by Karen Gordon
Soaring
By Karen Gordon
The Vivienne Series Book 5
Chapter One
I’ve never met a billionaire who seemed less like one. Most carry a sense of importance with them, an attitude that their money should give them status and privilege, but not Evan O’Donnell.
He’s smart and rich but isn’t loud or in-your-face about either.
I start our meeting by assuming he will buy a plane from me. “Where were you thinking of basing the plane?”
He’s quiet as he thoroughly thinks through his answer. The long silence makes me antsy.
“There’s San Francisco, Oakland, San Jose.” I throw out the most likely options. “Palo Alto.”
I wait patiently as he processes each choice. He looks up and to the right when he does this, another trait we share. His answer is one I hadn’t anticipated (or prepared for). “Bangkok.”
“Thailand?” I don’t hide my shock very well. How could I have not seen this possibility in my research? “Do you have an office there?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
“So, you’re looking at relocating there.”
“Or Ho Chi Minh city.”
“In Vietnam?” I realize I sound like someone who failed geography so I put my game face on and take notes like these answers are perfectly normal in my world. I’ve got some serious research to do now on international aviation laws and airports in those cities.
“Or here.”
“We can look into all those cities. Anywhere you want…”It’s your money, your plane.
“But if you think it would be better here…”
I appreciate him asking my opinion but it throws me because I don’t have an answer. I have to remove my know-it-all tiara for a minute and it doesn’t feel good. I’m not used to being lost in a meeting.
I try not to sound rattled when I tell him, “I really don’t know at this point. I can do some research; look into costs, laws, etcetera.” He nods his agreement to this plan, then I try to save face with the research that I’ve already done. “I’ve got all the information today on the local airports so you could do a comparison of those. I should be able to have the rest for you in a week or so.”
“Great.”
Evan’s lack of small talk is also starting to unnerve me. I’m used to quiet men. My Dad and Danny were men of few words. But Evan is studying me, intently, as I bring up the comparison charts I’ve prepared on the airports in this area. I know what he’s doing because I do it too. He’s picking up on a million tiny details that tell him about me: the way I dress, the way I wear my hair, my nails, the brand of laptop I use, how I log in… He’s the first person I’ve ever met who studies people the way I do and now I wish I was like most people, blissfully unaware of all the information being gathered by the quiet person.
When I get the info on the screen he turns his attention there and studies the charts with equal intensity. I can almost see the speed of his processing as his eyes dart around the screen, moving so much faster than I can talk. He’s way ahead of me, and I’m tempted to just hand him the laptop and shut up. When he finishes studying the airport info, he goes back to looking at me as I prattle on about stuff that is obvious in the chart.
“Are you Irish?”
He interrupts me mid-sentence about noise restriction zones with this personal and seemingly completely off-subject comment.
I start to answer, “Uh, yes…” Then realize that I don’t have to or really want to. “But that’s irrelevant.”
He looks down, embarrassed. The look of horror on his face before he does says he might not have meant to ask the question out loud.
I want to give him an out, to tell him I understand, that I’ve probably done the same thing a million times in social situations, but I don’t. I don’t know him that well yet and I’m not sure he’s ready to bond with me over our mutual quirkiness. He might even get mad over being called out on it. There’s a chance that no one has told the rich guy that he’s socially weird.
I go back to my notes. “As I was saying, the restricted zone surrounding Palo Alto is larger, so you wouldn’t be able to use the super-sonic capabilities of the jet until you were over the Pacific.” He goes back to alternately focusing his attention on the screen and me. I try to wrap things up quickly. I have to find info on his other possible bases for the plane, but I’m also ready to get away from this male version of me.
I make a few notes on my note pad, then close my folder and laptop and start to stack all my supplies. This seems to fluster him.
“Is that all?”
I mentally click through everything we will need to discuss to see if there is anything else we can go over before we know where the plane will be located. “We could go over crew needs. Those would pretty much be the same no matter where you are located.”
He nods then sits back in his chair, settling in to watch me some more. I flip to the tab in my folder on personnel and pass him a copy of the job descriptions of the minimum crew he will need. He glances at it then goes back to staring at me.
“You will need two full-time pilots who will need to be trained at our facility in Italy. Since the plane is so new it’s hard to get back up pilots who are rated for it, so you might consider paying to train one additional pilot and keep him or her on retainer.”
He nods, taking all of it in. “Can you recommend anyone?”
“Well, I can look into that, once we establish the primary location for the plane. Would you want Americans if you are based in Thailand or Vietnam?”
This shouldn’t be a contest but I have to admit I feel good when he doesn’t have an answer to my question. I gloat a little, then I stop myself because I know how perceptive he is.
“I can put together some of the pluses and minuses of each scenario.”
He nods and I add more notes to my already long list. Now I’m definitely ready to wrap up the meeting. I need to get to work on this research because it will eat at my brain until I do. I look over all my notes and try to keep my exit upbeat. “Well, it looks like I’ve got some more work to do.”
