Their Matchmaker

by Allyson Lindt

  “I played the offers off each other.” Aaron suspected this wouldn’t help his case. Years ago, Gavin found a distraction from his addictions. It was part of what helped in his recovery. He had the notion he could create the perfect tech startup, with the perfect product at its base, from a marketing perspective. Then he just had to spin the hype to make the company worth millions.

  He did better than his wildest dreams. Had investors and offers coming in, left and right. Everyone was talking about this great new thing, but the last thing Gavin wanted was to be in the spotlight. So they stuck Aaron’s name on everything. “Does it matter who handled what?” It did, for some aspects of the deal, but he hoped otherwise. “Every partner knew the details of the sale when I joined the firm.”

  “Except that one little piece of information that you didn’t think the deal up. None of us is just here because we had the cash to buy in. We each bring different skills to the table, except yours apparently aren’t yours.”

  The words stung, but they were true. This was one of those things Aaron preferred not to think about. “Where does this lead? You said some of the other partners wanted to ambush me.”

  “This is the kind of tiny little lie that reflects poorly on the firm. If we claim our partners are responsible for—and capable of—things they aren’t, it looks bad for all of us. Some of the others want you gone, no questions asked. Not all of us agree. You have an hour to figure out if you can spin this in your favor and make your case to the rest of us. We can’t wait any longer. We have to do damage control.”

  Aaron understood the logic, but he didn’t like being on this end of the decision. A bubble of frustration surged inside, and he burst it. This wasn’t Jonathan’s fault. Aaron brought it on himself. “Thanks. Main conference room at nine, then?”

  “Yup.”

  Aaron tried to call Gavin but didn’t get an answer. Both their names were on this. After all this time, and with everything happening recently, this would bring even more publicity down on them. On Gavin.

  And Aaron couldn’t focus on that yet. He needed to figure out what to say. If he were fifteen years younger, he’d prepare for a conversation full of misdirection. Turn every question back on the person who asked it and let the other partners talk themselves out of any negative decision.

  There was a big problem with heading down that road, besides the fact that it was a huge deception. Once he started something like that, it meant a lifetime of keeping up the act. Constantly being on his guard if someone at the firm took issue with his past. Besides, it made him too much like Gavin—pretending the problem didn’t exist.

  He regretted the thought the moment he had it. Gavin didn’t deserve that.

  When Aaron walked into the meeting, an odd cocktail of dread and acceptance filled him. He made the same statement for his case that he’d made with Jonathan. Every partner knew the details of the original deal, the only thing that was different were some of the roles people took in the sale of Aaron’s old company.

  “The issue is that the role you let us believe was yours is the reason we invited you to join us. It’s one of the selling points of this firm.” Bernie was one of the partners Aaron had never gotten along with. There was no open hostility, but Aaron wasn’t surprised to see him leading this conversation. “The skills you’re supposed to have seem to belong to someone else, as is evidenced in the string of poor investment decisions you’ve made.”

  Aaron clenched his jaw. “It’s been a few miscalculations, and you know that. I went through due diligence every time—”

  “This isn’t about looking at numbers on paper,” Bernie said. “There’s an instinct that’s required for working in venture capital, and it’s one you seem to be lacking.”

  “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.” Aaron struggled to keep the bitterness from his voice. “If I continue to make my case, will I be heard?”

  “If you’d walked into the room with proof this morning’s report was false, we would have listened. As far as public record is concerned, this is an amicable parting of ways. You agreed that it was best you pursue your interests separately.” Bernie’s smirk defied the calm, rehearsed words.

  “Any investments you made with other partners or at the firm level, stay with the firm.” Liz’s voice echoed from the speaker phone. Though Aaron couldn’t see her, he suspected her words were kinder than Bernie’s. “Any that are yours alone are between you and those individuals. There are a few of those some of us are interested in, if you don’t want to pursue those partnerships. We’ll get with you individually.”

