Chapter 5
River
He’s on my doorstep already. I gave him my address and finished the call only fifteen minutes ago. It’s probably a good thing Jana left. I wouldn’t want an audience as I try to squeeze more money out of him.
He’s so tall, lean, and broad-shouldered. He’s got the build of both a track star and an Olympic swimmer. I’m tall myself, and short girls can’t ever understand how nice it is when a man is taller.
It’s heaven, just so you know. And that hair? All golden with a big Superman wave at the top? I mean, come on.
Meanwhile, my hair is in a messy bun. It’s not messy by choice but because I literally couldn’t get the elastic out of my hair due to the rat’s nest at the nape of my neck I discovered earlier. I’m wearing jeans, purple Vans, and a T-shirt that has a screen printing of the whole Sesame Street gang.
Skye has a matching one, except lately she’s been refusing to wear it if I am. Rude.
I usher him into the house, showing him to the small living room—the place where I used to play Nintendo with my friends, where my parents set up the Christmas tree every year, where I’d lounge and read Harry Potter aloud to Skye.
It’s still the same couch, something I despised until my parents died. Now I can’t get rid of it. Ever. It’s brown, sturdy, and not at all comfortable. My parents purchased it from a church yard sale back when I was in middle school, and it was old even then. But since it’s attached to my very identity in some odd way, it’s never going anywhere.
Except a storage unit with the rest of our stuff until I can find a place to live.
Still, I’m embarrassed by it as I ask Gabriel to take a seat. I sit in the glider rocking chair in the corner and pull my mom’s yellow afghan over my legs. I wonder mildly if Skye’s going to make her presence known or if she’s going to come investigate our visitor.
“Thanks for coming over,”
I offer. What’s the protocol for this? When I told him I wanted to talk about the job, he said we needed to discuss it in person. He offered to meet me wherever I was, and I agreed without thinking. Because if I thought about it, I’d probably chicken out. It’s humbling asking to revisit the offer I’d refused before.
“I thought it best to get started on this right away.”
He’s on the brown couch, casually draping his right arm over the armrest with the nonchalance of a king on a throne.
“If the terms are right,”
I remind him. “I haven’t said yes yet.”
“Of course.”
“You ready to tell me what happened in Prague?”
He blows out a long breath. “I guess it’s only fair.”
“I honestly can’t help you until you do.”
I try to laugh to ease the tension. “Them’s the breaks!”
“Right. Well . . .”
He grabs at the top of his hair, mussing it, but doing nothing to mar its beauty. Also of note: the dimples are loud and proud today. “Thirty-eight days ago, my friend Todd got dumped by his girlfriend. He was devastated. They’d been together a long time.”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “It was a lot, you know? So Todd asked me to fly to Prague with him. He knew this great bar there.”
He rolls his eyes. “I felt it would be irresponsible of me to just let him go there alone. He was in a bad place.” Gabriel’s not meeting my gaze. His knee is bobbing up and down. “So anyway, we get to Prague. We . . . party. I’m a lightweight. I’d only ever had an alcoholic beverage on my twenty-first birthday, and I hated it. But something about my friends’ sadness just . . . I don’t know. I wasn’t being smart. And this isn’t his fault, of course. I’m responsible for my choices.”
I nod. First intelligent thing he’s said so far. “And then what?”
“I was tipsy and trying to play some casino games like roulette and poker.”
“No!”
“Exactly. And, like I said, I lost a lot of money. The bank alerted my dad since it was from a joint account. The same account that I was going to use to start my own non-profit and he’d match dollar for dollar once it had hit a certain amount.”
Gabriel pauses, his gaze flicking over me, seeming to measure just how much I understood about the gravity of what he’d done. Oh, I do. He gambled away funds he’d saved up for charity.
Yikes, Gabriel Tate.
“My dad cut off my access to the company’s accounts so I wouldn’t blow through those too, not that I would have because at that point, things were beginning to sink in. He called me in the middle of the night to tell me I was fired. Then called me in the morning saying, again, that I was fired, in case I didn’t hear it the first time. And this time around, it was because the board was forcing him to. They’d had an emergency meeting. Decided it was best for the company that I was let go. There were photos that had been posted online. With my name and the name of the company.”
He bites down on his bottom lip. “Photos of Todd and me with several women in the casino. I give you my word, nothing happened.”
He meets my gaze, reading me, asking me to believe him. “But it looked like a lot of stuff had happened or would be happening, if you know what I mean.”
“Okay. Wow.”
I nod rapidly, grasping for anything I could say that would be appropriate. “I appreciate the honesty.”
I did and I didn’t. It’s a little weird that the wunderkind of the Tate family could be so . . . wretched.
