by Lee, Nadia
She sighs. “No, still looking.”
“I thought you’d already found one you like.”
“We did, but someone else offered a higher price. We couldn’t match it.” Her mouth quirks down. “I even had a dog in mind to go with the house.” Although she adores Nijinsky, she prefers bigger dogs, the kind that thrive with some space. “Then we saw this place yesterday. It looks amazing, better than the one we lost out on. I want it so bad. Look.” She taps her phone and hands it over.
I flip through the photos. They show a great home with three bedrooms and a den, plus sizable living and dining rooms. The yard is beautifully fenced with pristine white pickets, and there’s a large pool as well. It’s exactly the kind of place I’d want if and when I settle down and start a family. “This is fantastic. Did you make an offer?”
Her face goes a little sideways. “Yeah.”
“What’s the problem? Too many people bidding?”
Curie shakes her head. “It’s the owner. This little old Pasadena lady, and she’s being weird about it. I feel like she put it on the market just to have people come over, you know?”
“Really? Why would she do that? Isn’t it a lot of work to prep a house for showing?” The cleaning alone would put me off unless I wanted to sell for sure.
“Apparently it’s a thing among people who are super lonely. My realtor warned me last night when he realized how much I want it.” She sighs with frustration.
“But how does he know? Do realtors come with a special radar?”
“The house has been on the market for over six weeks. And you can see what it looks like. I mean, unless the place is crawling with termites or covered in mold, why would it be on the market that long, right?”
I nod.
“So I need to convince her that selling is going to be a good move on her part. A service to humanity, or at least to me.”
I laugh at her cheeky grin. But I wonder if the owner will actually sell if she’s lonely enough to put her house on the market just to have strangers visit. Then I wonder if that’s going to be me years and years from now—no career to keep me busy (from the way my job hunting is going, I might stay unemployed forever) and far from home (because I moved away, hoping to get a job) and lonely and sad and desperate for companionship and…
Ugh. Pascal, get a grip. This isn’t about you or your future.
I’m still young. It’s only been three weeks—slightly less. I can totally find a job, be surrounded by friends and family and be fine. I know I can.
After we’re finished, I decide to go to the mall and see if there’s anything pretty that catches my eye so I can buy it to celebrate when I get a new job. It feels weird to not have anything to do and stay home or at Court’s all day long. I’m not used to feeling this restless, without any focus or direction. I’ve been spending a lot of time at Court’s, and I’m afraid that at the rate things are going, I’m going to end up like that Tiffany woman—clingy and oblivious. Damn it. Am I going to be exactly what Dad wants me to be?
My phone rings right as I’m about to start the engine, and my heart flutters like tiny, hopeful butterflies are flapping their wings. Maybe it’s one of the places I applied to, calling about setting up an interview. I clear my throat and answer.
“Hey, I went by your office today and heard that you quit.”
Tom. “Are you calling from a friend’s phone?” I ask, annoyed that he got past my block.
“I always have a few extra phones around. You know how it is.”
I roll my eyes at his superior “I’m really important” tone. More like people keep blocking his damned number.
“Why didn’t you tell me you quit your job?” he says.
“Because you and I are nothing? Because you can’t help me find a new one? I have no desire to be a journalist.”
He doesn’t seem to notice my tone. “Well… I heard you quit because of your dad.” He tsks. “Steve the asshole. Saw that one coming.”
Even though my dad’s words hurt, I don’t appreciate Tom saying crap about him. He may be behind the times in some things, but he’s been a great dad in his own way all my life. He took me and Curie to museums and parks, taught us how to fish and swim. I just don’t understand how he could go from that to…how he was in the office—manipulative and condescending. Maybe I didn’t see the signs because I love him. Or maybe he didn’t need to be that way until now because I was young and malleable befo—
“Want to get back at him?” Tom asks.
I’m about to say hell no, then stop. I want to know what Tom means by getting back at my dad. “You know somebody looking for a financial analyst?”
He laughs. “You think like a girl. I don’t mean like get a job. Think big. Hit him where it really hurts.”
“If I thought like you, I’d be an amoeba. And I don’t have time for games. Say what you want to say.”
“I heard that your dad is laundering money.”
I pause, my brain trying to process the words. They’re perfectly good words, but strung together like that, they don’t make any sense. I let out a laugh, convinced Tom must be high on something. “Call me when you come back down to earth. Actually, don’t.”
“I’m serious. It’s a legit lead.”
A legit lead. “Coming from who?”
“I can’t reveal my sources. You know that.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it. Who the hell does he think he is? A real reporter? I remember the sensational articles about Court’s family. I also remember how he baited Court. A complete asshole.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of dirt you’re digging through, assuming there even is any dirt to dig, but I’m not helping you.”
“Even though your dad blocked you from getting promoted?”
Well, somebody has a mouth the size of Mt. Rushmore. When I find out who, I’ll be doing some serious butt kicking, just on principle. “If I was going to get revenge, I’d sue him for discrimination, instead of partnering with scum like you.”
“Hey, I get it. You want to protect your daddy,” he says. “But does he protect you?”
