Once I have those rough numbers, I’ll have an idea of the foundation’s budget. It will all unfold from there.
I order in and eat dinner alone, feeling no need for company. I don’t even turn on the TV for sound. I sit on my small deck instead and look out on my small view as I eat. I pour myself a glass of wine and watch the sun set. It’s just me: Caitlin, all alone.
But I’m not lonely. For perhaps the first time, I am all I need. I am complete in myself. I’m eager to see Anthony again and find out where our future is headed, but until then, he’s helped to heal my wounds. He’s made me comfortable with just myself. And in that way, he’s sitting here beside me.
I raise my glass to the setting sun, feeling better than I have in ages. Tomorrow is my next step, and I can’t wait to get started.
I sleep deeply, without any dreams.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ANTHONY
I FIGURE I’LL SURPRISE CAITLIN at the office, just for the hell of it.
Spontaneity used to be one of my strengths. I used to seize opportunity. If a friend mentioned they’d missed out on a trip to Paris, I’d drag us all to my jet and fly there. Why not? Important things always had a way of getting done, regardless of how much I fucked up the schedule.
I used to be spontaneous all the time, but these days routine has boxed me in. It’s tamed me, maybe even killed some of the spark inside me.
Caitlin makes me want to break that box.
Not a lot — it’s not upending my schedule so much as forcing it to adapt — but still.
And maybe, even after all my worry about distracted focus, diversion is sometimes good. Maybe the mental aerobics Caitlin has forced within me aren’t the tragedy I feared. Maybe this is evolution. Maybe what I see in the future of my mission is different, rather than diminished.
Maybe this can work out after all.
Is the problem that Caitlin made me take my eye off of things that need watching?
Or is it truer that, although I’ve worried, no balls have dropped?
Is the problem that I’ve been slowly coming to love Caitlin …
… or that I’ve denied it?
Throughout Sunday, I expertly juggle all that Amber and my team throw my way. I attend meetings. I take phone calls. I hit the gym and I meditate; I plan my week as I do faithfully each Sunday night.
I do it all with Caitlin on my mind, just to see what happens. Nothing goes wrong. Nothing gets missed. I’m not unduly distracted from what matters — because Caitlin matters, too.
Alexa says I’m going to come across as a hypocrite if I stick with Caitlin, but I don’t buy it. Caitlin didn’t get her promotion because we were sleeping together. None of my fans will see my being in a relationship as a weakness, so long as I don’t pretend it’s something different than it is. I can still be the spokesman for banishing repression and shame even with a steady woman. The idea that being attached makes me a poor role model is flat-out stupid.
My feelings for Caitlin aren’t a problem so long as I stop hiding from them, admit to feeling them … then embrace the feeling.
I’m ready to stop hiding from those emotions, and I’ll bet Caitlin is, too.
So I’ll show up and surprise her. I’m the boss; I can abscond with the Director of Charitable Change whether Jamie needs her in the office or not. I can take the Director to lunch. We can discuss our shared mission and decide how to handle this Eros/Syndicate/Ross business together. Sex can come later, when Caitlin stays for the night.
I drive my Tesla instead of taking the Escalade, wanting to feel the wheel for a change. I figure I should call the office to make sure Caitlin is there. It’s nearly noon on Monday, and it’s possible Jamie is back in town and the two of them will go to lunch without me.
I call the foundation’s main number. Jason, the receptionist, picks up. I’ve met him before. Good guy, a hard worker.
“Anthony Ross Foundation; this is Jason. How can I help you?”
“Good morning, Jason. This is Anthony Ross.”
He takes a moment to recover. I try to be friendly up and down the ranks, but my companies are large and I can’t know everyone. Despite my intentions, even the people I’ve previously met can be star-struck.
“Mr. Ross. What can I do for you?”
“Is Caitlin in the office today?”
“Yes, she’s at her desk right now. Would you like me to transfer you?”
“No, no. I just needed to see if she was there. I’m about five minutes away and want to surprise her.”
