Chapter 13
Wade’s voice reaches Camille midway up the stairs to the second-floor conference room. She smiles, glancing down at the dark blue McCartney slacks she chose for the meeting. The way it appears almost black when it’s not in direct light makes her think of the sofa in the upstairs guesthouse.
Camille isn’t a superstitious person, but she decided to leave her newest prototype, an aide for diabetics needing daily insulin, in the guesthouse since her last meeting went so poorly.
“There will be plenty of time to talk future deals,” she tells herself as she second-guesses her decision, wishing she brought her oversized bag to at least have something to clutch onto.
“No worries,” she can hear him saying. She follows Wade’s voice. “It’s going to be taken care of. I’ll have this thing put to bed by Monday.”
Poor guy, she thinks to herself, walking up to the only half-open door, his brother gets to play, and he has to spend the weekend working. She knocks lightly, opening the door as she walks in. As soon as she sees Wade, standing with his hands in his pockets—wearing khakis and a polo in a dark enough blue that people may think they coordinated their attire—she relaxes. No one else is in the room.
“I have to let you go,” Wade says to the conference phone sitting in the middle of the table.
“Better figure this out,” a resigned, older male voice resonates through the phone.
Wade leans over and ends the call. “I have some good news and some bad news,” he says, straightening.
Camille tilts her head, stopping opposite him behind the first chair. “Well,” she urges, growing impatient as he grins across the table at her, “tell me.”
He places a hand on the back of a chair. “The bad news is,” he takes a step, moving his hand to the next chair back, “my mother can’t make it to the meeting.”
Camille drops her head back and groans at the ceiling. “Don’t tell me that.”
“But,” Wade adds quickly, “I have our company’s best and final offer.”
She examines the top of the table and finds it bare of any sign of an offer. “But I haven’t even gotten your first and worst.”
“I know,” he continues. “But with everything that’s happened this weekend and how well you’ve handled it all, my mother agreed with me that it’s the least we could do. And,” he says with a big smile, “the contract is already drawn up and ready for Evelyn and you to sign—”
“So, where is it?”
Wade raises his hand, silencing her. “Let me finish.”
Camille’s mouth snaps shut, eyeing him suspiciously. Is this the point in the meeting where he offers me six hundred thousand and acts like it’s the best deal ever?
He takes another step, slowly making his way around the table. “Since it’s up to me to get this deal done, I have the authority to take you out to wherever I see fit for dinner.”
Camille’s eyes narrow further, facing him as he takes another step closer to her. “And what does that mean?”
He stops a few feet from her, giving the table a hard tap with his middle finger. He smiles broadly at her. “That means I get to take you to one of the best restaurants in all of California.”
His smile is contagious. She gives in, smiling back at him as she cheers internally. “That’s great,” she says, surprising herself with the control in her voice, “but…” She looks over the conference table again, wondering how talking money, licensing, and contract stipulations will work inside of a busy restaurant. “You don’t just wanna get the contract signing over with here, and then we can go to the restaurant to celebrate?”
“We’ll have plenty of time for that on the jet,” he says, walking past her to the door.
“The jet?” Camille repeats, turning to stare after him.
He opens the door, grinning at her. “That’s right.”
Camille stares out the door. When he said the best restaurant in California, she assumed he meant a location in L.A., but a jet? She steps out into the hall. “I’ve never been on a jet before.”
Wade walks out behind her. “You’ll have to tell me if it’s to your liking.”
Waiting outside of the main house, Buck is leaning against the back bumper of a black four-door sedan, arms crossed over his chest.
“What do you think?” Wade asks, walking Camille up to the car.
Buck moves from the rear of the car so Camille can look the car over. The contrasting white license plate holder against the black of the car is the first thing that gets her attention. Easton Sucks is written in large slender letters along the top of the license plate. Camille lets out a laugh.
“I know it’s not the Rolls or my brother’s Lamborghini, but I wasn’t expecting that,” Wade huffs. “She’s still a great car.”
“I’m not laughing at your….” Camille has to look at the logo on the back of the car, “A7 Audi. I’m laughing at that.” She points at the license plate holder. Wade grins.
“That’s a funny story, actually.” Buck opens the rear passenger door for them. Wade waves her toward the door. “After you.”
Camille slides into the backseat. It’s much smaller in the back compared to Rolls Royce that picked her up from the airport.
“This is nice,” she says, scooting over.
Wade climbs in behind her. The backseat might not be wide, but it’s comfortable, and more importantly, she gets to be the closest to Wade she’s been since nearly beating him over the head with that bat.
Wade sits back, looking around the backseat. “Thanks. I think so.”
“So what’s that funny story you promised me?”
He glances over at her, his grin growing.
“It all started when I got my first car in high school. My mom thought she was doing something responsible by getting me a Toyota Camry when I asked her and Dad for a BMW i8. I’m not like my brother, sure a BMW would’ve been nice, but I understand that beggars can’t be choosers—an ideology that my brother has tested since he was a kid. My poor mother did not understand at the time how popular Camry’s were until she bought me one. She may or may not have seen me driving around town in the middle of a school day. After that, she insisted that my car have something that would distinguish it from the others on the road. Her wish was my command.” Wade displays his one-sided grin. “And that’s when the first one was made. It was a sticker that I put on the back glass of the Camry.”