Something suddenly hits me. “How long have you been working on this lead of yours?”
“A while.”
“Did you go through my phone because you thought I was in on this money-laundering scheme too?” Was he dating me in the first place because of it?
“I don’t know what you mean.” Tom’s sounding entirely too offended.
“Bullshit. You know exactly what I mean.”
“You should be grateful I’m giving you a chance.” He huffs loudly. “Lawsuits can be ugly. This is much neater.”
“Yeah, right. You just want to get your trashy piece published.”
“Let me help you,” he says with the persistence of a snake oil salesman. “Your dad will never know what hit him or where it came from.”
“Tom, you’re wasting oxygen. Don’t contact me again.” I hang up.
Now I’m too pissed off to hit the mall. So instead, I go back to Court’s place, suddenly needing to see him. He can make me happy—centered.
He’s home, tapping away on his laptop on a couch and frowning intensely. Another email from his dad? His relationship with his parents seems so…negative.
He looks up from the screen. “Hey. How’d your lunch go?”
“Fine.” I sit next to him and kiss him. Suddenly I don’t want to talk about the unpleasant call from my ex and ruin our time together. Tom’s like last year’s yeast infection—annoying to think about and irrelevant to my present. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for something for Ivy’s babies.” He lowers his voice. “Yuna already bought, like, two hundred onesies.”
“Two hundred?” He has to be exaggerating.
“She’s had thirty-six shopping bags delivered to Tony’s place so far.”
“Wow. Isn’t a little bit early for a baby shower or whatever?”
“Not according to her.”<
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“Can she afford all that?”
He laughs. “Oh yeah. She’s the daughter of the Hae Min Group chairman.”
“Really?” I had no clue. The Hae Min Group is one of the largest conglomerates in Korea, its owner family filthy rich and powerful. And she seemed so…normal.
“Her family indulges her,” he says.
Is it me or does he sound a little wistful? Do his parents treat him badly? I bite my lower lip. I’ve been so wrapped up with the confrontation with Dad and my own situation that I haven’t given enough attention to what’s going on with Court and his life.
He adds, “I feel like I should buy some myself so my nephews and nieces can have something from me.” He searches my face. “You look kind of mad.”
“Do I?” And here I thought I was doing a pretty decent job of hiding it.
“Yeah, because you’re usually like a rainbow after a thunderstorm, but right now, you’re like the storm itself. What’s wrong?”
“Curie asked me about how my job hunt was going. And I told her it wasn’t going too great. So…” I sigh.
Court nods. “It is weird that you haven’t even had a single interview yet.”
His words pierce like arrows, but he isn’t pointing it out to purposely make me feel bad. I inhale deeply. “Yeah. You know, my dad was pretty convinced that I wouldn’t get a new position. He said getting a job would be really hard. Now I’m wondering if he’s right.”
Court shakes his head. “Something will come up. I have faith in you.”
Sudden doubts swirl in my mind, spiking my anxiety. “You were right about somebody sabotaging me. And it was my dad. What if he called around and asked everyone not to hire me?”
His face sets into a grim façade. “I doubt it, but tell me where you applied.”
“Why?” I ask, unsure why his mood has darkened so abruptly.
“To see if I heard anything or know anything about the companies.”
I doubt that’s the real reason he looks so upset. But I’m so agitated by the lack of employment response that I start to list the places. When I get to OWM, he stops me.
“Okay, it’s not your dad,” he says, but for some reason seems even grimmer.
“How do you know?”
“Because Gavin Lloyd—the founder and owner of OWM, if you don’t know—has a reputation. He does what he wants, and he’s not going to refuse to hire you because of what your dad said.”
So Dad’s right? The job market’s just really that tight? The doubts and anxiety twist into a knot large enough to surround my heart. “Do you think I’ve overestimated myself?”
“No, I don’t think so. You’re really good at what you do.”
His belief in me loosens the knot. But it doesn’t totally go away. Maybe…just maybe I should expand my criteria a bit more to include places other than Los Angeles. “Thanks. I’ll just send more résumés out and follow up with these companies.”
“That would probably be best.”
* * *
Court
Although I told Skittles that there’s no way Steve told others not to hire her, I decide to check for myself. Besides, he isn’t the only one who could mess things up for her. My own father is particularly interested in my personal life, above and beyond what I find acceptable. Part of me wants to believe parents are decent, but I can’t afford to be that naïve.
But there’s no way I can contact every company she applied to. So I choose Omega Wealth Management. It’s the easiest because Gavin Lloyd is close to Nate’s family, given that Gavin’s mother is dating Nate’s great uncle. It won’t be difficult for Nate to set up a meeting.
“Great idea,” Nate says. “Gavin will quadruple your fortune in ten years. The man’s a genius with money.”
I nod and smile, since I don’t want him to know my exact reason for seeing Gavin. I don’t want him to tease me in case I’m wrong, and I don’t want Nate to feel awkward or bad about Gavin if it turns out that Gavin did listen to Steve or my dad.
When I walk into OWM, Gavin’s assistant smiles at me warmly. She’s a curvy redhead with keen eyes and an air of professional competence. Nate told me to be extra nice to her because she apparently runs everything at OWM.
