Mergers & Acquisitions

by Jennifer Griffith

  I threw my hair up in a ponytail on top of my head. My swimsuit was my favorite, the one I wore to any beach party I ever went to during college, but I hadn’t worn it in a while. The elastic had lost some of its stretch, and the front didn’t lay quite right across my chest anymore. Red suited me, but low cut things made me self-conscious I now recalled as I glanced in the mirror beside the front door and headed across the courtyard to the nearby patio with my beach towel over my arm.

  “Yowza,” a man’s voice behind me intoned, low and husky. He cleared his throat as I turned around to see Aero. “I mean, hi, Jilly.”

  I whipped my towel off my arm and wrapped it around myself fast, but it was too late. His eyes had already roamed my curves.

  “I— I didn’t think you’d come. I thought we had come to an understanding, so I just planned on a solo dip in the Jacuzzi—”

  “Wait. Don’t say any more. I love hot tubs. I’ll join you.”

  My skepticism must have been apparent as I appraised the suit jacket he wore from earlier today. Still, the way its cut defined all the lines of his figure made me hate myself for having to shut him down.

  “I don’t know if it’s written anywhere, but I’m pretty sure this apartment building has a rule about swimsuits in the public areas.”

  “I swim in the mornings before work. My trunks are in the car. In the trunk. Ha.” He gave a weak laugh at his joke. I couldn’t suppress a smile. Dorky jokes always soften me up.

  “I’m sure you’re hungry this time of day, but I’m not exactly dressed for dinner anymore.”

  “Look. You’ve had a long few days, and I’m sure you could use a soak. We could order in. I can call for delivery when I go get changed.” He had it all in hand. Flexible, easy, in control. Perfect— oh how I hated that because I was powerless to resist it. “Just relax. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

  I’d been too wiped out to cook. If I’d thought running the lives of incompetent or immature actors was exhausting, I had a new insight into tiredness now that I managed all aspects of my own new business.

  Then he flashed me his gorgeous smile, and I put up the white flag of surrender. “I haven’t eaten. And I’m starved.”

  “Good!”

  I let him into my apartment, and then went out to turn on the Jacuzzi bubbles. In no time, he had slid into the scalding water beside me.

  “I know why you’re here tonight, your objective, but can we just soak a bit before we talk business?”

  “Who’s planning to talk business?” Aero angled his face so I could see the blue of his eyes. In the Chinese lantern light of the patio, they pierced my soul, erasing the reason I’d been so upset all afternoon. All that remained were the good things that had happened at the gallery while I worked, like selling an additional bird carving to an Oliver Mamet fan and fielding phone calls from agents of two new B-list actors who were interested in having their work on display and consignment at Red Drape.

  It was coming together— one hope and one dream at a time. Much as I was salivating over the very nice broad shoulders of Aero Jantzen and the muscular line of his neck, and withering under a sneaking urge to do anything he asked— I couldn’t let that distract me. Not now.

  Aero pointed at the wooden fence climbing with jasmine. “The signs always say only stay in for eight-to-ten minutes at this temperature, but I’m building up my tolerance. I can do twenty, no problem.” He must have taken my little laugh as an invitation because he slid closer to me, making me more bubbly on the inside than was my back against a bubble jet.

  Meanwhile, the force of the jet pushed me forward off the little bench two or three times and I knew I’d have to reposition or end up floating in the center. Indecision raged. Closer to Aero, or away from him? The debate raged for three whole slides forward before I caved and edged over beside him. And now the jet angled and pushed me closer.

  The universe! It was trying to ruin my resolve to keep out of his spellbinding influence.

  “How tall are you, anyway?” He laid an arm over my shoulder, which just rose to his armpit.

  “Five feet.”

  “I never thought it.”

  “I wear heels. I had to as a lawyer— to create the illusion of authority.”

  He pulled me closer. If I had thought the temperature in this hot tub was high before, now it shot up another couple of degrees.

  Cicadas hummed in the trees, and a few distant sirens and honking horns punctuated the night air.

