The Guru (Trillionaire Boys' Club Book 6)

by Aubrey Parker

  “Got it, A,” Perry says, smiling wide. He reaches out and slaps me companionably on the arm.

  I nod back and head for the open door. The air outside is pleasantly cool — refreshing after the heat I’ve worked up emoting and rushing around on stage.

  I’m about to step into the Escalade when someone says my name.

  “Anthony? Do you have a minute?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CAITLIN

  I CALL TO ANTHONY, KNOWING I’m bothering him but unable to help myself.

  His body language says he’s in a rush. He never brushes anyone off carelessly, but because he’d be mobbed (and never get anything done) if he didn’t have well-trained handlers and assistants, he’s developed systems to keep himself on track while offending as few people as possible.

  Jamie’s told me all about it, down to his usual exit route. His people put cars at both ends of a back alleyway to keep fans out, but a well-positioned and scrappy girl with a VIP pass could get into the alley another way, then wait. It’s maybe a bit stalkerish, but I prefer the word “tenacious.”

  After I speak, Anthony takes a full step toward the car before turning his head. I can see determination and decision in his piercing blue eyes, as if he’s already decided to toss me a kind hello but then keep right on moving. The door to his Escalade is open, and the driver holding the door seems annoyed that he didn’t spot me.

  Then Anthony’s gaze softens. His square jaw shifts, and his whole face changes. I feel something melt inside as he gives me a big grin. Anthony has charmed hundreds of millions of people with that smile and his genuine aura — but right now, I’m the one who drew it.

  I feel a little guilty for sneaking out here to divert what I know is a super-tight schedule, but his warm reaction shatters my guilt like crystal.

  “Caitlin!” he says. “Of course I have a minute for you.”

  But already Anthony’s handlers have popped into the alleyway behind him. They’ve got their pleasant game faces on, clearly trying to figure out how to intervene for Anthony’s own good. I’m not supposed to be out here, but I’d figured if anyone would be trailing him it would be his assistant, Amber. She knows I’m Jamie’s friend, and that Jamie is the closest thing Anthony has to a daughter.

  But these two don’t know me from Adam, and they’re moving into crowd-control mode from the moment Anthony spreads his arms to embrace me.

  Anthony sees it and tries to cut them off. “Perry, Tracy? I’d like you to meet Caitlin.”

  Perry turns to me and gives me the most put-on smile I’ve ever seen. It’s half-grimace, as if he’s trying to steer a vehicle that’s beginning to spin out of control. “Nice to meet you.” He doesn’t reach to shake my hand as Anthony releases me from his embrace. “Anthony? You … you have your appointment.”

  “Did you enjoy the day?” Anthony asks me around Perry’s head.

  He pushes the man aside, good-natured but firm, and waits for my reply.

  But at first I can’t reply. I’ve been replaying the day over and over in my head, my emotions tied in a knot, ever since Rena left the stage. I couldn’t stay in my seat after her session was over. I had to go into the hallway while the event continued, then duck into a restroom stall to cry.

  Turned out there was a lot that I’d been pushing down — about my mom’s affair and the divorce my parents won’t get no matter how much they should, about how distant I’ve realized my dad truly is to her, and about the way I’m now seeing my past unravel like an afghan with one loose end.

  It’s not that I thought my family was perfect; it’s more that I probably always knew something was wrong and can no longer lie to myself. That puts me at fault … and the fault makes me as guilty as my mother. As guilty as Rena.

  I haven’t stopped being mad at Mom for cheating, or at Dad for being an apparently unlovable husband, but now I hate myself a little on top of all the anger.

  So I cried until it was out, going quiet when people entered the restroom, then turning it up when I was alone again. Afterward, cleaned up a little, I returned to my seat thinking I’d be safe, but no — Anthony was doing a post-mortem on Rena’s session. He told us that a lot of people live lies, and that self-deception is a sign of deep self-hate.

  And with that, I cried a whole lot more.

