Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
B y the time we’re through shopping, Mushu has talked me into buying so many things for the trip that I know my suitcase will be filled to bursting.
To add to my apprehension, when Mushu picks me up to drive to the rendezvous point at Uncle Hong’s house, she takes one look at my giant bag and says, “Jeez, cuz, what did you pack in here, a whole horse?”
“Don’t make me put you on probationary leave,” I snap, at which Mushu giggles. It takes both of us to lug the suitcase into the trunk.
Uncle Hong’s house is a palatial mansion in Atherton with a long, snaking driveway lined with lush trees. Gravel crunches under the tires as Mushu navigates the car through the drive, and I’m more and more intimidated as we get to the end of the driveway and find ourselves staring up at the massive mansion. The Lis are already gathered out front, chatting and carrying their bags to various vehicles—it’s a mix of sporty cars and even a humongous, flashy trailer that will take some of the family up to the ranch and distillery.
Mushu parks the car and, with one last deep inhale, I get out. Here we go.
Conversations pause mid-sentence as we climb out, and I have to remind myself not to hunch my shoulders as eyes crawl over us. Oh god, I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Mushu about the stupid outfit!
It’s a scene straight out of my nightmares—not one of the Lis is dressed in a ranch outfit. Sure, a few of them are wearing cowboy boots, but these boots look like proper work boots, dusty and hardy and not at all ornate like mine are. A couple of them are indeed wearing checkered shirts, but none of the shirts are as tight as mine. They look like shirts that the wearers can move around freely in. And no one, not a single one of them, is wearing a cowboy hat. Some are wearing baseball caps, many of the women are wearing aggressively large visors, but there isn’t a single cowboy hat to be found in the crowd.
Then I spot Shang talking to his mother, and my heart skitters to a stop. He looks good enough to pounce on and do really bad things with. There’s his face, for one, which is so pretty I could just die looking at it. I mean, really, those intense eyes under those thick brows, and that sexy-as-hell bun, which makes me wonder what his hair looks like when it’s loose.…What’s a girl to do? He’s wearing a gray sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms. And the material is so soft that it shows off the shape of his pecs, which are—Oh god, am I drooling?
As though sensing me staring, Shang lifts his head and turns around. Our gazes meet, and in that split second, his eyes widen as he takes in my ridiculous getup. His lips part, as though he’s forgotten himself for just a moment, and I would love nothing more than to believe that he’s as enchanted by me as I am by him. But then, gruffly, he looks away, as though completely unimpressed by my outfit. Well, not that I was expecting him to be impressed, but still.
I snatch my cowgirl hat off, mentally cursing Mushu. And myself for listening to Mushu.
“Morning, girls!” James calls out, swaggering toward us.
I can’t believe he just called us girls . But outwardly I smile and say, “Hello, kid.”
Behind James, Shang coughs and covers his mouth with his fist. Can he be hiding a smile? Nah, not possible.
James recovers quickly. “You gals ready for some rough wilderness?”
“Oh yeah, totally,” I say in as convincing a voice as I can muster. “Can’t wait to, uh, shear sheep and, uh, catch wild loons.”
Shang coughs again, and I raise my brows at him. “Sorry, did you want to say something?”
“No, not at all. Uh, you look very…ranch-y.”
“Thanks,” Mushu says with unabashed pride. “We make it a point to fit into every situation we’re in.”
James leers at Mushu’s tight checkered shirt, and I thank my lucky stars for the denim jacket, which I now surreptitiously wrap tighter around myself. I notice Shang throwing James a dirty look as his lecherous gaze sweeps over Mushu, who for her part doesn’t seem at all bothered by it.
“So we’ve got the main trailer, that’ll be where most of G-one’s riding,” James says. “I’ll be driving Sultry, obviously.”
“I’m sorry, Sultry?” I already know I’m going to regret asking.
“His car,” Shang mutters, at the same time as James is saying “My Lambo.”
“Ah.”
“You’re welcome to join me and Sultry, of course,” James says with what he probably thinks is a suave smile. “The ladies love her.”
“Uh…” I can feel the grimace taking over my face, but can’t quite seem to wrestle it off. “That’s very kind of you.…”
Shang, who’s still watching, says quietly, “There’s plenty of room in my car.”
Somehow, though the idea of being stuck inside James’s car is appalling, the thought of being in Shang’s car makes my throat close up.
