And … shit. If I wonder at my response to some leaves on the ground, what will it mean for my plans with Eros and Forage? What would it mean to second-guess my convictions about the Ross app and the Syndicate’s world-altering plans, as I started to do the second I looked up and saw Caitlin just standing there outside the hotel like an omen?
I felt good when I got off the phone with Alexa, like we had a solid plan that was truly best for all parties — hell, for society and humanity as a whole. I felt good confronting Alexa about her secret motives. I felt that all our intentions could coexist, freeing minds and helping to eliminate shame while Eros could make its money and exploit those changes for profit. So what?
I was convinced, when I hung up, that I could help the world heal and change its attitudes, that the personal freedom I was about to help create would be far-reaching and liberating to a degree our society’s never seen.
But then I saw Caitlin and thought: If I didn’t see my lust for Caitlin coming … what else might I not see?
Even now, a full restless night later, I’m starting to doubt all I’ve been so confident about.
What if Alexa and I can’t truly understand each other?
What if I should never have joined Nathan Turner’s Syndicate? What if I should have stuck instead to the education and events empire that I’ve been building for years? Right now, I’m helping the people who meet me. By expanding into the Syndicate’s plan, do I risk sabotaging the excellent work I’ve already done?
I shouldn’t be musing during my morning routine, so I put it out of my head, trying to focus on my time with the weights and the elliptical, my meditation, the simple and soothing steps of a shower and shave. I speak mantras to myself as I pace my hotel room, trying to clear my mind. But still the doubt is with me. And that’s a problem, because I require total certainty to do what I must do onstage.
Amber is already in the Escalade when I enter. She takes one glance at me and says, “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it, Anthony. Did you sleep?”
“Sort of.”
She could tug at that loose thread but doesn’t, likely figuring I’ll rally once I get into the groove. Instead she pulls a tablet from her case, along with a few loose pieces of paper, and starts running through our pre-flight checklist.
Agenda? Check.
Volunteer list? Check.
Re-familiarization about our VIP contacts? Check.
And for the Gold Circle people up front, Amber holds up photos of their faces and quizzes me like I’m a kid studying flash cards. I know them all, of course; this is routine. But I like being able to point to someone and say, “You know what I’m saying, right, Carol?” Using a name is so much more meaningful. But I’ve never had trouble with names or faces, despite how many I see.
She holds up Caitlin’s intake photo and I flinch. Then I say her name and pretend that nothing is amiss. But still a small voice inside me whispers: If you’ve known Caitlin all this time and never realized how attracted you are to her, what else have you missed?
A lot of people think I’m a scammer, a charlatan. They think my energy is fake and that I don’t care about my people — just their money. They think I’m cheesy and ridiculous.
It’s usually easy to put those things out of my mind, because I know who I truly am, but today I find myself dwelling. I keep thinking of how Caitlin walked away from me last night. Have I ruined our friendship, or created a problem with Jamie? My mind usually has more answers than questions, but today it’s nothing but unresolved queries.
“Anthony.”
I blink. “Yes?”
“Where are you, buddy?”
“I’m sitting across from you. Maybe you’ve noticed me.”
“Your body is here. Your head isn’t. How much did you sleep?”
“I’m fine, Amber.”
“You’d better be. Today’s schedule is packed even more than yesterday’s. Normally I wouldn’t feel I need to tell you to go out there and kick ass, but for some reason it seems necessary. We should get you some coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“So I hear, but we might need an exception. Have you talked to Tracy and Perry?”
“No. Sorry.” Every morning of one of these events, I call Tracy and Perry on speaker while washing up — a five-minute check-in to make sure things are by the board. Today I forgot. I needed the silence to decide whether I should call Jamie about what happened or let the chips fall where they may. Jamie knows Caitlin has a thing for me; I did nothing wrong. Something just got a little out of hand, and I course-corrected.
So why do I feel like I’ve committed a crime against them both?
Amber’s head cocks. Her mouth is slightly open and she’s staring hard at me. “That wasn’t really supposed to be a yes or no question.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I really meant, did you cover the latest mic and lighting cues, stuff like that. I wasn’t literally asking if you talked to them. Because Anthony? Of course I knew you’d talked to them. You wouldn’t forget something like that. Not on the final day of your tour. Not on the biggest, most VIP-studded day of the entire damn season.”
“It was a rough night. I’m just a little frazzled.”
“What did you do with the time we’d slated for Erica?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “I read a book.”
Amber is still looking at me like she doesn’t believe me. “Did you do anything after your massage? Take some coke, get some hookers?”
“Very funny.”
She’s shaking her head, eyes still wide, mouth still slightly open.
“I’m fine, Amber.”
“I sure hope so. And whatever you did last night? Please don’t do it again.”
She goes back to her notes, reciting things I already know about my coming day. I don’t really listen. Instead I’m nodding inside, agreeing to Amber’s request: Of course I won’t do it again.
