Chapter 25
California
After that first night in my apartment, Beau and I went on something of a world tour.
It started as a single trip. I was unemployed, and he was fun employed—the distinction being his bottomless bank account—and we wanted to get away for a few days. But one trip kept rolling into another until we hadn’t stopped moving for months.
We’d hopped from city to city, carrying only what fit in two suitcases, trading boardrooms and deadlines for airports and hotel pools. It felt like we were chasing sunlight across the globe. And now, somehow, our tour had delivered us here to Joshua Tree.
“You’re going to get eaten by a mountain lion out here,” Beau said when he found me by the pool.
All day, we had drifted from the pool to outdoor daybeds, thumbing through books under the desert sun.
And as the sky shifted from seamless blue to a smoldering amber sunset, I was transfixed by the arrival of a night so dark it was hypnotic.
Away from the light pollution and the noise, the stars burned in an almost ghostly white.
“Look.” I pointed up at the sky. “Isn’t this why we came?”
We had read Joshua Tree was one of the best places in the country to see the Milky Way. We had timed our trip around the season when you could see the Milky Way’s core from the flats of the desert—millions of densely packed stars. It looked like a city in the sky.
“To get eaten? You left that off my itinerary.”
He reclined beside me on a daybed, and I instinctively fit myself against him as we both stared at the ocean of stars above us.
“It’s so quiet,” I whispered. The stillness of the air was almost hypnotic, to the point where I felt guilty speaking above a hush. “I’d rather get eaten by a mountain lion than go inside right now. I’ve never seen anything like this,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the stars.
Beau’s chest rose and fell with a laugh.
“All right, death by mountain lion it is.” He put his arm around me and pulled me close.
“Hey, Este,” he said, matching my low volume, turning to look at me.
And I peeled my eyes away from the stars to catch a glimpse of the crinkle of his eye. “Don’t panic, but I love you.”
The words made my chest swell. The endless warmth in his eyes made me sure he meant it.
He wasn’t saying it to get something from me.
He just wanted me to know. And like he did in those quiet looks he gave me sometimes—the ones where I could feel him promising to keep my secrets—I knew he would always feel that way. I could count on him.
But I was who I was, so I looked away. Turning my eyes back toward the stars in the sky. And for a split second, I wondered if Beau was just a soft place to land after Simon’s total decimation of my life and career.
Worse, am I his soft place to land after the InfoSynth sale left him adrift?
Simon had gotten time from me—a dense concentration of years of my life.
From the start of my time at Redwood—long before we were sleeping together—I gave Simon most of my days.
But there was so much I held back from him.
And with Beau, after a handful of months, I trusted him completely. More than I ever trusted Simon.
I listened to his chest, searching for any signs of hesitation when I didn’t say the words back right away.
But he was steady as ever, breathing evenly and tracing slow circles on my back.
With the quiet drum of his heartbeat in my ear, I gave myself permission not to overanalyze or cast cynicism on how I felt about Beau.
He wasn’t abstract books and ideas, like in my childhood home.
Or chaotic jazz like in Delia’s New Orleans.
And he wasn’t the cold, blunt force of slide decks and power lunches.
He was solid ground and a starry sky. He accepted me, and I liked the way it felt to simply exist with Beau.
No expectations. No rules. Only me—entirely myself.
And in the stillest quiet I had ever known, I looked back at him and said, “I love you, too.”
After Joshua Tree, Beau and I flew to Playa Mujeres for a week, trading long nights under desert skies for sultry heat and the sapphire-blue waters of Mexico.
We were lovestruck and mooning most of the time.
And away from California—away from the roads I used to take to meetings and the places that haunted me with reminders of Simon firing me—it was getting easier and easier to reinvent myself post–career collapse.
With Beau’s encouragement, I sold off my Redwood equity, washing my hands of Redwood for good.
Suddenly, our days were sunburns and fresh-mango margaritas. And I liked who I was in a maxi dress under a tropical sun.
Unfortunately, the dream was almost over, because it was checkout day.
“Are you ready to pack?” I asked. Beau was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, waiting in a pool chair for me to get out of the water.
“I mean, hear me out,” he said. “We could stay here.”
I laughed. “Haven’t we done this dance before?”
He cocked his head and frowned in mock confusion.