As I close my folder I look up to see that he still isn’t ready to call it quits. I pause before asking the next question. It’s pretty standard sales protocol, but it feels so much more uncomfortable than it did in Miami. I make it sound as business-like as possible. “I usually take my customers out to dinner, would you have time to go tonight?”
He says, “yes,” before I have a chance to finish my question.
“Ok, great,” I try hard to hide my real feelings. Because this isn’t great, it’s going to suck—a whole evening of him quietly scrutinizing me. “Any place in particular you’d like to go?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t eat out much.” Then he corrects himself. “Well, I do, but mostly fast food…I mean…I’m busy…” He’s rambling now, the entertainment part of our meeting throwing him off more than it does me. Again I get it and I want to say something. I want to tell him that this is just as hard for me, but I don’t.
“Ok, well, is there any place you’ve been wanting to try? Something new maybe?”
A quick shake of his head tells me that he hates not having answers as much as I do.
“Well, I’ve never been here before so, I guess we can both try someplace new.” I open the Yelp app on my phone and start searching. “Gastro pub? Cuban? Middle Eastern?” I throwing out options but he’s not grabbing at any of them. “Italian?”
I look at him for an answer.
“Whatever you like.”
I shrug. We’re at an impasse so I take over before we spend fifteen minutes shrugging and staring at each other. “Ora i
s Italian, so Italian would be appropriate.” I look through the list on Yelp. “Here’s an Italian wine bar. Do you like wine?”
He answers. “I don’t really drink.” Then backtracks when he sees me start to thumb through the list of local restaurants again. “But Italian food is good.”
“Great. I’ll make a reservation and text you the time.” This time I gather my stuff quickly, determined to make an exit.
He watches me for a minute then gets up to leave. “Alright. I’ll see you tonight.”
I’m still packing my tote as he walks toward the door. He stops and I think he might wait for me so he can walk me out, but he only pauses, giving me a small wave before leaving me there.
✈ ✈ ✈
I have to give Dom her BFF report as I get dressed for dinner. “Ok, yes, he is cuter in person.”
“So there’s something there?” The girl is as tenacious about love as I am about business.
I don’t sugar coat it to make her happy but also can’t say there was nothing there. “He has a certain charm.” I stop to zip my dress. “I mean I get him. He’s like me in some ways.”
“Like?”
“Massive over-thinker, quiet…”
“Smart.” I smile at her assessment of me.
“I guess, yeah, but he’s smart on a whole different level. We’re not smart about the same things.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s obviously very tech savvy.”
She cuts in to push her point. “And you are too.”
“Not like him. Not even close.”
“Well, you can learn things from each other.”
She’s right. One point for Dom (and Evan). “But…” I use the excuse of hooking my necklace to stop and formulate my list of negatives. “He’s just so…socially awkward.” I hear her chuckle because this is the pot calling the kettle black. “It’s just really uncomfortable sometimes.”
“That bad?”
How do I describe to her the feeling I had at being so closely watched and evaluated by him. I got the feeling he liked what he was seeing but it was still unnerving…intense.
“I don’t know. We’re going to dinner tonight. Maybe our conversation will be easier there. Maybe some wine will loosen him up. He said he’s not much of a drinker but I might have to change that tonight.”
“Dinner is good.” I can see her mentally checking that step off our progress toward dating.
“I take all my customers to dinner.” I’m putting on my shoes, about to walk out the door. “I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow with an update.”
“Be nice.”
I’m irritated that she feels the need to remind me. “I am nice.”
“Give him a chance. Don’t do the Danny-comparison thing. Maybe you have more than one type.”
“Alright, fine. I gotta go.” I cut her off because sometimes I really don’t want to listen to her when she’s right.
Chapter Two
It turns out to be a nice restaurant with a great menu. There are a few classic Italian dishes but mostly new versions with exotic ingredients added in.
Our waiter lists the specials with a detailed description of each dish and how it is prepared. Evan watches him but I can tell he’s sizing him up rather than listening to food options. As soon as he is finished Evan orders spaghetti then questions him extensively about the ingredients. Evidently he is hoping for something close to the stuff that comes in a can because he rules out everything unique about the dish, leaving him with only noodles and sauce.
I order the special, a bluefish in a white wine reduction over a puree of purple potatoes and parsnips with a side of Brussel sprouts in a maple, pomegranate demi-glaze. I also order a flight of wines to help me relax, and I’m shocked when Evan does the same. He had said he isn’t a drinker so I’m guessing he’s following my lead. This should be interesting.
While we wait for our drinks and the bread I open with my pat small-talk routine. “How long have you lived here? Where are you originally from? Any siblings?”
He answers each succinctly and doesn’t ask the same of me in return, leaving us with stretches of silence. Our wine arriving gives us a chance to turn our attention to the waiter who describes each of the four wines in front of us in detail. Another waiter brings bread and does an artful presentation of creating an olive oil and herb dip. I take advantage of this time to work on my next few topics.
