The Story of Brody and Ana (A Silicon Valley Prince Book 2)
Page 17
“How about an orange juice for Brody and me.”
Watching Brody as he talks on the phone makes me realize how tired he must be. His eyes are bloodshot, he hasn’t shaved, and there are dark circles under his eyes.
“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” I ask.
“We’ve been cleared for takeoff,” the flight attendant shares as she brings over our drinks.
As our plane taxis to the runway, Brody turns off his phone. I grasp his hand, I’m an edgy flyer during takeoff and landing. I lean my head against his shoulder.
“It’s a ten-hour flight, why don’t you sleep?” I suggest.
He runs the pads of a fingers along my bottom lip. “I thought we were going to join the Mile High Club.”
“What about the flight attendant?”
“I’m sure she can find someplace to hide out.”
“It seems so seamy to screw here. They’ll all know.” The engine starts and Brody’s eyes start to droop.
“We’ll have this conversation in an hour, I need a quick catnap,” he says as his voice trails off.
***
Getting through Immigration and Customs at three in the morning when you’ve just flown in on a private jet, is a very different experience from flying coach. An Immigrations inspector boards our plane to stamp our passports.
“We’ll get a car to the hotel,” Brody declares.
“Brody, are people awake?”
“Enough to suit me. My European Manager will call me by eight a.m. local time. Which still gives us a couple of hours to check out the sites. Then I’m off to work.”
“I might need to take a nap. You slept for over nine hours, I slept for two.”
“Don’t think I forgot about the Mile High Club.”
“Remind me on the way home.”
“Guess what I’m thinking about now?”
“Taking a boat down the Thames, the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey?” I ask.
“Joke all you want, but now I’m on London time and I’m thinking that hotel room sex would be fun. We’ve never had hotel room sex.”
I’m learning that nonverbal communication works well with him. I smile, grab a hold of his hand, and give it a quick squeeze. Breaking in a hotel bed sounds fine to me.
***
Brody heads off to work while I take a boat down the Thames to Greenwich and go on a wonderful tour of the Royal Observatory. Then I head to the café for a cup of tea.
Brody:Dinner is at 8 p.m. Dress up.
Yikes, my idea of dressing up is what I’m wearing: boots, jeans, and a sweater.
Ana:How dressed up?
Brody:Dressy
Ana:I didn’t bring anything dressy
Brody:They have stores in London. This is for me, I’ll pay.
Brody will be wearing a suit, what do I even buy? Then I realize I have a secret weapon, my sister. Still in the café, I Skype her.
“Ana what’s wrong?” her voice is groggy. I forget about the time difference...oops, I woke her up.
“I’m so confused about the time. It’s noon in Greenwich.”
“What are you doing in Connecticut?”
“England. I’m at the museum.”
“Ana, it’s four in the morning. What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t get my texts? Brody flew me to London. He’s working, but he told me to meet him for dinner, I’m to show up dressy. He’s wearing a suit. What should I wear?”
“Wait, what!”
“Jazz, stay focused. I need a nice outfit.”
“Is Brody paying?”
“Why should he pay? They’re clothes for me.”
“Ana, he wants you to dress up for his event. You need to get him to pay. I know the perfect person in London. I’ve worked with her, she’s wonderful. Wait. Let me text her. She’ll set you up with an outfit, it’ll be marvelous.”
“Jazz, is marvelous a euphemism for expensive?”
“I’ll get Gemma to text you when and where to meet. Your job is to get Brody to pay.”
Ana:My sister’s hooking me up with a fashion person. This is way out of my budget.
Brody: Do it. Don’t say no, do this as a favor for me.
I meet up with Gemma who takes me on a whirlwind shopping spree at all these fancy London shops. I wind up buying a blush-colored, knit Reiss dress that fits me like a glove and LK Bennett nude pumps.
“That’s what Kate wears,” Gemma says, when she has me try them on.
