but I know that she'll understand if I just connect with her when I touch back down in Philly.

  I also thought about sending Roman an email to let him know where I was going (actually I thought about it like fifty-five hundred times), but I'm pretty sure that Juliette and Joseph filled him in on my trip. And after I practically ran away from his apartment like I had been set on fire, I'm sure he's quite annoyed with me or even worse– pissed with me. Actually I'm a bit peeved with myself. There's no excuse for my behavior. I'm sending him some seriously mixed signals and driving myself bonkers in the process.

  When I was over his penthouse the other day, I let Roman do things to me that I've only heard Sloan talk about or read in smutty books, and while I loved every minute of it, I was extremely embarrassed afterwards. I just can't wrap my head around it. Why I acted like I did. I never tried to stop him once or even tried to stop myself. What's wrong with me?

  The minute I hear the bass in his voice, I immediately become wet like a faucet and proceed to pop my legs open for easy access. And the orgasms? Geez Louise. I thought I was going to pass out from the intense contractions and spasms my poor uterus and vagina had to weather. Okay maybe the use of the word poor is not exactly accurate. I think my lady parts liked every frackin' minute of it.

  This attraction Roman and I have for each other is almost cruel though. As soon as he started telling me what he was going to do, my body responded in turn. The way my body almost sings when he strokes every part of me, it's like my body desperately needs him. In fact I do believe that my body is starting to crave more of his touch everyday. Hell, my body is missing him right the frack now. But of course the cruel part of all of this is why him? Why couldn't it be anybody else but Roman Masterson … my cousin?

  If our families were to ever find out what's been going on between the two of us, I shudder to think of the harsh words that would inevitably pass between my father's lips to my aunt and her husband. He already despises Joseph for some ridiculous reason that I don't even being to understand; so this thing between Roman and I would just be the kindling he needs to start an all out forest fire. And that's the last thing I want. I don't want to be the cause of any sort of family civil war.

  Especially when I know better.

  Especially because I know this is wrong.

  I just need to grow the hell up and stop spreading my legs for every sexy thing he says in my ear, and for every kiss he barely gives me right at the corner of my
lips, and for all the times he's stared at me like I was the only woman breathing on the planet.

  Damn.

  ***

  After filling my belly with the rest of my shrimp cocktail and a frosted glass of fruit punch, I head back to my room in order to shower and change. Mr. Lambert breaks for forty-five minutes between his two panels, and I only have an hour before that happens. I've been told that I'll have his full attention in the Poseidon meeting room during the first fifteen minutes of that break. My mouth is a little dry and my nerves a bit frayed in anticipation, but all in all, I think that I'm as ready as I'll ever be to deliver my pitch.

  I went over my presentation with a fine-tooth comb during the plane ride, and that's why I purposely turned off my computer when I landed. I didn't want to burn myself out or change anything at the last minute in a moment of anxiety or fear. I need to trust that I know what I'm doing, and that I know what I'm talking about, and that these men will have the foresight to see the tremendous potential of my app.

  A short ding signaling that I have a text comes in from Mr. Lambert's assistant Daniella finalizing the time that I should come down to the conference room.

  Daniella: Please be at the Poseidon room at 3:15 sharp Miss Hill. Mr. Lambert and the rest of the group will be assembled and waiting.

  Me: Thank you. I'll be there.

  A small knot forms in my chest.

  I'm definitely nervous.

  No matter how much I try to psyche myself out of becoming a stressed out mess, it's inevitable; I'm a hormonal wreck. I do the math in my head and figure out that my period is coming on soon. On top of everything else, that may be adding to my crazy.

  I strip myself bare and stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is wind blown and my skin sun kissed from sitting by the lagoon all morning. Not bad. All totally fixable. I stare further down and notice a small mole has popped up in between my breasts. It's new. I wonder what it would cost to get it removed. I gaze even lower and wonder for the hundredth time if I should get a Brazilian wax. A couple of girls from my old job at The Tavern used to rave about them.

  "You'll be smooth as a baby's bottom, Elizabeth. Your man will love it." They'd say.

  Little did they realize that the term smooth as a baby's bottom turned me completely off from the whole thing. I didn't want to sleep with a man who wanted a woman's snatch to be as smooth as a prepubescent girl's. Of course I've occasionally had second thoughts about this every time I take a good look at my private parts. Vaginas aren't necessarily pretty in my opinion, especially mine, because it's totally covered with a lot of wiry and unruly hair just like the top of my head.

  After shutting down all my negative thoughts and giving my body a more positive final once over, I'm ready to get showered and dressed.

  You're not sleeping with any of these men Elizabeth.

  You're pitching an app that could basically sell itself.

  You've got this.

  Yellow is my lucky color. I've loved it since way back, probably influenced by the many spring days I spent collecting buttercups and dandelions in my backyard as a kid. But I learned that it was good luck for sure when I wore my lucky yellow shirt on Black and Gold Day in middle school.

  It was that day the Gold team (which I was on) finally kicked the Black team's butt in flag football, when it had been the Black team that had won the title for the last four years. It was also the same day that the nicest boy in seventh grade, Matt Kellum, noticed that I was alive and breathing. I fell while running with the flag, and when he helped me up he told me "Good job Hill". It was one of my fondest memories of middle school. I didn't even realize that he knew my name … or that I even existed.