What happened last night made me second-guess myself all over the place. It threatened my business, and my larger mission in the world.
And nobody — nothing — threatens my baby.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CAITLIN
IT’S NEARLY TEN IN THE morning before I realize that I’ve put myself in a stupid, impossible situation. I’m a bit like a kid who throws a huge fit and runs away from home, then realizes two hours later that maybe her parents aren’t so unreasonable after all.
I can’t just pout in this hotel room. I was sitting up front yesterday, so clearly my absence on the morning of the final day is already conspicuous. It’s one of those untenable scenarios where there’s no good answer. If I attend, I’ll have to look up at Anthony onstage and feel like a rejected fool. But if I no-show, I’ll look like a petulant brat who can’t face the real world’s realities … and, part of me still suspects, who might have misinterpreted everything that happened last night anyway.
I was just chatting with her about random things, I imagine Anthony telling one of his insiders, and she suddenly got mad for no reason whatsoever and stormed away.
I don’t want to be that girl. And even if I’m right, and he was presuming my sexual advances and did reject them, I don’t want to be the girl who’s knocked down after only one hit. Life deals a lot of punches; given this shit with my parents, I know that better than most. So will I be a wimp who hits a wall and lets everything fall apart? Or will I have a backbone, stand tall, and go back to face what should be looked in the eye?
Because after all, Anthony is in Jamie’s life and I love Jamie. And let’s not forget that last night I called Jamie and practically begged her for a more meaningful job within the Ross empire. I feel weird about Anthony right now, but I still believe in his mission.
So, no, I won’t just sit here in my room and pout. I will go to the event. I will remain firm in my convictions, and not waffle like Old Caitlin would have before her world was so shaken.
&n
bsp; I faced my father last night and made things better. New Caitlin doesn’t back down, or avoid what must be confronted.
I will face Anthony from my table. And if he needs facing later, I’ll gladly speak my mind.
Of course, my convictions and grand plans waver by the time I drag my ass out of bed, shower, dress, and get myself together. I end up somewhere in the middle of Cowardly Caitlin and Bold Caitlin: ready to face the day instead of hiding, but not quite willing to storm in with brass knuckles.
I look at the clock. It’s after eleven. Fate In Your Palm starts early, with lunch scheduled for 11:30 — 27 minutes from now.
I call for an Uber, and on the ride over I get Jamie on the phone to ask for a convoluted favor.
Anthony doesn’t really eat lunch. For his first two meals he drinks shakes and takes these weird supplements. It means he doesn’t actually need to take breaks, and that makes him available for one-on-ones with the people who need him most or pay the most. Each person gets fifteen minutes.
The person I’ve bumped, thanks to my call to Jamie and her three subsequent calls to Anthony’s managers and coaches, isn’t in any real danger. She’s not slated to meet Anthony because she’s suicidal or anything — she’ s just in the middle of a messy divorce. According to Jamie, the woman scrounged $15k for a one-on-one with Anthony.
Now she gets to save that money, because she’ll be meeting with a highly trained Ross Institute coach for a longer period of time at far less cost.
Asking Jamie to get that woman bumped is selfish of me, but it’s a selfishness I can justify.
The door opens behind me. Anthony says, “Marcy, right?”
I turn around. The reveal would be more dramatic if I weren’t far more nervous than I should be, and/or if I’d swiveled in a plush seat with a white cat on my lap like a supervillain.
But I get the desired effect. Anthony stops and stares at me, mouth agape.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“You invited me.”
Anthony looks at his phone; I assume he’s consulting a schedule. Then he looks up and says: “Not to this. You can’t be here. I’m meeting someone for a one-on-one right now.”
“Marcy decided to meet with one of your coaches instead.”
“How …” This goes nowhere, so he tries again. “I didn’t see you this morning.”
“I wanted to talk to you first, before I just showed up at my table.”
“I figured you decided not to come.”
“Well, I came.”
Anthony looks around for help but there is none. “We should talk anyway,” he says.
“I agree.”
“What happened last night—”
I figure this is my chance to fill in the gap so I leap in and blurt “—was totally fucking unfair” at the exact same time Anthony finishes with “—can never happen again.”
We blink at each other.
Anthony speaks first. “Why was it unfair?”
“What do you mean it can’t happen again? Nothing happened.”
“You know what I mean,” Anthony says.
“No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me? What exactly happened last night that can’t happen again?”
“Come on, Caitlin. We both know what it was. What it almost was.”
“Pretend I’m an idiot. Enlighten me.”
“I explained it. I don’t really have it in me to explain it again.”
“No, see, that’s exactly the problem, Anthony,” I say, determined to hold my ground. “You didn’t explain it at all. I was standing by the door minding my own business and you came over and started talking. You handed me a leaf, said it was confetti, and then got metaphysical about changing the world, the butterfly effect, and lines you don’t cross. You finished up by telling me I mean a lot to you, then proved it by patronizing me.”