“Yeah, okay, sounds good,” Mushu says. She turns to James. “Sorry, but ain’t no woman going inside a car named Sultry. Let’s go, cuz.” And without waiting for a response, Mushu stalks off in the direction in which the cars are parked.
I glance over at Shang, and to my consternation, he’s studying me with an expectant look. “Sounds good,” I say. His expression warms ever so slightly.
“I’ve got to admire how your cousin just assumed she’ll figure out which car’s mine,” Shang says, holding his hand out.
I look, unmoving, at his outstretched hand. Then, swallowing, I place my hand in his. His palm is big, the skin a little rough, with calluses, but it’s warm and solid and comforting. The heat from his hand flows all the way up my arm, warming my entire body.
“Um,” Shang says. “I meant to help you with your bag?”
“Oh!” Embarrassment explodes throughout me like a supernova. The bolt of shame is so intense that it feels like it should’ve blown a crater deep into the ground so I could bury myself in it. I step back, wiping my hand down my jeans as though his touch has burned me and babbling, “Right! Well, there’s no need for that! I can take my bag myself.”
“Okay, come on.”
We walk to the line of cars, where most of the Li family is gathered, chatting and loading bags into their various vehicles. James hurries here and there, telling anyone who will listen that he’s waxed Sultry just for this trip. Mushu is leaning against a Volvo.
“There’s a bit of a problem,” she says when Shang and I get within hearing distance.
“Yes?” Shang says.
“There doesn’t seem to be any room in the back seat of your car.”
“How did you know this was my car?” Shang says.
Mushu slides her gaze deliberately to the car before saying, “This car, just like its owner, is giving dad vibes.”
Shang laughs and says, “Okay. But what do you mean there’s no room in the back seat? There’s—Oh.”
The back seat of his car is stuffed with bags piled on top of one another, plus a huge cooler taking up all the remaining space.
“We ran out of room in the trailer,” one of the aunties calls out. “You don’t mind, right, Shang?”
“I may have suggested it to them,” Mushu says helpfully.
Shang sighs. “You didn’t think to suggest they put stuff inside Sultry?”
“James was smart enough to keep his car locked,” Mushu says. “Otherwise, yes, it would’ve gotten filled to the gills with Chinese barbecue pork and frozen wontons.”
“Smart guy,” Shang says.
“So,” Mushu continues, “I’ll go ride with the aunties. They all want to matchmake me with their sons, apparently.”
I frown. “I’ll go in the trailer, too.”
“No,” Mushu says. “Go with Shang. There’s no more space for you in the trailer.”
“What?” I say, but already she is walking away, waving a careless hand behind her.
“See you there, cuz!”
I watch her go. It’s slowly sinking in that I’m going to be in the car with Shang. Alone. On a five-hour car ride. I gulp, and though we are outdoors and there’s a pleasant breeze around us, the gulp is painfully audible. “Um…”
“You can put your bag in here,” Shang says, popping open the trunk.
“Uh, thanks.” I yank my bag next to the car and struggle to lift it.
“Let me help.”
“Nope,” I snap. I need to show him that I am more than able to handle this entire trip, never mind one stupid bag. One stupid, oversize, overstuffed bag. I’m normally a light traveler , I want to wail. I bend my knees, my quads straining as I grasp the bag with shaking hands, and lift. After a lot of very unattractive grunts, I somehow manage to pull it off the ground and onto the lip of the trunk. But as I shove it in, I hear a rip. “Oh no.”
Shang winces. “Sounds like it might’ve gotten caught on something.” He reaches over and easily lifts the bag one-handed. “The fabric’s a little torn.”
“That’s okay!” I say, trying not to let my face fall at the thought of my precious Samsonite bag all torn up. Maybe I should’ve accepted Shang’s help. But no, the whole point of this trip is to show them how manly I can be, and haven’t I proven that by lifting a bag I can easily fit my whole body into? I open the passenger-side door and slide in. This is a work trip , I remind myself. So what if you’re alone in a car with the most beautiful man you’ve ever come across? You are a professional, and this trip means everything to your father . Behave professionally and bring, uh, honor? No. Equity? Yes. Bring equity to the firm.
