Page 60 of The List
“Hey, Cassie,” I croak out. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Simon. I didn’t realize you’d be in Newport, too.”
“Who are you?” Junie blurts. She doesn’t give Cassie a chance to respond before she sticks out her right hand the way she’s learned in the business class we teach in the WorkAbility program. “I’m Junie. I’m Simon’s sister.”
I watch Cassie’s face for a reaction. It’s usually pretty obvious to anyone meeting my sister that she has Down syndrome. The facial features are recognizable, and Junie’s speech patterns are different from most people’s.
But if Cassie is surprised—either that I have a sister, or that she has a disability—her expression doesn’t show it.
“Hi, Junie.” Cassie’s expression is warm and open as she shakes Junie’s hand with friendly enthusiasm. “I’m Cassie. It’s nice to meet you. These are my sisters, Missy and Lisa.”
All the sisters shake hands, and I say a silent prayer the conversation will end here. Maybe I can hustle Junie out of here and tell her the three women are just friends. Maybe?—
“Simon?” Missy cocks her head at me before turning to Cassie. “This is the Simon? The guy you’re dating?”
Dating? I wonder if that’s Cassie’s word or Missy’s. Is that how Cassie described our arrangement? I watch Cassie’s face go bright pink, and she opens her mouth to answer. I have no idea what she’s going to say, and part of me wants to cut her off.
“You’re Simon’s girlfriend?”
My sister’s voice is much too loud, and I can see joy written on her face like I’ve just given her a kitten for Christmas. She bounces on her heels and looks from me to Cassie and back to me again. “I like when you have girlfriends.”
Christ. I know she does. This is what I was hoping to avoid.
“Right,” I say, neither confirming nor denying the whole girlfriend thing. “It’s great running into you, Cassie. We were actually just headed out, so?—”
“No, we weren’t,” Junie says. “You said we could order hot chocolate.”
Dammit. She’s right, of course. I fish my wallet out of my pocket, thinking maybe I can hand Junie the cash and send her up to the counter for the cocoa. That’ll buy me some time.
“Wait, so your name is Simon Glass?”
This time it’s Lisa, the younger sister, who’s looking at me with deep suspicion. Then again, I’m the one who should be suspicious. Why the hell is she calling me Simon Glass?
“I—uh—” I’m honestly not sure how to answer. I look to Cassie for help, but she’s just standing there with her face frozen somewhere between horror and embarrassment.
“Your last name’s not Glass!” Lisa snaps her fingers like she’s just figured out twenty-four down in the New York Times crossword puzzle. “It’s Traxel, right?”
Junie laughs beside me, not reading the awkwardness of the situation at all. “Simon Glass!” she hoots. “That’s a good name. Simon Glass!”
Cassie’s looking like she wants the floor to open up and swallow her. I can relate. But I need to extract myself as carefully as possible from this situation. Both sisters are zoomed in on me, and I suspect there’s no graceful exit available.
“You’re definitely Simon Traxel,” Lisa says. “I never forget a face.”
“Who’s Simon Traxel?” Missy is frowning, studying me like she’s wondering if I’m someone she ought to know.
“Simon Traxel.” Lisa puts a heavy emphasis on the last name, like that’s supposed to jog her sister’s memory. It doesn’t seem to be jogging Cassie’s which is interesting. I’ve gone out of my way to avoid giving my last name whenever possible, putting dinner reservations under silly pseudonyms in case my real last name were to tip her off to the fact that she’s been sleeping with the wealthiest asshole in the Pacific Northwest.
From the look on Cassie’s face, the name’s not ringing a bell.
But it is for Lisa. “Don’t you remember?” she says to Missy. “We just read that article about him in Forbes.”
“That’s him?” Missy blinks. “Oh my God, you’re right. He’s that Simon Traxel.”
“He’s famous,” Junie supplies, clearly enjoying the conversation. “He’s a gazillionaire.”
I grit my teeth and hope for the floor to swallow me up. “Technically, I don’t think gazillion is a number.” I attempt to execute a smile that doesn’t quite work. “Look, my sister and I were just heading out to?—
“My goodness,” Missy says. “I remember seeing you in Business Insider. In their roundup of the top five hundred wealthiest people in America.”