We pick out a MaxMara cashmere coat along with a nude-toned Valentino purse, which is so shockingly expensive that my hands started shaking when Gemma chooses it. But Brody said it was okay. Gemma then takes me to Sephora. Her friend is the manager there and they make me buy mascara, some eye pencils – that she says I need to give my eyes a “smoky look”, and a light lipgloss.
Feeling like the Julia Roberts character fromPretty Women, except for the whole hooker thing, I’m now exhausted. After thanking Gemma for all her help, I head back to the hotel for a nap. I’m pretty sure I’ve missed a full night’s sleep. After my nap, I get up and dress. I catch myself in the mirror; I look like thecliché rags-to-riches-princess.
Brody:A driver will be waiting for you in the lobby at 7:30 p.m.
In the lobby, I quickly find a guy with a tablet displaying my name. Dressed so fancy, I feel all old- world elegant. He drives me to what I can tell is an exclusive restaurant. Upon entering, the maître d has someone take my coat and then he escorts me to a private room. There are a number of people mostly men in suits, chatting away. This must be one crazy-ass girlfriend test. With a deep breath and feeling like Cinderella, I plaster on a smile and walk up to Brody.
As soon as Brody sees me, he takes a second look. His pupils dilate and his face breaks into a big smile. A facial expression I don’t think any of these people have ever seen on him. He pulls me close and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“This was worth every penny,” he mumbles into my ear.
Chapter 36 – Brody – Party at Jax’s
“I thought he lived off Waverly?” Ana comments from the passenger seat.
“That’s Logan, not Jax,” I reply.
“Jax is your CrossFit coach?”
I nod.
“You guys all live in Palo Alto. Is that a thing?”
“A thing?”
“Yeah, that all the ‘Princes’ live in Palo Alto.”
“One moronic reporter called us the ‘Princes.’ It’s not a thing. Most of the young guys are up in San Francisco.”
“Then why did you choose Palo Alto?”
“I don’t want to waste my time commuting. Down here I have access to experienced engineers. Name one security company in San Francisco.”
“Besides ClosedDoor, I don’t think I could name another security company.”
“Symantec, FireEye, AlienVault, Morse, Palo Alto Networks, Intel, Cybersecurity Caspida, Proofpoint. Not to mention Apple, Google, and Lockheed. All of them are down here. It’s hard to get an engineer living in the valley to travel up to the city.”
“He lives here? I love Spanish Revival architecture. What a beautiful house,” Ana gushes as we pull into Jax’s driveway.
“Do you like this better than Logan’s house?”
“I’ll tell you once I go inside. Logan’s house feels like my lab. Not a bad place to do research, but not the way I would want to live.”
We walk up the steps and ring the bell. Jax’s girlfriend, Payton, answers the door as she holds back a big, yellow dog.
“I’m so glad you guys could make it,” she exclaims.
I hand her the bottle of wine Ana insisted we bring. Payton looks at the label and raises her eyebrows. “Nice, very nice.”
We walk past the large two-story living room which is kitted up in a similar fashion as Jax’s CrossFit, as we follow Payton to the back.
“Wow, this is different,” I exclaim.
“It’s finally finished. The whole renovation started because I hated
that old, screened-in back porch. It made the rooms in the back of the house as dark as a dungeon. The thing is, when his guys pulled it off, there was damage to the back wall. One thing led to another and we wound up taking down all the internal walls back here and redoing the kitchen.”
“It’s beautiful, big, but bright and warm,” Ana gushes. “I love how you maintained the Spanish Revival charm.”
Ana and Payton head over to the kitchen island that runs the width of the room. I follow as Ana continues to gush. “What an amazing kitchen. I love how it’s open to the family room and dining room. Oh, and look at these wood cabinets, living here must be such a dream. I love what you’ve done.”
“I had so much fun designing this space,” Payton replies. Ana starts pointing out details as Payton nods and smiles.
“You better watch yourself,” Jax comments. “Payton pushed me to take down that back porch. It wound up costing me a lot of money.”
I take a cold beer from him. “I heard about the house you’re building for that Russian Oligarch. I’m sure you can afford it,” I retort.
