by Piper Lennox
And me? This was the longest relationship I’d ever had. That kind of personal growth probably did deserve some celebration.
“When you get out of there,” he called through the bathroom door, “there’s a surprise for you, in the bedroom.”
“Really,” I mused. It was hard to sound curious or playful, because I knew it wouldn’t be a sexy surprise—he wouldn’t be naked on my bed, or holding a new toy to try out. Most likely, based on his short yet consistent track record, it would be....
“A new dress.” I smiled and lifted the fabric from my bed where he’d arranged it. Predictable or not, it was gorgeous: cut high in the front, long in the back, with a plunging neckline to my navel, all covered in sheer black mesh.
“It’s beautiful.” I slipped into it and admired myself in the mirror. He stepped behind me and zipped it, kissing my bare shoulder blade and smiling at my reflection.
Next to Oscar, and wearing a dress like this, I didn’t look like an unemployed journalist. I looked...well, rich as hell.
“You’re beautiful,” he corrected. His hands skated down to my hips. “Happy six months.”
“You, too.” I turned and kissed him. I pushed all thoughts of the newspaper from my head, at least for the next few minutes, and just focused on the image I’d seen and memorized in the mirror.
At dinner, he was fidgety. It wasn’t like him: he got shy, but rarely anxious.
“I, uh...I have something to....” He laughed, all his nervous energy transferring straight into me. “It’s pretty huge.”
My heart thundered. Oscar was reliable and predictable, pretty vanilla compared to most guys I dated—but he did like those big, movie-worthy surprises.
Still, there was no way he’d propose, only six months in. Even he knew better.
His hand crept across the tablecloth to mine. The restaurant’s quiet chatter turned to a roar, like a turbine in my head.
“I got promoted, today.”
On some other plane of consciousness, I realized my mouth was open. I shut it and cleared my throat. “You did?”
He nodded, grin widening. “Remember when I told you about Bob leaving? They’ve been trying to fill his spot for weeks, so I threw in my resume—I mean, everyone was applying, so why not—and they called me in, today. I got it.”
He stared at me. Waited for my smile to match his.
“That’s...that’s great,” I sputtered. My smile felt weak and fake, because it was. He didn’t notice.
“I’m so excited.” He freed my hand (my left one, I realized vaguely), and sipped his wine. “I mean, my position isn’t called ‘vice president,’ but that’s basically what I am, in that department. I’m in charge of the new accounts and that whole team, and I get a new office, a big raise....”
I nodded along numbly as he spoke. I wanted so, so badly to be happy for him. For us.
But all I could think of was this morning, the way my stomach felt like it dropped out of my body when John told me I was fired.
And then, I thought of Luka.
“You don’t know what it’s like, having to claw your way up a ladder.” It was last summer, an entire year ago. He’d taken me to some fancy restaurant across the island; our table overlooked the ocean. I had chills, even though the air was warm.
“Why?” he retorted, giving that sideways smile of his. “Because I’m a man?”
“That helps,” I nodded, “but I was talking about the whole family-business thing. You’re a legacy.”
“A legacy.”
“Yeah, you know, like when a guy gets into Harvard or Yale or whatever, because his dad and grandpa and great-grandpa attended. It’s the same thing: your dad built a business from the ground up, got all that ladder-climbing out of the way, and so you were born, like, halfway up, already.”
Luka’s smile blinked out, fast. “I work really hard running the resort.”
“I didn’t say anything about how hard you do or don’t work.” I finished my drink; he immediately nodded to the waitress for another. “I’m just saying, you had a big advantage over people like me. Or your parents. We start from the bottom.”
“Okay.” He rested his forearm on the table and raised his eyebrow. We did this a lot when I visited: heated discussions, mild arguments, and tense back-and-forth that, inevitably, led to some crazy makeup sex. It was easy to smooth over an argument when you knew, at the end of the week, the slate would be wiped clean again, anyway.
