“I hardly remember the date, so there must not have been much to tell.”
It’s taking all my willpower to stay calm, my hands tightly balled fists under the table. “So, you didn’t get laid that night?”
With high confidence, he boasts, “Oh, I certainly got laid.”
“She’s a pretty conservative girl. I don’t get the impression that she’s one to sleep with someone on a first date, so how did you manage it?”
“Why so many questions? I have video if you don’t believe me.”
I blanch at the thought of Emerson being degraded on video. “Video? How did you get her to agree?” I know I can be a bit of a jerk when it comes to women, but I never force them to do anything they don’t want, and I never record anything without their permission.
“She was into me, man. I think it turned her on that I was your friend.”
“Why would that turn her on?”
“I dunno, man. Maybe she has the hots for you?”
“Did you slip her anything?”
“Man, I don’t need to do that,” he scoffs.
“Then why doesn’t Emerson have any recollection of your night together?”
“She was fully into it and had a good time.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Did you drug Emerson?”
“No, man. I don’t need any help getting women into bed.”
“Then why doesn’t she remember anything?
“No clue. I don’t recall her drinking too much. Maybe she doesn’t remember because she was blackout crazy for me. She begged me to get a room there at The Clift for some fun.”
“She begged you? That doesn’t sound like her at all. And she’s beyond hot. Why would she need to beg you to do anything?”
“You sound a lot like a jealous boyfriend. She was a great lay. Go for it, man. You have my permission to take over.”
Gritting my teeth, I hold my fists at my sides so tightly I think I’ve cut off the circulation to my fingers. “I don’t need your permission. You fucking drugged Emerson. That’s rape. You assaulted my partner and friend.”
“It was entirely consensual. You can watch the video. Emerson is lying if she says I drugged her. What happened to ‘bros over hos,’ dude?”
I punch him right in the face. He rounds me off, and the next thing I know we’ve cleared the area and two big bouncers are separating us before kicking us out of the bar.
As I leave, people in a three-block radius hear me yell, “You motherfucker, you raped my best friend! You’re going to pay for this!”
I grab a cab and take it directly to Emerson’s house. I text her that I’m coming, but she doesn’t respond. She doesn’t answer my first knock either, but I know she’s there. I can hear the television.
“Emerson, it’s me. Dillon. Please open up. Please. I need to see you.”
It takes a few minutes of my continued knocking until she finally opens the door.
She’s dressed in sweatpants and a Yale Law hoodie. Her eyes are red-rimmed from crying, but they widen when she sees my right eye swollen shut and the blood all over my shirt. “Dillon! What happened? Are you okay?”
“I beat the shit out of Adam. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Please….” I don’t know how to tell her that since I learned what happened, I entirely blame myself.
She opens the door wider and I embrace her, both crying. I want her to know she’s safe, but I want her to tell me more, let me know how she feels so I can start to fix her hurt. I want to touch her, to soothe her, to take away the cloud that seems to surround her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dillon
After the incident with Adam, I call CeCe and we agree to meet for coffee at a local French café not too far from our offices. I arrive first and secure us a table in the back. The décor is a bit cheesy with lots of Eiffel Towers and French flags, but the pain au chocolate and croissants, plus the coffee and espresso drinks are the best in The City.
CeCe walks into the coffee shop with not a hair out of place. Her perfect light pink manicure looks great against her dark gray boiled wool long jacket over a matching dark gray T-shirt, black pants, and a sexy pair of black sandals. She greets me with a hug and orders herself a drink before reaching toward my eye, which is still a bit green.
“I was so angry. I punched Adam in the face, but he got a good swing in before the bouncers separated us.” She laughs but I lean in and tell her, “I’m most concerned that he has it on video.”
Her hand goes to her mouth. “Are you kidding me? Video? What are we going to do?”
Her drink arrives and I sit patiently, waiting to tell her my plan until the waiter is out of earshot. Leaning in so no one around us can hear, I whisper, “I have an idea. It borders on illegal, so I need a sane person to talk me out of it.”
“Then you’ve come to the wrong person, my friend,” she says as she reaches for my arm.
“Well, listen first. Emerson can’t have been the first person he’s done this to.”
Contemplating what I’ve said, she takes a small sip of her cappuccino. “Agreed.”
“Don’t you know someone in the district attorney’s office?”
She stirs her drink. “You mean the district attorney?”
Sitting back, I cross my legs. “Yeah, him.”
“I’ve known him most of my life. What are you thinking?”
“Well, I do have a few hacker friends who are black hats.”
“Black hats?”
“They do illegal hacking,” I explain.
Looking around to make sure no one in the coffee shop is listening, she urges, “Okay, keep going.”
“Well, he said the video is on his phone, which means it’s most likely backed up on the cloud, so if we steal his phone, it doesn’t destroy the video.”
Glancing up at the ceiling and with a deep breath, she says, “Sometimes I hate technology.”
“We could get someone to go in and delete his cloud, then steal his computer, tablet, and cell phone so it’s entirely gone and erased.”
“I’m liking this.”
“I’m thinking we could take the video to your friend, and if we find any others in the process, maybe they could arrest him for being a serial rapist.”