Can we just go back in time and not do this right now? Hearing these bad things feels wrong. I slide forward and back in the glider chair. When he doesn’t say anything, I speak again. “No wonder you didn’t want to tell me.”
He gives me this look like, Right? And then musses the front of his hair again.
“Okay, so, what happened next?”
He tells me about going on this pilgrimage without his phone to try to find himself and make penance for what he’d done, but that it mostly gave him some wicked blisters and helped him meet some cool people who were also feeling lost in their lives. And it only solidified his desire to get his job back.
“So that’s where I come in?”
“Yes.”
But there’s something in his expression, a hesitation.
“Again, like I said before, time is of the essence, but it’s not too late to try,”
I offer. “I can draw up some plans and have them ready for you tomorrow.”
I channel my best Buffy Summers vibe. Strong. Fierce. While still being inexplicably cordial. “I need to know about financial compensation, though.”
“Of course.”
Skye swoops in, a large pretzel stick hanging out of her mouth like a cigar. Lunch Lady Liz is on her heels as they rush over to Gabriel. Skye’s such a social butterfly.
“Yeah, boooyyeee!”
Skye says, holding up her fist.
Alrighty then. I guess we’re doing this right now. I offer a laugh. “Gabriel, meet my sister, Skye. Apparently, she likes to quote Flavor Flav. Skye, this is Gabriel.”
He smiles and stands, holding out his fist to bump hers. “You have good taste in rappers, Skye,” he says.
She adjusts her pretzel cigar to one side and starts rapping, flailing her elbows and bouncing up and down on her knees, like she’s a DJ. When she giggles, Gabriel does, too and joins in.
“How do you both know all the words?”
What has Skye been listening to while I’m at work? Would her media usage be monitored at Caring Souls? Jana says so, but who knows how well? I’ve put good filters on all our devices, but still.
Gabriel doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his magnetic, blue eyes light up. And he’s a good hip-hop dancer.
Of course he is.
A lot of people don’t know what to do around Skye. Most are polite, some ignore her. The rare few who actually talk to her? Who try to get to know her? They make my heart hurt with gratitude.
And that’s exactly what Gabriel is doing right now.
He’s talking to her like she’s more than simply a person with a disability. And Lunch Lady Liz is already in love with him, jumping up on him and trying to lick his arm.
As quickly as she came, Skye leaves for the kitchen, saying she needs more pretzels.
Okay. Why did he have to go and do a thing like that? Be all kind and normal to my sister? Reminds me of articles I read about him immersing himself in the causes he and his dad’s company believes in. He doesn’t just shuffle money around from his coffers to a list of charities. He’s right there, in the trenches, visiting hospitals and animal shelters and memory care facilities. He’s created amazing corporate partnerships and held event fundraisers. There are rumors he also donates and helps anonymously, too.
“Wow, she’s great,”
he says, chuckling. A casual buzz of energy is flowing off him. Skye tends to have that effect on people if they give her a chance.
“She really is.”
I swallow hard. “She’s actually the reason I called you about this job.”
I chew my bottom lip. “She’s been on the waiting list to get into Caring Souls for like forever. It’s an adult care center for women like her. I have mixed feelings about her being ready for a big step like that, but she’s got her stubborn little heart set on it. They called us saying they have an opening but it’s a crap ton of money, so I need all the fundage I can get.”
“Wait. Caring Souls in Tollark, right?”
“How did you—”
“My family and I have associated with them for years. I’ve visited and gotten to know some of the residents.”
“You’re kidding! Can you get them to offer us a discount?”
I say it as a joke. One of those jokes you know is too ridiculous to come true, but man, wouldn’t that be great if they did?
He looks thoughtful. “Maybe.”
I press out a hand in a stop motion. “I wasn’t serious. I don’t want you to—”
“I know. No. I’ll see what I can do.”
He’s grasping his chin, the wheels turning in his head.
“It’s just too much money. I don’t have it. I was about to turn them down and relinquish her spot, but then I thought if I did some extra work on the side for you . . .”
I scrub my face and sit back down on the rocking chair. “You know what? I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s not fair to unload my issues on you. That was unprofessional of me.”
“No. It’s good. You asked me to be honest with you about stuff.”
He sits back down and is doing that guy thing of bending at the waist and resting his forearms on his thighs. Casually handsome is what that should be called. “Sounds like your sister’s care is your responsibility?”
“Yes. It has been for a few years now.”
I’m not going to tell him about my parents yet. “So anyway, what I’m trying to say is every little bit helps, so I’d be happy to do this job for you.”
“What if it were more than a little bit?”
“Huh?”
“Well.”
He licks his lips and mutters under his breath. “Like a Band-Aid—right off.”
Then louder, the muscles of his jaw tense and he says, “I’d like to ask you to marry me.”