“Hypothetically,” he said, “let’s say you’re right. Guy gets into Harvard. But he’s an idiot. Lazy. Just the worst student possible. Even his legacy wouldn’t save him, then.”
“True,” I conceded.
“So he’s got to have the work ethic and smarts to back up his advantage.”
“Or the money.”
Luka took a long blink, ignoring me. “Point is, a guy’s got to offer something valuable once he gets to the top, or else he’s going to fall. Fast.” He sat back in his seat and motioned to himself. “I might have gotten the chance I did because of luck and legacy—but I’ve stayed here and kept climbing because of myself. The work I put in, the ideas I come up with. A chance is just that: a chance. You’ve still got to prove yourself.”
“Still,” I added, taking a deep gulp of the fresh cocktail the waitress handed me, “you did get that chance. Most of us don’t. That’s what I meant about clawing up the ladder, and how hard I’ve been busting ass at that paper, just to get Cecily or John to give me one shot. One. I can prove myself, too—but first I’ve got to get someone to give me that chance. And that, you don’t understand.”
Luka watched me set down my glass. “You’re wrong,” he said, after a minute.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re wrong.” His voice was louder now, sharper. “Don’t pretend you know me like that, okay? I know exactly what it’s like when someone won’t give you a shot—when they think you’re a fuck-up before you’ve even tried.”
I shrank back a little. “Fine. Sorry.”
He was right: I didn’t know him like that. He didn’t know me like that. That was the entire point of us.
And now, while Oscar went on and on about his awesome new job, I remembered that night with Luka and realized I probably was wrong about him. But that didn’t mean I was wrong about everyone.
Sure, I couldn’t know everyone’s private struggles to reach their successes—but I did know Oscar didn’t work half as hard as I did. Much as I hated begrudging him for it, it was impossible to keep smiling when I knew for a fact he spent most of his workdays playing Solitaire on his computer, grabbing lunch or a quick game of golf with coworkers, and kissing his bosses’ asses.
And to top it off, he got paid five times as much as me for all of it. His father landed him his job and, just like that, he had it made. Now he’d climb even higher, while I plummeted down to the bottom.
“Tanya? Did you hear me?”
I blinked at him. “Hmm?”
Oscar motioned to my dessert. It was a slice of chocolate cake with ganache inside, a strawberry rose on top, and a sheet of crystallized sugar propped against it.
“This job’s going to be big for both of us,” he went on, as I picked up my fork and dug in. His fidgeting had resumed. God, I got it—he was excited. Did he have to talk about it all through dinner, rubbing my nose in it?
I scolded myself. He didn’t know I’d been fired. He deserved to be happy.
My fork hit something solid. I felt my brow furrow and tried to slice through the section again, but it clunked against the mystery object a second time. Definitely not a chocolate chip.
“There’s something in here,” I grumbled. I used my fork to pry the sections apart, too bitter and wrapped up in myself to realize this was the most clichéd thing in the world, or to notice that Oscar was now getting up from his chair.
It wasn’t until he kneeled in front of me and took my hand, just as I was about to curse this stupid cake into oblivion, that I pieced everything tog
ether.
“Tanya,” he said, as all around us, the restaurant grew even more hushed. I set down my fork while my mouth cramped from sugar and my heart threatened to explode. In the candlelight and dainty chandelier glimmers, I finally saw the ring, buried in the center of the cake and sticky with chocolate, as Oscar asked, “Will you marry me?”
Three
Luka
Silver lining of a veritable crisis: I forget all about Tanya.
It’s what I’ve been trying to do all day. All week, actually—I’ve got more important things to focus on than when my hook-up will arrive.
“Why did you add that clause?” Parker hisses, meeting me in the elevator. He runs his hand back and forth over his head, newly shaved; I can hear the brush of stubble on his palm. “It took so long to get Kona Seg to agree, and now we’re gonna lose it. And I had to be the one to tell Trixie they backed out. God, they’re going to fire me.”
“They won’t fire you.”
