20. Will
20
Will
O ur flight from Reno to Denver is only two and a half hours long. It isn’t extensive, but it’s two hours of uninterrupted Alice time. Sure, I’ve got my laptop and I could work. But I’m not going to. I plan on taking advantage of this time. I like talking to Alice more than most people—or any people, really.
I’m here for anything she has to tell me. And I have questions. I always want more.
“My stepmom hates flying,” she says, settling into her seat next to me. Billy splurged for first-class seats—so kind of him.
My brows narrow. “Isn’t your dad a pilot?”
“He is,” she says, like the two aren’t connected in any way. “And Mom’s a veterinarian. Coco, I mean.” Her lips perk up.
One thing I love about Alice: sometimes, I don’t even have to ask the questions; she’s always ready to answer.
“I wanted to be just like her when I was a kid. I was going to be a vet, too, and my slogan was going to be: The Vegetarian Veterinarian because I like playing with animals instead of eating them.”
She laughs, and it’s easy to join her. “I like it. You were good at marketing way back then.” I buckle my seatbelt, and we pause to let the flight attendant give us her spiel.
Once she’s done and the plane is on the move, I ask my next question. “When did you know you wanted to go into marketing?”
“I always liked being artistic and creative, but if I’m being honest, I feel like marketing picked me.”
My eyes study hers, pretty and thoughtful, as blue as the clearest end of Lake Tesoro. “What does that mean?”
Her brows lift a little. “Like I said, I always wanted to be a vet. Always. I was scheduled to go to the university, get my undergrad, and then go to veterinary school. That was the plan. I’d assisted my stepmom at her clinic, and I loved the work. Sure, I couldn’t get dressed up?—”
“In lavender tulle. Yes, I know how much you like a big frilly dress.”
She snickers at my joke. “Right, but I liked the work. And the idea of working with Coco until she retired sounded really great to me.”
“But you didn’t leave because of your mom—” A lot of this conversation isn’t new. I know she stayed with her mom. I know she went to an online school. “How did you decide on marketing?”
“I applied to a bunch of online schools.” She nibbles on her lip. “NextGen Marketing Institute was the first reply I got back.”
I stare at her. “You chose your major by the quickest reply?”
She lifts one shoulder. “I did.” Her hands fold together in her lap. “But I like what I do, Will. I’m good at what I do. My life took a change of course. But I’m grateful to be in the field I am. It makes me happy.”
I nod, still dumbfounded. That isn’t how I imagined anything going in Alice’s life. She’s so intentional—an accidental major sounds insane to me.
“What about this?” I say, touching one finger to the rainbow necklace at her throat.
“Nu-huh.” She shakes her head. “My turn. What about you? You always wanted to… do whatever it is you do? Assist?”
“Billy Baxter’s executive assistant.” I grin. “I get to do a lot of different things in this position. It’s a whole lot more than serving coffee to the boss.”
“I know it.”
I pull in a breath and think about how I got here for a second. The truth. “I did well in school. I liked learning. But I loved sports. As a kid leading his junior high team in goals, I was sure I was going pro.”
“ Pro ? Wow.” She covers my forearm with her hand—for only a second. When she pulls back, I’m left feeling like something is missing.
“Yes,” I say. “I was going to make Pele proud.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Are you going to growl again if I tell you I don’t know who that is?”
“Alice,” I say, and it is a growl.
“Kidding,” she says, smirking at me, enjoying the groan she so easily pulled out of me. “I know him—not personally, not well. But I know him.”
I breathe out a laugh. “Good. But as I got older, I realized I wasn’t going to make anyone proud. I wasn’t terrible; I could have played at a community college. But a D1 school? Nah. Pro? Not a chance.”
“And when did you learn the sad news?”
“Around sixteen.”
“I see,” she says with a dramatic nod. “That’s when working for billionaires became your life’s dream?”
I smirk, probably feeling too at ease in this conversation. I need to be careful, or I’ll say something I shouldn’t. “Uh, no. After that, I thought I’d coach. Then when that dream was dashed, I decided the only thing I’d be able to do would be to start my own team.”
“And when that dream was ripped away, you had to settle for assisting a friend in starting his own team.” She pats my leg. “Poor Will.”
I clear my throat and attempt not to choke. See—too much. I’ve said too much. “Right.” It’s been a long time since I spoke so candidly. As me. As William Henley Baxter. I almost forgot that to her, Billy and I are two different people.
Something about Alice makes me open my mouth, and somehow, I always end up saying too much.
I swallow. “Now, about that necklace?”