“This area isn’t short of people who want to build big houses,” he good-naturedly replies.
Chapter 37 – Ana – Thanksgiving
“Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday,” I declare as I sit curled on my couch under the afghan my grandmother knitted. It’s pouring outside as I search for holiday recipes on my laptop. “I always like to try something new for dessert. Brody, are you a pumpkin pie or pecan pie kind of guy?”
“Whatever,” he mumbles without looking up from his work. He’s camped out with his papers spread out on my dining room table that’s really a desk. Thankfully Brody seems to prefer my place to his. Whenever he’s in town, we always end up here. Most likely it’s because my place is warm and cozy with rugs, pillows, food in the refrigerator, and artwork on the walls.
“My parents are immigrants,” I say. “It’s the holiday that celebrates coming to this country. It’s also the holiday that everyone comes home for. It’s the only time when my whole family and all my friends from high school are in Walnut Creek. We always celebrate at my dad’s. I make the turkey with stuffing, cranberries all the traditional stuff. Of course, I manage to throw in some Persian seasonings.”
“I take it you won’t mind that I’ll be in Detroit. My sisters are busy planning a family feast.”
A wave of disappointment runs through me. I was hoping we would be spending our first holiday together.
“Oh. I was kind of hoping you would come home with me.”
“We’ll do another dinner at your dad’s.”
“How many people do you have at your Thanksgiving dinner?” I ask.
“It’s never just immediate family. There are always aunts and uncles, cousins, in-laws, and friends.”
“Sometimes Jazz or Darrius will bring a friend, and this year my dad has his girlfriend. I’m thinking we’ll have somewhere between five to ten.”
With a nod, he keeps his eyes on his computer.
***
“I bought a twelve-pound turkey,” I declare as I set it on the counter along with all the other ingredients I bought. Reorganizing my small refrigerator, I try to figure out how I can get everything to fit. Brody has that grim expression he gets when he feels backed up at work. “I’m making my pie filling from scratch. I got a Fairy Tale Pumpkin and I also found this recipe my mom had for Bourbon Pecan Pie. Why bother with only one type of pie? I might as well make both.”
Brody looks up from his work and he watches me for a few seconds. “I thought you were having dinner at your dad’s?”
“Yes, but it’s much easier if I do everything here. I’ll show up five hours early to put the turkey in the oven. I’ll spend the night, then on Friday I’ll visit high school friends.”
“You could have saved yourself a lot of work if you had come back with me.”
Surrounded by groceries in my small kitchen, I feel perplexed and annoyed. He never invited me to his family’s for Thanksgiving, and how could I abandon my family? I’m the one who does all the cooking.
***
“Ana-Jan,” my dad says. “I hate to do this to you, sweetheart, but Farah invited me to spend the weekend in LA with her. That’s where her children are.”
“Bâbâ, Thanksgiving’s tomorrow. I’m up to my elbows making pies.”
“Ana-Jan, you can still use the house. Don’t worry about the food, your brother, and his friends can eat it all up.”
“Is Darrius planning on bringing friends?”
“You should give him a call. He said he was going to bring a number of friends.”
“Have a good time in LA.” I hang up, feeling concerned I won’t have enough food if Darrius brings a bunch of friends. My mood moves to disappointment. It won’t feel like Thanksgiving without my father. Why all of a sudden is it more important to go to LA and be with her family? The thought isn’t even through my head when I realize that it’s because he is accommodating her wishes. More than accommodating, he’s choosing to be with her over being with us. So, this is why adult children have problems when their parents date.
The afternoon is spent making the chocolate pumpkin mousse tart and the Bourbon Pecan Pie. I decide to start a text thread with Darrius and Jazz.
Ana:Heading over to Dad’s at noon tomorrow. Dinner should be ready by 5 p.m. Please confirm how many people you’re bringing.