Jason practically giggles. “That’s sweet.”
And I wonder if it’s already become common knowledge that the big boss has a crush on the Director of Charitable Change — sufficient that it’s “sweet” that he’d come courting.
“Don’t tell her I’m coming, okay?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Ross.” Another tiny giggle.
I hang up. I focus on the road. And I smile.
I get the feeling that today will be one of those days I’ll remember forever.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CAITLIN
I NEARLY JUMP OUT OF my seat when Jason appears at my side, plucking the earbud from my ear, and says, “Anthony Ross is coming to see you.”
I look over at Jason. He’s all bubbly and has a coat hanger smile. It’s like he thinks Anthony is coming for him instead of me. Why is it that straight men never get as excited as gay men do? It must be boring to be a straight guy. They seem to cheer and holler and hoot, but they don’t know “giddy” like the rest of us do.
But I’m not actually giddy. I’m mostly amused by Jason’s expression. He has both hands in excited fists near his neck, like a caricature rather than a real person.
“He told me not to tell you. It’s a surprise.”
“You’re doing a bang-up job, Jason.”
Jason doesn’t register my sarcasm. He keeps staring at me with his delighted expression as if he’s expecting me to perform some sort of trick.
“Thanks,” I say to dismiss him.
“I thought you might want to freshen up or something.”
“Do I stink?”
“Honey, you’re always amazing.”
I wait.
Still with the ridiculous expression.
“I’m good, Jason. Thanks.”
He waits a few seconds, then dismantles his facade and heads back to his desk near the door. He seems disappointed that I’m not planning to rush into the bathroom and re-do all my makeup in anticipation of Anthony’s arrival, but there are two reasons I don’t plan to oblige. First, I touched up an hour ago. And second, Jason might be a silly person who drops everything the minute a cute boy shows interest, but I’m not. Even before this new “Caitlin Renaissance” I was too proud for outright giddiness. These days I’m more about internal satisfaction than external approval.
It’s very Zen. It’s a very “Anthony Ross” way to act and feel.
I love that Anthony is coming, and it’s already stoking a fire inside, but his imminent arrival shouldn’t signal my stupidity. It’s the opposite: a signal for me to buckle down. I’m in the middle of my first goal task for the week and can finish before he comes if I don’t get distracted. And then how great will it be to face Anthony with one more notch on my purpose belt?
I put the earbud back in and note the time. Five minutes should do it. I finally figured out how to get into Disclosure, and had just worked out the search function when Jason came at me. There are a ton of recordings in the archives, but I’ve narrowed them down and can see the bullet points that Jamie described beside each one. The discussion she asked me to find is probably already right in front of me. I just need to find the bit about the charity numbers.
I figure the easiest way to start is to simply find the recording between Jamie and Anthony. There’s a “play snippet” function beside each recording, so I’ve been going through them all and clicking each to listen for a few seconds. Most of the recordings contain at least two me
n, meaning I can eliminate them immediately.
Finally I click on a file and hear a woman’s voice: “Well, our understanding is that she had an entry-level job with your foundation. Copywriting and—”
The sample cuts off. But now I’m sort of curious and want to hear the end of the sentence. The connection seems muddled, like someone on the line was moving around, but I heard “foundation” clear as day, just like I searched for in my first pass. I can’t place the voice. It’s a woman for sure, but it’s not Jamie.
I hit Continue.
“—marketing. No big deal. But then around the time you started fucking her, she got a big promotion.”
I pull back, squinting at the computer screen. My eyes go to Jason at the front of the office. My heart has started to beat a bit more noticeably.
What is this?
I hit Continue again.
“I had nothing to do with that,” says Anthony’s voice. There’s a pause, then he adds, “Jamie promoted her.”
Who is he talking to?
I look up at Jason, who’s minding his business, like I should be minding mine. I came in here to find numbers — to find a call between Jamie and Anthony. I didn’t come to find this.
