“Now I’m starving,” he adds.
I laugh. I’m hungry too. For so many things. But among the available choices, lunch seems safest.
“Come on. Let’s see what we can find.”
We climb aboard the Ali Cat and strip off our scuba gear. Adam’s bathing suit slips down low on his hips, so that I can see the smooth contours of his lower abdomen, the hint of white flesh there, untouched by the sun. Our eyes meet for just a moment, and then Adam’s drift away once again. We leave our scuba suits on the deck, like skins we’ve outgrown.
I jump into the shower just long enough to wash the salt from my hair, then dry off and reapply sunscreen. By the time I find another bathing suit, locate my dress, and climb up to the galley, I find Adam with Mia and my father at the narrow banquette. Plates of food and a couple of icy pitchers sit in front of them.
Adam has a couple of sandwiches on his plate plus a heaping serving of sliced mango. He sees me and gestures to the seat beside him. On the table, he’s laid out a plate with the same food. It’s exactly what I want right now.
“Best cure for what ails you . . .” my father says to Mia, but whatever he’s offering, she demurs.
“I’m . . . still a little shaky, but thank you.” Her color looks better and her green eyes more lively, but the smile she offers is still a shaky one.
“What’s a cure?” I ask.
“Bloody Mary,” he says. “Electrolytes.”
I laugh. “Dad. She might want to try Gatorade or something instead.”
He waves a hand at me and turns his full boat grin on her. “Come on! Girl like this has a stronger constitution. Don’t you, dear?”
“I’m flattered you think so, sir, but I think water and crackers are probably about my speed right now.”
Dad tsks. “You’re no fun.”
Sitting here, watching my dad’s flirting, Mia’s discomfort, drags me back to every awkward sorority dinner hosted by my parents, back to my sister’s wedding, where my dad seemed to corner every pretty girl on the dance floor. Most people think he’s wonderful, charming, and he can be. But he also doesn’t know where to stop. That sometimes you can’t have it all. I learned that the hard way.
Images bloom in my mind: our family cabin in Colorado, snow angling down in an opaque blanket. Two sets of boots in front of the fireplace. An empty bottle of Grande Cuvée sweating in an ice bucket. And a jewelry box on the table. Tiffany. Though I never found out what was inside. Or saw the woman who wore it.
I’d come early for our family ski trip, wanting to surprise my parents by stocking the kitchen. Instead, I got the surprise.
“It doesn’t mean anything, Alison,” my father said. “We don’t want to hurt your mother. Not with something like this. What matters is family. Loyalty. That’s what’s real. The rest is bullshit. It’s nothing.”
I don’t know what’s real or not. I just know that my definitions feel shaky. Love. Family. I don’t know what I can count on—least of all myself. So that means focusing on the things I can manage.
“Speaking of fun,” Mia says. “Is Alison doing the dates?”
My father leans forward, eyes keen with curiosity. “What dates?”
Adam’s posture stiffens, and he casts a look my way. The sun carves in from the portholes to shadow his eyes. I wish I could see them.
Mia peels a piece of bread from the top of her sandwich and takes a cautious nibble. “Oh, it’s this thing we do for research. Whenever anyone starts working at Boomerang, they have to go out on a few practice dates. To get a feel for the company.” She shoots me an apologetic look. “But I guess . . . you already did that. In a way.”
I can see she’s sorry she brought it up, so I try to let her off the hook. “Yes, I’ve tried the site. I think I have a handle on it.”
At lunch, Adam and I never resolved the issue of the dates themselves. It wouldn’t bother me to do them; it would be business, just like Adam bringing Mia along today. But talking about it now seems wrong, like it will erase the magic of my time in the water with Adam.
My father puts down his drink, and his gaze sweeps between Adam and me. He gives me a subtle wink and offers, “How many of these dates do your employees do, Adam?”
“Generally three. Though most employees go on to do more. We have a good product, as you know. Great algorithms mean great matches.”
“But just for fun, eh? For people on the rebound.” He doesn’t have to say, “Like Alison.” The words hang in the air, unspoken. “Or do you make real love matches too?”