  “It was … emotional,” I tell him. It’s the best answer I can find. I can’t pretend he didn’t break me down as much as Rena. He saw me sobbing. He never stopped looking in my direction as I made a spectacle of myself, comforted by the arms of the strangers around me.

  I feel stupid being out here after what Anthony saw of me today. But isn’t this what he tells his followers: to be strong and bold, and never to be ashamed of what’s most true inside us?

  He’s not going to judge you for breaking down, Caitlin. He’s seen far worse.

  But I’m still finding it hard to meet his eyes as he holds my hands, giving me every ounce of his attention. Fortunately, not meeting his eyes is easy; he’s half a foot taller than me.

  “I saw,” he says. “Are you okay?”

  I sniff. His concern picks at the wound I’ve finally gotten to clot. I wish he’d just joke with me and screw around like he usually does.

  Technically speaking, Anthony is my boss — but only in a very, very peripheral way, seeing as I work for his foundation through Jamie. I’m most used to him as my friend’s kinda-dad, not as a boss … and certainly not as a guru.

  And If he doesn’t stop looking at me this way and talking to me in this tone of voice, I’ll start blubbering all over again.

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “You’re sure?”

  I nod.

  Anthony reaches down and slips his fingers under my chin. His thumb rests just above, at the spot where his own chin has a dimple. I find myself looking up, meeting his eyes. My vision starts to swim with tears. The only thing that stops them from falling is a bizarre feeling that his next move will be to lean forward and kiss me.

  I know it’s crazy and impossible; he’s not quite old enough to be Jamie’s dad, but that’s what it’s always felt like to both of us. I couldn’t betray her by kissing Anthony. And Anthony could never kiss me because that would betray Jamie from the other end. But someone needs to tell my heart, because right now it’s hammering my ribcage, my eyes wanting to close as my lips anticipate his.

  His voice is soft as our eyes lock. “You’re sure?”

  “Anthony.” Tracy is very close to us now. “You need to keep moving. It’s—”

  He’s still looking at me when he says to Tracy, “I know what time it is.”

  “But the schedule—”

  “I have a few minutes.”

  But Tracy isn’t buying it. She starts to fluster and puff like a steampunk engine in overdrive. She’s looking at her clipboard full of papers, at her small gold watch, at the streetscape as if it holds the answers. Perry is consulting his phone and tapping something into its surface. Almost immediately it buzzes with what must be a return text.

  “Anthony? Amber is over at the cafe, but she says she wants you to pick her up so she can discuss what she’s learned in person.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “Tell her no, Perry.”

  “There’s plenty of time if you go now.” Perry starts whispering to Anthony’s driver, but I can barely hear.

  Anthony is still holding my chin, still looking into my eyes. “Exactly,” he says. “There’s plenty of time.”

  “But if we need that time to go pick her up and—”

  “We’re not picking Amber up,” Anthony says, more firmly. “Tell her I don’t want to discuss the cafe situation. Tell her to go home to her fiancé like I said.”

  Perry’s phone buzzes again. He reads the text and moves to lightly slap Anthony’s arm. “She says she’s ready. It’s just five minutes.”

  Anthony turns. “Perry.”

  “Yes, Anthony?”

  “You aren’t list
ening to me. I love that you care so much about doing your job well, but you aren’t in charge here. I ask Amber to crack the whip on me so I can be as effective as possible, but in the end, none of you get to tell me what to do. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes. Of course. But—”

  “Text Amber back. Tell her that she’s done for the day, and that if she says one more thing to the contrary, I’ll make a point to sleep in late tomorrow and miss all my morning appointments.”

  “O-okay, Anthony. It’s just that—”

  “Caitlin is a friend.” He still has one hand on my arm, and at the mention of my name Perry looks at me, now more confused than authoritative. “I understand that my schedule is tight, but I’m not an idiot. I know when I have two minutes. You need to go home and sleep. Because — and I say this with love — you’d make a shit assistant. Do you know why, Perry? Tracy?”

  They both shake their heads, shell-shocked.

