by Vivian Wood
Liz rolled her eyes at the other girls. “Really? Let’s see. First, you’re glowing. Second, we saw him pull you back in for a kiss, and not just a ‘let’s text sometime’ kind of kiss. Third, your normal hookup types are usually the sad photographers from work who take pictures of pigeons and shit in their spare time, not ripped businessmen in Gucci suits.”
“You could not possibly have seen what kind of suit he was wearing!” Cam laughed.
“Oh,” another friend continued, “you look happy. Like, really happy.”
Liz snatched a handful of fries from Cam’s plate and waved them accusingly at her. “Rebecca is correct. You look happy. That is very damning evidence. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Cam dropped her head and mumbled. Her friends leaned in to hear.
“I might have taken this one a bit beyond hooking up, but I’m ending it soon. It’s not going to work out. Actually, it’s impossible.”
Rebecca took her friend’s hand. “Why is it impossible?”Cam fought back tears. “I’m doing a piece on his family, he’s going to find out soon and he’s going to hate me when he does.” She looked at Liz. “He’s seriously going to hate me.”Liz narrowed her eyes as she thought, then smiled at Cam and shook her head. “I don’t think so, kid. I have a sense that you’re stuck with this one, whether you like it or not. Cheer up and eat your burger!”
Just then, Cam’s phone chimed. She read the text and wondered, not for the first time, if her friend might be a witch.
Her screen displayed a text from Smith: I want to see you tomorrow. Not for work.
She typed back: Take a trip with me?
20
“Where are we going?” Smith asked Cameron for the hundredth time, raising his eyebrows.
They were driving in his white Tesla Model X, with Cameron at the wheel. They were somewhere far to the east of the city, but he had no idea where exactly. He could taste and smell salt in the air, so they had to be very close to the ocean.
He squinted out the window, shading his eyes against the dying sun. The terrain had leveled out and the ground had become sandy. They drove up a long incline, and past long stretches of scrub.
He had no idea where Cameron was driving them to, and he hated that. He sighed.
“We’ll be there soon,” she promised, flashing him a grin.
She tossed that shiny mane of red hair playfully. She wore a black halter top and a pair of barely-there jean shorts. He eyed her with nothing short of lust. Sex was on his mind more often than not these days, and Cameron was at the center of his fantasies.
Luckily for him, he had the temerity to make his fantasies a reality. He slid his hand over her bare knee, up her thigh. She squealed and shook it off.
“We’re really almost there,” she said.
He settled his hand on her inner thigh and sat back, content at the moment with tracing discrete figures into her skin with his fingertips. She bit her lip, and he could see her blushing.
At least he had an effect on her. Considering how much he thought of her, it was only fair.
She pulled off the highway onto a sandy road. The ocean loomed ahead of them, the brilliant waves guarded by nothing but a few hundred meters of naked beach. She stopped by an old sign reading “Owl Point.”
“This is it,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “This is the place I want to show you.”
“The beach? Always nice, but aren’t we here a bit late?”
“Just come with me,” she said.
They both got out of the car. She kicked off her shoes, and gestured for him to do the same.
“I promise, you’ll be glad you did,” she said, putting her shoes on the hood of the car.
He knelt and untied his shoes, then took them off. He stuffed his socks inside them, then tucked the laces inside his shoes. Cameron was already walking down the short path that led to the beach. He followed.
Halfway to the shore, without looking back, Cameron held out her hand. Smith took it in his.
“Okay,” she said, “sit here.”
“Right here?” He looked around. “Don’t you want to go a little closer to the... actual ocean?”
“No, right here is perfect,” she said. They sat and watched the sun set.
“You know, I grew up in that town we drove by on the way here,” she said softly. “In a group home.”
“A group home?”
She gave him a crooked smile. “It’s like boarding school if you don’t have money or family. An orphanage, sort of.”
He didn’t know what to say. “Oh. I’m... sorry.”
Cam shrugged.
“Growing up, I used to come here often. It was quiet. I could be alone. At the home, it was always loud. Kids fought a lot…” Her face brightened. “Oh! One time, I saw a nest of sea turtles hatch right over there,” she pointed to a spot by the grassy sand dune behind them. “I don’t think I ever told anyone about that, actually. It was kind of a magic moment. I didn’t want the other kids at the home to laugh at me.”
Smith thought of the hazing he’d gone through at boarding school. Some kids took deliberate pleasure in toying with younger kids. “Yeah, I can understand that,” he said.
They sat in silence a while, watching the golden orb of the sun sink below the horizon. Then both spoke at once.
“I just wanted to show you -- ”
“When I was --”
They laughed awkwardly. Smith spoke. “You go first.”
“Well, I was going to say I just... wanted to show you a little bit of my childhood. There’s not much here, but this place was important to me.”
“I’m glad you did,” Smith responded.
“What was yours like?”
“My childhood?” he asked. “Um… well, I had family, and I wasn’t poor - “
Cameron snorted. “No shit!”
