by Sadie Hayes
“What do you mean?”
“You’re very politically astute, Adam. Your articulation of the prisoner’s dilemma indicated a natural understanding of group theory few can grasp. But that power has responsibility.”
Adam blushed at the compliment. “So you’re saying…?”
“Be careful. Surround yourself with good people lest you rationalize behaviors you’ll later regret.”
Mary came back to clear their plates.
“Dessert?” Marsh smiled.
* * *
As Adam left the Faculty Club, he found a text from Violet, whom he’d seen almost every day since they got acquainted in San Francisco. Unlike Amelia and Lisa, Violet encouraged Adam. She was impressed with his intelligence and ability and wasn’t afraid to say so. Plus she was totally sexy: She was older and from England and had a real job. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but she had to travel a lot and it seemed exotic, and being around her made him feel important.
“How’d lunch go?”
He tapped a response:
“Good. Really good. He said I’m one of the most politically astute students he’s ever had.”
“Impressive.”
“He had a bunch of questions about Doreye though.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing major. Wanted 2 know abt user info. Told him Amelia crazy abt it staying secure.”
“Ugh, she’s so naïve.”
“U think so?”
“Of course. It’s not like ur collecting hard core data. U have to do what’s best for the co. who knows what that will be?”
“Ur right. Abt the bigger picture. That’s what I told him.”
“Can’t let her stand in the way if it comes to that.”
“Totally. CU tonight?”
“U bet.”
19
Snapshots
T.J. pulled into the driveway of his parents’ house, his skin still damp from his workout despite the fact that his t-shirt was high-quality Dri-Fit. He had planned to only go to the gym for a quick round of chest tri-delts, but he spotted a hot Persian girl in spandex short shorts going into spinning class and decided he could spare the hour to watch her sweat; he followed her into the studio and snagged the bike next to her, along with her phone number.
Totally worth it, even if it meant he would be late to have dinner with some old college buddies at the Rosewood. They’d understand. First, though, he had to grab his golf clubs from his parents’ attic, where he still stored all his sports equipment, for an early-morning tee time.
He was disappointed to see his father’s car along with another he didn’t recognize in the drive.
He opened the back gate and followed the brick path toward the kitchen door, but as he got closer he heard voices on the patio. He started to backtrack and go through the front of the house instead, but then it seemed foolish to go to so much trouble to avoid his father, and he was kind of curious what was going on.
His father’s laughter drifted toward him and then a woman’s voice said, “For what it’s worth, you haven’t aged a bit.”
T.J. felt his heart clench. He knew that voice.
“You have.” His father. “That is, you’ve blossomed into a beautiful woman from a pretty college girl.”
She laughed, and her laughter turned T.J.’s legs to cement at the same time it awakened all his other senses. Was it possible?
The flash of a camera illuminated the backyard. Then another. The voices bantered but T.J. could no longer make out what they were saying.
Riley was here—here in his yard, just around the corner, not twenty feet away. T.J. was heaving, his mind whirring with what to do. Just one look, he thought. Or maybe just grab her from behind, like he used to do, and kiss her neck and feel her melt in his arms. Or maybe … No. No. No. Her eyes came rushing back into his mind, the vision of their seriousness when she dumped him and said, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m done,” forever emblazoned on his brain. He had to get out.
T.J. willed his legs into action and headed back toward the gate. He’d forgotten all about the golf clubs. He just knew he had to get back to his car and drive away as quickly as humanly possible. He beelined toward the driveway, cutting through his mother’s carefully manicured flowerbed. He couldn’t care less about the roses; he just needed to get out.
As he pushed past the hydrangeas, his foot tripped the automatic lights that wrapped around the house’s eave. He heard the laughter around the corner stop as the white lights came on, but he didn’t stop. Must get back to car.
“Who’s there?” his father’s voice called. “Hello? Lori?”
T.J. fumbled out of the hydrangea bush and jogged toward the gate, his hands shaking as he struggled with the latch. Why would the damn thing not open? Why was Riley laughing with his father in his backyard? Screw it. He gripped the top of the fence and hopped over, just as he heard his father’s footsteps on the path behind him. “Hello? Who is that?”
He raced around to the driver’s seat and climbed into his car just as his father opened the gate. “Who is that?” his father’s voice tried again.
T.J. was maniacally focused on getting his key into the ignition but his hands were shaking. “T.J.?”
Caught. He couldn’t drive off now. But how could he face Riley, having just run from her like a coward? And sweaty from the gym to boot? This is not how he’d imagined their reunion.
T.J. swallowed hard, staring at the steering wheel as if for inspiration.
“T.J., what are you doing home? You’ll never guess who’s here!”
He took a deep breath, killed the engine, and climbed halfway out of the car, leaving one foot inside as he waved over the top of the vehicle. “Hi! Sorry—just realized I left my wallet at the gym—gotta run back and get it before they close. Hope I didn’t interrupt!”
That was good, he thought, as he started to duck back into the car. But right at that moment, she appeared next to his father, the house lights silhouetting her lean curves in the purple dusk. She waved and pushed past Ted, coming straight toward him.
