by Lee, Nadia
His blank expression says he doesn’t really get it. But he nods anyway. “In that case, I hope you get it. But I don’t understand what that has to do with…” He moves his index fingers between us like a swing.
“Nobody at the firm who moved up from my level was in a relationship at the time of promotion.”
He scoffs, which raises my hackles. It reminds me of the way Curie looked at me like I’d lost it when I told her.
“It’s true.”
“You researched this? Looked into everybody?”
“Yes. All the people who started my year or after.” I don’t add that I bribed my friend at HR with a box of Godiva and gossiped—casually, of course—to dig up the information.
He shrugs. “Still, that’s not enough to prove causation. Besides, who cares? There are plenty of other jobs.”
“But none at SFG. It wouldn’t be the same.”
“SFG?”
“The Snyder Financial Group. My dad founded it, and grew it into an amazing private wealth management firm.” Pride swells in my chest like it always does when I think about what the company means to him.
Court looks scandalized. “You want to work for your daddy?”
“Why not? It’s family. And I want to be part of that legacy. I’ve worked hard to be a part of it.”
He shudders at the word “legacy.” “That sounds hellish.”
“You wouldn’t understand because your family doesn’t have a company for you to help run,” I mutter. Well, I’m not sure if his does or not, but my money’s on not. Why else is he being so dismissive?
An ironic look crosses his chiseled face. “Of course not.”
“Definitely not. You—” A sudden burst of gas pushes up. Panicked, I put a hand over my chest, but it’s too late. A small belch slips from my lips.
He blinks. “Wow.”
Oh hell. Kill me now.
I bend over and bury my heated face in my knees, wishing I could teleport to some other planet, preferably in a different galaxy. Why hasn’t NASA invented beam-me-up technology?
“Are you okay?” Court asks, his voice full of amusement.
“No.”
“You know, it really wasn’t that bad. It was a…uh…a ladylike belch.”
I keep my head down because I’m still too embarrassed to face him. “Ladylike…? I don’t think you know what the word means.” I’ll buy him a dictionary. It’s only fair—he bought me the overpriced Coke.
“I have two brothers. What you did barely even qualifies as a burp.”
“Oh, well, that makes it better. I’m so thrilled to hear I don’t erupt as loudly as your brothers.”
“Hey, it’s an improvement. You’ve gone from chunky liquids to gas.”
“Just stop.”
He continues as though he hasn’t heard. “What, you think I don’t know women pee, poo, fart and belch?”
I flop onto my back and put my hands over my ears. I can’t listen to him anymore whether he means to make me less embarrassed or not, because it’s only making me feel extra humiliated. “Stop! Shut up! Aaah!”
My eyes squeezed shut, I roll around on the mattress, hoping the motion will make me unable to process whatever’s coming out of his mouth. I’m already pretty lightheaded from the stomach bug. The rolling motion will take care of the rest.
Except I feel sudden vertigo as my body goes over the edge of the bed. “Ah, shi—!”
But I hit a solid male body instead of the floor. Court has caught me. I blink and look at him.
“Thank you.” I clear my throat. “Those’re some reflexes.”
“Yeah.” His arms tighten around me.
The feel of his bare arms and hands sends hot shivers. Warning! Warning! my mind blares.
Too late. He’s already breached my force field. I know because my heart is beating erratically and I don’t want to move from where I am. His thumb brushes my cheek gently, and I sense my resolve to keep him at arm’s length until I make senior analyst weaken. Until now, I thought people were being ridiculous when they talked about pheromones. But holy crap, they’re real.
Brisk knocks at the door make me freeze. “Pascal?”
Shit. Dad. I scramble off Court. He stands and smooths his shirt, his expression bland. “Sit. I’ll get the door,” he says, and opens it before I can reply.
Dad comes in. His sharp eyes sweep over me and Court. “Your color’s better,” he says to me.
“Yeah. Thanks. Court’s been a great…nurse.” I add a pat smile.
“Good to hear.” Dad nods. “Thanks, Court.”