Smith smiled at her. “I think my childhood was mostly lonely. My mum passed when I was ten, as you know. My dad was busy in the States, running the company. So I was mostly raised by nannies, until I was put in boarding school. I was always jealous of the kids whose parents sent them lovely packages, or insisted they come home for holidays.”
Cam squeezed Smith’s hand. The sun had set and the air was growing chilly. She shivered.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said. Smith nodded.
When they returned to the car, Smith took a second to check his phone. He skimmed over a new email, something about the company’s accounting being screwed up. Smith sighed. A few minutes ago, he’d been in such a calm mood and now he could feel his stress rising again.
Smith’s stress level continued to rise all night. Cam was staying at his place, but he’d left the bed to spend the night poring over financial reports he’d been sent by management. The email had been right: there were glaring inconsistencies throughout the documents. Now that he was looking, he didn’t know how he’d missed them for so long.
Then again, I could be wrong. What if I’m just being paranoid about all of this? Or maybe these are just... errors.
Unable to make sense of it all, Smith sorted out the relevant documents and stacked them on his desk at home, then slipped back into bed next to Cam. He’d talk to his father tomorrow about this stuff, sort it out then.
Cam rolled over in bed. She could practically feel him worrying.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Yes. I found some inaccuracies in the company accounts. I’m wondering if I’m getting all the right information.”
“You think they’re keeping two sets of books?” she asked, instantly alert. This could be exactly the information she needed for her piece!
Smith’s brow creased with worry. Cam was smart, all right. That she had the same thought as he did was just more confirmation of his fears: something was seriously fishy.
“I don’t know,” he said again. “Let’s go to sleep. I’ll figure it out in the morning.”
21
When you get
back from Tokyo, we’re meeting to discuss whether we’re going to publish with you… or without you. I don’t think your new boss will like finding out that his assistant works for The Daily News.
With shaking hands, Cam deleted the text message from Erika. It was only the latest of many such messages she’d received since she and Smith had flown to Tokyo for a series of meetings.
Her editor had apparently told the editorial board about Cam, which in turn ramped up the pressure on Erika to bring her wayward employee to heel. Therefore, Cam simply wasn’t answering her calls.
Erika’s response to Cam’s lack of replies was to call or text once an hour, usually with a vaguely threatening message. Cam sighed and looked out the floor to ceiling window of her hotel room. Tokyo looked amazing at night, especially after being wined and dined by Smith.
She stared down at the colorful blare of neon signs, wondering what any of them were for. They were all in Japanese, so they were like trying to read Greek to Cam.
“Aren’t you cold?”
Cam turned to see him sprawled across the bed, wearing only boxer briefs. God damn, but he was a work of art. Between the muscles and the tattoos, she had no idea where to look first.
Every second of their trip that they weren’t in a meeting, they were wrapped up in one another. Kissing, moaning, fucking.
She smiled. She was cold in her oversized t-shirt and panties, but she just laughed it off.
“Aren’t you?” she asked, padding barefoot back to the bed.
“That depends. Are you going to help me out if I’m cold? Come keep me warm?”
He flashed her those dimples, the ones she thought were so unfair. When Smith was created, they’d given him an extra portion of WOW.
She rolled her eyes and got in bed, kissing his lips. He chuckled and pulled the comforter up over both of them, then wrapped an arm around her waist.
They were quiet for a minute, Cam staring out the window and swearing that she wouldn’t think about Erika and her demands right now.
“What’s going on inside that head of yours?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
“I don’t know,” she said, pulling a face. “I guess… I was just thinking… if you told me three months ago that I would be here right now, I would’ve laughed.”
“Here in Tokyo?”
“Here in Tokyo, in a hotel room with this kind of view, in bed with you,” she said.
“Where did you see yourself instead?” he asked, reaching out to draw slow figure eights on the comforter just above her breast, over her heart.
“Well, I’m not sure,” she said. She had to tread lightly here; too much truth would give away the game, but not enough would mean she was a liar. “I guess… I saw myself being a career woman.”
“And? You seem like a career woman to me,” he said.
“Right,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just…” She took a breath. “I was a foster care kid.”
His finely wrought brows arched. “You?”
“Yeah. My mom was a junkie, and my dad was… well, who knows where he was. My mom finally gave me up when I was ten, which is… it’s late, for a kid. Especially one as angry as I was. So I grew up in the foster care system.”
He leveled her with a considering look.
“I had no idea. I mean, I know you mentioned the group home, but I hadn't realized the extent.”
“Well, I went to therapy. I went to college. I did all the things that you’re supposed to do,” she said, growing uncomfortable.
She’d started this conversation as a way not to lie to him about anything, but now she realized that maybe it was too much. Maybe the truth was more than either of them could handle.
“I didn’t mean anything negative by it,” he said. “Just — you seem really well-adjusted.”
“I am. I mean… I wonder about my mom sometimes, you know? What happened to her, is she even alive…” She cut herself off. Her throat was growing suspiciously thick. She cleared it. “My point is, I saw myself having this high-flying career, going all around the world for business. And now I have that, but… it’s not the way I imagined it would be.”