  “Because I don’t believe in or. I believe in and. I didn’t know Caitlin would want to speak with me, but she does. So now I’m going to talk to her and honor my schedule.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, flustered. “I’ll just talk to you later. Whenever you get back to Del Mar.”

  “You don’t live in Del Mar, Caitlin.”

  “I mean … I just mean whenever you’re done with your tour. Sometime soon. With Jamie.”

  Anthony’s voice is patient but firm. I’m squirming to end this, but now he won’t let me. “You’re staying at the Benchmark Terrace, right?” he asks.

  I nod.

  He lets go of my arm, then walks to his Escalade and puts his big hand on the door, holding it open even though it needs no help.

  “Get in,” he says, “and we’ll talk on the way.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ANTHONY

  I THOUGHT TODAY’S VOLUNTEER SESSION might affect Caitlin.

  I had no idea where Rena was going to take me, because these things tend to unfold live, and what people write on their intake surveys is almost never the whole truth about their state and problems. But once I started digging, I knew it would probably be a bit too close for comfort.

  I’ve known Caitlin for a while, and I’ve noticed the change in her since she started to write and do marketing for my foundation. Little things she’s said — or that I’ve overheard her saying to Jamie — got me thinking that Caitlin’s parents might be in trouble. Now I’m sure of it. And if I had to guess, Rena’s situation mirrors Caitlin’s so much that the two could be twins — except that in Caitlin’s case, she’s seeing it all from the daughter’s perspective instead of the mother’s.

  I watched her crumble. I shouldn’t feel sorry — audiences come to me for breakthroughs, painful though they may be — but for some reason I did feel sorry for Caitlin. Unlike most of the rest of the thousands in that auditorium today, I actually knew her. I broke an internal code today, thinking about Caitlin and her pain; for once, my desire not to hurt someone was stronger than my desire for them to get through their difficult issues and heal.

  But she went through the issues, all right. I saw the way she cried through Rena’s session, and the way she vanished for twenty minutes afterward. I saw how red her eyes were when she returned — and of course, my analysis hurt her all over again.

  Fuck what Tracy, Perry, and Amber say. Ignoring Caitlin would be like refusing to help someone up after you’ve knocked them down.

  My Escalade has a privacy divider, so I raise it to make Caitlin more comfortable, then keep prodding her until she finally starts telling me the truth. There are more tears, but not as many as I might have expected. She’s through most of it, I think.

  The ride to the hotel is about 25 minutes, so we have plenty of time to move past her discomfort and catch up a little. It’s nice. I’ve exchanged pleasantries with her many times, but Jamie has always been with her as a buffer. I’m realizing now that I’ve never really gotten to know Caitlin. I’ve admired her, sure. She’s very pretty, and her no-bullshit attitude is refreshing for a guy like me who’s used to yes-men and yes-women.

  Even with Jamie around, Caitlin has always prodded and pushed me. She once asked me flat-out, Is all this self-help bullshit really just a racket? I wasn’t offended. I laughed, told her that I do it because I want to help, and said that the money is a nice side benefit. LOTS and LOTS and LOTS of side benefits, she replied, but I actually think I convinced her.

  She’s a tough nut, and in a way it was heartbreaking to see her finally crack today — but in another way, it was touching. I wanted to reach down to her, bring her onstage with Rena. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and tell her that everything was going to be okay.

  Now, with the tough stuff out of the way, Caitlin slowly lights up. She starts to smile and laugh again. She fusses with her hair, touches her neck without realizing it, and keeps putting her hand on me to make her points. When I look at her, she looks away, then meets my gaze sideways, then faces me to look more intensely. There are a few pauses between us that are too long. I see the slow measure of her breath. I feel the energy in the car rise even as I do my best to push it down.

  I lower the divider with the pretense of asking Lincoln if he knows where he’s going. It’s a little insulting; not only is he an excellent driver who’s been with me for years, but he’s also getting on in years and has started taking questions about memory and confusion personally.

  Caitlin nods toward the switch to raise the divider. “Do you want to put that back up?”