“Well, they can’t fire you. You own the fucking place.”
This is partially true—I can’t be fired. But I can lose my franchise contract with Paradise Port, if they’re so inclined. Which they won’t be.
“I know what I’m doing,” I say again. I straighten my tie, the epitome of composure and savvy business skills. Everything that Parker, right now, is not.
The air in the conference room is impossibly tense. What happened to the back-slaps and congrats they were giving me, just a couple hours ago?
Trixie puts her palms on the table and wets her lips, thinking out her words. “That clause—”
“Look, I know it isn’t our usual approach to getting affiliates,” I interrupt, “but I’ve known the Kalani family my entire life. They started their first business the same year my dad started his, and—I’m gonna be real, here—they hate franchises. Too commercial for their blood.”
Garner shifts his weight from foot to foot, arms folded. I see his jaw clench, taking it personally.
“So,” I add, “the best way to win them over was to show them the personal side of this company. Add some humanness to the deal, you know? They’ve known me since the day I was born. We played with their kids, our folks went on double dates—”
“Get to the point.”
I barely dignify Garner’s outburst with a glance, keeping my attention on Trixie, who’s still listening. Her face is softer than when I came in.
“Giving them that clause,” I finish, “was the only way to get them to agree. I know Wendy’s personality. She doesn’t like making a decision unless she knows it can be undone. And Gregory goes along with whatever his wife decides, so.” I tilt my head, mirroring Trixie’s body language—an old trick I learned from my brother, Noe, to put people at ease. “Makes them think you’re like them. They put down their guard.”
Like a charm: Trixie takes a seat and relaxes.
“Okay,” she says. “I see why you did it, now. The Kalanis have been long-time holdouts, so...I guess getting them to agree at all was still pretty miraculous.”
Garner starts to interrupt, but one sharp look over her shoulder shuts him down. I hide my smile behind my water.
“You know Kona is Paradise Port’s biggest resort, right now,” she adds, which forces me to hide another smile. I do know that. I’ve improved more of their franchise’s systems and technology—and earned them more money—than any other franchisee, including the Bahamas location.
So, yeah: they could “fire” me. But I know they won’t.
“We’re always wary of your strategies,” she goes on, “but...we have to admit, they work. I think modifying the contract to get Kona Seg in the door was a smart move. Because you were right—the more we can incorporate local businesses, the better received we’ll be here.”
Before I can thank her, she holds up her palm.
“Except that, now, the Kalanis are actually using that clause.”
“Which means the strategy,” Garner spits, “didn’t work. I’m this close to buying some Segways out of my own pocket, just to end this bullshit.”
Trixie rolls her eyes to herself. I mirror it; she smirks.
“I’ll talk to Wendy and Gregory right now,” I assure her, getting to my feet. “I had a feeling this would happen, so I’ve got a backup plan.”
“Would you care to share it?” Garner is sweating through his dress shirt, two dark blue splotches under his arms and one on his chest. He’s accustomed to far colder weather than Hawaii can offer: he’s from Syracuse, and used to work at Paradise Port: Wales, a tiny piece of the company that lasted less than a year. Before that, he worked for Paradise Port: Dublin, which also got the boot.
Moral of the story: cold and paradise don’t mix. And neither do Garner and me.
“Go on home,” I tell Trixie, flashing her a smile. She’s almost as old as my mom, but it makes her blush. “I’ll handle everything.”
I swing open the conference room door and leave. I can still hear Garner bitching, and Trixie telling him to just wait and see if I deliver.
Even with the red-hot coal in my stomach and my heartbeat cranked to eleven, I’m not nervous. Stressed, but never worried.
I always deliver.
Tanya
“I see why you like this place.” Oscar thanks the woman in the lobby who gives each of us a lei when we arrive. “It’s very...island-y.”
My focus is everywhere but on him. Whether I’m excited or terrified to run into Luka, I can’t yet tell.