“No?”
“No. I certainly never pictured myself being the—” She started to say executive assistant, but caught herself. “I thought I would be traveling. I thought I would be in your shoes, I guess.”
“You’re only a few years out of college,” he said. “You’ve come quite a way in that time.”
“I know. I just… I learned early on in my life that I should fight hard for what I want. That apartment I live in? I own that. I worked two full-time jobs, found the cheapest place that had good bones. Saved every penny to fix it up. Everything in there is secondhand, or a hand-me-down.”
He frowned. “Do you need money?”
She gave a frustrated sigh.
“You’re not listening. I already brought the apartment. I already fixed it up. I did that, on my own.”
His brow furrowed. She could tell he was at a loss for what to say.
“Sorry, I guess… I’m just venting,” she said, sliding her hand over his and linking their fingers together. “My point is that I thought I would be further than this by now.”
His mouth twisted bitterly.
“And you work for someone who has everything.”
“That’s not what I was saying.”
He sighed, laying back on the bed.
“I really tried to not be a rich asshole. My father’s a rich asshole, I don’t want to be like him.”
“I know,” she said. A few moments passed. “Where did you see yourself?”
“Me? I saw myself in the SAS until they wouldn’t have me anymore. Then… I don’t know. Retire somewhere that was very green.”
“That doesn’t sound bad.”
“It was simple,” he said with a shrug. “But apparently life had more in store for me.”
“I would say that running a complex, multinational military contractor business is slightly more than being in the Special Air Service,” she said with a smirk.
“Yeah, well. I didn’t have a choice. Believe me, I was looking for a way out.”
“I get that, though. Most people are looking for a way out of whatever they grew up around,” she said.
He smiled. “I don’t feel like an ass very often, but complaining about my privileged childhood makes me feel fucking awful.”
She laughed. “Yes, well. It’s hard to compete with me in that area.”
He kissed her then, long and slow. When she finally pulled away, she raised a brow.
“I thought we were going to dinner.”
“Sure. Just as soon as you don’t tempt me so much,” he said, pulling her into his arms.
She giggled and kissed him again. “So it’s going to be room service again tonight?”
“I can think of something else I’d rather eat…”
Smith smiled, then ducked under the covers, kissing his way down her body. She closed her eyes and clutched the sheets, all thoughts forgotten for the time being.
22
Smith rose early, taking a moment to soak in the Tokyo skyline. It was just before dawn, which meant that everything was still lit up, the whole city drenched in neon light.
He stretched, then left the bedroom. He went to the foyer, intent on catching the Wall Street Journal as it was delivered to the hotel room. The paper was already on the hallway table, though.
He made to pick it up, then saw the folded piece of white paper on top. He picked it up, curious. His name was neatly written on the front. He unfolded it, and smiled.
Smith —
If you have some time today, I would like to have your company. I’ll be up until dark.
With admiration,
Sir Charles DuPointer
Smith put the letter aside and picked up the paper, scanning the front page. Charles was an old family friend, had been business partners with his grandfather, in fact. A billionaire with plenty o
f free time, Charles had retired in Tokyo. Smith hadn’t thought of him in ages, but it seemed like as good a time as any to see him again.
He hurried through breakfast and got dressed. He checked on Cameron, who slept like she would never wake up, one hand curled beneath her head. He smiled and slipped out into the early Tokyo morning.
Calling for a car, he had it take him into the heart of Azabu, the wealthiest section of Tokyo. He got out at Charles’ building.
The doorman must have been notified of Smith’s invitation, because he bowed to Smith and encouraged him to enter, noting that Mr. DuPointer was on the top floor.
Smith bowed, then rode the elevator up to the penthouse. The glass elevator looked down on numerous people going about their early morning routines on the street below.
When he arrived at the penthouse, he stepped out into an all-white security area with one large door in sight. There was a guard posted who looked Smith over, checked something on an iPad, then waved him on.
He pushed the big white door open, and it accepted him. He stepped into a completely different room, a foyer with dark wood paneling all around. The foyer had one door too, so he kept moving through.
He walked into a huge open concept room, with the kitchen on one side and the dining and living areas on the other. Huge floor to ceiling windows wrapped around the whole space, making it seem even bigger than it was.
Everything was glass and chrome and tiny white tiles on the kitchen side. Smith looked over to the dining room and living area, which had a similar aesthetic but also had a roughly hewn dining room table and huge white couches with gray throw pillows.
“Ah, there you are!” Charles said, appearing from seemingly nowhere.
He was an old-fashioned British gentleman, wearing a dark three-piece suit and clutching a pipe on one gnarled hand. Smith thought that Charles must be at least ninety now, leaning on his cane, but Smith was too well bred to ask.
“Charles,” Smith said warmly. “So good to see you.”
“Have you broken your fast?” Charles asked, hobbling in with the help of his cane. “I can ring for something, if you like.”