Then Shang gets in as well, and as soon as the doors shut, the nearness of him is overwhelming. I can feel every molecule of air spinning between us, can hear the sound of his breathing, the rustling of his clothes as he reaches for his seat belt. He occupies the space in a way that is impossible to ignore, filling all of my senses. When he finally turns the engine on, the sound of a podcast floods the car, and my shoulders unknot a little. Ambient noise, that’s good. That way, Shang won’t be able to hear the weird, neurotic thoughts speeding through my head. I try not to notice the way he turns the wheel with one hand while the other is— ack! —placed on my headrest as he backs the car out of the parking space. He’s totally going to catch me stealing glimpses of his forearm. Why is one-hand steering so freaking sexy?
The thing is, I’m not sure why I’m so nervous around Shang. Sure, he’s devastatingly handsome, but so are plenty of other men; we are in California, after all, a state teeming with avocados, matcha lattes, and hot guys. Maybe it’s because there is so much riding on me impressing him and his family, on striking just the right note with them. Yes, that’s it. When it comes to romantic relationships and past boyfriends, I’ve never had to work hard to impress them or their families, simply because I’ve never really cared about a guy that deeply. But with Shang, it’s about a deal, it’s about making and preserving connections—guanxi—and that’s so much more important than any romantic relationship.
I force myself to focus on the present moment. The narration coming from the stereo catches my attention. “What podcast is this?”
Shang spares me a quick glance. “It’s not a podcast. It’s an audiobook.” He hits a button and it stops playing.
“An… audiobook ?” The word is so alien to me that it comes out sounding like a foreign language.
“Yeah, you know, like a novel, but in audio format?”
“I know what an audiobook is, I just…have not come across an actual person who listens to them.”
“That’s because you’re a finance bro.”
My mouth drops open in mock annoyance. “I am not a finance bro!”
“Oh, really?” Shang gives me a skeptical look. “What was the last thing you did on vacation?”
“Ski trip in Aspen.”
One of those dark, thick eyebrows rises.
“Okay,” I say. “Maybe that is a tad finance bro-y. But that’s only because it was a company trip.”
“The fact that you even go on company trips just screams finance bro,” Shang says.
“I do tai chi! That’s, like, the antithesis of finance bro.”
Shang side-eyes me as he merges onto the main road.
“Okay, my mom does tai chi and she makes me do it when I go to their house for our weekly meal.”
Shang snorts.
“You’re not any better,” I grumble. “You’re a—whiskey bro? Is that a thing?”
“Oh yeah, that is definitely a thing. And I’d like to say I am not a whiskey bro, but I’ll leave it up to you to decide.”
I ponder this for a bit, a smile working its way over my mouth. “Okay, let’s see. What audiobook are you listening to? Let me guess: How to Be the Manliest Man Who Ever Manned ?”
“You know, I think James is actually listening to that one.”
“James probably only listens to podcasts about how to be a good alpha male.”
“Okay, you’re probably right there. Anyway, I’m listening to a novel, not a nonfiction book.”
“A novel?” I narrow my eyes.
“A novel is a work of fiction, usually between seventy to ninety thousand words in length. It has a plot, which consists of a conflict that the protagonist is trying to resolve.”
“Okay, smart-ass,” I groan. “Thank you for mansplaining what a novel is to me. What would I do without your wisdom?”
“Listen to podcasts about how to be a good alpha male, probably,” Shang says.
There’s a slight pause; then, as one, we both devolve into peals of laughter. What a surprise it is to be laughing with Shang. He’s come off so buttoned-up this whole time that I wasn’t sure that he even knew how to laugh, but now that he is, I’m realizing what a delightful sound it is, boyish and low, with the slightest tinge of surprise that makes me want to make him laugh again and again.
“The book’s called The Water Outlaws , by S. L. Huang. It’s a gender-swapped reimagining of Water Margin , one of the greatest works of Chinese literature. Only instead of the traditional male monks, it follows a group of women who are criminals—or alleged criminals—as they try to live peaceful lives as monks. But they’re not very good at it, especially because men keep trying to kill them for simply existing,” he says wryly.
“Wow, I would never have guessed,” I say, and there are no traces of sarcasm in my voice. I glance over at Shang, and I really cannot make sense of this man who’s obviously a sexist alpha male, based on his family and their whole whiskey persona, but who also reads a book about female monks.
By now, we’re about to get on the freeway. James pulls up next to us, grinning with his tongue out. He waves, then revs Sultry so the engine screams, before speeding off ahead of us. Shang shakes his head, sighing. “I hate that thing,” he says.