It’s not hard to run through this litany. I’ve been stewing over it and analyzing it all night long, trying to decide if he was an asshole or if I’m just crazy. So far, the jury’s still out.
“I told you. You’re making me question things I’d rather not question in the direction of my business. And this morning, I—” He stops, as if catching himself.
“What did you do this morning? And was it my fault?”
I’m joking, but his expression tells me that he thinks it was, indeed, my fault.
“Really,” I say. “Big-shit expert like you with all your helper elves, and little Caitlin is the problem with it all?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You’re unbelievable. So goddamn unfair, just like last night.”
“I don’t see what was unfair,” Anthony says. “I told you. It’s nothing to take personally. You’re amazing — really, you are — and I want you to be happy and have your breakthroughs. God knows you deserve it. I’m just saying that I can’t be part of it. It’s my choice, not yours.”
“Why? Why can’t you be part of it?”
“Because crossing lines and blurring the way I feel about people — about you — shakes things in me that can’t be shaken if I’m to remain effective. This?” He makes a vague gesture that I take to mean everything he does, across the board. “This is what matters most to me.”
“And why is any of it my fault? Am I in your way or something?”
“I never said it was your fault.”
“You said it can’t happen again. Because I’m somehow messing you up.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it? We just talked last night, Anthony. It was only a chat. But then somehow you pissed me off so bad I couldn’t sleep. I honestly don’t know how or why, and I can’t put my finger on it, but it happened. I don’t think I’m imagining it.”
“You’re not imagining it. And I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“For making you feel rejected.”
I throw my hands in the air. “I didn’t do anything for you to reject! I was just standing with a drink in my hand! You did all the talking, Anthony!”
“Come on,” he says, as if I’m trying to put one past him.
“What?”
“I know it’s a little embarrassing, but let’s admit what last night was.”
“A random run-in?”
“It worked out that way, but you came looking for me. All done up. In that clingy little dress.”
“So now you’re noticing my dress?”
“Of course I’m noticing it!” He rakes his hand through his hair. “That’s half the problem.”
“What’s the other half?”
“Let’s not do this. I don’t want to upset you.”
“Look at me, Anthony! I’m already upset!”
“I need to go,” he says, looking back toward the door.
I move between him and the door. “I’m part of this now, whether you like it or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I work for the foundation.”
“I know. And you do great work.”
“Jamie gave me a promotion.” I take a random stab, knowing I need to score a bullseye to keep him in the room. “She’s putting me in charge of the Clive Spooner money.”
It’s a bullseye. Anthony stops dead.
“What did you say?”
I dodge the question, answering a different one. “I believe in what you do. I’m pissed off, but I don’t want you distracted because now this is my mission, too.”
“It’s not the same.”
“It is the same! This matters, Anthony — you know it does.”
“Of course I do.” A new sternness enters his voice. “That’s why I can’t see you again.”
“So now we’re seeing each other?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Stop saying I know what you mean! Stop talking around it and just say what the hell is on your mind for a change!”
I’ve gone too far. Anthony has a reputation for straight talk, and I’ve just accused him o
f either deception or not knowing himself as he claims to know others.
“Fine,” he snaps. “Last night, you came down hoping to find me because you knew I’d lost my hook-up for the night and wanted to take her place. Jamie told you I do that with women I meet on tour. I’m not ashamed of it. I don’t have time for anything complicated, or the bandwidth for distraction from what matters most, but I’m still a man and I have needs. I treat those women with respect. I’m very careful, and we both go into it knowing what it is and that it’ll never happen again.”
“And that’s what I was doing?” I say, raising my eyebrows. “Coming downstairs hoping to be your one-night stand?”
“Are you really going to deny it? We both felt it when I dropped you off — the something in the air. I just thought we were both smart enough to know which lines not to cross.”
I think about denying it, but I came here for a confrontation, not more evasion. Might as well clear the air and get it over with. “Okay. Fine. That’s what it was. But as someone once said, ‘It was my choice to make, not yours.’”
“And it was my choice to be strong enough for both of us, and say no.”
I don’t know which half of his statement to be furious at first. “So I’m weak.”
Anthony exhales. He wants to be mad, but I’ve made that too hard. “Of course you’re not weak. You’re stronger than ever.”
“Good thing you were strong enough to resist my stronger than ever advances.”
“It’s not that. It’s not that you were weak. It’s that you were … influenced.”
“Because you’re so charming? Because bitches just melt into unprotesting pussy in your presence? Get over yourself, Anthony. I have a mind of my own.”
Another sigh. “I know you do. Look — I don’t want it to be like this.”
“Why not? You don’t want it to be the other way, either, apparently.” I put both hands on my hips. “But thank you. Thank you for being strong enough to say no to the question I never actually asked.”
“Your body was saying it.”
I almost want to laugh. “I see. My body. And is it saying the same thing right now?”
The Guru (Trillionaire Boys' Club Book 6) Page 9