Court flashes a wholesome, all-American boy-next-door smile at my dad. It’s so damn convincing that I almost see a halo around him. “No need to worry, sir.”
Dad clasps Court’s shoulder. “You know, we have a family dinner next Saturday when we return home. Consider yourself invited, if you’d like to come.”
Whaaaat? Why isn’t he swinging a bat at Court? Not that I want him to, of course, but that’s what he would normally be doing. “No,” I say.
At the same time, Court says, “Thank you. I’d love to.”
If either of them heard me say “no,” they don’t show it. Oh my God. Doesn’t anyone care about my opinion on this? “Dad, I’m sure Court is very busy.”
“And I’m sure he can speak for himself, Pascal,” Dad says, with a let’s-not-pursue-this smile. He turns to Court. “Can we impose on you to bring a bottle of wine?”
“Of course. Red or white?”
“Rosé. Dry, if possible.”
“Shouldn't be a problem. I know where I can get a good Tavel.”
“Excellent choice.” Dad turns to me. “Anyway, I need to go back to the reception. Just wanted to check up on you.”
“Is it bad out there?” I ask, doing my best to suppress a cringe but not doing such a great job.
“No. Curie turned the, ah, attempted abduction into a big joke, and everyone thinks it was amusing. Joe is also putting a good spin on it. You know how they are—lemons into lemonade and all that.” He leaves.
I cover my face with my hands, feeling very much like I’ve fallen into a rabbit hole. I don’t understand why Dad wants to see more of Court. It isn’t like we’re dating or anything. Besides, even if Curie and Joe are laughing about what happened, Dad isn’t the type to let it go.
“You should find an excuse not to come,” I say.
“Why?” Court says. “I think it’s nice of him to invite me.”
“You tried to ruin his daughter’s wedding. Do you know how much it costs to have a wedding in Hawaii?”
He considers for a moment. “No. Should I?”
“He’s going to try to kill you. The dinner will probably be poisoned.”
He laughs. “All right. I’ll only eat bread from the basket and drink the wine I brought.”
Ugh. Typical male, not taking what a woman says seriously. “I’m not being silly here. Dad really can hold a grudge. You don’t understand.”
A shadow passes over Court’s handsome face. “I have some experience with something similar myself. And your dad doesn’t seem like the type to be that petty or vindictive.”
I want to argue, tell him he’s totally mistaken. But somehow I can’t, not when there’s pain flickering in his eyes.
Suddenly uncomfortable, I lie down on the bed and put an arm over my eyes. “All right, fine. But you can’t sue me if you get poisoned. I did warn you.”
He laughs. “Want me to sign a waiver?”
“Yes. Do that, and then please leave.”
I hear a pen moving over paper.
“Here.” He places a sheet on my palm.
I glance at it.
I hereby hold Pascal Snyder innocent for anything that happens at her family dinner this coming Saturday. If I’m poisoned, maimed, abducted, buried in cement at a construction site, so be it. She did warn me. All my money should go to Make-A-Wish.
It ends with his signature. And he has really nice handwriting. Like,
“he could make money as a calligrapher” nice.
I sigh. “Great. Thanks. You can go home now.”
“I know. I need to return the jet by tomorrow.” He sounds vaguely annoyed.
That should cheer me up. But instead, I’m feeling slightly disappointed and irritated. Disappointed because he’s going to leave like I want him to, and irritated because I want him to linger.
What is wrong with me? I don’t get conflicted about guys. But with Court, everything’s different…which makes him entirely too dangerous.
Chapter Thirteen
Pascal
On Monday, I walk across the glittering vestibule of the Snyder Financial Group. To make sure I don’t look too ill, I put on a bright pink and pearly-white dress. It puts some color to my otherwise sallow cheeks. I’m not back to one hundred percent yet, but I can’t afford to take time off. Not until I’m promoted.
The announcement is coming in four weeks. I can do this. Every one of my quarterly performance evaluations is excellent. My boss told me I was doing well. I just have to make sure I don’t give them any reason to pass me over again.
