Page 78 of Most Eligible Billionaire

“Let him keep digging,” I say. I’m thinking about the way she talked about being hated. Bullied. Was that connected to the well? Did somebody put her in a well? Or worse? Is she so frightened of somebody that she had to change her name to get away from them? “Go for it. Find out everything about her.”

There’s a silence on the line. My about-face feels off to him. More than that, he doesn't like that I’m not telling him my thoughts. There was a time when I’d tell him everything.

“Okay,” he says finally. “And I made ressies at El Capitan for six tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Dude,” Brett says. “Scanlund fundraiser? The Jacabowskis?”

I close my eyes.

Real life had to intrude at some point.

Mike Scanlund is a city council politician we’re backing for assorted reasons. Black tie fundraiser. We’re taking the Jacabowski sisters, who are high up in that campaign. The two of them and Brett and I frequently tag team on each other’s issues at fundraisers.

“Can I sit there or are you going to hog the whole thing?”

I look up, and there she is.

“I’m going to hog the whole thing,” I say.

She puts her hands on her hips, and before I can stop myself, I’m surging up and pulling her into my lap. She screams and laughs and loops her arm around my neck, and the way we fit, it’s like she’s been sitting on my lap forever, as if our bodies know just how to mold into each other.

I close my eyes, enjoying her. Wishing I could stay here and forget about Brett and all his bullshit. There has to be some explanation. I should just tell her what I know and ask her.

But what if…

“That front desk,” she says. “Once the pieces are together? And with the burnishing? Right?”

“We rocked it,” I say, trying to push out the shred of doubt burning at the back of my mind. I trust her. But trustworthy people get in bad situations. They get in over their heads.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “But you know, this place would be so much better if it had better shared spaces.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is the only viable couch,” I say.

“Yeah, well…” She frowns over at the junky couch across from us. The two ratty chairs.

I tease her about it being soRoad Warriorand she hits me and I catch her wrists. I want to never let her go.

“Not just a nicer lounge area, but it needs larger and more functional collaboration spaces. The way we all had to crowd into Latrisha’s area? No. You could double the workspace if you expanded to the upper level. There could be cots, sleeping rental by the hour, Japanese-hotel style. Hire a manager to oversee the tools and double as a barista and referee, and the stuff you’d sell would pay their hourly and you’d have somebody quasi-managing.” I make suggestions about how they could get creative with events and partnerships, to figure out the right scale to make it sustain itself as a nonprofit. Anything to get my thoughts off the hell of that doubt.

She seems more amazed with every ensuing idea. It makes me feel prouder than all the year’s groundbreakings combined. “That’s brilliant,” she says.

“I know.”

She snorts.

I tuck a stray hair behind her ear. She’s not a threat.

“Seriously,” she says, “I don’t know how you see it. It just comes together in your mind.”

“It’s not magic.” I put my lips to her ear. “Have youseenthe other couch?”

“Shut it.” She laughs.

---