“That’s not a nice way to talk about your cousin.”
Shang laughs again. The corners of his eyes crinkle adorably, and I have to make a conscious effort to drag my gaze from him. I scold myself mentally. I’m here to do my job. I’m here as Zhou, not as Mulan. There are about a million reasons why I shouldn’t be attracted to this man, not least of which is the fact that it would be highly unethical given my company is trying to acquire his. With no small effort, I envision myself repositioning my work mask back into place.
Okay, time to do a little digging into the family company. “So tell me, what made you decide to meet with my d—my firm?”
For a few moments, Shang looks deep in thought. He adjusts his grip on the wheel and merges onto the freeway before taking a big breath. “Well, like you pointed out at the meeting, our sales are falling, and I thought maybe if we could sell to a firm it would revitalize our numbers.”
“Have you tried improving the numbers yourselves?”
“It’s…” Shang pauses, pursing his lips as he mulls this over. “Thing is, it’s kind of tough in my family company to make big changes. Maybe because it’s a family company, or maybe because we got used to doing things a certain way, but whatever it is, I feel like we’ve kind of stagnated. That’s why I thought, well, an outside perspective would help.”
“That’s not uncommon. Actually, I would say that most of the businesses we acquire have similar issues of stagnation, whether it be the management or the production. Whatever it is, I’m confident that our firm has the expertise to shake things up.”
“Great,” Shang says. “Well, I like change. You might have to work a little harder to convince the rest of my family, though.”
“Yeah, I get that. What’s it like working for family?”
Is it my imagination or does Shang grip the wheel a little harder? “It’s a mixed bag,” he says finally.
I wait to see if he’ll say more, but a few moments crawl by, and it becomes clear that this topic has come to a close. After a while, he reaches over and taps at the control screen. “I’ll start it back at the beginning.” He hits play, and the audiobook begins.
The Water Outlaws is as riveting as Shang promised, and as I listen to the epic tale of women in ancient China who, through bad luck or bad decisions, find themselves seeking refuge at Liangshan, my curiosity deepens. I can see Shang reading hard-boiled detective thrillers, with some grizzled, chain-smoking ex-addict as the protagonist. At a push, I could also see Shang reading some action spy thriller, with an ultra-buff killing machine as the protagonist. But here he is, listening to what is probably the most feminist story I’ve heard in years.
I give myself a little shake, trying to focus on the task at hand. The acquisition relies on me getting to the heart of the Li family. And Shang, being the CEO, is the one I need to win over most of all. But the way he clammed up when I asked him about the family company tells me that there’s plenty underneath the surface, like land mines that I need to get good at avoiding.
For the next hour or so, we ride in silence, lost in the lush narration of the audiobook. It’s easy to be completely immersed in the rich tapestry that Huang has woven, and when Shang’s phone rings, I jerk up in my seat with surprise. Shang taps answer, and his mother’s voice floats through the speaker.
“We want to break for lunch,” she says.
“Okay, Ma. Next exit?”
“Okay. We go to Little Chang’s.”
“See you.”
Shang turns off the audiobook and begins to switch lanes. “What do you think so far?”
I blink at him. It takes a second for me to leave the beautiful yet heart-wrenching tale of Lin Chong and her sworn sisters. “Brutal” is all I’m able to come up with.
“Yeah, it’s pretty heavy stuff, sorry.”
“No, I think it’s great. I’m going to buy a copy for my dad, actually. I’ll play it to him at the ho—” I stop myself in time. Oh my god, I can’t believe I almost let that slip, what is wrong with me? “At home,” I say quickly.
“Cool. You guys close?”
“Yeah, we are, actually. I’m close to both my parents, but I take after my dad, so he and I have always had this understanding.”
The corner of Shang’s mouth twitches into a small smile. “Sounds like me and my mom.”
“Are you a mama’s boy?” I tease.
“Yeah, totally,” he says, unabashed. “My dad passed away when I was ten, so it’s just been the two of us since.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. My mom’s the only daughter in her family—”
“So your uncles and aunts are from your mom’s side of the family?”
“Yup. I’m what they call the ‘outside nephew.’”
