by Alisha Rai
She bared her teeth. “It’ll be the best pitch.”
She could tell he was smiling. “I don’t doubt it. We should drive up together.”
Like Rhiannon would ever be able to get into a vehicle with him and not think about sex, after all that “walking her to her car.” Please. “I don’t know when I’m leaving yet.”
“Ah. Right. Text me if you have any questions about your pitch. Or we could meet up—”
There was the invite she’d craved but couldn’t take. She shook her head, though he couldn’t see. “I’ll be swamped trying to juggle everything and get this pitch done.”
“Got it.”
Was it her imagination, or did he sound as disappointed as she felt? Her hand clenched over the phone. “Guess we’ll move filming our last video to after the weekend.”
“Yes. Good.”
She swallowed, but her mouth was dry. “Goodbye.”
“See you soon, Rhi.”
She hung up and looked around her pretty pink office, filled with dainty white furniture. If she acquired Matchmaker, she’d have to move to a bigger office to accommodate her larger staff.
When, not if.
She cracked her neck. Eye on the prize. And the prize was world domination. She had no room in that world for a man.
She texted Katrina a photo of the invitation and a bunch of exclamation points. Her silent partner might not fully understand Rhiannon’s obsession, but she’d freak out with her.
The door opened, Lakshmi walked in, and closed it behind her. The two of them looked at each other for a minute, then squealed in unison, neither of them bothering to muffle the noise.
“This is amazing,” Lakshmi said, quieter, when they’d gotten that out of their systems.
“Amazing.” Rhiannon walked around her desk. “Do I still have glitter on me?”
“Tons, but it’s mostly out of your hair.” Lakshmi squinted. “Well, like 70 percent out.”
“This woman’s making me work.”
“No shit.” Lakshmi’s grin was gleeful. “But we’re getting that company.”
Rhiannon allowed herself another bubble of glee. This was her chance. “Clear my weekend and this week. We’re going to put together the mother of all proposals.”
“Will do.” Lakshmi casually indicated the closed door. “I’m gonna marry that girl, by the way.”
Rhiannon’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, what?” People got smitten with Lakshmi, not the other way around. “Tina?”
“Mmm. Don’t worry about it. I’m in no rush.” Lakshmi plopped into a chair. “I won’t let that stop me from prioritizing this takeover. Shall I fire up the PowerPoint?”
Rhiannon’s phone buzzed. Samson.
One tip I can give you: Aunt Belle hates computer presentations. You’ll want to talk.
She touched the phone. This was good, valuable inside information.
The distrustful monster in her brain woke up. Or he’s sabotaging you.
To what end? She hesitated. “We’ll make a decision on the PowerPoint later.”
“Got it.” Lakshmi started tapping away on her phone.
“Get Suzie in here. Accounting too. This’ll take all of us.”
Lakshmi stood. “So, like, this eccentric billionaire is inviting a bunch of people to her home to pitch her on taking over her company.”
“Yes.” Rhiannon nodded. “I got the allusion too.”
“She’s Willa-Wonkaing you.” Lakshmi shook her head, admiration stamped on her face. “Imagine being this rich, having the ability to make other rich people dance to your tune. That’s the dream.”
“Indeed.” Rhiannon pushed her phone aside and opened her computer, fresh resolve flooding her. “In the meantime, let’s Charlie Bucket the fuck out of this whole situation.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tuesday 10:52 a.m.
RH: Did you send me something
SL: I did
RH: A junk food basket? Isn’t this for college students studying for finals?
SL: I thought Cheetos might give you the energy you need to power through this week.
RH: Those are radioactive. Just because I dress like a teenage boy doesn’t mean I eat like one.
SL: Nothing about you screams teenage boy
Tuesday 11:37 a.m.
RH: You didn’t have to go to the full-on Vegan/Paleo option, you know.
SL: Do you like it more?
RH: . . . yeah. I’m eating the carrot sticks right now. Thanks, I don’t have time for lunch.
