by Rachel Bond
But this, she knew, could be a trap. If Zac were fully aware that women came onto him for his money, then he’d likely be wary of any interest she, herself, showed in him. The word shallow kept popping into her head. And then there was the fact that he would be paying her for her work, which made everything awkward. And if he found out how badly she needed the money…
She decided she had to keep the relationship as much about business as she could, even if she felt herself so strongly drawn to him.
Again, she picked up her latte and the Google book and was about to stand, when he spoke.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he said.
She froze. Was he asking her on a date? Her hands gripped the book and the drink. She searched his pale blue eyes for some sign of his intention. He seemed utterly calm, as if the question had been entirely casual. His lips were turned up slightly in that bewitching smile of his.
“I’m sorry?” she said. “Are you…?”
“Tomorrow night. Do you have anything going on? The truth is, I haven’t met that many people here in Hood River, and, well, we seem to share a few interests. Technology. Books. Google. The web project. Me. No, sorry, just kidding!” He paused for a moment, as if assessing her response, then continued. “We could have some dinner, talk about the project. I could show you my library.”
Jesus, it was a date. But he was trying to make it sound like something other than a date.
She tried to act relaxed, but in reality her heart pounded against her chest and her ears filled with a ringing. She felt a flush of heat sweep down through her body.
“Um, okay. Sure, why not? I can show you the plans for the site.”
“Fantastic. I’ll come by your shop around five tomorrow and pick you up. Does that work?”
“Okay,” she said. “Bye.” Her brain was getting a bit foggy. She took her things and walked back to the office, feeling as if the entire town was somehow unreal and that she was now in her own private version of The Truman Show. She’d just been asked to dinner by a billionaire who had been the toast of Silicon Valley a couple of years earlier. A man who was still as close to a celebrity as you could get in the tech world. A man who was wanted not only for his huge fortune, but for his expertise in business and his stunning good looks.
It was a turn of events she could not have imagined.
CHAPTER 7
Back at the shop, she immediately Googled “Zachary Cushman” and brought up hundreds of articles, photos, tweets, videos, and blog posts about him and his company. She’d read a number of them before, but she wanted a refresher. She set a timer for an hour so she wouldn’t get too caught up and forget to keep doing real work, then got to reading.
As she expected, the articles fell into three main groups: those about the history and growth of Zac’s photo-sharing company; those about the sale to Tencent, the Chinese company; and those about Zac himself as a person, both before and after the sale. Mostly after, when he’d gone full-hedonistic. She read a few of each, but she couldn’t help but be drawn to the personal stories of the lifestyle he’d lived once he’d become a billionaire. There were reports of prostitutes, wild parties, and crashed Lamborghinis (well, one crashed Lamborghini, yellow). Crazy investments, private jets, and months on Ibiza doing nothing but dancing and drinking—and drugs.
Seriously, she thought. If I wasn’t reading these on tech-news sites, I’d be sure they were made up for a movie or a novel.
When the timer went off, she reluctantly closed down the browser windows and got to work. She slaved away like a maniac the rest of the afternoon and late into the night before grabbing a few hours’ sleep and then heading back to the office the next morning for the final push. The plans were coming along nicely. She’d gotten one of her copywriter friends to pump out some amazing words, and she’d created a series of sample screens and “mood boards” showing the colors, fonts, and styles of imagery she planned to use. And best of all she’d actually had enough time to do a bit of a design and mocked up a couple of pages in Photoshop.
By three o’clock everything was ready, and she hurried home to change for dinner. Ginger, her orange tabby, was meowing like crazy.
“You hungry, girl? Let’s get some early dinner.” She opened up a can of cat food and set it on the kitchen floor, then scooped the litter box.
While she was figuring out what dress to wear, she called Alicia, put her on speaker, and laid the phone on the bed.
Alicia answered: “Vanna, my Vanna, how’s it hangin’?”
“High and tight,” Savannah said.
“Ooooh—sounds painful.”
“What are you up to?” Savannah asked with a smile. “Hittin’ the town?”
“Course! It’s dinner time here. I’m in a cab heading over to my new boyfriend’s house.”
“What the fuck? Boyfriend?”
“Well, I just met him last night,” Alicia said. “But he’s ohhh so dreeeamy.” Alicia drew out this last sentence in an old-fashioned exaggerated voice, complete with southern accent.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Savannah responded. “Remember, no sex till the third date.”
“Man, Vanna, you are old school. Old school. I’m talking like 1990s, 1980s right there.”
Savannah pulled out a short little cocktail dress in dark-red velvet. She held it up to her body and decided it was too much. She tossed it on the bed next to the phone.
“Guess what I’m doing tonight,” she said.
“I don’t know. Eating a pint of ice cream while you stare at the wall?”
“No!”
She pulled out a flower-print dress and held it up. Not too bad.
“Hmm,” Alicia said. “Drowning your sorrows in a pathetic bottle of Two Buck Chuck while you stare at the wall?”