She takes a few moments, then finally says, “I like it, but they would need to know how we came into possession of the evidence. Then the girls would all have to testify.”
Sitting back, I try to not show all the disappointment I feel. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Then we’ll have to go with plan B. We have our black hats ruin him.”
“I’m still interested. What are you thinking?”
“His credit cards all get maxed, his credit is destroyed, his condo goes into foreclosure, he’s listed on all those pedophile websites… and whatever else we can think of.”
Laughing, CeCe says, “Remind me never to cross you. I think I’m comfortable with getting the videos off the cloud and maybe have his phone, tablet, and computer find water. Less comfortable with destroying him.”
“I like the way you think.”
“That’s why you’re a good partner in crime.” Taking a drink of my coffee, I look out the window. “She’s kind and gentle. It kills me that Adam destroyed her spirit.”
“I agree, but I’m hoping it only went away and will come back once we get some of this behind her.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Emerson
6 months later
It’s just after 4:30 p.m. and I’m working my way home on the bus. My mind is busy with my mental to-do list of what I need to get accomplished. I know I should write it all down, but I can’t bring myself to dig out a pad and paper. The worst part is I know as I’m in the shower, I’ll remember what I forgot to do because I didn’t write it down.
The bus is crowded with people making their way from downtown out into the San Francisco city neighborhoods. There’s something magical about being one of many sitting on the bus, an easing to the loneliness within. We
act the same, move at the same moment, and we watch the city move around us. Everyone is in their own world, earbuds in their ears and ignoring everything and everyone around them with blank and exhausted looks on each of our faces. As I look out the windows, I see it’s a gray day—it isn’t foggy but dreary. I’m looking forward to heading into Palo Alto for some sunshine this weekend and a round of golf.
As I dream of sunny blue skies and warm days, my cell phone rings—CeCe. “Hey, chica! What’s up?”
“Hey! I’m in your hood and wanted to see if you could escape for a cup of coffee. I’d have you back to your dungeon in an hour.”
I can hear her need to talk, and I’m tempted. “By my office?”
“Yep.”
I feel a twinge of guilt for ignoring my friend these past few weeks. I seem to be spending every waking minute outside of the office with Dillon. I need to make it up to her somehow. “So enticing, but I’ve left for the day. But….”
“What? You don’t leave until it’s been dark for a few hours.”
“I do, too. All the time. Dillon and I go running several evenings a week. Right now I’m on Muni, and it’s crowded. This is why I don’t leave when the rest of the world leaves.”
“Where are you off to? Hot date with Dillon?”
I laugh at even the notion of a date. “No! I’m headed to my therapist appointment. Dillon’s going to pick me up afterward and we’ll go for a run, but you do know we’re only friends.”
“You both can’t breathe without each other. Just do the deed and get married already.”
“You’re funny. Dillon doesn’t like me that way. I’m another sister to him, and he’s a brother to me.” I don’t need or desire the lecture about my relationship with Dillon. I’m attracted to him, but he’s kept me at arm’s length. I’m grateful for everything he’s done for me, so I’m not willing to risk anything by pushing for more than what we have now.
“Honey, do you sleep in the same bed night after night with your brothers?”
“CeCe, we don’t sleep together ‘night after night.’ Please remember, we’ve both signed explicit non-fraternization clauses. We can only be friends. Good friends, but only friends.”
Changing subjects, she asks, “How are things going with your therapist?”
“You know, when you set up the first appointment, it was tough to tell her about what happened and how I blamed myself. But she’s been amazing. I can sleep at night again, and I feel as if good things are coming out of our conversations. Honestly, I think she wants to release me, but we get along so well it’s like meeting with a friend.”
“What does she say about your relationship with Dillon?”
My therapist thinks Dillon is important to me and encourages me to explore more, but I won’t admit that to CeCe. “We haven’t talked much about him for a while.”
“Okay, so you’re holding back on her.”
“I’m at my stop. I’ve got to go. Can I call you later?”
“Of course! And I promise I won’t harp on you about this anymore. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“See you Saturday after golf with Dillon?”
“I think we’re getting all of us to play together. Want to join us?”
“All the partners, including Sara?”
“Yep. We could make it the three girls against the three guys?”
“Count me in.”
***
Dillon arrives at CeCe’s place at six thirty Saturday morning. We stopped and picked up coffee on the way, as I promised when we made our tee time. I hand her a cup as she gets in the car wearing light pink walking shorts, a white polo shirt and a green, pink, and white argyle sweater vest. Her chestnut hair is pulled back in a ponytail, topped by a white Stanford visor. She looks so put together.
“Thank you for stopping for coffee.” Breathing in the scent and taking her first sip, CeCe says, “This tastes amazing. I can’t believe you guys do this almost every Saturday.” Bitterly, she adds, “No one is awake at six thirty in the morning on a Saturday.”
Dillon loads her clubs with mine and joins us in the car. “CeCe, regular human beings are asleep when you go to bed at two o’clock in the morning.”
“Harrumph. Plenty of people are still awake at two. But I’m trying to be more of a morning person these days,” she tells us.