  “It sounds like Southern California.” I leaned my head against the rim and looked up at where the stars would be if there weren’t pollution and the orange of streetlights hiding them. “Smells like it too.” Jasmine overflowed all over the patio mixed its scent with the chlorine of the hot tub and the nearby pool, too, plus the lingering remnants of a neighbor’s barbecue grill.

  “Almost. You need to add a dash of sunscreen.” He let his fingers caress the back of my neck, and I sank down into him.

  “Oh, right. And exhaust fumes from the traffic. My parents’ unfavorite.”

  “And a bit of the salt of the ocean air.”

  “Then you’ve got it. Bottle it and sell it all around the world.”

  “Next person that comes in and asks me for a loan for an unfeasible idea, I’ll send him to you and you can fill his mind with this magical plan instead.” He waved a hand like he was indicating a marquee. “Eau de Cali-for-ny-ay.”

  “Perfect. Fail-proof.” I remembered Aero’s financial ventures beyond venture capital. “Ryker said you’re helping him do microfinance. That’s pretty cool.”

  “He isn’t what he seems at first glance.”

  “No. And he seems happier than when I first worked for him.” I suspected that had a lot, if not everything, to do with Aero’s support of the kid. “He’s living at your place?”

  “Just until his apartment gets remodeled. It was flooded. Grandma Trixie cooks his meals. He likes having a family.”

  “Ryker’s thriving.” The kid needed people, and he wasn’t afraid to say so.

  “Your parents are … where? They don’t live there?” Since we were talking family, and definitely not business, I went ahead and asked. I recalled that he’d said his grandmother had raised him, but there were a lot of reasons that could be the case.

  “They died when I was a kid. Dad was going to be heir-of-all-the-things at New Holland, but they happened to go to Europe on their tenth anniversary to see my dad’s extended family just as tensions were heating up between cultural and religious groups. A terrorist bombed a train station, and my parents ended up as collateral damage. I was nine, so it’s been a while. I miss them, obviously, but Grandma and I do okay. She and Grandpa raised me. I moved out for college and grad school. Grandpa passed, and after grad school I took the reins at New Holland Savings, so it made the most sense to move in and take care of her. It was about that time her heart trouble started. I hate it when people say, ‘I didn’t have a choice,’ because there’s always a choice, and I had a choice. But I knew what choice I should make. It’s always a bit of a buzzkill for the women I’ve tried to date when they find out I live at home with my grandma, though. Trust me.” He laughed self-consciously.

  What kind of women was he dating? Heartless harpies? “If they’d met her, they wouldn’t have thought so.”

  “You like her, then?”

  “She’s a corker.”

  “She sent you something. It’s with my stuff upstairs. It wouldn’t do well in the hot tub.”

  “What is it?”

  “Prints. Photos of your opening night.” He hesitated a second. “Of you and me.”

  She’d gone to the trouble to print them? Who did that these days?

  “That’s so nice of her,” I said, and then it hit me as I saw the discomfort on Aero’s face— she could only have done it for one of three reasons: she was a nice person; she hoped her grandson would get together with me; or, she was trying to help Aero with his attempt to buy the painting off m
e by buttering me up. Well, it wouldn’t change my mind, but I wasn’t going to jeopardize this moment by bringing that up. His eyes were on me, a hint of vulnerability in them, and they mesmerized me, making me forget again that I’d ever seen the eyes of any other human in my life.

  “You really impressed her, Jilly.” Aero’s head inclined toward mine, and I was flooded with memories of the kiss that vaporized all other existence— the one he’d given me the very day I met him. The one I’d relived in my sleep dozens of times since and awakened shivering in the night from its intensity.

  I gulped as my glance flickered from his lips to his eyes to his lips.

  “She isn’t the only one who finds you impressive.” His nose hovered a centimeter from mine. “Ryker likes you, too.”

  Nice. But I saw the joking in his smile, as he touched the tip of his tongue to his teeth.