Dad’s admin, Megumi, smiles at me in the hall, carrying two mugs of fresh coffee. She’s tiny, with neon-magenta hair and long hot-pink nails. I admire her bold sense of style…and the fact that she can keep up with my dad while maintaining a serenity I can only aspire to. The whole building could be crumbling, and she would be utterly calm and telling people not to run as they evacuated.
“Morning, Pascal. How was Hawaii?”
I wonder for a moment if she’s heard about the…incident. But if she has, she doesn’t show it. She’s always diplomatic and sweet. So I opt for an innocent smile. “It was nice. Sunny, breezy.”
“Doesn’t look like you saw much sun.”
No kidding. I put a hand over my belly. “Stomach bug.”
She winces. “Ouch.”
“Next time, though.”
“By the way, your dad got here ten minutes ago.”
I grimace—inwardly, so Megumi doesn’t see me make a face. I always try to arrive earlier than Dad, but somehow can’t seem to manage it. No matter how early I show up, he’s here before me. If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s having me watched.
And somehow Megumi always pops in at the same time he does. Mind melding—apparently some non-Vulcans can do it as well.
“He asked to see you the minute you arrived.”
That’s…unusual. Dad’s way too high up the food chain for me to interact much with him professionally. “Got it.”
I stop by my desk to lock my purse in the bottom drawer and boot my laptop. Then I make my way to where Dad’s working.
As the founder, he could’ve had the most opulent office, but he chose the one with the best view of the city. Says he likes to see the city where he’s trying to make a name for himself.
I want to be part of that so bad—creating a legacy. After all, I’m a Snyder too. Curie never cared about math or financial modeling, but I’ve loved both since I was a kid. I learned to read using the front pages of the Wall Street Journal Dad left on the breakfast table every morning.
Even though Dad never said it to my face, I overheard him and Mom talk about how he wished he had a son. But that’s okay. I can be the son he never had and carry on the legacy. I’m just as smart as any guy, and I can do the work. I just need to prove it, even though he isn’t too keen on me working here. He probably assumed I chose to work here because he’d be easy on me. It’s up to me to prove that I’m serious. I want to help him. I want to make a name for myself, just like he has.
The door to Dad’s office is open. I knock on the frame and stick my head in. “Hey. You wanted to see me?”
“Come on in.” He gestures with his free hand. He’s holding a cup of coffee in the other.
I take a seat and a calming breath.
“You look better,” he says.
“Thanks. I feel better.” Not a lie, even though I’m not fully recovered yet. Although he’s my dad, I’m aware that while we’re inside Snyder Financial Group, he’s my boss. I need to be careful about being overly frank.
“So. The man.”
I clear my throat, but the tiny, uncomfortable knot refuses to budge. “Uh. Yeah.”
Here it comes. We never got a chance to really talk about it in Hawaii because Dad had to leave early when the Asian stock markets and currencies had a meltdown, with some of the indexes dropping over five percent. But that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about the scene. Who could? Or the fact that Court and I slept together. Mom told me that I’m always going to be a little girl to Dad, even when I’m sixty. Just like I don’t ever want to think about my parents doing it, I’m sure the feeling’s mutual on my dad’s part.
On the other hand, he invited Court to dinner. I’m still not sure what to make of that.
Dad leans back in his seat and gazes at me over steepled fingers with the same thoughtfulness he gets when he regards exasperating market movements. “Did you know who he was when you slept with him?”
Thank God I’m not drinking. Otherwise I might’ve spat. Time to keep it brief. Dad is the last person I want to discuss my sex life with. “I had no clue. It was just a one-time thing.”
Dad’s eyebrows dip lower, like thunderclouds ready to unleash their fury.
Shit. Wrong thing to say. No father wants to hear his daughter’s sleeping around. But I don’t want him to think I’m not serious about my career. “I mean,” I say, “he and I decided to keep things casual, and…uh…”
Dad’s expression darkens. It’s no longer just thunderclouds. A hurricane is forming. At least a category three.