  Aaron wanted to protest. He should have gone with the redirection approach. At least then he’d have a little longer to figure out how to keep this from falling apart. There were better uses for his energy, though. Salvaging the business partnerships he still had, for instance. “I understand.”

  More details were exchanged, but Aaron only half listened. It would all be written up minutes later, and he could review it. Now, he was busy figuring out how to save his stake in the companies that he retained interest in.

  He returned to his office, and his heart sank when he saw Gavin hadn’t gotten back to him. As much as he needed to focus on the morning’s events, his attention would be divided until he knew Gavin was all right. He could do this work from home. He gathered his stuff, told the receptionist where he could be reached, and headed back to the condo.

  The house was quiet when he stepped inside. “Gavin? You around?”

  No answer. A quick search of the place revealed Aaron was alone. It was a little after noon. Maybe Gavin went to grab lunch. He’d been more or less hiding, the past several days. It would be good if he stepped out.

  A little odd, if he’d read the news this morning, but maybe he was handling it better than Aaron. It wasn’t about Gavin’s Hollywood career, so it may have glanced off him.

  The idea gnawed at Aaron, and he refused to dive into figuring out why. Instead, he turned back to his work. There was a lot of legal paperwork to sift through, and a lot of business associates to reach out to. He needed to get started.

  Aaron managed to pour most of his focus into work, and the next time he looked up, it was after six. He rubbed his eyes, to restore the moisture to them. Where the hell was Gavin? He tried calling again, and Gavin’s ringtone greeted him from the bedroom. Aaron followed the noise to find Gavin’s phone sitting on the nightstand.

  Which didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t as though Gavin was out getting wasted. He took off for a few hours and forgot his phone. Big deal.

  By eleven that night, Aaron hovered on knife’s edge between concern and fury. If Gavin was out drinking or anything similar, while Aaron was here worrying and fighting to hold his career together—

  “Honey, I’m home.” Gavin’s cheerful call carried through the house.

  Aaron stepped into the living room. “Where the fuck were you?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  FOURTEEN HOURS EARLIER

  When Gavin saw the news that morning, his name smeared across the headlines next to Aaron’s, his brain shut down. It took several minutes of staring blankly at the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen, to kickstart his thoughts.

  He shook his head, to clear the cobwebs. He needed to call Aaron. As he reached for his phone, it rang. “Yeah?” The moment he answered, he suspected he should have been more cautious.

  “Gavin, love. I know what you said last time we spoke, but give me thirty seconds before you hang up.” It was the agent who left him a message a few days ago. If she actually remembered what he’d said, she wouldn’t have called.

  “Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight.”

  She laughed. “I’ll talk fast. You’re about to get hot. As in scorching. Lighting screens on fire. More scalding than you were as a teenager. You give me the word, and I’ll get you in front of whatever studio and director you want.”

  “Then you misheard me last time we spoke.” He kept his tone pleasant, li
ght, and superficial, to match hers. “I’m not an actor anymore. I retired. I don’t do that. No.”

  “I don’t think you understand.” A hint of condescension leaked into her voice.

  Gavin’s phone beeped with another call. A glance told him it was Aaron. A good reminder he needed to get this woman off the phone and cement in her head it was a waste of time to contact him. Then he could talk to Aaron. “I understand just fine. You’re looking to represent someone. To use their name and career, to spin your own up. I’m not that person.”

  “I’ll be straight with you.” The cheer and lilt vanished from her voice. “When that sale happened a few years ago, it turned venture capital and Silicon Valley on their respective asses. It redefined how investments work in tech. Now, not only is it back in the spotlight, but also you were responsible for it. The guy who broke hearts every time he smiled at the camera. You could play yourself, in your own biopic. The pitch for this is huge. You set your price. Name your screenplay writer. Pick your co-stars. If we hop on it while it’s fresh in people’s minds, have an announcement out in the next two weeks while the news is still fresh, this entire deal is yours to call. Again.”

