“Mom!”
“He’s a liar, Mia. Once a liar, always a liar. And I’ll be damned if I let him come near you again.”
“He’s not coming near me again! Jesus, I wouldn’t have told you if I’d known I’d end up on trial!”
“I’m just saying, you’ve always been weak around him.”
“Weak?”
“I’m sorry, honey, but it is what it is. It’s not a judgment. Believe me, there’ve been men in my past who I couldn’t stay away from, even when I knew—”
My temper is back, but curiously not directed at Onyx this time. “I’m 25 years old, Mom! It’s been six years!”
“You always defended him. Just like you’re doing now.”
“I’m not defending him!”
“He never does anything remotely ethical. He’s a shit and always has been. He’s a con and a turncoat and a—”
“Forage has given hundreds of millions of dollars to fund educational development overseas, and—”
“I thought you weren’t defending him?”
“I’m being reasonable! You’re attacking me as much as you’re attacking him!”
“I’m not attacking you, Mia. But you need to understand that what happened with you and Onyx — that whole long, horrible saga — wasn’t just his doing. It wasn’t like he was coming into the house and snatching you away. It takes two to tango.”
“I thought he was the liar and cheat.”
“He is. But you’re—”
“—just gullible and weak.”
“I didn’t say that. And I don’t think it.”
“And yet you seem to think that just because I ran into Onyx on the street, that means we’re suddenly going to—”
“You didn’t just run into him! He came to court you like something out of a fairy tale. You’re a romantic, sweetheart, and I love that about you. But I also know this asshole, and I know the kinds of things he pulls, and believe me, if he came to you with flowers, he’ll come again with something else. And I’m just saying that when he does, I hope you remember that …” She stops, her eyes on me as I cross the room, away from her. “Where are you going?”
“I need to get home.”
“Why?”
“I have work to do.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Sometimes I have work to catch up on over the weekend.”
“You’re mad at me.”
“Gee. You think?”
“Why are you mad at me?”
“Because you don’t trust me, Mom! I’m not getting back together with Onyx!”
“Fine. Okay.” She holds her arms out a little, the way she would if she was trying to find her balance on a rocking boat. “Just don’t let him talk to you again. Walk away.”
“I think I can decide that on my own.” I’m moving upstairs, down the hall, into my room, gathering my few things.
Mom’s on my heels like a terrier. “Are you thinking of seeing him again?”
“No!”
“What if he comes to you again? What if he says he’s really, really sorry and regrets everything. What if he says, ‘Mia, let’s just have dinner. I just want to talk to you.’”
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll cross that bridge if I’m on it.”
I didn’t bring luggage. It doesn’t take long to throw stuff back in my purse and grab my discarded clothes. I squeeze past Mom back into the hallway.
“Wait. What does that mean?”
“It’s a pretty straightforward expression, Mom.”
“Why is there any question? You don’t need to wait until you come to that bridge. Just decide now. ‘No, Onyx, you’re an asshole and I never want to see you again.’”
I’ve never been good at being told what to do, even if it’s what I would’ve done anyway. “Whatever I say if that happens — which it won’t — that’s my decision.”
“Mia …”
“Mom …”
“I’m not going to let him hurt you again.”
“You don’t have to let him do anything. I’ll be the one to keep him from hurting me again — by being a sensible human being who’s not an idiot, unlike what you seem to believe.”
“And if anything happens,” she says, ignoring me, “I won’t hold your hand. If you make this particular bed, you’re lying in it alone.”
I round on her as I reach the front door. Our silence says a thousand words.
“I’m serious,” Mom eventually says. “He’s bad news and you’re not yourself around him. Please. Hear me. Decide right here and now, you’re done with him. Entirely. Forever.”
But I’m stubborn. She shouldn’t be surprised; I’m my mother’s daughter.
Just to be contrary — even though I don’t mean it — I say, “If I want to talk to him again, that’s my choice to make. Not yours.”