We drive in silence as Dillon maneuvers his SUV out of The City and onto Highway 101. I turn around and see she’s staring out the window. “Should we put together a plan on how we’re going to beat the guys today?”
“I plan to let you play every shot while I drink a lot of mimosas and look cute,” she tells me with a big grin.
“You always look cute.” I turn to Dillon. “Are we playing best ball or adding all of our scores up? You guys were going to figure it out.”
“I think we’ll be adding all the scores.”
I look at CeCe in the rearview mirror. “You may have to swing a club today.”
She nods. “I can do that, too.”
“You seem nervous. Is everything all right?”
She looks at me and smiles big. “Of course. I’m just not used to being up so early. This is going to be a lot of fun.”
Arriving at the club, I see Sarah and Mason exiting Cameron’s SUV. We girls make our way to the driving range before our 7:35 a.m. tee time. Dillon worked it out with the starter to allow us to play as a group of six. So at least we’ll be all together.
Apparently, Dillon and I will be riding together and playing off the back tees. Mason and CeCe will be riding together and playing from the middle tees, and Cameron and Sara will be riding together and playing off the front tees. The goal is to each play our best, and the winners are the lowest combined score. We’re playing girls versus boys, as well as a secondary competition between those driving together. Cameron has indicated there may be prizes for Worst Shot, Hole-in-Ones and Best Trick Shot.
We’re going to have a great time.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dillon
The guys are counting on me to pull this out for them. My handicap requires me to play off the back tees, so it’ll increase the challenge. CeCe is probably better at the front tees, so it should help even us up.
When we start off, we let Emerson go first, and her shot is beautiful. I can only hope my shot is equally as good. As I hit my ball, I know it’s not going to get the distance Emerson got, but I’m grateful it’s in the middle and not off in the trees.
CeCe and Mason pull up to the middle tees, and after she takes some direction from him, she swings and hits the ball. It outruns mine. Looking at Mason, she asks, “Did it meet your requirements?”
Turning to the group, Mason says, “I think the girls have pulled the wool over our eyes.” He shoots his ball and it goes a bit farther than all of ours, but he’s in a wooded area, which may be more challenging to get out of.
Sara is next from the front tees. Her shot isn’t as far as the previous ones, maybe twenty yards behind Emerson and fifteen yards behind CeCe, but she’s right down the middle. Cameron stands and takes the worst swing I’ve ever seen, his ball finding the water next to the tee box. He looks at us all sheepishly. “Did I mention that Sara and I get two do-overs every nine holes?”
I laugh the loudest. “You mean mulligans?”
Cameron and Sara look at the rest of us and nod.
We end the first nine holes pretty close. Emerson’s short game helps to keep the girls in the running, and CeCe only struggles on longer holes, but she’s a top-notch player. Sara and Cameron are having fun, which is all that matters.
The back nine holes, I completely crumble. I’m over par on all nine—meaning I’m over at least one shot per hole. The women win the game by almost ten strokes. As we drink our Bloody Marys and mimosas and the women celebrate their win, Cameron taps his glass with a spoon.
CeCe, looking at me, asks, “Do we kiss our partners now?”
Cameron tells her, “You and Mason
are more than welcome to kiss. We won’t stop you.”
CeCe blushes a deep shade of pink and we all laugh at her embarrassment. Mason smiles.
Cameron allows the ribbing to die down and then places a box and three items on the table behind him. He’s commanding the attention of the entire bar, and he announces as if he’s reading for an awards show on television, “The award nominees for Worst Shot are—drum roll please—Dillon’s epic meltdown on the last nine holes. Didn’t you tell us your game was improving and you thought you could probably beat Emerson?”
The group is laughing as I sputter, “No! I didn’t say that!” I turn to Emerson, trying not to laugh at being caught. “Really, I never said anything like that.”
Cameron shakes his head, and mutters, “We know where your loyalties are—just wait.” After the room settles down, Cameron continues. “Mason’s superpowered putting and missing multiple easy shots on the third, seventh, sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth holes.”
We’re all laughing while Mason denies he had so many poor shots. “Hey! I’ll give you the last three holes, but it was the pressure CeCe was putting on me. She was supposed to be a lousy player like me, but she’s actually surprisingly good.”
CeCe turns to him, pushes on his shoulder, and says, “That’s what you get. You failed to notice I played golf at Stanford, too.”
Everyone seems stunned by this comment until CeCe mutters, “I didn’t say I was on the golf team, I just said I played.” And she winks at Emerson.
“Get a room,” Dillon tells Mason and CeCe, which only encourages the rest of us to laugh.
Cameron tries to take control back and says, “And the third nominee for Worst Shot is me, as I went through nineteen balls today.”
“Nineteen? You counted?” Sara asks, seeming confused.
“Of course I counted. I guess I bought the box of balls that are magnetized to water.”
We all debate the winner, and with a lot of arguing and the offer of pay-offs, we agree as a group that Cameron wins first place and the trophy. He proudly places the homemade trophy of a glass of water with a ball that has grass stuck to it on the bottom. On the placard, he writes his name, the date, and “19 Balls & Counting.”
Forbidden Love (Venture Capitalist Book 1) Page 6