Crap. I shut my mouth and smile, since I’m not going to come up with anything clever enough to come back from the blunders I’ve made already.
“It doesn’t look casual. He flew out to Hawaii to stop you from marrying. And dress pretty for Saturday.”
“But why?” I blurt out. If I had the power, I’d make this Saturday vanish from the calendar.
Dad looks at me like I’m an imbecile. “Because I invited him to dinner.”
“I’m going to be busy.”
“No, you aren’t. You never miss the Saturday family dinner, and you will not miss this one.”
But Court hasn’t ever been there. I don’t want to give the wrong impression to Dad. I don’t normally talk about my professional aspirations at SFG with him because I don’t want him to think I’m trying to influence him to act on my behalf. But it physically hurts me to shut up about how I’m trying to avoid dating right now.
Dad scowls at my silence. “Say yes.”
“You should’ve asked me before inviting him. I’m really busy, and all my nice stuff is in dry cleaning.”
“Your mother is going to be upset.”
That’s a cheap shot, but effective. I love Mom, and there’s no way I can let her down. She loves cooking for us and fussing over us, even though Curie and I are in our late twenties. “Okay, but I just want you to know I’m trying to advance in life. Like, I’m really giving it my full attention.” There. I said it, albeit obliquely.
“You will advance if you quit wasting your time on the likes of Tom.”
Dad’s derisive tone hurts, but it also reconfirms the data I gathered about the promotion. Still, I can’t stop myself from saying, “You didn’t think so when I was dating him. As a matter of fact, you told me it’d be good to have a date for Curie’s wedding.”
Ignoring that detail, he glances at the Nikkei chart. “Your new man is Harcourt Blackwood.”
Dad speaks like I should know that name. Except…nothing pops into my head. Court is definitely not a key client at the firm, either, because I make it my business to know all the top ones.
Dad sighs. The sound says I’m beyond help.
My mouth dries. I clench and unclench my hands and shift in my seat, trying to regain the calm I need to navigate this minefield.
“Is he somebody you know?”
I ask tentatively.
“You should look him up. Google has plenty of data. Even your mother recognized him.”
Yeah, but so what? Mom recognizes a hell of a lot more people than me all the time. She’s extroverted, loves to host parties and social gatherings and reads society gossips and tabloids with the zeal of a devout Christian studying the Bible.
I refrain from pointing this out to Dad. Then I realize he said Google, not Facebook or other social media sites. Is Court famous enough to have stuff written about him? “Got it. Do you need anything else?”
“No.”
Pasting on a smile, I return to my desk. It’s so weird that Dad’s showing this much interest in some guy I picked up at a bar. Actually, his interest isn’t the strange part. There’s this faint undertone of approval that’s bugging me. It’s like…he likes Court or something. But why?
I immediately Google Harcourt Blackwood. The next time Dad quizzes me, I’m going to be ready.
Google returns hundreds of hits. Harcourt Roderick Blackwood, a.k.a. Court, is the youngest of the Blackwood brothers. His family is royalty in Tempérane, Louisiana, where Blackwood Energy is headquartered. And within the week, he’s set to control a billion-plus-dollar trust and a huge block of voting shares in Blackwood Energy.
Wow. I stare in shock. I had no idea he was a…somebody. He even has a Wikipedia page with sections. I’m not famous enough to warrant a Google hit. When you look up my name, the search engine returns results on Blaise Pascal, the French mathematician.
It explains so much—the VIP treatment at the club, the easy way he got the suite and the free time to look me up and follow me to Maui. And the jet. I bet he never flies commercial.
I return to Google and skim the search results. There are some articles about him and his family. They’re mostly of the scandal-rag variety, about how his mother covered up some crime against his brother’s wife. Somehow what his mom did wasn’t technically illegal, but his dad is divorcing her anyway. Sympathy stirs. That must be awful. I can’t imagine being in the center of something like that, knowing someone close to you did something reprehensible.