This time, Mom doesn’t reply.
She stands in the open doorway as I walk away, angrier than ever, refusing to look back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ONYX
There’s a knock on my door at precisely 4 pm on Sunday.
“Hang on,” I shout.
“Not ready,” says a droll voice. “Typical.”
I finish filling my glass of water, then cross the room to the entrance and open the door to see Aiden standing on the stoop. He’s looking down at his watch, practically shaking his head.
He’s in his signature look, which could be described as “travel-worn.” It’s a farce, of course. His hair is a mess that’s a bit too artful to be truly messy. His blazer isn’t flashy, nor remotely cheap. He looks unshaven but wears stubble well. His white shirt collar is open as if he’s taken off his tie in frustration, but I know he never put one on.
I find his look as ridiculous and pretentious as his insistence on perfect punctuality. If he wants to dress well, he should. If he wants to go casual, he should do that. But his careful facade says I’m perfect even when I don’t try — and while women seem to fall for his act, I’ve known Aiden long enough to see right through it.
“We aren’t going anywhere. And I’m not late even if we were.”
“Number one, who cares,” Aiden says, holding up one finger, then raising a second. “And number two, yes you were.”
I don’t bother to respond. Instead, I turn around and walk away.
Aiden makes himself at home, carefully closing the door and crossing to what’s probably a six-thousand-dollar sofa. He sits, then removes his shoes before propping his feet on an ottoman.
And of course he brushes it with his hand first.
“I have our solution,” he says.
“I wasn’t aware we had a problem.”
“Of course we do. Anthony Ross has some sort of an issue with me. You’re here to fix it, but apparently you’re a pussy.”
I look up. Aiden is kicked back on the couch, looking like a surfer with his faux-windblown hair.
“I know things,” he explains.
“What things?”
“Mia shooting you down on the street.” He laughs. “Gallant effort.”
“How do you know about that?”
“You not knowing makes this all so embarrassing. Where’s the promising young man I found at UC?”
“Pretty sure I found you, Aiden.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “Maybe it’s not fair, but history still tends to believe the white guy.”
“Why are you here?”
“I told you I was coming.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I’m here because you’re a pussy. Own your woman, Onyx. You’re embarrassing us both.”
“And you still haven’t told me how you know about the thing with Mia.”
He looks at me for a long moment and I get the feeling I’m supposed to guess. But I don’t feel like playing Aiden’s games. His presence is insulting enough. I don’t have his answers, but Aiden doesn’t travel unless he has an excellent reason, and then only grudgingly. He’s here to handle an ann
oyance. And because it’s my place he’s arrived at, precisely on time, I assume that whatever hasn’t met his expectations is me. Fucker.
“Evan Cohen,” he says.
“Don’t tell me she posted it on LiveLyfe.”
“No, but someone else did. Someone named Carol. She saw some girl smack a guy down. Said it was hilarious. Her profile says Inferno Falls, and the IP she used to post something an hour before was also Inferno. I did the math. I asked myself, “Who else besides my pussy of a partner would get his ass kicked by his ex-girlfriend on the streets of Inferno Falls?”
Dammit. I don’t think he was sure, but now I’ve confirmed it was me. What an asshole. “It’s handled.”
“Is it? Because I have to say, Turner’s little Boys’ Club met in Portland yesterday, and I had Sammy take me down in the helicopter. Anthony Ross still doesn’t seem to want to talk to me.”
“We’re all in the Syndicate together. Ross will come around.”
Aiden shrugs. “Maybe. But maybe he’d take me a bit more seriously if an outside party vouched for Forage. Someone he loves and respects, who maybe heard something that someone else was planning, and thought it might be a perfect match for something Ross was already considering.”
“Assuming that pile of horseshit you said is about Jamie Kyle, I don’t think Ross tells her his secret plans for his secret Syndicate’s secret trillion-dollar pool of assets.”