In the evening, I feel disappointed that Brody isn’t here. He is off at some meeting in Singapore. After staying up way too late binge-watching TV, I crawl in bed, and plan out tomorrow. No matter how prepared you are, you’re always in the kitchen on Thanksgiving Day. I’m definitely setting the table with Mom’s good china. Maybe I’m cutting things too close. I should leave here earlier in the morning. That way I’ll have more time to get everything done.
In the morning, I wake up excited. It’s Thanksgiving. The first thing I do is check my messages. Nothing from Brody.
Darrius:Change of plans, we’re heading up to Yosemite.
Jazz:I’m invited to friends for Thanksgiving. It should be a blowout party.
I read the two texts over and over. I have a house full of food and no one to eat it. More than that, after all my planning, I’m all alone.
In my little kitchen I find myself standing in front of the open refrigerator with my twelve-pound turkey is staring at me. “It’s just you and me bud, but I don’t think you’ll fit in my oven.”
Tears of disappointment well up in my eyes and one rolls down my cheek. I start jostling around the food. The expectation of my failed holiday hits hard. Instead of family and friends, I’m here alone with two pies. They both stare up at me and I wonder which one I should dig into first. As I pick up my fork, my pity party comes to a head. I start sobbing. Big, ugly, gulping sobs.
My phone rings. Not thinking, I pick it up and swipe right. “Happy Thanksgiving,” Brody says.
I hold my breath. Shit, I don’t want him to know how pathetic I can get. Should I hang up?
“Ana?”
I gasp in a mouthful of air. Then sniffle, ugly and loud.
“Ana, what’s wrong?”
“My Dad is headed to LA, Darrius is going to Yosemite, and Jazz is going to a fun Thanksgiving party.”
“Are you home?”
“I have an uncooked twelve-pound turkey. I don’t think it will fit in my oven.”
“Wait a second.” He hangs up.
Left staring at my phone, I feel pathetic. I wipe my sleeve across my face and put my pie down. I no longer feel like eating it. Maybe I should open the bottle of red wine. The guy at the store said it would go great with turkey, that is, if I ever figure out how to get this one cooked. Hell, I still have Brody’s bottle of bourbon that I used for my pie. He said it was good quality, “...a crime to use for cooking.” Since I only used two tablespoons, there’s plenty left. I look at the bottle of Bourbon and contemplate making my own party.
My phone rings. It’s Brody.
“But what about my pies?”
“Put them in a box and bring them.”
“Really?”
“Ana, get dressed and packed. You need to be at the airport in an hour.”
***
With pies in hand, I navigate my wheelie through LAX. Afraid of being late, I take a cab to the private terminal. The receptionist has no idea who Brody is, and what plane he’s taking. She looks at me like I’m a Thanksgiving reject. Luckily she lets me use the ladies room. At least, my eyes and nose are no longer red. I make a valiant attempt to pull myself together, march out, and sit down in one of the big, leather chairs. If Brody doesn’t show up soon, my pies might be my Thanksgiving dinner.
An hour later, I’m still watching the same four stories from CNN. Since I’m in LA, I figure if it gets really bad I can always call my dad and see if I could be invited to Farah’s kid's house for dinner. Could I even get a hotel room on Thanksgiving evening? A shadow hovers over me and I jump. My first thought was that they’re going to kick me out of this lounge.
“Ana, come on we’re running late.”
“Brody,” I cheer. I’m so excited to see him that I jump up and fling myself at him.
“Come on. I flew commercial from Singapore. They had our plane in a holding pattern for the last hour. Now we’re late.”
He starts moving, while I run after him. I can’t help but notice there’re a bunch of soldiers following us. I look back, concerned. Brody takes the plastic carrying case that’s holding my pies from me.
“I’m getting them home in time for Thanksgiving,” he explains.
“Where did you find soldiers with their thumbs out?”
“I passed the USO on the way to Terminal Three.”
“Wow, that’s nice.”
“It’s Thanksgiving.”
Once in the plane, I settle down in one of those big, comfy seats. Brody looks at his phone. “If we leave in the next ten minutes we should get to my sisters on time.”