  A temptation he didn’t want to acknowledge surged inside. The desire to negotiate with her. To ask why he should work with her and not another agent, and then start shopping deals. The impulse struggled to be heard.

  You don’t have to be polite to her.

  Was that really what this was about? Being nice? No. It was more. A part of him wanted to follow this thread and see where it went.

  Down the toilet, along with your relationship.

  “I’m not interested. Don’t call me again.” The words were harder to say than he expected, and they left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  What was going on with his head? He wasn’t interested in returning to the big screen. Even—especially not—to play a fictionalized version of himself. So why was it so tempting to explore the option? To see if the agent was right and this was his big second break. He needed to banish any doubt and call Aaron back.

  His phone rang again, and an unknown number flashed on the screen. He was popular today. “Gavin Jackson.”

  “Gavin, hi. Ralph Wolfram with Wolfram VC Do you have a few minutes?”

  A venture capital firm? What the hell? “Now’s not a great time.”

  “I completely understand. Tell you what—I’ll leave you my number, and when you’ve got a few minutes, give me a ring. Just promise me you’ll remember I called you first, if the offers start rolling in.”

  “Yeah. Sure. I’ll do that.” Gavin disconnected before Ralph could give him any contact information.

  Too weird. Unformed thoughts buzzed in Gavin’s head like a swarm of gnats. Dense. Irritating. Too tiny to bat away. He needed to rattle them loose. He tried to call Aaron and went straight to voicemail.

  Take a shower, then try again. Simple enough.

  The hot water sluicing over him helped bring his jumbled mind under control, and by the time he’d dressed and stepped back into the living room, his head was much clearer. Until he saw his phone. Five missed calls, all with new messages—two from Ralph, making sure Gavin had his contact info, another from a second VC, and then a couple more talent agents.

  At least he was instantly popular, the sarcasm oozed from his thoughts. Was Aaron putting up with this kind of bullshit? No. Because Aaron went through it the first time it happened, when everyone thought he was behind the sale. At the time, Gavin was happy to melt into the shadows and let Aaron take credit. Hell, it was Gavin’s idea that he do so.

  And it was the smart way to go. So why was he itching to call those agents back?

  It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to. He set his phone to Do Not Disturb for the next twelve hours and left it on the nightstand. Then he grabbed his Clark Kent disguise and walked out the front door.

  A short while later, he approached the reception desk at Aaron’s firm. The assistant flashed him a warm smile. “I’m sorry,” she said. “All the partners are in a meeting and have asked not to be interrupted. Do you want to wait in his office?”

  Gavin shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch up with him later.”

  He’d go get coffee. Kill a little time. Hole up in the back corner of their favorite diner, watch whatever the TVs were playing, and ignore the rest of the world.

  The place was mostly empty when Gavin got there. Nine-thirty on a Friday morning was that point when it was a little too late to dally before work, but not quite late enough to cut out early for lunch.

  The waitress grabbed him a coffee, and he settled in to relax. CNN played on the TV, subtitles scrolling by, meshing and clashing with the ticker at the bottom of the screen.

  His and Aaron’s pictures filled the square to the right of the anchor’s head, and Gavin clenched his jaw. Why the fuck did people care so much? This was L.A.—half the people in the city were famous for one reason or another. Most of them didn’t make the CNN business hour, though. Not like this.

  He was too fidgety to sit still. He tossed a few bills on the table and left. His feet carried him wherever they wanted. Gavin was too wrapped up in questions, to pay attention to where he was going or how long it took. Why was he so bothered that the news was out, besides the fact that he and Aaron worked to keep Gavin’s name out of the deal in the first place? Come to think of it, who was telling people the whole story? An exposé, years after the fact, seemed odd for an event most people had forgotten about.

  And why was Gavin so hung up on the whole thing? He didn’t want to tell that woman no this morning, the same way he hated to turn down fan requests. Because that response had been drilled into him since childhood.