“Well, no. But then again, it’s not quite a trillion dollars yet either, is it? Now that Nathan has most of his wish list in the stupid Trillionaire Boys’ Club inner circle, I hear a lot of the old-guard billionaires are starting to join the Syndicate. They don’t know they’re too old and ugly to be part of the real clique, but it’s not like I get much thrill out of being part of something called a Trillionaire Boys’ Club, so maybe they’re not missing out.”
“What’s your point, Aiden?”
“My point is that we got to where we are with Forage by being able to predict which way the wind was blowing. I don’t know how big the Syndicate’s asset pool is now, but I do know how Nathan thinks, and I know he won’t start calling for official ideas on how to use that pool until we hit the one trillion mark. And I know that’s coming, maybe soon. We can’t wait until Ross’s plan becomes the plan before we approach him about Forage’s involvement. We need to make sure he knows we’re worth involving now, or the entire Boys’ Club’s power structure — not to mention that of the larger Syndicate — will swing away from us like a pendulum.”
“That’s a great metaphor, Aiden. I’m glad you made this trip to explain it.”
He sits up, taking his feet from the ottoman, and stares me down. “All we need is his ear, Onyx. We need Ross to hear us for real, rather than just because he feels he has to or is being polite. The guy is a motherfucking guru. He could form a cult, and the world would follow. So the problem isn’t talking with him — it’s getting him to pay honest attention to what we have to say.”
“And you think that Jamie Kyle liking me will make him pay attention.”
“Yes, honestly.”
“Well, Jamie doesn’t like me. No one that ever cared for Mia likes me.” And with good reason.
“Then make them like you. Start with Jamie — that girl is like a daughter to him. If she said she wanted a pony, he’d buy all of the Triple Crown venues to please her. Whoever Jamie likes, he’s going to like. And not fake-like, the way he usually is with people. You can sit down with him and he’ll captivate the fuck out of you. Make you feel like you’re the most important person in the world. I can see how he got the whole world hypnotized. I’ll bet it’s a great asset for him in terms of getting tail. But that’s all just the public Anthony. You want to get his attention for real, you need to get past all the razzmatazz. Forage is perfect for what he has in mind, Onyx. What’s more the Internet than us? What suits his avatar project better?”
“LiveLyfe?”
Aiden laughs. “Well, you can bet Evan will try and convince him of that the minute he gets some idea of where things are headed. Right now, we’re a few steps ahead. But we’ll only stay there if we can grab Ross’s attention. If we don’t hook our cart to the future winning horse now, we’ll be fighting for a spot on his back after he’s left the gate.”
“Another great metaphor,” I say, finally sitting. “And the second racehorse reference.”
“Are we doing this or not?”
I consider. Aiden’s right, but he’s also willing to break a lot more eggs than I am. I’m on board if we can agree to break fewer. That’s always been the difference between us. We’re both maybe too bold and too aggressive, but I’ve always had my limits.
Aiden? Not so much.
“Let me try and talk to Mia again.”
Aiden considers, sighs, puts his feet back up. “Your problem is that you don’t know what you want. You don’t focus. It makes you hesitate. Never hesitate, Onyx. We didn’t hesitate when we built this company — not one step along the way. You were an ice-hearted bastard back then. This here?” He looks around the house, as if to imply the town, the situation, all of it. “This is a side of you I don’t even recognize. You’re distracted. You’re not focused. So what are you truly after? I know I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but apparently I do: Man the fuck up, partner of mine. Be who you really are, rather than this … this pussy you’re becoming.”
I don’t snap back at Aiden. Honestly, he’s right. Mia literally beat me up on the street and Alyssa pummeled me with her words. I don’t let people do that. Like Aiden said, despite my PR smile and warm public image, deep down I’m an ice-hearted bastard. It’s why Mia hates me. And maybe — just maybe — it’s time I accept that.
If Mia hates me, fine. But maybe I can still get what we need out of her.