  “Is that so?” I didn’t dare move. If I’d moved an iota, I’d have been kissing him in the steam rising off this water. Aero’s closeness made my breathing constrict, and I was blinking ten times a second under his electric stare.

  “It is so. And Grandma and Ryker aren’t alone in that sentiment.”

  “They’re not?” I asked without really breathing. “Is anyone else impressed with me?”

  He nodded, and then his lips were on mine, and I was kissing his very fine mouth, and he had pulled me into his arms, the heat of the water the same temperature as the blood in my veins as we spun in endless circles in the steam and as my soul vaporized into pure bliss with his strong arms pulling me closer with each moment.

  “Aero.” I came up for air, the world still a carousel in the vapor. “I—” How to fill in that blank, I had no idea. I like you? Or was the blank more intense than that?

  “Jilly? I didn’t come here planning to do that.” He pulled away, and I almost couldn’t hear what he said over the rushing of the blood in my veins. “But please don’t blame me. For weeks I haven’t been able to scrub that kiss from the day we first met out of my mind, and I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out how to either reenact it or erase it from memory since it’s been invading my thoughts all day long.”

  “Mine, too.” I gulped back the passion that hadn’t subsided in me yet. I ached to dive in for more, but he looked pained.

  “Are you okay?” Had I done it wrong? Had I disappointed on round two? Mortification. “If we’re moving things too fast, I am good with slowing down. It’s not really my way to be kissing on the second date.” Wait. Had we even had a first date? What was this? Was this even a date? Every minute I spent with Aero felt like moving toward something bigger, like courtship, so I couldn’t really define it clearly, and the worry on his brow had me spooked.

  “No, no. It’s not that.” He frowned. “But you said we can’t talk business. So I won’t unless—”

  I went in for a kiss to stop his mouth, I didn’t want to spoil the moment— I’d rather it went on and on forever, or until the hot tub went dry, but a woman’s voice rang out in an Asian accent across the courtyard.

  “Order for Aero Jantzen.” A loud knock followed. “Order from Thai Hut. Please open and pay now. You order, you pay.”

  Within half a second, he’d left me alone in the tub, which suddenly felt too hot and created pressure against my ribcage. He jogged over toward my place.

  I’d been in here far too long and should get out. I hiccupped— loudly. That was my signal. I lugged myself out of the hot tub, my body twice as heavy as I’d felt when I got in, and yet light as a feather from the wafting kiss Aero had deposited not just on my mouth but in my soul.

  Man, that Aero Jantzen had skills.

  At the door, Aero was paying and taking the food. “I hope you like Thai Hut.”

  “Every day and twice on Sundays.” I followed him inside toward the smells of coconut, peanut oil, and Thai chili. “It’s the perfect blend of spice and sweet.”

  “Much like yourself.” Aero groaned at his own joke, and after spreading some towels we sat on my sofa to eat, not even bothering to get dressed. My hair dripped down my back, but I barely noticed as I dug into my Pad Thai noodles. Kissing had made me hungry.

  We talked as we ate, and the clock’s hour hand slid northward.

  “Random Questions?” he asked, out of the blue. My mind shot back to the earthquake of a kiss he’d given me on Swept Away, after we’d played Random Questions the first time, and I nodded. That game kicked off good things. “I’ll go first.”

  I expected him to start with something vapid, joking. But he went straight for the meat.

  “What makes life good?”

  “The hot tub.” I said it before my filter turned on.

  “I see.” His eyes got sly.

  “I mean, yeah. But also a lot of other things.” About you. “Sunsets, days when I run into an old friend, phone calls from my mom when she has just found a new flower variety that does well in her garden, funny texts from my sisters, a drive to work where I hit mostly green lights, clean sheets when I have the good kind of fabric softener.”

  “The little things.” He nodded. “I get that.”

  Aero set down his chopsticks and his cardboard takeout container. “You didn’t want me to say this earlier, but I still need to apologize.”

  “For the kiss? Because, still, stop yourself.” I had to say this. “Regardless of whatever else is going on— with the painting or otherwise— I think we can agree there’s been a storm brewing between the two of us for a while.”