  So I'm waffling between wearing a navy blue power suit with a pale yellow tank underneath the jacket, or wearing a dark gray pencil skirt with a scoop neck lemon yellow blouse. The suit means business. The skirt accentuates the shape of my wide hips. Something men seem to like on me no matter how much I vehemently disagree.

  I was meeting with a room full of men.

  Some of them really close to my age.

  The skirt wins.

  Turns out that I made the right decision, because I'm sitting around an oblong conference table full of men. Most of whom are under forty years old. I recognize immediately the guy that Sloan is connected to, because while we were never formally introduced, I've seen pictures of him in several of Sloan's Instagram selfies.

  Due to nerves, I'm tempted to twirl around in the plush, ergonomic chair I'm sitting in, but think better of it once Mr. Lambert enters the room.

  "It's a pleasure, Miss Hill."

  Mr. Lambert extends his hand to shake mine. I stand up to do the same knowing that a few eyeballs in the room have instantly landed on my ass.

  "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Lambert." I turn my head and smile. "Gentlemen."

  "So you have our attention, Miss Hill. Let's hear about School Bucks."

  I can feel a trickle of sweat rolling down my back, while the room is as cold as a Chicago winter. I am obviously still nervous. To talk myself off the ledge, I begin to silently go through everything Sloan told me about the men in the group.

  She mentioned that they were smart and selective, but that they were also very motivated in getting into tech investments, and definitely highly motivated in investing in new female entrepreneurs. Something about certain funds they managed that were earmarked for female business owners.

  She instructed me to look every single man there in the eye during my presentation but to end it looking at Mr. Lambert. Something about it being the art of the close. Sloan also stressed that I needed to walk around the room while I talked. She said that many of them would be distracted by my body and focused on my movements, which was a good thing. In my opinion, it's bad enough that I'm wearing the pencil skirt (that if I'm honest is one size too small), but to walk around in it purposely to showcase my ass seems a little sexist and screams of desperation.

  Of course that doesn't mean that I'm not going to do it.

  I do.

  After a brief description of my app, I stand up and decide to walk around the table as I hand out a printed copy of my presentation to each and every member of the group. There are eight men in total. A few are smiling at me while I talk (including Sloan's guy), a few are reading the materials I hand out while I am talking, and Mr. Lambert is copiously taking notes on a yellow legal pad.

  Seems to be a good sign.

  I make sure to complete my presentation in ten minutes flat, so that I have five minutes for any quick questions and answers. There are several.

  The first is from an intimidating man with a set of unforgettable bushy eyebrows named Ned Harrison. He looks like my old professor from my statistics class.

  "So you majored in computer engineering and minored in information systems, but you're not the coder of the app. Is that right?"

  I clear my throat nervously.

  "I'm the architect, but I needed more experienced coders to construct the app and to tweak and test the fine details. Moving forward, I'd definitely want someone on board who has the skills to update the app as needed. Every time Apple or Android comes out with a new operating system, we have to update the app. And we'd probably be updating it more often than that as we build out the database."

  Ned Harrison nods his head at my answer but doesn't look at me any longer. That worries me. The second question is from a man named Bob Hathaway.

  "This was a well thought out presentation Miss Hill, but I have to be honest here, there is no fiscal sense in us investing in one product. Do you have any sort of long term plan of expansion? What other apps could you roll out that would be in alignment with this one?"

  A good question. One that I don't have a really good answer for or at least an answer that he wants. I'll have to bullshit.

  "Absolutely. There are several app ideas I have that are in the planning stages."

  Uh … and what the frack are they Elizabeth?

  "To be hones
t, I'm still working out the details of those apps and would rather not divulge any particulars. Be assured though that they are congruent with the overall mission of my business, which is to support the average American student's quest in forming a viable plan to finance their higher education. The average college student has many financial needs for over four to eight years, and my applications are designed to support those needs."

  I pray that my bullshit worked on at least half the men at this table. After I'm done talking, I notice a few head nods around the table and a few more notes taken by Mr. Lambert, and then just like that my first and only pitch meeting is over.

  "Well thank you so much, Miss Hill. You've given us a lot to consider."

  Hmm … maybe this didn't go so well. I've heard of investors so excited that they made offers right in the middle of a pitch. Sort of like that show Shark Tank, but I understand, I'm new and unproven. Plus I'm young, and I don't actually do the coding. They have to take all of that into consideration.

  At worst I received a free trip to the Bahamas out of the deal. In fact, I'm going to make this trip even better by heading to the bar right now.

  "Thank you gentlemen and thank you for the extraordinary hospitality. I look forward to hearing from you in the near future. Please feel free to contact me with any further questions."

  A few of the men stand up as I make my way to the door including Mr. Lambert. He walks with me outside of the conference room and into the hallway.

  "You did really well, Miss Hill. Daniella will be in touch with you, although I can't guarantee exactly when. We have a lot of offers to consider and limited funds. In the meantime, do what you can to increase the app's visibility and profitability, and send over any new figures if that happens."

  "Thank you, Mr. Lambert. Really. I appreciate everything that you've done for me. Giving me this chance."

  "You're welcome, Miss Hill."

  ***

  I need wine.

  Sangria to be specific.

  There are several restaurants and one main bar on my side of the hotel. I don't really want anything to eat, but I definitely could use a drink to drown out the constant replay of the pitch meeting in my head.