“Let’s sit,” he says. “We’ve got time.” There’s a small line at the check-out counter, and we’re technically a few minutes early—Oscar values punctuality as a virtue, while I despise wasting time waiting for things to begin—but I have to admit, it is nice to just sit and sip a complimentary Rum Runner after all the bustle at the airport.
“I’m so happy,” he whispers, kissing my hand as we sit on one of the spotless white sofas in the lobby. “Love you.” Saying it back nearly paralyzes my vocal chords, but I manage.
Then, suddenly, I see him.
He appears like a flash of lightning at the far end of the lobby, talking fast into the phone he never ignores.
Pressed suit in such a dark shade of navy, it looks black. Matching tie. His hair is longer than the last time I saw him, but combed back in exactly the same style. He’s got a precisely-cut beard that definitely does it for me.
More than what Luka looks like now, I notice what the mere sight of him does to me: my mind blanks of everything back home, and even the piece that’s still right next to me. My heart rate lifts into an airy, birdlike state. I may or may not smile to myself for the first time in over twenty-four hours; I take a long sip of my drink before it can register.
I almost get up to say hi—until I realize my hand is trapped inside Oscar’s.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” I don’t look away from Luka, until he exits through a different door than he entered. He didn’t notice me. He wasn’t even looking.
“Time to check-in,” Oscar announces. I can see his watch face from here. It’s thirty seconds to our exact check-in time, and clicks over just as we reach the desk. In another life, he’d be an excellent guy to have on a heist team. Never, ever late.
“Do you see this view?” While he marvels at the suite, I check my phone. Luka hasn’t sent any texts since the last one.
I don’t owe him an explanation. But it does feel wrong to be here with someone else, when he has no idea. The least I can do is let him know now, so he doesn’t plan anything special. Sending the car to the airport was bad enough.
“Here,” I text him, while Oscar is busy unpacking our luggage right away. Another virtue. “But can’t hang out. Sorry.”
He reads the text. The typing icon flashes.
“Same. TTYL.”
I start to panic. He thinks I meant I can’t hang out yet, rather than not at all. God, why didn’t I tell him about Oscar sooner?
“To us.”
&nb
sp; I start as his hand slides onto my hipbone from behind; his other hand passes a glass of champagne around my shoulder. I take it and clink it against his.
“Mr. and Mrs. Draper.” He lifts my left hand in his and kisses the ring, which I haven’t stopped glancing at since last night. And not in a good way. “Just think: in a year or so, it’ll be official. I can’t believe it.”
The champagne burns my throat all the way down as I drink and stare at it with him. “Me, neither.”
Luka
“You said we have twenty-four hours to change our mind.”
I look at Gregory for help, but he just shrugs at his wife’s logic and focuses on the task he was doing when I arrived: cleaning the cat’s litter box, which they keep right in the front entryway for reasons beyond anyone’s comprehension.
“When I said ‘within twenty-four hours,’” I explain to Wendy kindly, as she fixes me another cup of Swiss mocha instant, “I didn’t mean within one hour.”
“We felt pressured into saying yes, because Paradise Port has been trying to make this happen for years. I felt bad saying no again.” She passes me the mug and sits. “Especially to you.”
My businessman demeanor fully dissolves. I’m a kid again, drinking chocolate milk at her counter beside my brothers and her children while our parents fix potato salad and steaks.
“I understand.” I shrug off my suit jacket. This is part of my new plan: maybe giving things a casual spin—reminding them that I am still David and Rose’s son—will emphasize that I’m on their side. “You don’t want to see your business change. It’s scary.”
“We respect the choice your dad made,” Gregory says, now done with his cat chore. He crosses the kitchen to wash his hands. “It surprised us, because he was so against franchises and all that, but after your brother.... Well. We don’t judge him for doing what he thought was best.” As soon as he sits, Wendy pops up to grab another mug and make him some coffee, too. That’s been one of many challenges in closing this deal: they’re always moving around the room. Getting both pairs of eyes and ears on you is a challenge in and of itself.