  He let out a long phewsh. “No doubt.”

  So he’d felt it too. I had my own silent phewsh moment.

  “But the timing— that’s what I needed to apologize for. You know I offered to buy the Mars Yuber from you today, and then I showed up with dinner and a make-out. It’s not exactly how I planned things to go down.”

  “Oh? How did you plan?”

  “Honestly, I wasn’t thinking all that well. When I’m with you, I see this much.” He set his palms facing each other, about two inches apart, aiming at me— an illustration of tunnel vision. Cool. Like the Tunnel of Love.

  I didn’t want to spoil this energy we had going and this honesty about our growing feelings for one another by shutting him down on his art purchase again, so I deflected with a different topic.

  “You said your grandma sent something for me.” Whether or not what she’d sent was intended as a bribe to sway me into giving him the painting, I didn’t care. I still wanted to see the photos. Something told me they would show me something important.

  Aero walked over in his bare feet to where he’d stacked his suit jacket and button-up shirt. I may have allowed my gaze to linger on the musculature of his back. How did men do that— create definition in their back muscles? Those might be my new favorite thing.

  “Here.” He placed a manila envelope on my lap, snapping me out of my muscle-worship. Then he sat close enough to me that our shoulders and hips touched, and now I was having a little trouble, fumbling with the clasp on the manila envelope because of Aero’s nearness, the rise and fall of his chest, the graze of his skin against mine.

  “Oh, look.” I managed to shake free the pictures. My eyes danced over the lighting, the memory, the look in both our eyes as we stood deliciously close to each other in the photos his grandma had snapped. “She’s got a real talent for photography.”

  “Right? She sent them as a thank-you for your get-well flowers.”

  Wow— his blue eyes were almost more vivid in photos, like they’d been digitally enhanced. He could be an eyeglasses model or something. Was there such a thing? And the way his fingers toyed with the place where my waist nipped in, there was almost movement, and I could feel his hands there all over again, that moment, the excitement.

  The next one was a candid of the two of us looking at each other. I recalled Grandma Trixie’s words, that we looked natural together. And she was right: we did. What’s more, I felt natural with him. I mean, what other guy would I sit around in my ratty old
swimsuit with, eating Thai Hut takeout on my couch dripping wet and barely notice? Nuh-uh. It had never happened before, and maybe it never would again.

  A seesaw tilted in my brain. One side was weighted down with “keep the guy.” The other side was laden with “keep the painting.” As this evening wore on, I started to worry there was no way to have both.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Lunch? That was all the text from Aero said a few days later.

  Where? When? Maybe my reply sounded desperate.

  But frankly, after several restless nights, I’d probably define myself as desperate— to see Aero again, to get another dose of everything about him.

  A glance at the photo of us I’d framed and placed on my desk sent all those emotions spiraling again. We’d parted right after he gave me the photos the other night, when Ryker the Spoiler had called and interrupted our talk.

  Ryker. For as much as he seemed to want us to get together, he also had atrocious timing, preventing a repeat of our kiss in the hot tub after we ate, blast him. Plus, the call had prevented an awkward but necessary conversation about why I didn’t want to sell Aero the painting of Woman Draped in Red.

  Then again, it had also prevented me from asking Aero exactly why he wanted it so much. A few suppositions formed in my mind as I worked the morning through, fielding a couple of new requests from actors-turned-painters who’d heard about Mindi’s success, presumably not from Mindi.

  I sent Mindi an updated list of her sales.

  Ms. Dresser,

  In the few days since Red Drape Gallery opened, you have sold eleven pieces of art. After commissions, taxes and fees, your sales total—

  I named a number in the mid-five-figure range. She couldn’t be disappointed with that.

  I’m very pleased to report this. If there comes a time you’d like to have Red Drape Gallery make an announcement as to your identity, please let me know.

  I didn’t hear back right away, unfortunately, but that morning I did pick up two new artists, and their quality was a little higher than the purely amateur work of the bulk of my initial batch of famous-for-a-different-craft painters, carvers, and sculptors.