An unladylike burst of laughter comes forth from my lungs. Sort of like a hee-hawing donkey.
“I’m serious.”
His face is grave. Even his dimples seem serious.
I laugh again, but then I jolt from the chair, the one my parents rocked Skye and me in when we were babies. When it glides forward and hits the back of my knees, I barely register it. I open my mouth but no words are coming. No air is coming.
“For business purposes only.”
He’s still leaning forward. So casual. “It wouldn’t be a real marriage.”
“What?”
“For business purposes only,”
he repeats.
“I heard that. But I don’t understand the words that are coming out of your mouth.”
I grab at the crease between my eyebrows and start to pace. “You’re actually asking me to marry you?”
“Yes. I realize this is a big ask. An unorthodox ask.”
“Unorthodox? No, that was when you came to my office asking for PR help. That was unorthodox. This? This is . . .”
I trail off, licking my lips. I’m suddenly very parched.
“And that was before I realized that my dad’s not going to give me my job back without a huge pendulum shift.”
“So, you really were asking for PR help then but now you’re asking for a . . . a marriage?”
When I say the word out loud, a chill creeps across my skin.
“Yes. Like I said, it wouldn’t be a normal one. My dad really believes in the power of marriage. It’s the gold standard. It means so much more than the sum of its parts to him. It means stability and maturity. You can’t have the company’s philanthropy director take a bender in the Czech Republic and just expect things to be okay. The only hope I have with him and the board is to settle down. Show that I’m capable of commitment.”
“The board? They’re being sort of . . . old fashioned don’t you think?”
I assume the posture of someone I picture could be on a board of a multi-million-dollar finance company. And apparently, that someone is British. “There’s nothing the love of a good woman can’t fix!”
I hook my arm at the elbow in a motion like Gosh darn it, don’t ya know?! “That’s so like the patriarchy to . . . to place the responsibility for a man’s actions on a woman.”
He stands but his voice is gentle. “The patriarchy? Whoa. No one ever said anything about that. The board hasn’t mentioned marriage at all. This is just the tone of my father’s beliefs being ingrained in the company. My dad’s hardnosed. He’s not a warm person by any stretch. But he does have standards. And the board knows that. They do, too.”
“This is ludicrous.”
I tug at my mess of hair. “People don’t just get married in order to get their old job back. How do you expect me to just jump on board?”
“It’s more than that, though. It’s . . .”
He purses his lips and the dimples seem to be saying to me, Heed this man. “The company is mine when my dad retires. That’s always been the expectation. It’s not just about being the director of philanthropy. It’s about the integrity of the company and my family and all that. I’m all my dad has. Everyone else is working for Sebastian. Except for Milo. He’s not working for anyone yet.”
He shoots out a breath. “I was quite possibly the last hope my dad has of keeping the company he built from the ground up in the family. But thanks to twenty-four really bad hours, that’s gone.”
He scratches his forehead and bites down so that his jaw muscles jump. “I just have to prove I’m trustworthy. Bide my time and be patient with the process, yes. But I absolutely have to prove myself.”
“And get married.”
His face is sober. “And get married. In name only. I’m thinking we’d end it after one year. After my dad is convinced I’ve changed.”
“It might be fake, but your dad needs to think it’s real. The board needs to think it’s real.”
“Yeah, but the board won’t be around me much because I got fired.”
There’s a bulge in his temple that looks ready to burst.
“This is nuts.”
I fold my arms over my middle. “It’s insulting, honestly. How come you’re asking me? You think I’m that gullible? That desperate?”
“No.”
“Then why me? Don’t you have a friend who can help you out in a bind?”
“No, no one like you.”
“Hey, I’m flattered!”
It’s meant to be sarcastic, but I actually really am flattered he’d ask me. The little me from high school is going crazy right now, but the rest of me thinks he’s out of his ever-loving mind. “The answer is no, though. No way. Okay?”
“What’s the cost per year of Caring Souls? About sixty thousand, right? I’ll pay for it.”
My body stills. What?
“I don’t need your money,”
I shoot the words out.
“You just said you did.”
“Well, not in exchange for my integrity.”
“It’s a legally binding thing. People get married all the time for all sorts of reasons not even remotely related to love.”
“You still haven’t told me why me.”
“When I got to your office, I wanted your public relations help. That was it. And you were the only person I knew outside of my dad’s company who could do it. But then when we talked, I don’t know, it felt good.”
“But I was terrible to you! And, quite frankly, you were terrible to me!”
“I know. But for some reason, it was the first time in over a month that I’d felt hope.”
I shake my head. “No. I can’t help you.”
I bite my lip. Yeah, I need money for Skye. But I’ll figure things out a different way.
“River, please.”
I hear Skye’s shuffle across the kitchen floor. I raise my chin. “Can you just go? Now?”