  “We’re almost there,” I reply. It’s not an answer.

  “Aw. I’m having fun talking to you.” Her fingers brush my leg, but now I’m getting a little uncomfortable.

  I know what Caitlin is doing. She won’t say it outright, but what she just said was my prompt to prolong our discussion by asking her to have a drink or a meal. I can’t do that. Not only do I already have plans — with a woman I’m supposed to sleep with, no less — but this is Jamie’s friend. As flirty as she’s being, she’d think dinner or drinks was a prelude to something more, and I can’t lead her down that road. This is Caitlin. She’s off-limits, and always will be.

  What’s more, I’m responding in ways I really wish I weren’t. I’m only now realizing just how breathtaking Caitlin is — her looks made more beautiful through her newfound vulnerability. I find myself watching her fine, delicate profile as she looks through the tinted windows. I find myself noticing the smell of her silky brown hair. Each time she gives me an opening to touch her, I want to.

  She’s always been Jamie’s friend, a girl I’ve found attractive and interesting but whom I’d firmly compartmentalized away from my dating pool. Now she’s striking me as something new. And what makes it worse is that I’ve always known Caitlin had a crush on me. Jamie’s joked about it, and I laughed along with her.

  But it doesn’t seem funny now.

  “We can catch up later,” I say, responding obliquely. “When I get back home and I’m not being pulled in so many directions, we can all go out.”

  Caitlin’s face changes as she hears the all, knowing I mean that the going-out group would include Jamie and that there’s no point in the two of us being alone. I don’t know if she thinks I’m oblivious to her feelings or I’m actually rejecting her. Either way the bright light leaves her eyes, and she suddenly looks sort of how she should look in the moment.

  She was upset; she wanted to thank me but also get some one-on-one coaching of the type I no longer offer except for six-figure appointments; I made time and space for her, and now the worst of her issues have been worked through. She shouldn’t be giggly; she should look sort of tired. She’s spent the first twenty minutes of this ride seeing me as Anthony Ross, guru.

  I don’t want to be anyone’s guru, but I’m used to it by now. Still, I won’t abide star-struck gazes from people I consider friends or family — or friends of family.

  Now Caitlin is just a girl again, tender from the day’s emotional work. And I’m just
a man again — honestly, one who’s too old for her. I should protect and help her. It would be irresponsible of me to lead her on.

  But, oh, how part of me yearns to.

  I can finally see the hotel ahead. It’s maybe five blocks away, meaning we’ll be there in under five minutes with traffic. I need to get out of this car, or Caitlin needs to. The chemistry is making me lightheaded.

  I should be better than this. I’m used to adulation, and intense emotion from vulnerable people.

  “Anthony?”

  I look over at her.

  “Do you know what made my mom cheat on my dad?”

  I take a long moment before responding. Caitlin’s eyes are liquid. All the giggly, flirty behavior is gone as if it never existed. This is the rawest she’s looked today, including all the moments I caught her gaze onstage. Through all the crying, she’s never seemed this fragile.

  It’s heartbreaking to see. Caitlin comes off so strong that she’s almost a bully. She shrugged off her ex-boyfriend Rudy with a vengeance. She’s stood up to Aiden Page more than I’ve ever seen anyone stand up to him. Jamie says she was as strong in the courtroom, back when she was a lawyer, as the most aggressive man.

  But this girl sitting next to me is wafer-thin porcelain. One wrong touch, and I’m afraid she’ll break.

  What’s making her re-open the wound we closed for the night? And now that she’s broached the issue, how can I not do my best to help her push through it?

  “What?” I ask.

  “Dad’s business. He was always working. It’s what I’ll remember most about my father. It’s like he never had time for her. Never had time for us.”

  I wait, knowing there’s more.

  “I was so mad when I learned that Mom had cheated on him. It didn’t make me less mad to learn that she wanted a divorce and that he wouldn’t give her one — that was just another reason to hate her. I didn’t consider the idea that he might have pushed her away. I couldn’t. Because he was my father.”