SL: I thought about sending another glitter-gram to lift your spirits but . . .
RH: I would never forgive you. I never realized how anti-glitter I was until I had it literally all over my carpet. A stripper might have actually been better.
SL: You might have still had glitter everywhere, even if Aunt Belle had sent a stripper.
Tuesday 4:25 p.m.
RH: Are you sure no powerpoint
SL: Positive. 100%. William might like a ppt but he’s not the one making the decision.
RH: William’s gonna be there?
SL: Yeah, most likely. Is that a problem?
RH: No.
What kind of presentation should I do?
SL: How do you feel about interpretive dance?
RH: I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not.
SL: Kinda kidding.
Aunt Belle responds best to feelings and people, not computers and numbers.
RH: She built this business during the dot-com boom. She doesn’t like technology?
SL: Not that kind. Talk to her. Tell her why you want her business and what you’ll do with it.
RH: No numbers?
SL: Some numbers. Mostly you.
Tuesday 8:20 p.m.
SL: You still making the powerpoint?
RH: I’ll keep it in my back pocket.
SL: I wouldn’t lie to you.
RH: I didn’t say you would. I like to be prepared for anything.
Wednesday 12:40 p.m.
RH: Thanks for the pizzas. My office is delighted.
SL: How’d you know I sent them?
RH: No one else would.
Wednesday 9 p.m.
SL: Want to get a drink?
RH: Still working.
SL: I miss your face.
RH: Well, you’ll see me in two days.
SL: You’re not even going to send me a photo of yourself?
RH: You asking me for nudes? I’m in the office.
SL: Photos of your face. Here’s mine.
RH: Boo, you gotta work your angles better. Selfies from above, not below.
SL: You’ll have to teach me how to selfie too I guess
About those nudes . . .
RH: I thought you said you wanted my face.
SL: I’ll take anything.
Wednesday 9:22 p.m.
SL: why did you send me a pic of a brown shoe
RH: They’re nudes.
SL: Unbelievable.
RH:
Thursday 12:25 p.m.
RH: Mexican today, I see.
SL: I thought your employees might like a taco truck.
RH: Tomorrow I expect you to show up and cook for everyone, FYI.
SL: I’m not that fancy a cook, but I can make a mean chili. Unfortunately, I have to work tomorrow.
RH: This is kind of extravagant. Do you have money to throw around like this?
SL: Uh, yeah. Don’t worry. I have savings.
You and your staff need to eat.
Consider it a courtesy from a colleague.
What do you want tomorrow? What’s your favorite food?
Thursday 3:27 p.m.
RH: Thai.
SL: Got it.
Thursday 11 p.m.
RH: I’m so tired.
SL: You want me to come over?
RH: No. You’ll make me more tired.
SL: We could cuddle. Watch tv.
RH: Netflix and chill huh
SL: I will never live that down!
!! I continue to mean it literally.
RH: I’m good, thanks.
SL: I learned how to take a selfie. Look!
RH: Oh. Uh. Normally I am a hater of shirtless mirror selfies, since you do have a perfectly good front-facing camera, but this one is nice. Ctrl save.
SL: How about this one?
RH: You lower those sweatpants any more, we’re going to be in dick pic territory.
SL: I’d never.
RH: You could. I would not mind. Yours is pretty.
SL: Pretty??? No.
Really?
RH: Really. I’d delete it after, promise.
SL:
RH: That, my friend. Is a beautiful dick pic. Nicely lit, just a hint of flesh at the base of the shaft, outlined in your sweats. Your hand is positioned artfully, holding the dick. 14/10 for solicited dick pics. Actually, you have a beautiful hand. I could do with some hand pics too.
SL:
RH: It pains me to delete this photo.
SL: Please delete it. I did.
RH: Haha, okay. Now make sure you delete it from the cloud.
SL: The cloud? Oh fuck.
