“Great. Can I bring anything?”
“No, I think we’ll be okay.”
“I’ll be outside waiting for you at noon.” I’m about to end the call, then quickly ask, “Oh, how formal will your aunt’s be?”
“I’m wearing nice pants and a sweater. Greer will be in trendy jeans most likely.”
“Thanks. I’m sure I have something I can make work. See you at noon.”
I know just the thing.
At noon I step outside wearing black palazzo pants, a light pink sweater, a choker strand of pearls with matching earrings and a nice pair of Calvin Klein low kitten heels as CeCe comes barreling up in her dark blue Mercedes SUV. I have no idea how she’s going to park this beast in The City. We pick up everyone and arrive at Aunt Millie’s right on time.
The doorman directs CeCe to the visitor spot, and we pile out as he announces our arrival.
As we enter the penthouse apartment, I’m stunned by the floor-to-ceiling windows with a view from the Golden Gate Bridge to Marin, and from the east windows, I can see the East Bay, Treasure Island and the Bay Bridge. Spectacular. Not many places in San Francisco offer a bridge-to-bridge view.
I’m surprised when Aunt Millie greets us. She doesn’t seem too much older than us.
She spreads her arms open wide. “CeCe! Good to see you,” she exclaims as she brings CeCe in for a warm embrace.
She walks up and gives each of us a hug. CeCe introduces us, and I learn Aunt Millie isn’t actually a “real” aunt but was CeCe’s mom’s college roommate at Stanford.
“I hope you girls are hungry. I’ve had the terrace set up for tea. But first, let’s take a tour.” Locking arms with Greer, Millie says, “I understand you’re considering a new place.”
Greer smiles at her. “I remember coming here when we were young girls. I’d love it and would take good care of it.”
She walks us through the four-thousand-square-foot apartment and points out a few things that will probably need some work, Greer not batting an eye at all the work the already seven-figure condo will cost.
Greer and Millie leave us to work out a deal, and we start our tea. It’s the perfect girls’ afternoon.
Three and a half hours later, full of cucumber sandwiches, fresh scones and jam made from the strawberries from Millie’s garden, we pile into CeCe’s car and head south to Hillsboro.
I’m consistently amazed at the Arnaults’ estate, the Spanish-style home and the grounds surrounding it so welcoming. I’ve begun to think of it as a second home.
The dogs greet us as usual, and CeCe’s mom meets us. Turning to Greer, she asks, “Well?”
A big smile crosses her face. “I’ll take ownership in about two weeks, and then I’ll move in after I complete some renovations. I can’t wait!”
“Oh, Greer! I’m excited for you. I love that place, and Millie is happy to have the condo go to someone who will love it as much as she did.”
Trey looks so hot in his Levi’s, a pair of old-school black Vans sneakers, my favorite Star Wars T-shirt and a leather biker jacket. I miss him. I can smell the sandalwood and leather scent, and it makes my heart race. I haven’t responded to any of his e-mails or voice mails since we returned from Stinson, but I’m so busy, and honestly, I wish I could get over my mother’s rejection. How can I explain that to him? My mother had five children with the same man, and I’m the only one she doesn’t have anything to do with. It’s inevitable that he’ll reject me, just like she did. Plus, what about the mess with Henry? Why get my heart more broken than it already is?
As I ponder this, Trey walks up to me, running a hand through his hair. “Do you have a minute?”
I know I should be an adult and have the conversation, but I’m not sure I can explain to him why I’ve essentially ignored him. Eventually I nod, and he leads me to the backyard.
“How’ve you been?” I ask.
“Okay, I guess, and you?” Before I can answer, he says, “I thought we had an amazing weekend up in Stinson. What happened?”
“We did. But Trey, you need to understand, my life is SHN. I’ve worked hard to be an important part of my company.”
“Sara, I’m not asking you to walk away from SHN. But you also can’t spend every minute there. Why can’t you make room for me? I feel as if you’re my greatest loss. Not talking to you every day leaves a gaping hole in my life. You’re gone, but yet you’re still here. It may have only been a weekend to you, but the loss impacts every part of my being. Not only can I not think straight, but I find myself running on automatic pilot. I miss you. I know my life isn’t easy, but please, can’t we try?”
Oh God. Why do I screw everything up?
I don’t know how to explain what a clusterfuck my life is. How do I explain that there aren’t enough hours in the day for me to work, even if I worked twenty hours a day, seven days a week? How do I explain I’ve learned I have four full siblings I will never get the chance to meet? How do I explain that I miss him, too? How do I explain that I’m a mess?
All I can muster is to say, “I can’t right now. I’m sorry.” Then I turn and essentially run away, saying my goodbyes to the group and calling a Lyft to drive me back home without staying for dinner or the meeting, tears running down my face like waterfalls.
I’m such a fucking mess.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Trey
Sandy Systems has been in negotiations to buy Cedar Pine Cypress Technologies based in Seattle. The head of our mergers and acquisitions group, Mickey Johns, is joining me on this trip. Actually, this is his trip and I’m joining him. I’m just the figurehead.