“You must be Harcourt Blackwood,” she says.
“Yes, ma’am.” I shoot her a warm smile, although I’m certain she knows who I am because of the family scandal. “Just Court to my friends.”
“Call me Hilary.” She hits a button on her desk. “Gavin, your eleven o’clock is here,” she says into a set hooked to an ear. And then, to me: “He’ll see you now.”
I thank her and step inside.
Gavin’s seated at his desk. Dark and lanky, he’s an intense man with eyes that seem to pierce you like a pair of laser beams.
“Hello, Court. It’s good to finally meet you,” he says. We shake hands, and he gestures at a seat opposite him.
I’m surprised at the greeting. He’s talking like he he’s researched me or something.
“I know who you are,” he explains. “Who doesn’t? All the stuff with your mother and all.”
Right. Of course. It’s just…nobody says it to my face like this.
His lips curve. “I hope you aren’t upset. My wife says my blunt manner can be off-putting.”
“No, it’s actually kind of refreshing. I’m glad that you’re upfront.” Better than people tiptoeing around it, like I’m going to fall apart if they even breathe wrong.
“Good. I don’t like to waste time.”
Okay. So no need to be diplomatic and look for a good, subtle way to ask what I’m here to ask. “All right, then. There’s something I need to know.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you know Steve Snyder or my dad?”
“I know them both. Why?”
Damn it. Suddenly I’m nervous, like Pandora about to unlock the fucking box. If I’m disappointed at my dad… Well, he’s let me down before. But I don’t want Skittles hurt.
Stop overthinking and just ask!
“Did either of them get in touch with you recently?” I say.
“No. We don’t really travel in the same circles. Were they supposed to get in touch with me?”
Gavin’s face betrays nothing. He must be a damn good poker player. “Here’s the thing,” I begin. “Pascal Snyder used to work at SFG, but quit recently. She’s sent her résumé everywhere, but nobody will hire her. I’m trying to understand why. She’s brilliant.”
Not even a small twitch. “Did she apply here?”
“She says she did.”
He hits a button on his desk. “Hilary, send Pascal Snyder’s résumé from HR to my computer, please.” He turns to one of his monitors. After a couple of moments, he starts to skim the screen. “You’re right. She did apply. We chose not to bother.”
Gavin’s dismissive tone pisses me off. “Why not?”
“Wouldn’t be worth our time. She hasn’t been promoted in the last four years.”
“So?” I don’t mean to, but I sound a little confrontational.
“She was working for her father. How bad do you have to be that not even your own father wants to promote you?”
Shit. I didn’t think of it that way. But it makes perfect sense. “Look, her dad is a jerk. He didn’t promote her because he thought she should just get married and have babies or something.”
“Well, is he wrong?” He shrugs. “Maybe that’s all she’s good for.”
What the hell is up with the medieval attitude from money people? Angry words form in my mouth, but I swallow them. It would be satisfying to yell at Gavin, but it won’t solve Skittles’ problem. “No, she’s very— Look, just do me a favor and give her an interview. And to show you how much faith I have in her, I’ll open an account and put a hundred million dollars into it. She can manage it.”
He laughs coolly. “Is this your idea of a bribe? That little money isn’t worth an interview.”
Crap, I forgot. Gavin is richer than a
lot of countries. “Just talk to her for, I don’t know, ten minutes.”
He regards me thoughtfully, then sighs. “Are you doing this to get laid or impress her? There are easier ways.” He speaks as though he’s trying to help a clueless younger brother.
“I’m already getting laid, and no, I don’t even want you to tell her that I was here. I don’t want it to look like she got this through some special favor or treatment.”
Gavin sneers. “Nobody gets a pity job here. I’m not letting some idiot risk billions, or—worse—my firm’s reputation.”
“Perfect.” I know once he speaks to Skittles, he’ll change his mind about her crappy résumé. “So, an interview...?”
He sighs. “I’ll give her five minutes.”
“Ten. I’m opening an account here, man. A hundred million.”
“Still five. Less if I think she’s wasting my time. And you deposit the hundred mil.”
It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing. The rest is up to Skittles, and I have faith in her. “All right, all right. But seriously, mark off a little extra time in your calendar. Once you talk to this girl, you’ll see that you want her for OWM and thank me for sending her your way.”
He gives me a dry look. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Thirty
Pascal
My apartment smells like cinnamon, sugar and baking apples. I’m making an apple pie for Court, because he’s been hinting he wants one. And it’s not like I have anything better to do.
I sent out even more résumés, but a vague sense of discouragement clings to me like nicotine on a smoker. I have some savings, but if I don’t get a job in the next four weeks, things are going to start getting tight. The last thing I need is an eviction.
You can just borrow money from Curie.
It’s an option, but not one I want to use. She’s trying to buy a house, and she shouldn’t have to support me. I’m a grownup. Maybe I should get a temp job until something more permanent comes my way. I make a mental note to call a few temp agencies.
I check the timer. Half an hour to go. Just about the time Court should be walking in. If everything goes right, the pie will be done about five minutes before he arri—