I wince. In Chinese culture, a child that is related to the family through their father is called the “inside child,” meaning they are “closer” to the family. And a child who is related through their mother is called the “outside child,” because traditionally, when women get married, they are considered to belong to their husband’s family. My own parents don’t behave that way, but it’s a stark reminder that outside of my nuclear family, plenty of families still uphold this tradition.
“Do they treat you very differently?”
Shang shrugs. “Eh. You’ll see, I guess.”
“How come they voted you in as CEO?”
“Through a lack of choices,” Shang says with a rueful smile. “None of my cousins are interested in managing the company. James studied economics in school and is our marketing head, Christopher oversees distribution, Ryan is in accounting…I’m the only one who actually wanted to oversee everything.”
“That sounds really complicated.”
“It can be. Speaking of family, you ready for lunch with them?”
“Yeah, I’m starving.”
Shang checks the rearview mirror as he signals to take the exit. “I mean, are you ready to deal with my family? They can be a lot to take in, I know.”
“I don’t know, aside from James the rest seem okay. But give me pointers.”
“Okay. So, the eldest is Uncle Hong. That’s James’s dad. You have to treat him with the most respect.”
“I know that much,” I say. Age is a form of hierarchy in Chinese culture, and every year, during the Lunar New Year reunion dinner, I know enough to always wish my oldest aunt Happy New Year before wishing my own father, since he’s the second oldest in the family, before wishing Third Uncle, Fourth Uncle, and so on.
“His wife is Auntie Chuang. My second uncle is Uncle Jing, his wife is Auntie Jamie, and their two sons are Christopher and Ryan.”
“Are all your cousins male?”
Shang grimaces. “No. I have three female cousins, but they weren’t allowed to get involved in the family company. They’re all on the East Coast.”
Somehow I manage to keep my face straight. I’m not one to judge other people’s families—god knows mine is far from perfect—but everything I’m learning about Shang’s family sounds so sexist that it’s tough to understand why Baba would want to work with them.
“Third Uncle is Uncle Xiaotian, and his wife is Auntie Lulu. Their son is Thomas and their daughters, the ones I mentioned, are Holly, Portia, and Candice.”
“Wow, three daughters,” I say.
“Yeah, they were trying for another boy before they gave up.”
I can’t tell what Shang is thinking based on that statement. It sounds so shitty, the concept of trying for a boy, as though the girls they got along the way are nothing more than a burden they have to discard. No surprise, then, that the sisters left home and flew to the East Coast, as far from the family as they could. I can’t help but feel my animosity toward Shang’s family bleed out onto him as well. I myself have so much resentment about this subject. Again, I recall my aunt’s comment to my mother. She isn’t even a boy! I give myself a mental shake. It’s not my place to judge their family. I’m only here to judge their business. Pure numbers, I remind myself. Nothing more.
“My mom’s the youngest. Her name is Jiayi.”
I nod. Though I’m curious to know more, I also feel overwhelmed by all of this information and truth be told, I’m dreading learning even more about them than I already know.
When we arrive at Little Chang’s, James’s ultra-loud race car is already parked alongside Thomas’s BMW. The massive trailer holding the rest of the family trundles in just as we get out of the car.
Aunties and uncles spill out and immediately lunge into aggressive stretches.
“Wah, that was long journey,” Auntie Chuang says, bending over with her legs spread out and grunting until she touches the tops of her shoes. She looks up and glowers at the cousins. “Eh, you all better stretch, too! Otherwise you will have back pain later.”
“Ma,” James whines, “can you not do that in a literal parking lot?”
Auntie Lulu, who is in the middle of a lunge, shoots him a glare. “James, you want your mother to have back pain?”
“Never mind,” James mutters.
I stand aside and watch as Shang goes up to his mom, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and talking to her softly. His entire demeanor changes when he interacts with his mother, turning soft. To my surprise, Shang’s mother glances over at me and smiles, as though Shang has just said something nice about me. Then she pats him on the arm and gestures for him to do some stretches, too. Looking pained, Shang obliges, and I bite back a grin as he does a few stretches. When I crane my neck, I’m unsurprised to see that Mushu is behind him, hands on waist, lunging with one foot, then the next.
“Hey, Zhou!” Mushu calls out. “Come on, you don’t want a stiff back, do you?”
With a sigh of defeat, I do as I’m told and go into a deep stretch. After all, as Baba has always told me, when doing due diligence for a company we’re looking into buying, it’s good to walk a mile in the board of directors’ shoes.