RH: I’ll help you with that when I see you tomorrow.
SL: The cloud or the . . . subject of the pic?
RH: Both if you’re lucky.
Friday 11:30 a.m.
RH: Thai food AND massages?!
SL: You have a road trip ahead of you. I imagine you’re exhausted. You need to be in top shape.
RH: Thank you.
See you soon.
SL:
Chapter Nineteen
SAMSON FINISHED pumping his gas and waved to the owner of the station, visible through the little window of the building. He knew the guy well, as well as he knew the Mexican American family who owned the tiny unassuming deli annexed to the left of the building. They made the best fish tacos and ceviche he’d had in his life.
He got into his car and buckled his seat belt. It was freeing, being back in his hometown after a while away. He didn’t have to keep a constant smile on his face now or be on guard against anyone calling him the Curse. He wasn’t a dynasty in Cayucos.
As comfortable as it was, he’d had trouble sleeping last night, after he drove up to the little town. The sound of the waves should have been soothing, but it was almost too familiar. His apartment in L.A. didn’t belong to him, but he missed the traffic and noise and bright lights like it was home.
He missed Rhiannon. Like she was home.
That dopamine hit sparked his brain awake when his phone pinged from where it was mounted on his dashboard. He smiled when he checked the text.
On my way and stuck behind a car accident. You should send more pics.
He rubbed his finger over his lip, trying and failing not to smile.
Samson had wondered if he should tell Rhi about the fake Matchmaker date he’d had a couple nights ago. The girl had been lovely and charming, and they’d spent a nice ninety minutes together.
Since all he’d wanted to do for those ninety minutes was check his phone to see if Rhi had texted, he’d ultimately decided against it. That had been business. This was personal. No need to mix the two.
He took a picture of his hand and sent it to Rhi.
The phone rang before she could reply. He frowned at the unfamiliar Boston-based number. “Hello?”
“Samson, this is Barry Kamau from Concussion Research Alliance.”
“Dr. Kamau. How are you?” Dr. Kamau was their contact at CRA. He had, in fact, been the one to diagnose CTE in Aleki all those years ago.
Dr. Kamau’s gruff voice gentled. “I wanted to call you personally with our findings, son.”
Samson placed his wrist on the steering wheel, his lungs growing tight. “You told me it could take up to six months.”
“Yes, but we’re working on streamlining our process. Is this a good time?”
No. “Yes.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “We found an excessive buildup of tau proteins in—”
Samson didn’t need to hear any more. He’d already been through this once. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, waiting until the other man was finished speaking. “Are you going to issue a press release?” was his first question. His uncle had given them permission to publicize the research.
“We are, but it’ll be a week or two at least. If you need more time, I can delay. We are more than willing to work with you, in case you’d like to release a statement first.”
His first instinct was to decline, but then he thought of Aunt Belle. “Let me speak to my uncle’s partner.”
“Of course. Please feel free to text or call me over the weekend. I am so sorry for your loss. I know how traumatic this can be.”
Samson didn’t know how long he sat there, but he stirred when the owner of the gas station came out of the building, his creased brown face concerned. Probably wondering why Samson was loitering at the pump for so long.
He pulled away and drove through the small downtown, past the cookie company storefront and the café and the pizza place Uncle Joe had liked best. With his windows open, the crash of the ocean on sand overpowered the muted sounds of traffic. It was windy today, and still too cold for tourists.
He pulled into his aunt’s driveway. Her mansion stood tall and imposing, blocking the view of the beach from the street. Directly to the left, not too far down, was the house Rhi had rented That Night. Around the curve was his childhood home.
Aunt Belle’s place was giant, a compound compared to the relatively cozy three-bedroom home he’d grown up in. Aunt Belle and his parents had bought their lots around the same time, back when beachfront property in this area hadn’t cost the equivalent of a small country, but they’d built very different homes.