“I read the Forbes article on your sale. It’s impressive how quickly you built up the company.”
He stops inspecting the bread (which, it looks like, is not passing muster with him) and turns his attention back to me but does not look happy about the topic. “It was moronic,” He says through a bite of crust.
I’ve obviously brought up a sore spot, but I’m dying to know why he didn’t like it. I thought it was really favorable. “Oh, what didn’t you like about it?”
And with that he comes to life. He sits up taller and speaks louder. “I went over specifics on the software with the guy at least five times, five times, and he still got them wrong.”
I want to point out that ninety-nine percent of the people who read the article wouldn’t understand them anyway but I hold my tongue.
“And it’s been insane around the office since it came out.” He turns toward me, making rare eye contact, letting me know this is important. “Don’t tell people you just made a billion dollar deal. They come crawling out of the woodwork.” Then he turns away but not before tearing into more bread and mumbling, “moronic.”
I have no idea where to go with our conversation now so I focus on the wine. I sniff my first glass, sip it, then let it sit in my mouth for a moment before swallowing. “It’s nice, sort of has a chocolate taste to it.”
He takes a sip of his, holds it in his mouth and looks up and to the right as he contemplates the flavors. Then he swallows and shrugs it off. “It’s ok.” I’m starting to see that he’s quiet and stand-offish when he isn’t sure about a topic. I struggle to think of something else he will enjoy talking about.
“So where are you planning to use your plane?” I remember that we already discussed Vietnam and Bangkok. “Besides where we discussed today.” It’s a business topic and about him so he will hopefully take the bait.
He takes another drink of his wine before answering. “I’ve got contractors in India, Vietnam, Thailand, Sweden and Japan. We normally work online but I need to go to them sometimes.”
“So this new company you’re starting? Same places?”
Again he takes a drink of wine before answering. He must like it more than he let on. “Generally.”
“Any vacation travel you’d like to use it for?”
I catch him mid drink this time. He drains his first glass. “I’ve got a friend who wants me to meet up with him. He’s always on the road.”
I’m guessing he means Pete but I’m not sure how to discuss how I know our one mutual acquaintance. Yeah, Pete, great lay… And with that thought I’m reaching for my glass of wine. I need something to distract the flood of sexual thoughts I get whenever Pete’s name is mentioned. I briefly wonder if Evan has ever had sex but I wash that thought away with another gulp of wine.
✈ ✈ ✈
If Evan was uncomfortable at the start of dinner he isn’t now. He finished off two of his glasses of wine before we got our food. Number three is now gone and he’s well into number four. He is very loose and talkative.
I catch him staring at me and he huffs out a laugh. “You wouldn’t have even talked to me in high school.”
I’m just starting my third glass of wine but probably less susceptible to the effects of the alcohol than him considering I’m used to drinking. He still stops me short, my fork mid-way to my mouth. I’m not sure what to say so I go with the most honest answer. “I didn’t talk to much of anyone in high school.”
“Let me guess, cheerleader?” There’s a mocking undertone to his question, an unsaid assumption that I was too stuc
k up to talk to someone like him.
“No, I’m pretty introverted. I wasn’t a cheerleader, or a brain,” I stop to look at him, letting him know I’m aware of what group he would have been in. “I had one best friend and I spent most of my free time either with her or taking care of my dad. My mom died when I was little.”
The challenge goes out of his posture. “Oh, I’m sorry…about your mom.”
It’s not a subject I want to dwell on right now. “I had some fun, had to study really hard to get good grades…”
“Did you have a boyfriend?”
I think of Danny, of me deciding when I was fifteen that he was the one for me, of me never really giving other guys a chance. “No.”
He rolls his eyes at me to let me know he thinks I’m lying.
This is another topic I want to avoid, at least about me. “What about you? Girlfriend?”
He smirks and laughs. “What do you think?”
I say it before I think it through. “I think that you were probably quiet, like me, and didn’t feel comfortable at parties, like me. That you didn’t relate to the other kids your own age and felt older than them.”
He melts. I can actually see it in his eyes. At that moment he melts into a pool of goo that attaches to me everywhere we are the same. It’s not a bad sensation at all, connecting like that with another shy person, but alarm bells go off in my head. Despite Dom’s wildest dreams, he is still a customer first. If we were to get involved how would it end? What if I blow a sale because of it?
✈ ✈ ✈
“Maybe you don’t break up.” I knew that would be Dom’s answer when I call her the next morning even before she said it. I breathe out a deep sigh of frustration, with Dom, but also with myself for getting wrapped up in all this romance stuff.
“Look, I will say this, if—and that’s a big if—anything happens between us, it will be a loooong time coming. I might be working on this sale for six months or even a year. He’s not going to make any moves and I’m not going to encourage him.”