“Be nice!” She decided against the dress and tossed it on the pile.
“Okay, okay. Let me think…you wouldn’t have asked me unless you were doing something really special. I know it couldn’t be a man because you already told me most of the guys in Hood River are either old and retired or young windsurfers. Oh, I know! Eating a frozen pizza and watching Orange is the New Black. Great show. Hope you have a good time.”
“Too funny, Alicia. I’m going on a date.”
“Holy shit! Tell me, tell me!”
Savannah pulled out a nice black dress that fell just below the knees and showed a tiny bit of cleavage. Was it appropriate? She wasn’t sure. It was a date, but kind of a weird businessy date. But then again, he was a billionaire who always seemed to have on $500 shirts, so she didn’t want to feel out of place.
“One sec,” she said. She took off her clothes and pulled on the dress. “He’s smart and handsome and successful. He hired me for a project but he wants to take me to dinner.”
“Successful? What does that mean?”
Savannah looked at herself in the mirror. She looked fabulous. The dress was perfect. “He started a company and sold it for a lot of money.”
“Like, millions? Is he loaded?”
“Like millions, yes. But more like a thousand million.”
“I can’t do that kind of math…wait a minute! You’re fucking with me. He’s a billionaire? You’re going to dinner with a billionaire? You know there’s only like a couple hundred billionaires in the world. Tell me his name, I’ll look him up on Forbes.”
“It’s Zachary Cushman. But you can’t tell anybody! And there’s actually like two thousand billionaires, but who’s counting.”
“Meh. Never heard of him. Oh, crap, I’m there. Gotta go dazzle some guy and then blow his mind. Have fun with Tushman.”
“Cushman!” But Alicia was already gone.
Savannah took off the dress, spent the next hour doing her hair and makeup, and then carefully put the dress back on. After a final mirror-check, she was ready. She headed back to the office.
She didn’t have long to wait. Zac showed up right on time at 5:00. He was so handsome it nearly took Savannah’
s breath away. He wore a tailored gray suit jacket over his usual white dress shirt, no tie. His hair was impeccably styled, and it looked a bit different. Had he gotten it cut just for their date?
When he saw her, he smiled from ear to ear and Savannah noticed how dazzling his teeth were. She was a sucker for a gorgeous smile, and she couldn’t help smiling herself.
“You look happy,” she said.
“You look amazing,” he replied. “That dress is…I don’t even know what to say. Words are failing me….It’s very pretty on you.”
She blushed and looked down with shyness. It had always been hard for Savannah to take a compliment. Her father had made it clear to her that nothing she ever did was good enough, and once had even told her she was fat. In high school, boys had mostly stayed away, and she’d gone on only a couple of dates. More recently, her time with Charles had only reinforced the idea that she didn’t deserve praise.
“Are you okay?” Zac asked. “Did I say something wrong?”
She shook her head and made herself look up at him. “Ready to look at the designs? I’ve got a lot to show you.” She gestured toward all the things she had prepared. “These are the mood boards—”
“Actually, I thought we could put that off till tomorrow.”
Savannah snapped her mouth shut. What the hell? She’d worked so damn hard on everything, and he didn’t even want to see it. Hadn’t they agreed he would look at it today?
“But…” she said.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I can see you put a ton of work into everything, and I appreciate that. There’s plenty of time to look at them, just not right now. I’d rather spend the time getting to know my new designer. Shall we?”
He held the door open for her. Savannah slipped past him, careful not to brush against his chest and arm as she did so, feeling that would have been inappropriate. It wasn’t easy, and they were within an inch of each other for a moment, his cologne filling her senses. Damn, it smelled intoxicating.
Then she was past him onto the sidewalk, and he followed. She locked the door and put her keys away in her little purse. It was a balmy evening; the wind had died down to a warm, gentle breeze. They stood on the deserted side street next to Savannah’s old Toyota. There were no other cars.
“How are we…?” Savannah trailed off.
“We can walk,” he said. “It’s not far.” He indicated up the hill and they started walking. It was steep, and they both had to lean forward as they went upward. Savannah enjoyed the leg workout the uphill climb provided.
“Beautiful evening,” Zac said.
Savannah nodded. “What restaurant are we going to?”
“Restaurant?”
She furrowed her brow. “Um, yes. For dinner? I thought we were going to dinner.”
“We are. But it’s at my house.”
She was a little surprised, but then remembered he’d said something about his library.
They topped the hill and turned right, moving away from the downtown business district and closer to the residential areas. After another block they came to Mike’s Ice Cream, a cute little shop painted in bright colors that had become a local institution over the years. People stood and sat outside licking their ice creams, and the delicious scent of fresh waffle cones filled the air. Savannah kept walking and was wondering how far it was to his house when she felt a light touch on her arm.
She turned and looked at Zac. “Wait,” he said, dropping his hand back down. Savannah felt a tingle moving through her arm and into the core of her body, becoming a little warm spot.