Our flight to Seattle is relatively low-key, and we fly in adjoining seats in first-class. The flight attendant is very attentive and basically ignoring everyone else in the cabin once she recognizes me. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Arnault?”
“Yes, a Woodford neat, please.”
When she brings my glass of bourbon, she hands me a napkin with her phone number on it, then places another napkin under my glass and winks at me.
She’s cute enough in a plastic sort of way, but I need to keep my head in the game. We should run through our proposal one more time, but I’m not truly interested. My mind keeps drifting to Sara from last night.
Mickey leans over and asks in a low voice, “Is it always that easy for you?”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about. “What?”
“Hot girls giving you phone numbers?”
Confused by his question, I finally realize what he means. “Oh, that. I don’t know. Do you want her number?”
He holds his hands up as if he’s surrendering. “No, I was curious.”
Leaning back in my seat, I put my noise-canceling headphones on and listen to nothing. The quiet helps me think.
Last night at my parents’ was hard. Watching Sara and pretending we haven’t shared intimate moments was extremely difficult. So many things about her have left me intrigued, and I’ve only scratched the surface. I’ve been with lots of girls, but not one of them made me feel the way Sara does. But I can’t be a passenger in this train wreck of a relationship. It’s time for me to take control and make Sara understand what I already know—we belong together.
I didn’t mean to make her leave before dinner last night. I just wish I knew why she’s snubbed me. I know work for her is busy, but I also know she’s making time to hang out with my sister and the girls.
I lean back in my seat and imagine the pretty blonde hovering over my thighs, her eyes locked on mine as she licks her lips.
I need to stop this feeling and move on.
I may not be able to make Sara understand yet, but I’ll work on a plan and keep myself distracted while I throw myself into my work.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sara
Emerson ducks her head into my office. “Hey. Interested in going out with the partners for drinks after work? Maybe try to leave about seven thirty?”
Looking up, I say, “Sound
s great. I could use an excuse to get out of here before eleven.”
“Cameron’s figuring out where we’re going. Let’s meet by the elevators.”
I bury my head into wrapping up a few items so at least I feel like I’m able to get something accomplished before I spend time with the group.
Cameron pokes his head in my office. “We’re going to Trick Dog tonight. Are you familiar with them?”
“No.”
“They have ingenious cocktails that are named after various random cool things, and the food is incredible. It’s on Potrero Hill, and we’ll all Lyft over. I know the owner, and she’ll save us a spot in the loft. See you at the elevators in fifteen. Don’t be late, I want Mason buying tonight.”
I really love my coworkers.
I shut down my computer and, for once, decide that I’m not going to take it home and leave it on my desk.
When I arrive at the elevator, everyone’s here except Mason.
“Mason buys the first round,” Cameron announces, then yells at the top of his lungs, “Mason! Get your ass out here.”
“I’m here. Am I last?”
“The first round is on you,” I tell him.
The five of us pile into a Nissan Armada, Emerson and I taking the back. As she climbs over Dillon to get to the back seat, he smacks her on the butt.
“Hey!” she yells at him, laughing.
“I couldn’t resist,” he smugly says.
We make small talk during the three-minute drive, helping one another out when we arrive. Walking into the bar, Emerson and I spy our reserved table.
I push my way through the crowd to the bar as Cameron catches the eye of the bartender, who knows him by name. He tells her, “We need a Jurassic Fog, a Seasick Hedgehog, a Hick Dialogue, a Frantic Frog and a Picnic Snog.” She nods and begins mixing the concoctions as Cameron continues, “My buddy Mason will be buying.”
Smiling at Mason, she asks, “Any food with that?” as she points to a menu.
“Yes. Pick five things you recommend that can easily be shared.”
“What if you don’t like what I pick?” She bats her lashes at Mason.
He smiles. “Oh I’m sure that would never happen.” Then he hands her his Black Amex.
“I’ll bring your food and drinks over shortly.”
He thumbs over his shoulder to our table. “We’re over there.”
“Gotcha.”
As we walk back to the group, I tell him, “Mason! I had no idea you were such a flirt.”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“Then what do you call it?”
“Being nice and friendly.”
“Let’s ask the team.” I walk up to the group and share the exchange.
“Dude! She’s totally hot. You were totally flirting, and she was flirting back. Ask her out,” Dillon says.
He blushes. “You guys are putting too much pressure on me.”
The bartender arrives with our cocktails. As she places the drinks in the center of the table, it’s obvious she’s overheard our conversation. Putting her hand on Mason’s shoulder she says, “Don’t worry. My husband doesn’t typically like me dating other men.”
Mason turns to her as we all laugh. “My loss.”
From there, the conversation goes downhill. We become rowdy and border on obnoxious, but we have a great time together.
My mind regularly drifts to the e-mail from Catherine. I don’t know what to say or do. She’s already caused so many sleepless nights. I can’t let her reject me again.
I need to spend some time on a therapist’s couch and work through this.
I’ve ruined the best relationship I might ever have because of her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Trey
I text Sara: What’s up? A group of us are getting together tonight. Come out.
She doesn’t respond.
I don’t want to go completely stalker, so I only reach out to her once a week, and I look forward to sitting next to her on Sunday nights at my parents’. It isn’t much, but it’s something.