Adam nods. “Of course. The site is for people who want to connect without a lot of expectations or drama. But we’re happy when it brings people together in a real way, too.”
His choice of words strike me. In a real way. Which means the way he is, the parade of girls through his life, that’s not real? Were we real that night in the Murano?
“What do you say, Ali?” my father asks. “Need to get back on the horse, right? And it’s research.”
“It’s not my first order of business, Dad,” I tell him.
“C’mon, it will be good for you,” he insists. “And if you’re too busy, why don’t you just consider today date number two? Mia and I can give you some more alone time.”
Adam and I exchange embarrassed looks. I wish I could sink through the bottom of the boat and swim to shore. He’s pushing me at Adam, and I don’t like it. It tells me he doesn’t think I can do the job on my own. And it tells Adam . . . what? That I’m pathetic and need help finding a date?
Images wind through my mind: Adam treading water in the ocean next to me, water pooling on his skin. Ethan in the doorway, tulips drooping toward the floor. My father, hurrying out of the bedroom in Colorado, his shirt unbuttoned, after I’d dropped a bag full of groceries on the floor.
Suddenly, all of it feels like such treacherous terrain, like it’s unsafe to love or trust in any direction. Like it’s unsafe to love or trust me. I have to focus on the work. Only on the work.
“That’s a great idea,” I say, lightly. “So, that’s two down and just one date to go. Adam and I will make a plan Monday.”
“Atta girl,” my father says, approvingly.
I know he thinks I intend to plan something else with Adam, and I’ll let him think so. But I know I need to run as far away from that as I can. Far away from any possibility of being hurt or hurting someone else, of wrecking what my father is trying so hard to build. Far away from Adam’s secrets and my own, back to some safe space, like our world under the water. Only this time, I need to swim out on my own.
Chapter 18
Adam
Alison’s already sitting at the small conference table in my office when I arrive on Monday.
“Morning,” she says, pushing to her feet. She’s in a cranberry red skirt, a black silk shirt and cat’s-eye reading glasses that remind me of Halloween. “We’re meeting with Brooks Wright at ten, correct?”
Her tone is so crisp and businesslike that I stop inside the door. Something changed after our dive yesterday. I felt it as our boat trip ended, and I feel it now, in the cool look she gives me. Something got into her head—about me. I want to know what it is.
I want to know why she was suddenly so chipper about going on her last Boomerang date. I want to know what happened between her and Ethan. But I’m not supposed to be thinking about a girl. I’m supposed to be securing the Quick funds.
I take a seat at my desk and fire up my laptop.
“That’s correct,” I say, following her cue. “He’s the producer I told you about—my buddy from Princeton who’s been at Lionsgate for a few years. I asked him to get some materials together to give you an idea of what we’re planning on doing with our first feature. He’s bringing some storyboards and a few test audition tapes. A couple of other things.”
Brooks was my housemate up until September after Grey moved in. My place has four bedrooms, but my brother manages to occupy three. For two years before Grey, Brooks and I lived to
gether and spent a huge amount of our time dreaming and planning out our production company. We’re totally in step. As soon as we can start writing checks, we’re going to kick massive amounts of filmmaking ass.
Today is about showing that to Ali. I know she has a vision. I see it in small ways, like how she dresses, how she doesn’t rush when she’s considering new ideas, but I wanted this meeting so it would give her concrete information that she can take back to her father. Graham’s got the keys to the safe. I need that safe unlocked.
Ali checks her watch. “That’s in fifteen minutes. Do you need me for anything before then? I thought I’d work in Philippe’s cube for a bit. Give you a chance to settle in for the week.”
I don’t need anything from her—nothing I can have, anyway. But I feel like I’m being dismissed even though she’s the one leaving my office, and I don’t like it.
“Actually, there’s an HR meeting right now you should sit in on.”
Lie. Rhett texted from the café downstairs, offering to pick up coffees. My “HR meeting” is the delivery of a double-espresso, a latte dusted with cinnamon, and two Danishes. I’m not sure how I feel about the order I put in for Alison now, but whatever. It’s done.
