Page 71 of Most Eligible Billionaire

“You seemed mad.”

“Well, who’s leaving their bevs all over the model? Right? Anyway, he was kind of an uncle to Brett and me. As my dad got too busy to deal with us, Renaldo was the one who’d take us around, make us learn the ropes with the trades. Brett and I would go and do our homework at that place, and if we finished in time, Renaldo would give us little assignments. Make a five-inch bridge out of ten toothpicks and a piece of string, stuff like that. And there would be a test, like the bridge would have to extend between blocks spaced five inches apart and be able to support a stack of ten quarters.”

“A bridge made out of just a piece of string and toothpicks? How is that possible?”

“You’d be surprised what you can make from a piece of string and toothpicks. It’s excellent building material.”

“Maybe this is the part where you reassure me that even though it’s excellent building material, you went on to use more durable materials in the construction of things like freight elevators in boutique hotels.”

He turns to me there in the strangely lit shaft. “This thing’s solid steel, baby.”

I suppress a smile, because of course it sounds slightly sexy. “So you keep Renaldo on staff. That’s sweet.”

“He gave us an amazing education. He’s a master builder—literally.”

It comes to me that he didn’t mention his mother. As if she wasn’t in the picture. “Did your mom help out with the company?”

“No.” He pulls out his phone. I don’t press him on it. I’m not exactly the mother relationship queen myself.

“I want to tell you something and have you hear me on it. Trust me on it.” I need to tell him without violating my pact with Carly.

“Yeah?” He slides his hand along mine.

“Your mother handed over the company to Smuckers.” That’s not violating our pact, right? It’s a true fact. Light beams up from below, peeking through slits in the metal. “Things…tend to work themselves out. When something belongs to somebody, it tends to find them.”

“What does that mean?” He watches my face with intense interest. “Is Smuckers giving back the company? Is there something in the will that reverts it?”

I shake my head. “Things work out,don’t you find?”

“You can’t say more?”

“I can swear to you that I never had my sights on Locke. I know you have no reason to trust me,” I say. “I know what the evidence makes it look like. What it makes me look like. I'm not that terrible person. It’s not what everyone thinks.”

My throat feels thick. It’s like the emotion of the last eight years is rushing up all at once, choking me.

“I want you to believe.” The words rush out of me. “I need you to believe in spite of the evidence.”

“Hey.” He pulls me onto his lap, holds me tightly. “I believe you.”

Emotion lurches through me. I’m stunned. Reeling. His arms pull tight around me. “I believe you. I trust you.” He kisses my cheek. “I see you.”

I swallow. I close my fingers around his arm. His breath warms my cheek.

And he believes me.

Contrary to all evidence, he believes me. The world seems full of possibility. Like what’s happening between us could be real. Like maybe things work out for Vonda, too. Like string and toothpicks can make a bridge.

Clanks and voices ring out from below.

“Show me one of those bridges,” I say. “I want to see.”

He’s got his phone and he’s swiping the screen. “Brett sent me this last year. This is before.” He shows me a picture of a tiny bridge with string running as tension wires under the arch of toothpicks. He swipes. “After.” It’s a sad little pile of quarters and toothpick bits.

“Awwww,” I say.

“Wait, I might have one of the old successful ones.” He’s flipping through his photo cloud when the elevator lurches back to life.

I grab onto his arm as it begins an excruciatingly slow descent.

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