He nodded to Aunt Belle’s housekeeper as he made his way through the house, though the older woman barely glanced at him. Aunt Belle’s staff had been thrown into a tizzy in preparation for their impending houseguests. It had been so long since Annabelle had entertained.
Samson hesitated with his hand raised to knock on Aunt Belle’s office door. He didn’t want to be the bearer of this particular news, especially now, right before she engaged with an important potential business deal.
Before he could decide, the door opened, and he and Tina both reared back. “Oh, hey.”
“Hey.”
She gave him a distracted smile and spoke over her shoulder as she scooted around him. “I’ll get this handled, Belle. The first guests will be arriving soon, you may wish to get ready.”
He stepped inside the cluttered office. This room was Aunt Belle’s favorite, smaller than one might expect from a woman as wealthy as his aunt, and crammed full of books and papers and pens. Annabelle loved pens.
He closed the door behind him and inhaled the familiar woodsy scent of the room. His aunt looked up from the computer, eyebrows raised above her reading glasses. “Oh Samson. I’m a little busy.”
“I’m sure you are.” He braced his hands on the back of a chair. “Can you spare me a minute?”
“For you, of course.” She clasped her hands in front of her on the cluttered desk. “What’s on your mind?”
“I was out, getting gas, and I got a phone call.” He resettled his weight, doing his best to look her in the eyes. The words were easy enough to draft in his brain, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. The call was from CRA. They got the results on Uncle Joe back. Do you want to write a statement?
She studied him as the silence stretched, then sighed. “Oh dear. You found out, didn’t you?”
Oh. That sounded like she already knew. “Yes. I did. Did he . . . did he call you first?”
“Well, it was a few weeks ago.”
He frowned. A few weeks ago?
“I only had your best interests at heart, sweetheart. That boy is genuinely trying to make up for his mistakes.”
Oh, okay. They were clearly talking about different things. He opened his mouth to correct her, but she continue
d. “I think, given your background and family name, you would be a perfect fit for his new organization.”
Realization dawned, and he mentally shelved his uncle’s diagnosis. “Aunt Belle, are you saying you gave Trevor my number?”
Her hands fluttered. The bells on the sleeves of her turquoise caftan jingled. “Oh. You didn’t know. What were you talking about? I mean, never mind, look at the time. I have so much to do.”
“Aunt Belle! You know what he did to me.”
She paused mid-jingle. “I know. I also know what he’s doing. Samson, the job he’s offering you is right up your alley.”
He gestured to the office, to encompass her own business. “I have a job. Remember?”
“Yes. I gave it to you. But it’ll end, and then what will you do?”
What would he do?
Her tone softened when he went silent. “Trevor’s job offer makes sense for you, Samson. You are good with the public, good at being in the spotlight. You’re sympathetic. You could make real change.”
None of that was wrong, but his stomach cramped at the thought of working with Trevor ever again, especially on this topic. Especially with Dr. Kamau’s words ringing in his ear. “Last time I breathed a word about my concerns about head injuries, I got shunned.” Even though his father had died from it, even though he’d already started to fear for his uncle.
That day he’d walked, he’d known what he was throwing away. Had he wanted to go to another team, he’d have been completely blacklisted. Some family.
“Times have changed, my love. People change. Look at Trevor! Why, look at the comments on any of the videos you and Rhiannon release.”
“No, thanks.” If there was one internet rule he knew well, it was don’t read the comments. He set his jaw. “Don’t meddle like this again, Aunt Belle.”
She sighed. “Fine, fine. But you should think about it.” She wagged her finger at him. “It would be good for you and good for the world.”
“Aunt Belle—”
She fiddled with the ring on her pinky finger. She might have turned down Joe’s marriage proposal, but she still wore the big diamond ring he’d given her. “I’m so lucky to have you, you know.”
Damn it. Like that, his anger deflated. “I’m lucky to have you too.”
Her computer gave an alert and she glanced at it, brow furrowing. “That’s William. He’s being so difficult about this weekend.”