“Oh,” she says. “Okay.” She sits back down, pressing a key on her laptop to wake it back up. “I’ll just power through a few emails until then.”
I look at my email, thinking I’ll do the same. Then I consider wadding up a sheet of paper and throwing it at her, just to get her attention. Fortunately, Rhett arrives with a coffee carrier before I do.
“What’s up, boss man? Hey, Alison.” He sets the drinks down on the conference table. “How’d the boat trip go?”
I take the seat next to Alison. Her face is emotionless. Carefully composed.
“Great,” I say. “I had a great time.” What else do I say? Vivian had a few too many? Graham was pushy as hell? Mia spent most of it cuddling with the toilet? I had one of the best afternoons I can remember until the very end? “The Quicks were generous hosts.”
“We were happy to have you, Adam,” Alison says, with as much feeling as a DMV clerk.
Anger shoots through me, and I stare at her. This is bullshit. I spent all goddamn night reliving it in perfect detail. Then embellishing it. I know she had as much fun as I did. Why are we both pretending otherwise?
A flush of red creeps up Ali’s neck, but there’s no other sign of the girl who imitated grouper for me yesterday.
Rhett looks between us, like he’s seeing everything.
“For you,” Rhett says, handing over Ali’s latte.
“For me? But I didn’t—”
“Adam likes to treat visiting executives when he can,” Rhett says.
A nice warning jab by Orland.
Ali’s eyes cut to me, then back to Rhett. “Thank you,” she says, and I think she sounds a little contrite.
With the coffees delivered, Rhett turns for the door.
“Rhett,” I say, quickly. “Didn’t you want to talk about the retreat? I was just telling Ali . . . son. You were going to give us a quick update on it.”
I’m lying because of this girl and I hate lying. I do too much of it already. Chloe filled up the Lie Reserves for the rest of my life.
“Update?” Rhett says, freezing. He gave me the update yesterday, over breakfast smoothies at my house. His eyes narrow for an instant, then he realizes he needs to cover for me. “Oh, right.” He pulls out a chair beside me and drops into it. “You know the basics, right? About the retreat?”
Ali frowns. “No. I don’t.” I can tell she’s disappointed in herself. Since she’s been here in the office, it’s been less like she’s learning about my company and more like she’s simply verifying what she already knows. Somehow our annual retreat slipped past her, and she doesn’t seem thrilled about it.
“We do a team-building forum every year in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, the days right before Thanksgiving,” Rhett explains. “We call it Camaraderie Camp because it’s all in the name of fostering closeness among the team.” His leg starts bouncing up and down as he gets more excited. “We ski some runs. Chill out in hot tubs. Do some trust exercises. It’s a really fun few days, and it always gives the morale a boost—not that we really need it, but who’s going to say no to better morale, right?”
“Absolutely. It sounds like a great event,” Ali agrees.
“It is. It’s the best,” Rhett says.
“Will you join us?”
My question sucks the air out of the room.
First, because my voice came out sounding strangely hushed and private, almost like I whispered the question to Alison alone. And second, because neither Alison nor Rhett was expecting it.
“Oh,” Alison says. She turns her coffee cup in a circle on the glass conference table. “It’s good of you to offer.”
Not sure what to make of that. I focus on Rhett, sending him a pointed look. He’s worried about me inviting Alison for personal reasons and he’s dead-on. It’s exactly what I’m doing. I want her there, and it has little to do with the investment. But he has to back me up.
Slowly, he starts to nod. “Yeah. It’s a good idea. It would give you a chance to get to know people around here better.”
Good enough.
Alison seems to consider it. “Okay. I’ll come.”
“Great,” Rhett says. “We just need to book travel for you and your team.”
“Well, I don’t think Nancy and Simon would want to come along. It’ll just be Philippe. And me.”
“I’ll get on it.”