He got in the car, but she caught the door before he could pull it open, placing herself between the car and the ajar door, her thin waist close enough to reach out and touch. “Hi,” she said, the syllable lingering for a moment before he responded.
“Hi, Riley.” She smelled just like he remembered, like she hadn’t changed perfumes since college. Was it lavender or rose?
She raised her eyebrow and he felt her eyes studying him as he looked ahead at the dash.
After a moment she let out a quick guffaw and shook her head in false disbelief. “Are you really not going to say anything?”
He didn’t look at her—he couldn’t. “What would you like me to say?” he asked the dash.
“I don’t know?” she started, but it took her a moment to figure out what to say next. “You could say hello. You could ask how I am or say that it’s good to see me. You could even ask why I’m here.”
Maybe she was here to apologize, to tell him it had all been a big mistake. The worst decision she’d ever made in her life.
“Why are you here?” T.J. asked pointedly.
“I’m doing freelance work for a magazine that’s running an article on your father. Seriously, T.J.,” she continued, “we haven’t seen each other in over two years, and all of a sudden I’m in your backyard and your reaction is to run?”
He felt his anger well at her presumptuousness. She was in his yard; how dare she talk to him about what was appropriate. And how dare she assume he was running away.
“I was not running from you, Riley.” He finally turned to look up at her as he said her name. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, accentuating her cheekbones, which seemed to have become more pronounced since he used to stare at them while they were making out in his frat house, holding that face in his hands and kissing her over and over and everywhere. “I have to go, because believe it or not, I have a life. I’m sorry I don’t have t
ime to stay and catch up,” he said spitefully.
Her lips split open in … hurt? Disbelief? Their eyes were locked, hers searching his for some indication, and his stubbornly not conceding, glaring at her with as much resolve as he’d ever had to not be made vulnerable.
She shook her head and dropped the stare. “Fine,” she said.
“Great,” he answered, turning his attention back to the ignition and starting the engine. She didn’t move, though, and he didn’t attempt to force her.
“Really?” Her voice was frustrated. “You’re really going to drive off,” she said meanly.
“Yes, Riley. I’m really going to drive off.”
“I wish you wouldn’t, T.J.”
The sound of her voice saying his name made his heart stop again, bringing up all the emotions linked to memories of all the times she’d said it before. “I have to go,” he said quietly, reaching for the door.
She slid her hips to get out of his way and he slammed the door. She didn’t move as he turned the car around and drove away.
20
London Fog
Violet extended her crossed leg and admired the new red-with-a-pink-bow-on-the-heel stiletto pump on her right foot, half listening to the conference call about some new company acquisition that was playing through her phone’s headset. Her boss had asked her to join the call. Technically, he wasn’t really her boss, just one of the people who paid her retainer and gave her assignments.
She’d picked the shoes up at the Ted Baker near Oxford Circus yesterday. They were a statement, but she liked them. Yes, definitely a good purchase.
She put the phone on mute and let out a vocal sigh, staring out her window at the London skyline, framed by a drizzling gray sky and pierced by the modern skyscraper nicknamed the Gherkin.
These calls bored Violet, as did being back in London. It was full of stuffy old men, and she had no influence; she preferred the can-do-it-ness of Silicon Valley and the eternal optimism (or was it naïveté?) of the Americans.
She heard a blurp and turned to her computer screen. A Skype message popped up in the corner from Adam Dory: “You free?”
She looked at her clock: It was almost noon here, meaning it was almost 4:00 A.M. in California. What was Adam doing up so late?
She keyed “Sure,” and clicked into Skype.
“You’re up late,” she said into her headset.
“What are you wearing?”
“New red stilettos. They match my underwear.”
“You are so hot,” he slurred. She smiled. Yes, she preferred the Americans.
“Are you drunk?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “Maybe a little.” He paused. “I did what you said.”
She sat up in her chair. “You got another meeting with Ross Brown? When are you meeting him?”
“Tomorrow,” Adam said, “at noon.”
Crap, Violet thought, no way she could get back in time. “Does Amelia know?”
“I thought you said I shouldn’t tell her about it,” he whined.
“No,” Violet said quickly, “of course you shouldn’t. She’s not supposed to be part of the business conversations anymore.”
“I wish you were here.”
“Is T.J. coming?”
“I told him about it and told him I was talking to them about COO stuff. Honestly, he was being super weird on the phone. I don’t even know if he heard.”
“What’s going on with T.J.?”
“Don’t know. He said something about a girl. I’m kind of glad he’s not going to be there. I don’t want him interfering.”
“Good for you.”
“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”
“You know I think you are,” she said carefully.
“Ted does, too.”
“You talked to him about it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I mean, it’s good to get advice from your mentor.”
“I wish you were here.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I know.”
“Go get some sleep. You have a big day tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be thinking about you, okay? Let me know how it goes.”