But the mystery woman and Anthony are discussing Jamie and someone she promoted.
A girl that Anthony “started fucking.”
There’s no way this is about me, is it?
Instead of resuming the audio, I scan the AI-made bullet points, and after a moment I see the name — the one that the AI must’ve dragged from the transcription because Anthony was using it, or that was in an identifier used by Disclosure to tag the people participating.
Alexa.
I look at my desktop clock. Three minutes have passed since Jason returned to his desk. Maybe I should let this go.
But … shit. I kind of want to know what Alexa looks like. She’s the stuff of legends in my mind, given all I’ve heard. She’s this somehow-underground writer, indelibly tied to that weird, futuristic e-reader Jamie and I found in Anthony’s house a few months back. Beyond that, she also seems to be some sort of a brain within Anthony’s Syndicate — not “just a writer” at all.
I want to put a face with a name. It would be nice to know who I’m imagining.
Especially if she’s talking to Anthony about me.
Which she couldn’t possibly be.
I click the filename to enter the recording, then click to see the video.
A split-screen appears showing Anthony on one side and a late-twenties, early-thirties woman with light brown hair on the other.
So this is the famous Alexa Mathis. I’ll admit: I’m a bit spellbound.
They’re both paused in awkward positions. I want to see Alexa move, so I click one of the bullets at random. Okay, maybe not at random. Maybe the bullet point I click is one that contains my name, clear as day.
Maybe I’m being nosy, but honestly? If Alexa is going to get uppity about promotions given because Anthony is fucking me, I kind of want to hear how he smacks her down. Anthony is never so crude.
And hey, I’ll admit I sort of want to hear him say nice things about me. I’ve been on a cloud since Saturday evening, and now my lover is coming to surprise me. And hell, this is Anthony. He doesn’t do anything small. He’ll probably bring flowers.
I’m a level-headed, grown-up woman, but I’m not immune to being swept off my feet.
I’ve chosen a segment near the end of the recording, based on the time index. It’s about a minute long. I click it. The frame I was paused on jumps to a later frame and starts playing. I watch Alexa Mathis come to life, feeling something like magic.
Anthony speaks first. He’s in the middle of a sentence, so I’m left without context.
He says, “—the life experience to keep up with me.”
Yep. Sounds like Anthony.
Alexa sighs. “I don’t trust where this is going.”
There’s a commotion in the corner of my eye and I look up, distracted as Jason stands up. Judging from the rear, he seems to be clasping his hands in front of his chest. Probably batting his eyelashes like a chaste, adoring maiden in an Amish romance.
I see Anthony, larger than life, holding flowers as predicted. There’s a shop next door to our building, and Anthony’s chosen something beautiful — despite the fact that Jason, who has the same crush on Anthony as most of the world, is immersed in pretending the bouquet is for him.
Something Alexa says in my earbuds draws my attention back to the screen.
“The project and the business are going to require more and more of your attention. I for one don’t intend to lose all I’ve built because you’re infatuated with some trophy piece of ass.”
And Anthony, with a feeling like a light slap to the face, tells Alexa: “I’m not.”
But of course he’d say that. Probably because he sees me as something special — not at all as some trophy piece of ass. He’s objecting to the phrase, not the question. Or he’s saying no to Alexa’s question because that was always our official line: We’re not together; we’re just having sex.
Still, it hurts a little. I should shut this off. Listening is unfair to us both.
There’s quiet on the recording, but not because it’s stopped playing. I’m not sure why it hasn’t stopped, though it may have something to do with the fact that I haven’t tried to stop it.
There’s a horrible curiosity in me now. I don’t want to listen and hate those last two words.
But still I can’t stop.
Still I can’t back away.
Across the office, Anthony sees me.
He raises his hand and smiles like he’s seeing me for the first time, back from the dead.
My heart wants to lift, but something is holding it down.
Anthony comes toward me with his big bouquet, taking more effort than should be required to extricate himself from Jason. I watch with a half-felt smile plastered. I stand, earbuds still in, broadcasting the Disclosure line.