My attention moves to the commotion in the hallway. Through the glass walls, I see Pippa and Sadie laughing. Today they’ve stepped up their work outfits to heels and body-hugging dresses, which happens every time I schedule a meeting with Brooks. He’s out there with a motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm, telling them something that can’t possibly be as hilarious as it appears to be.
I have no idea how he got the presentation materials here, but I’m not worried. I know he handled it. Brooks might always look like he just rolled out of a bar at 2 a.m., but he’s brilliant, competent, and as motivated as I am to get this film studio online.
Philippe and Paolo show up, and they look just as excited about Brooks as the girls do. For a few seconds, it’s like a mime show outside. Everyone talking animatedly, hands flapping around.
“Looks like marketing has the floor,” Rhett says, standing. He glances at me, giving me back the pointed look I sent him a moment ago. “Oh, Alison, I almost forgot. I just saw Cookie in the elevator. She told me to tell you that your dating pool has been refreshed. I think she spent a lot of time over the weekend finding good matches for you, in case you were going to get around to them.”
Touché. Rhett—and Cookie—are fighting back.
“All you have to do is log in and pick your date,” he continues. “I really hope you meet someone nice and have a great time with it. Even though I know you’re really here to get a handle on Adam’s business.”
Rhett cringes, realizing what he just said. It’s an apocalyptic slip for the guy. Just a tragic choice of words, and I pray to every god there is that I won’t start laughing.
Ali meets my eyes. Her smile is genuine and open.
She’s enjoying this as much as I am.
“Thanks, Rhett,” she says. “I’m sure it’ll be fun.”
Chapter 19
Alison
Out in the hallway, Philippe and Paolo engage in animated discussion about the latest episode of Fargo. I watch for a moment, awed by how well Philippe fits in with everyone, how smoothly he ingratiates himself. That we brought in leftover swag bags from one of my mother’s recent events for the Boomerang staff to pick through this morning only sweetens the pot.
Paolo straightens Philippe’s collar while they speak, which makes me wonder if there’s a possible connection there. They seem cut from the same cloth—adorable, fashion-forward and, from what I’ve seen of Paolo so far, they have sim
ilar keen but fun-loving dispositions. Philippe is single and pretty much open to anything with anyone. I make a note to get the scoop on Paolo.
Even though Boomerang has a strict no-dating policy within the office, I decide that “visiting executives”—to use Rhett’s phrase—don’t count. All of which brings me right back to Adam, to our night together, and to the fact that I have to get close enough to dig for information from him while keeping enough distance between us to protect my heart.
I’m twenty-two, and already I feel like the real world’s too much to handle.
Philippe catches my eye and gestures for me to come join him. Excited chatter rises around us, like an ice cream truck’s due to come down the hall any moment.
In the conference room, I slide in close to Philippe, who gives me a sharp elbow nudge, meant to serve as a greeting.
“How’s it going in there with Mr. Mysterioso?”
“Just fine.”
He quirks an eyebrow but says nothing. I reach for the pitcher in front of us and pour us both glasses of water.
“How’s it going over there?” I whisper, nodding in Paolo’s direction.
Philippe shrugs. “Taken, I think. But I’ve got my hands full with you, anyway.”
“Yes. I know how high-maintenance I am.”
He’s kidding, but his comment stings a little. I’m conscious that he’s had to take care of me this last year. That he’s the one who stayed after I drove off all my other friends. He picked me up when I needed it, and I needed it a lot.
Rhett, Mia, Adam, and a couple of others take seats. Mia smiles at me, and I ask how she’s feeling.
“Much better on dry land,” she says.
Brooks—Adam’s producer friend—comes into the room, and all attention shifts to him, like he’s a magnet to our metal shavings. He’s husky, with a broad forehead, thick brown hair, and five o’clock shadow that looks like it begins coming in around noon. He also has thoughtful brown eyes, and a dazzling smile that puts half the room in his pocket before he’s uttered a word.
Adam stands before a wide-screen monitor set into the wall. “All right, gang,” he says, and in an instant it’s like Brooks has disappeared. Everyone’s focus shifts right to him, and he seems so easy with it. No, he seems entitled to it.
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