Chapter Eleven
Private Eyes
While Flora had assured her father that Finn would never like her or bother with her, the next few weeks proved her very, very wrong.
Finn was everywhere.
She couldn’t keep him out of her head or her life. But she didn’t want to.
He was just so wonderful.
For his part, Finn wanted to make sure that he kept Flora within reach until the wedding was done and the merger was signed.
But he enjoyed her, he went looking for her, he thought about her and what she was doing when she wasn’t with him, and he loved seeing her run past the office window on some new adventure with Allison.
Holly flew to the East Coast for her last year at Harvard Law mid-August. They had a dinner date at the always-booked Greek restaurant, Kokkari, in San Francisco before she left.
“How’s your company doing?” Finn asked.
Holly always said how busy she was with it.
“It’s great, actually. I took a page out of your book and did a harder press on some of the board members who were poking their nose where they shouldn’t.”
“Harder—what do you mean?”
“You said how you had board members at Woodhouse who were acting out a few weeks ago. Well, Giraffe Girls had the same. They were all up in arms about some irrelevant details, so I had them removed.”
Finn blinked. Getting board members removed wasn’t like firing a wayward employee—it was way harder to do. Plus, how did she know Woodhouse had board members acting out?
“What sort of details?” he asked.
“Some tedious thing about African game keeping, I don’t know. We make purses, not international policy. Plus, it’s not like any African state government is keeping an eye on anything. Poaching routes are so easy to find… if you know where to look and who to pay.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, I only know because I’m not the CEO of the Woodhouse Corporation and have more free time than you do,” she said, smiling.
“Oh, do you mind if we add the Mosharisia Brizola—I love rib eye—and this Opus One Napa Valley Red? I feel like four hundred and thirty is a steal for an Opus. Don’t you? ”
“A steal?!”
So, the more expensive girl was now gone but the harder to keep track of girl was still around. And Finn did spend a lot of time trying to find Flora. Possibly too much time.
He was beginning to be perennially late to important meetings.
“Finn,” James said, staring as he ran into their San Francisco office, tie half tied, shirt not tucked in, wearing a Giants hat. “That’s the fifth time this month. Are you alright?”
James worried that Finn had been diagnosed with some horrible disease and wasn’t telling anyone. That was the only explanation for why he was late. He was never late to anything and was a stickler for punctuality.
“What?” Finn asked, dropping into the head chair, not noticing that everyone was looking at him like he’d grown a third eye. He set his backpack down, looking pleased about something.
“Finn?”
“Sorry. What did you ask me?”
“Are you alright?” James repeated. “You’ve been late five times this month.”
“It was ten minutes,” Finn replied defensively.
“Yes, but—” Charlie started, then hesitated. “Well, you aren’t usually…”
“Usually what?” Finn pressed, looking around at the papers on the desk. “Where’s that licensing agreement… I swore I had it. Never mind. What are we discussing? Oh, yes, me being late. I do apologize for holding the meeting up—traffic was worse than I thought on the bridge.”
It didn’t seem like traffic was the problem.
For one, Finn wasn’t dressed up. He looked like he had just come from a baseball game, changed his outfit in the car, and forgotten to take the hat off. For two, Finn seldom was in the office later than eight in the morning. It was eleven thirty.
“You lot are looking at me like I’ve lost the plot,” Finn replied, glancing up at the suspicious faces.
He had been with Flora before, of course, but he wasn’t about to tell them this. He wasn’t sure it would go over well.
Oh, yes, well, I’m late because Flora and I got breakfast, and I dropped her off back at the estate, and got caught up talking with her in the car, and she was wearing a green shirt that made her eyes pop and, well, I just couldn’t pry myself away. You know how it is, lads.
No, that wasn’t going to fly.
“I assure you that everything I do is for the company,” Finn said now, changing his tone.
“If you must know, I had a series of unfortunate events today—from traffic to dry cleaning to a late alarm clock. So, please, everyone, remain calm and don’t launch an investigation.
It’s a baseball cap, not a machete. I’m having a bad hair day.
And I’ve already explained the other delays as well.
The car broke down, my Uber was late, and a delayed plane flight. ”
This seemed to calm everyone down at least for the moment. Most of the men responded to logic. So, that’s what he gave them—even if none of those excuses were even remotely true.
The thing he didn’t realize is that everyone was happy to see him cutting back a little. His work habits made them all nervous.
He was like machine—intense emails about arcane patent law doctrine at three in the morning, then first in the office that same day. They wondered if he slept or did anything fun.