My eyes flick to the screen. Alexa is quietly watching Anthony — a chess game played with gazes. I see his face as it shifts into something uncertain. I can imagine what he’s thinking, the indecision Alexa’s hard silence is thrusting upon him.
I watch both Anthonys: the one coming toward me beaming with love in his eyes and the one on the screen, tearing himself apart as he considers me, the childish distraction that’s costing him so much time and focus.
As he considers me as just another trophy piece of ass.
I want to kill the recording more than I’ve wanted anything in my life, but instead I let it run as Anthony arrives in front of me, unable to see my screen, or hear what’s in my ears. I let it run as he smiles his widest smile yet, as he holds out the flowers and I wait to see how this all plays out, and whether I should take them.
“It’s like you said,” Anthony tells Alexa Mathis in my earbuds. “Caitlin is just an infatuation. I’ve let it go too far, but I won’t anymore. It’s just sex. That’s it. That’s all it’ll ever be. I promise you, Alexa: Caitlin means nothing to me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ANTHONY
SOMETHING IS WRONG. I’VE BEEN too lost in my own elation to really see it until now, but in the thirty seconds since I entered the office, Caitlin’s body language has gone from uneasy to outright bad. She stood up to see me enter, and I smiled and floated toward her without paying attention to anything beyond my own world.
But scrolling back in my mind’s eye I can see Caitlin as she was fifteen seconds ago, twenty seconds ago. She didn’t look like a girl pleased to see her man arrive and surprise her. Instead she looked like she was afraid to move. Like someone was holding a gun to her head.
And now something is definitely wrong.
Caitlin’s eyes avert, looking down. She’s suddenly pale, her movements small and uncertain. Her breath is shallow. I can only see her lashes, but I see them blink far too much.
She reaches for her computer mouse a
nd clicks something. Then one shaky hand comes up to grab both white wires of the earbuds I’m only now realizing she’s wearing. She doesn’t remove them from her ears; she simply grabs the cords and pulls. The buds fall and strike the surface of her desk like tiny bombs.
“Jason,” she says quietly without looking up from her desk. “Please take your lunch break.”
Jason must hear the same thing in her voice that I do, because he complies without hesitation. He turns toward the little kitchenette and is halfway there when Caitlin interrupts him.
“Go out for lunch.”
“But I brought my lunch today,” he says.
“Take petty cash. It’s on us.”
Jason’s eyes flick from Caitlin to me. He no longer looks adoring. Now he looks scared.
“Is that okay with you, Mr.—”
“It’s okay with him,” Caitlin interrupts.
Jason looks from me to Caitlin, then back. I don’t know what’s happening here, but I know it’s not good. I give Jason an almost imperceptible nod, giving him the permission he seems to need without showing Caitlin that I’m presuming enough to give it.
Jason takes one final glance at us, seems like he wants to say something, then snatches a credit card from his desk drawer and speedwalks out. The seconds between his departure and the closing of the lobby door seem to span for years in uncomfortable silence.
“Caitlin, what’s—”
She looks up. “Do you love me?”
“Do I—”
“It’s a simple question. Saturday I got the impression you wanted to say it but needed time to think. I get it. I know how you are. But now I need to know. I don’t care if it’s demanding of me. I don’t care if it makes me a clingy bitch. I don’t give a shit if you feel pressure. You’re supposed to be the king of straight talk. The champion of self-honesty. So just tell me. Just tell me, right now, how you feel about me.”
My mouth won’t move. What she’s just said might sound pathetic on other lips, but on Caitlin’s it feels like a weapon she’s wielding. The same words could sound needy, but instead they feel strong. The same words spoken by someone else could be a passive-aggressive power play, but I feel like I’ve just been issued a no-bullshit challenge: I’m here. I’m fine on my own. So are you a man who’s in, or a pussy who’s out?
The Guru (Trillionaire Boys' Club Book 6) Page 17