“I say it’s time to go home, and then you say, let’s plan a new trip.”
“I’ve always wanted to see Norway. What about a cruise?”
I gagged. “Cruise ships are nothing more than floating traps for norovirus.”
“I won’t hear you disparaging the cruising industry like this.” Beau gave a throaty chuckle. “A cruise ship is the only way to see the fjords.”
“That can’t be the only way to see the fjords. I bet you could paraglide.”
“Or take a helicopter.” He played along.
“For the right price, you could maybe arrive by polar bear.”
“Probably not a real polar bear. I think those are protected.”
“Okay, it’s two men dressed as a polar bear. It’s a niche experience, but a real crowd-pleaser for the people who are into it.”
“No judgment, as long as those involved are consenting adults.”
I smiled, but I couldn’t keep the banter up. “I’m not going on a cruise.”
“Okay,” he said, and then he went on. “But I don’t want to go back to California yet either.” He reached for his phone. Patting the lounger beside him, he said, “Come on. Let’s plan our next trip now.”
I pulled myself out of the pool, the chain around my neck swinging as I moved.
I’d had Beau’s Buffalo Nickel turned into a necklace, and I wore it every day.
When I stood, it rested on my collarbone, cool from the water.
Then, I crawled onto his lounger, dripping pool water as I curled beside him.
He didn’t flinch, just slipped an arm around my waist and tucked me in close.
He smelled warm and salty as we pulled up maps on our phones.
Somewhere between researching the Amalfi Coast and checking out Cape Town, a news banner appeared at the top of my screen.
Breaking: Redwood Stock Plummets Amid Data Breach
“Fuck,” I breathed.
I could feel Beau shift beside me. He didn’t say anything. He just waited, searching my face, anticipating my next move.
I didn’t want to click on the story. Didn’t want it to be true. But I couldn’t stop myself. The copy was bleak.
Redwood Security confirmed a massive breach of its internal systems, exposing millions of customer records as well as executive correspondence, and sending its stock into free fall.
Shares dropped more than 10 percent in early trading, erasing billions in market value as analysts warned the company’s reputation may not recover.
Regulators are already circling, and several major clients are reportedly considering pulling contracts.
“You okay?” he asked, finally—soft, not prying.
“Simon’s gotta be losing his shit right now.
” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
A part of me could picture it too clearly—the glass-walled conference room, the analysts frantically refreshing stock tickers, Simon at the head of the table, demanding answers no one had.
For years I’d been in those war rooms, flanked by executives and PR teams, spinning disaster into strategy.
“It’s weird,” I admitted. “Being on the outside. Reading about something I put my heart and soul into.”
Beau’s thumb brushed my wrist. “Simon will land on his feet. Let’s not forget he wanted to turn Redwood into a government surveillance tool. Maybe Simon’s loss is civilization’s gain.”
I chuckled. “Side with the hackers, why don’t you.”
I didn’t press, though. Didn’t know if I should. I was lost in that early-love-drunk haze. So I let the questions die on my lips.
And when Beau leaned in and kissed me, I told myself to forget the hack. Because what did it matter, really, what happened to Simon anymore?
Beau rested a hand on my leg as he went back to scrolling.
“Any luck finding our next destination?” I asked after a few more minutes.
“Actually.” He started typing something. “My friend Marcus is opening a restaurant in Florida.” He turned his screen toward me so I could see a Google search that had pulled up brick-lined streets, moss-draped parks, and kayaks drifting through canals. “Want to go to Winter Park?”
I couldn’t think of a reason not to. So we did.
And Beau took me to meet his childhood best friend, Marcus, at the opening of his new restaurant, Lemon & Fig.
It was set right on Park Avenue, an oak-shaded stretch of Winter Park lined with posh boutiques and expensive cars.
Inside was amber lighting and exposed beams, and the scent of smoked cedar hanging in the air.
Food passed by on trays with small plates that looked like they were fresh from a garden.
The crowd was already thick—circling with cocktails and small bites—buzzing about Marcus’s menu.
The food gave some of L.A.’s most hyped spots a run for their money.
“Try this,” I said to Beau, offering him the next bite of the mushroom tartine I was holding. “I think something about the seasoning just rearranged my flavor palate.”