I can’t stay home another Friday night, so when my buddies invited me out, I agreed to go as long as we didn’t go clubbing—I’m getting too old for that.
We’ve landed at Foreign Cinema tonight. Half the place is a high-end restaurant, the other a bar. It’s an old warehouse with beautifully hung violet and cream drapes, which soften the industrial look.
Through the bar and restaurant, a fifty-foot large screen shows an old black-and-white movie, though I don’t recognize the actors or the movie. The noise of the crowd drowns out the audio, and the lines at the bar are at least four people deep. The cute girls and gay men attract the attention of the bartenders and get served the fastest.
It’s a fun place to see and be seen.
I spot her across the room. She’s watching me carefully. Each time I smile, she glances away. I’m not good at flirting these days, what with my heart still attached to Sara, but I can try, at least.
Finally, I watch her float across the room. She’s petite, dark-haired—darker than mine—with large brown eyes, and her olive skin glistens almost as if she’s wearing glitter.
“Hi. My name’s Jill.”
“Nice to meet you, Jill. My name’s Charlie.”
She smiles at me. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call you Trey?”
I smile at her, busted. No surprise. “It’s Charles Michael Arnault the third, thus the nickname Trey.”
She strokes my arm. “I’m fine calling you Charlie. Whatever floats your boat.”
“Either works. Tell me, what brings you to San Francisco?”
“I was born here, and I still live here.”
“Really? Where did you go to school?”
“Convent of the Sacred Heart School,” she tells me proudly.
“Impressive. And what keeps you busy?”
“I’m an interior designer.”
Trying to remain interested, I say, “Very creative.”
“Everyone knows you run your family business. What do you enjoy doing in your free time?”
“Well, I ride a touring bike to work out. I have a Trek. Do you know touring bikes?” I ask.
“I do. I ride an AWOL. My goal is to do a three-month ride through Vietnam.” She plays with her hair and licks her lips suggestively as she stares at me.
“Wow. I don’t think I could do that.”
“You own the company. You can do whatever you want,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Well, that’s not exactly true. I report to the board and the shareholders, but I think I’d be too saddlesore to last much more than a few days.”
She giggles. “It does take some work.”
Our conversation is going great. She’s a perfect diversion to my heartbreak, but I need to slip in that I’m seeing someone, so she doesn’t get the wrong idea. Stretching the truth, I say, “My girlfriend and I like walking on the beach and traveling. If you could do anything, what would it be?”
She walks her fingers up my arm and kisses me softly on the lips. “I’d like to know what it’s like to grow your baby in my stomach.”
I must be hearing things. “What did you say?”
“I’m fertile today, and I want to get pregnant with your child.”
I jump out of my seat. “I don’t think so.”
She reaches for my belt buckle. “Oh come on. I think we both know you don’t have a girlfriend, and I don’t need any support. I think we’d make beautiful babies.”
“Definitely not. I’m seeing someone.” I start to leave but she grabs my arm.
“You asshole!” she screams. “I’ve been tracking you for months. I’ve waited patiently. I had to get rid of that blonde bimbo by selling that picture of you. I saved you! You owe me!”
“Look, I’m not sure why you think I’m your guy, but I have no desire to be your baby daddy.”
I keep waiting for her to tell me she’s kidding, but instead she’s screaming, “I have
more pictures and video. You will either do this or I’ll release them all!”
I turn and walk out. This doesn’t happen in real life. I’m living in a fucking soap opera. Perfect.
I summon a Lyft and head to my folks’. If Jill’s been stalking me, she’s probably figured out where I live. She’s completely psycho. How do I find these girls?
Wait. Apparently they find me.
I give up. I’m committing to no one and being single for the rest of my life.
From the back seat of the car, I call my sister. “Hey, do I have a winner story for you today.”
I give her the blow-by-blow with Jill. When I’m done, CeCe is silent a moment, then asks, “Are you making this up?”
“No, I swear!”
“Points for her honesty, I suppose.”
“I’m going to Mom and Dad’s for the weekend, and I’m giving up on all women. Stick a fork in me. I’m done.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Sara
Emerson and I walk to Starbucks for a break and some caffeine.
“When do you meet with the attorneys for the depositions?” she asks.
“Tomorrow afternoon. The more this story unfolds, the uglier it becomes. I don’t know how I was so blind. I mean, he was having affairs with six of us, plus his wife. How the hell did his dick not fall off?”
“No kidding. Don’t you think he must’ve been faking it with some of the girls?”
“I have no idea. But I think to this point, the attorneys don’t find any fault with SHN, so I believe we’re going to be dropped from the case.”
“Well, that’s good news. Is he reaching out to you at all?”
“The lawyers pulled my text records, which showed my lack of response when he reached out to me after we broke up, so that’s helped to vindicate me. Plus, when we first broke up, he texted me for a booty call and I told him off. His response was that I was the only one he was intimate with.”
“Thank goodness for that.” We sit down at a table with our drinks. “I can’t believe the publicity this is garnering for him, and thankfully right now they aren’t keying in on us.”
Promise (Venture Capitalist Book 2) Page 12