It’d be a relief to see him living life.
After the meeting, lunch at Boulevard was scheduled with some of the Brooks Tech executives. Once they were seated and had placed their orders, conversation took off about work and the competition coming from a startup, Zolaris, out of New York.
“They’re fledgling,” Xavier said. He was the VP of Finance for Brooks. “They have a long way to go. Harry built Woodhouse up from the ground with time and strategy. Zolaris is a bunch of twenty-five-year-old post-grads operating out of their no doubt disgusting apartments.”
“Never underestimate twenty-five-year-olds,” Holman, Woodhouse general counsel, replied. “Or anyone in their twenties for that matter.”
He nodded toward Finn.
Xavier checked his phone and groaned. “Boss is calling. I’m about to get a tongue-lashing for forgetting to take the dry cleaning in today.”
“Tyson?” Finn asked, squinting. “He makes you do his dry cleaning?”
“His wife,” Holman corrected.
Everyone laughed.
Finn was the only one not married.
“You think your boss is your boss…” Holman continued. “And then you get married.”
Finn loosened his collar.
“Finn doesn’t know, don’t scare him. Clara wants him married by next year though,” Thomas joked. “Holly Carlisle.”
James raised his eyebrows. “So that’s why she’s been around. A good business deal, but I’d suggest a prenup. A big one.”
“No, no. Flora and I are much more—”
Finn caught himself.
Did they hear that?
Every head at the table turned.
Yes, they heard.
“Holly. I meant Holly.”
But not one man at the table believed him.
“You sly dog!” Holman exploded, laughing. “Two ladies?!”
“No!” Finn exclaimed. “No, not two—that’s… awful.”
“Flora?!” Xavier asked. “Who’s that?”
“Flora Fairchild?” James blinked, looking shocked. “The driver’s daughter?”
Finn hated it when people called her this.
“Don’t call her that,” he said, sounding sharper than he intended. He tried to catch himself.
Too late again.
“Oh!” James’ eyebrows had shot to the top of his forehead. “Touchy about the driver’s daughter!”
Finn looked at the table and collected himself.
“She’s just a friend.”
“Is that why you’ve been late to every meeting?” Holman pressed.
“No,” Finn said, trying to play it off now. “No. I was going to say Holly and I are much more…”
His voice trailed off. There was no use.
“Why am I even bothering?” he muttered.
The entire table was getting a kick out of this.
“Now, now,” Holman said, seeing Finn wilt.
He raised a finger up for everyone to be quiet.
“If there is one thing I will say on his behalf, he didn’t pick the money or the business deal or the prestige.
He picked the girl. And if there is one area of life to pick just the girl, this is it.
However, I never thought I’d live to see the day Finn Woodhouse didn’t pick the money. Cheers to that.”
They all raised their glasses—Finn very reluctantly—wished him well in marriage and the conversation speedily moved to baseball. However, Finn’s thoughts didn’t move to how the Giants were doing. No, he was stuck on what a slip up that had been. Huge.
As they sat there, he made a promise to himself to back off.
Things with Flora were getting too… real.
Though upon arrival back home, he ran into her first thing. She was coming from the kitchen with an entire pint of mint chip ice cream, listening to music.
“Hey,” she said casually, pulling a headphone out. “How was work?”
“It was…”
His voice trailed off as he looked at her. He was thinking of the slip up, of the conversation at the table, of the promise he’d made to himself thereafter.
“It was fine.”
“Alrighty. Good. Well, I gotta call someone before it’s too late, so I’ll see you later, loser.”
She put her hand up to her forehead in the L sign and skipped off to the garage, touching every vine and flower as she went.
She was not needy, he’d say that much. She didn’t even look back. He watched her though. He enjoyed doing so. It was like his favorite song come to life.
He returned to his office and sat at his desk trying to finish up some last-minute work. Though it was useless. He felt like his brain was crawling with ants. He couldn’t focus. A few thoughts were particularly pesky.
“Finn, do not do it,” he chastised himself. “Sit down and get back to work.”
And then…
“What’s the harm, really? I could do it all tomorrow. Tomorrow sounds good. It’s eight at night. I’ve been working all day.”
After two hours of battling the thoughts, he gave in.
He couldn’t believe it when he saw his fist knocking on the door to the flat—it felt disconnected from his body.
The door swung open.
“What’s that?” she asked, seeing the bag in his hand.
“I ordered tacos from Tacubaya, and I bought every Harry Potter and downloaded them onto the estate server.”