“I hear you,” I say, “but it has to be Mia first. I can’t get on the good side of the people who hate me because of her until I get on her good side.” Even as I say it, I wonder what the hell I’m talking about. If Mia still has a good side — which would be a miracle, after the way I treated her — I’m sure that I’m barred from it. Forever.
“Okay,” Aiden says, raising his eyebrows at me. “We’ll do this your way — for now. But I need to know you’ve got this.”
“I’ve got this.”
“Her office. You’ll need to go to her office. If you go to her place she’ll kick you out and if you meet her on the street again … well, we don’t want that.”
“I know. I have an idea.”
“Is it a good one?”
Slowly, trying to remember my ballsier, less-pussy side, I nod.
“Good. But just in case, I got us an ace.”
My head turns toward him. “What do you mean?”
“Urban Design,” he explains. “I bought the company.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MIA
When I get to work on Monday, there’s a shiny black Tesla in Simon’s parking spot. This strikes me as strange. Simon has terrible taste, and this car is downright sexy. Also, I don’t think Simon has much money. He owns and runs a prestigious architecture firm, but he’s brainless in terms of finance and he never enforces payment deadlines — something our clients have all figured out. His outgoings are overly generous and incomings are short, so Simon’s kept the company afloat by refusing to take a salary beyond the one that barely sustains him. He keeps talking like he’d leave the company the instant he could, but I don’t see how.
This place has tons of potential, but it’s currently an albatross. Who the hell would ever buy it? Who’s going to save Simon’s ass if not Simon himself?
So a Tesla? That’s not like Simon at all.
I take the lobby stairs, pass Franklin at the front desk, and walk back to my office. I pass Jamie’s office along the way, peeking in to wave at her through the glass walls. But she doesn’t see me; she’s got her back to me, talking to a man in a gray suit, white shirt, and no tie. I feel like I should recognize him — he seems vaguely
familiar, but I’m not sure why. Is it because he looks like a cover model? Or is it because I’ve seen him on a magazine, for something else he’s done?
Maybe he’s just one of the clients I don’t work with directly.
I lag an extra second, really wanting Jamie to see my greeting. I feel bad about the past few days, and how I’ve dragged her through so much crap. She’s hung in there — dragging me on jogs, telling me things I’d rather not hear because they’re in my best interest, standing by during a freakout that turned on her, then finally witnessing my blowup at Onyx and dodging the fallout.
A friendly wave will start my week on a positive note; it’ll show Jamie I’m thankful, and more-or-less fine. I do feel okay now. The past is in the past. Even Mom and I patched things up. We fight — all mothers and daughters do — but we never let wounds fester.
But I can’t catch Jamie’s eye. She’s engrossed in what seems to be a serious exchange. I wonder if she’s being yelled at. All I can see is her slim profile: pulled-back long brown hair, a figure that’s so much better than mine, her effortlessly pretty face with those big almond eyes.
I move on. I’ll talk to her later.
I enter my own office, looking through my own parallel walls of glass: the one facing inward, toward the area we call the bullpen, and one facing outward toward the city. My mother’s isolationism reoccurs to me and I look out with fresh interest. Old Town really is its own little village, but the same can’t be said of the larger Inferno Falls. Our little city has grown up so much since I ran through its streets, fearing the likes of Stygian Hart.
I sit at my computer and busy myself. I’m about to delve into the city’s survey report on a new property we’re developing when a Google Calendar notification appears in the corner of my screen.
Apparently I’m invited to a meeting today. In a half hour.
This is super annoying, because I do my best creative work in the mornings — first thing, before anyone distracts me. Now I don’t want to start drafting anything, knowing I’ll need to stop. So I clean out my inbox. I send some proactive emails I was planning to handle later, and when all that’s done and I still have five minutes before it makes sense to hit the conference room, I decide to seek out Jamie again. We can chat for a moment — maybe discuss this meeting, which everyone in the company seems to have been invited to.
Trillionaire Boys' Club: The Internet Giant Page 7