  As he roamed the city, that answer didn’t sit right. He liked acting. He’d go back to it if it weren’t for the crowds and the constant demand for him to be on, even when he wasn’t in front of the camera. He’d never figured out how to be someone else on screen but himself afterhours.

  A growl rolled through his stomach. He’d skipped breakfast. It should be late enough for lunch by now. He glanced around at his surroundings and figured out where he was. There was a bar nearby that had decent burgers and should be playing ESPN. That would reduce the odds of seeing himself on TV.

  He found the place a few minutes later. It was as empty inside as the diner had been. Was it earlier than he thought? The host seated him, and his waitress stopped at his table.

  “Hey, hon. Start you off with something to drink? Coke? Tea? Something off the tap?” She looked five years younger than him, but her practiced smile and tone implied she’d been doing this for decades.

  He supposed her job wasn’t too much different from any actor’s. Did pasting on the fakeness for real people eat at her the way it did him? “Actually, do you have bottled Sapporo? And a cheeseburger, medium rare.”

  “You got it.” She turned away.

  “Hang on. Do you have the time?”

  She pulled her phone from her back pocket. “Almost three.”

  “Thanks.” No wonder his feet hurt.

  She brought his beer and set it on a cardboard coaster. As he stared at the condensation dripping down the glass, his promise to Aaron, to not drink again, echoed in his thoughts. It’s always about keeping Aaron happy. The bitter thought caught Gavin off guard. Of course it was. They were a couple.

  The discordant ideas clashed inside. He tipped the bottle back and finished the drink in a few swallows, to silence the confusion. It didn’t work. He waved down the waitress and ordered another.

  He finished his lunch, but his second beer sat untouched in front of him. He could be considering calling the agent back because he needed a change. Something new to focus on. The offer from the VCs didn’t tempt him, though. He wasn’t interested in deciding other people’s futures or signing checks. He wouldn’t mind working behind the scenes again, the way he did with the original company. Maybe on a project like Cynthia’s.

  I should ca
ll her. Apologize for the other night. Or use the excuse to say hi. He reached for his phone. He’d left it at home, to escape. Which meant Aaron couldn’t get a hold of him either. Speaking of Aarons—maybe Gavin should get home soon.

  The thought surged with another wave of acidic bitterness he didn’t understand. He took a sip of his drink and cringed. Warm.

  He should vacate this seat before the place filled up for the night.

  His wandering took him to a nearby park. He grabbed a bench and watched. People walked their dogs and jogged. As the evening faded and the sun set, a few couples walked past. No one gave him a second glance. He was a random guy, sitting to the side of the path. It was nice. So why was part of him screaming, Look at me, damn it?

  He sat there long after it was dark, until no one else strolled the grounds. It was probably time to go home. On the way, he passed a digital bank sign. The time flashed 10:45. A lot later than he thought. Oops.

  He reached home, unlocked the condo door, and pushed in. “Honey, I’m home.”

  “Where the fuck were you?” Aaron stepped into the living room.

  The looming tension of the day spilled out, like a lanced boil. “Walking. Thinking.” Gavin let an edge leak into his reply.

  “So you just vanish for a day, without a word, on a day like today?” Dark circles hung under Aaron’s eyes, and the lines in his forehead looked permanently etched. He stalked closer and wrinkled his nose. “Have you been drinking?”

  Fuck. It never ended. Gavin wasn’t a child who needed watching over twenty-four-seven. “No.”

  “Then where the fuck have you been?”

  “Walking. Thinking. Why does it matter?”

  Aaron’s scowl slipped, leaving exhaustion in its place. “I needed you here.”

  “To remind me that this is a no-good, very-bad thing that happened today?” Gavin felt a sliver of guilt at reacting the way he was, but didn’t want to reel himself in.

  Aaron turned away and sank into the closest easy chair. “They forced me out of the firm. I wanted you here because... I wanted you here. No other reason.”