She clicked out of the Skype window and took a deep breath, as if saying a silent prayer for tomorrow’s meeting, before turning back to the call just in time to hear a question addressed to her. “I’m sorry,” she said into the receiver, “can you repeat the question?”
“We just wanted an update,” the voice replied. “You’ve been in Silicon Valley for a few months, now, Violet, and our partners are quite eager. Do you have any new leads?”
“Patience is a virtue in this business, gentlemen,” she coaxed. “But I do have one company in mind. It’s better than Gibly and has access to just the kind of user data the Aleister Corporation wants; I don’t want to jinx it, but things are looking quite good.”
21
Alarms and False Alarms
Amelia felt the vibration in her pocket before her sleeping ears registered the sound and she awoke to her iPhone ringing. She shook her head and readjusted her glasses, which were twisted from where they’d been pressed against her arm on the table at the library where she had, evidently, fallen asleep studying for an upcoming history test.
She didn’t recognize the number on the iPhone screen, and said sleepily, “Hello?”
“Amelia?” She slowly registered the frantic female voice as Riley’s. “Amelia, are you on campus?”
Amelia unnecessarily peered around at the library stacks before answering, “Yeah, I’m at the library, what’s up?”
She spoke in short breaths, intentionally keeping her statements factual. “I’m heading to the hospital. I think you should, too. Roger’s not doing very well. I just got the call. If you’re close I can pick you up.”
Amelia’s brain clicked to alert and she started closing up her books and packing her bag. “No, it’ll be faster if I bike. I’ll meet you there.”
She ran down the library steps and got on her bike, focusing all her attention on getting to the hospital so that she wouldn’t think about why she might be doing so, or what it would mean for Roger.
* * *
“His cancer is progressing much more quickly than we expected,” the nurse whispered to the two girls. She’d closed the curtain that separated Roger’s bed from the other beds, but Amelia could hear him retching behind it.
“Why? How?” Riley’s eyes were glassy.
The nurse shrugged her shoulders. “He refused the chemotherapy. I can’t say I blame him, but it means nature’s going to take its course on whatever timeline it wants.”
Riley stretched her fingers and clenched them into a fist at her side over and over, a nervous habit Amelia hadn’t noticed before.
“So what do we do?”
The nurse’s eyebrows lifted in the center and she pursed her mouth empathetically. “You wait.”
Riley nodded silently.
Another nurse stuck her head out from the curtain and said, “He heard your voices. Do you want to come in?”
“If I’d known a seizure’s all it took to see my two favorite women, I’d have had one a lot sooner.” Roger smiled weakly from his bed without opening his eyes.
“Keep saying stuff like that and we’re never coming back,” Riley said as she pulled a chair to the side of Roger’s bed and leaned forward to drop her head on his shoulder, gently stroking the arm that lay above the covers by his side. He turned his head to kiss the top of hers and Riley said softly, “I’m not ready yet.”
Amelia watched the pair and realized, suddenly, that Riley had called her not to see Roger, but because Riley needed someone there to support her. And rather than being annoyed, the thought that she had the capacity to be that person for someone other than Adam made her feel happy despite the circumstances.
Roger opened his eyes and turned his attention to Amelia. “My Amelia,” he said, and the effort it took to speak w
as evident. “I hope this isn’t distracting you from prepping for your meeting.” He closed his eyes again as if to save energy. “I’m so proud of you.”
She lifted an eyebrow and looked down at him. “What meeting?”
“Your PKC meeting,” he said, swallowing painfully. “Ross Brown stopped by yesterday and he mentioned he was having lunch with Doreye today.”
Amelia felt her heart sink into her stomach. She wanted to think Roger was delusional, that the meds had messed up his brain, but something told her he wasn’t.
“Did he mention where?” she asked casually.
“Imagine it’s at PKC,” he said, his voice drifting. “My dear, you really must get better at details.”
Amelia glanced at her watch: It was 11:54. PKC was on Sand Hill Road, a ten-minute drive from the hospital. She looked up at Riley, panicked.
Riley took her keys from her coat pocket, looking down at Roger to confirm he’d fallen asleep, and handed them across the bed to Amelia. “Go!” she whispered. “I’ll stay here, you’ve got to hurry!”
Amelia took the keys, wondering whether she should tell Riley she’d never made it through driver’s ed. No, couldn’t think about that right now. She nodded hurriedly and scrambled out of the room toward the parking lot.
22
Syntax Error
Adam cracked his knuckles and wiggled his jaw to loosen his throat. He peered out onto Sand Hill Road and imagined for the hundredth time what it was going to feel like when Ross Brown decided he was ready to give him ten million dollars.
Visualization was a technique Ted Bristol had taught him during one of their prep sessions for this meeting. He’d told him it was a common tool for athletes: Imagine what it would feel like to catch that ball, to make that pass, to see the scoreboard show your victory, and its likelihood was statistically more probable. So Adam had spent the last few days thinking about what Ross’s handshakes would feel like and practicing saying, “Thank you, Mr. Brown. I know you won’t regret this, and I look forward to making Doreye the next big thing.”