Zac said, “My dad used to say you should have dessert first. Let’s get some ice cream. We can eat it while we walk.”
A few minutes later, ice cream in hand, Savannah felt like a little kid as she strolled next to Zac along a quiet street lined with large trees and stately old homes. It had been a long while since she’d treated herself to ice cream, and she’d never eaten it before dinner like this. She was amazed at how such a little thing could feel like such a big deal. She was almost giddy.
Everything was going so perfectly…too perfectly. Savannah suddenly had a funny feeling that nothing so perfect could last forever, and she wondered what was going to happen to spoil it.
CHAPTER 8
They talked about the history of Zac’s company, which Savannah knew quite a bit about from reading articles over the years and a few the day before. But now she got the real story, warts and all, complete with a backstabbing co-founder, a house full of young programmers, late nights wondering how they could possibly make payroll, and a strange trip to Bermuda. She was glad to be able to participate in the conversation from her own knowledge, and asked several questions that really seemed to make Zac stop and think. Her confidence rose.
“And what’s your story?” he asked. “Were you always into design?”
“I was always artistic. But graphic design and web stuff was the furthest thing from my mind growing up. I wanted to be a vet.”
“Seriously? I thought you were from New York.”
“I grew up outside the city, in a very rural area. Animals everywhere. I still love animals.”
“So what happened? How come you’re not a vet?”
“Wanting to be something when you’re a kid and actually making that happen are two very different things. As I’m sure you know.”
She told him how her life had gone in different directions, and how she’d felt out of control until finally realizing she could make money doing something artistic. They talked back and forth while they walked and licked their cones. Savannah found Zac very easy to talk to, and surprisingly interested in everything she had to say, even if it was just stupid stuff about herself.
About fifteen minutes from the ice cream shop, Zac stopped in front of a large Victorian house. It was painted purple and yellow and brown, with a little turret at the top next to an enclosed balcony. A large front porch wrapped around to the side, and the yard was full of flowers.
“Here we are,” he said, starting up the walk. Savannah followed, catching a glimpse of a yellow car down the driveway. He pushed the front door open without unlocking anything.
“You don’t lock your door?” she asked, amazed.
“It’s part of my new Zen lifestyle. I’ll fill you in over dinner.” They entered the house and Savannah found herself in a large living room. “Glass of wine? Red or white?”
“Red.”
“Then if you’ll excuse me.” He gave a funny abbreviated bow. Savannah found his occasional strange mannerisms very endearing. Even sexy.
As he headed through an archway that she assumed led to the dining room, Savannah looked around. The living room was massive, with a fireplace, built-in shelving crammed with books, and a high ceiling topped with thick crown molding. Every inch of the space had been lovingly restored and was painted in subtle earth tones. The furniture was masculine and very tasteful. How much was his, and how much had come with the place? There was no clutter, and she wondered if that was how it always looked, or whether he’d spent hours tidying up the house in preparation for her arrival.
She passed through the archway into the dining room, then on into the kitchen, where he was pulling two wine glasses from a wooden rack above his head.
“Hey,” he said, smiling. “Just in time.”
He set the glasses on the island next to an unopened bottle of wine. But instead of getting a corkscrew, he reached into his pocket and produced a pocketknife. It was small but beautifully crafted. He flicked it open with one hand, and the two-inch blade flickered in the lights.
“Want to see something?” he asked.
Savannah shrugged. “If it’s worth seeing.” She was sure to give him a look that said she was only teasing, and he acknowledged it with a quick grin.
“It is well worth it, if you ask me,” he said.
He took the bottle and used the blade expertly to remove the gold-colored foil that covered the cork. Next, he tilted the bottle to a 45-degree a
ngle and carefully inserted the blade into the cork. He began to twist and pull. Savannah watched intently. There was no way he could pull a wine cork with a—
Pop!
He held up the knife with the cork on the blade. The cork was completely intact. How on Earth had he done that?
With a little flourish he removed the cork, closed the knife, and dropped it back into his pocket. He half-filled the two glasses and handed her one.
“To new friends,” he said, raising his own glass.
She lifted hers. “New friends. But shouldn’t we let it breathe or something?” She had never been all that into wine, but she assumed he was.
“Nah. That’s a load of snobbish crap,” he said.
She chuckled, they clinked and drank, and Savannah was immediately sure this was the best wine she’d ever tasted. It was almost like an altogether different beverage than what she was used to drinking. The alcohol spread out into her body and she relaxed ever so slightly. She watched Zac as he took off his suit jacket and set it over a chair, then rolled up his sleeves to reveal surprisingly toned forearms and a small black tattoo. The tattoo surprised her: he didn’t seem like the type for any kind of body art. She couldn’t tell what it was.
He started pulling things out of the fridge—vegetables, mostly. She loved the way he moved; there was something about it that made her feel a bit mushy inside. It had been forever since a man had made dinner for her.
“Now then,” Zac said. “I’m going to get some food started, and maybe you can hang out and tell me even more about yourself.”