Camille dips her chin. “What happened when Easton and your mom saw it?”
“My parents were tickled. Mom laughed about it for days. Easton…he was less impressed, but it grew on him enough that he put his own sticker on his first car when he turned sixteen. Thus, the tradition began.”
As Wade leans over to open the briefcase, she inhales the fresh scent of his hair. He smells so good. He pulls out a stapled packet.
“This is the offer Bloom and Bloom is ready to make Integrity Heights.” He hands her the papers. “The cover sheet is the synopsis of the offer.”
Camille holds back a gasp, reading the top sheet over and over.
Five million dollars … they are offering her five million dollars for exclusive rights to market and sell Oxygen Recycler and the first review of any future Integrity Heights inventions.
“All you want is exclusivity,” Camille utters, scared to look at him as if the offer will morph into something less if she were to look away. “You don’t want to buy it outright from me.”
Wade lowers his voice. “We were under the belief that you and your business partner were wanting a partnership—”
“I do,” she adds quickly, breathing a sigh of relief. “I mean, we do.” She sinks back in the seat, lifting the paperwork to hug it to her chest. “I just never thought it would happen.” She looks over the packet one more time, wondering if she somehow misread it. “And future options for my up-and-coming inventions?”
Wade grins, seeing the excitement in her eyes. “That’s right. A little bird told us that you were already working on something new.”
Gwen. She smiles, remembering Gwen watching as she reached for her bag, wanting to grab their company’s next project and throw it at Derrick’s smug face.
“The last page requires both of your signatures,” Wade continues as she hunches over to read the offer for the third time. She’s still half-expecting it to morph into a less impressive offer. Five million dollars, and they want to see more of what she comes up with in the future. It’s too good to be true. She wishes Evelyn was here.
“Are you okay?” Wade asks, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Camille wipes a tear. “It’s a relief is all.” She looks up at him. “I prepared myself for the worst.”
Wade’s face falls.
“Not that this weekend hasn’t been great with your family,” she adds, “but this,” she holds up the offer, “this is better than all of it.”
Wade beams. “Hard work pays off. I’m happy the offer is what you were looking for.”
Camille looks him over a second, taking in his beautiful jawline and lips. His smile starts to fade as she feels the heat growing between them.
“Where’s the pen?” she asks, forcing herself to divert her eyes to the page.
“Our lawyers will have to be present when you and Evelyn sign, but,” he juts his right hand out between them. “How about an old-fashioned handshake to symbolize the deal?”
Camille takes his hand, trying to match his firmness. He takes the paperwork from her, the heat between them ebbing.
“Now that we got that part over with,” he slides the paperwork back into his briefcase, “we can enjoy our evening without having the back and forth over contracts and royalty splits.”
“Wait,” Camille tilts her head at him, glancing down at the briefcase, “I can counter?”
Wade runs his hands over the top of his khakis, smoothing the wrinkles. “You can counter whatever you want, but I’m here to tell you that is the best offer we’re willing to make.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “The guy representing the Lichtenstein brothers told us it was their best offer as well.”
Wade doesn’t bat an eye. “Was their offer as good as ours?”
“I doubt my business partner would want me to tell you what your competitors offered us.” She continues to stare at him, but the longer he doesn’t blink, neither does she. After a few seconds, she loses their unspoken staring contest. “It was a terrible offer.”
Forty minutes later, they pull up to the airport. They get to the main entrance, driving past it without slowing.
Camille watches the airport fade behind them and looks to Buck. “Where are you taking us?”
It’s Wade who answers, “You don’t go through the main airport entrance when you fly private.”
Camille nods. “That way, the wealthy don’t have to mix with the poor.”
Wade smirks at her. “We don’t use the word ‘poor’ we prefer—”
“Peasants,” Camille finishes his sentence for him.
Buck glances back at her from the rearview mirror, grinning at her joke.
“Exactly,” Wade chuckles.
Past the central airport, through a tall chain-link fence next to one of the airport’s multi-storied buildings, Buck enters a code into the box outside of the fence to gain entry. He pulls the car up to a long white jet with two blue stripes that intertwine past the windows. Camille counts seven windows down the side of the jet. Each window is twice the size of the commercial plane she flew in on.
“Couldn’t afford something a little bigger?” Camille jokes dryly.
“Not to your liking?” Wade asks, opening his door. He steps out, holding his hand out for her. “I assure you that the Cessna Longitudes are top of their class.”
She takes it in as a breeze tussles her hair. She steps out to a faint scent of petroleum in the air. Camille inhales, enjoying the smell as much as the view of the jet. She glances at Wade out the corner of her eyes, her cool composure a total farce. Her inner child hasn’t stopped squealing since she viewed the contract. Five million dollars and a trip in a jet…Evelyn is going to flip.
“It’ll do,” she says coolly.
Wade lets go of her hand, smiling. She pauses just before she takes the first step up the stairs to the jet’s open door. She glances down at Wade behind her, not having any qualms going first when the stairs lead to her first-ever ride in a jet. “You know, it’d be hard to beat it if you put one of your stickers on this thing.”
Wade turns his gaze to look down the side of the jet, giving it an appreciative nod. “You know, I think you’re right. ‘Easton sucks’ written in six-foot-tall letters across the side is exactly what this thing is missing.”
A stewardess is waiting inside for them. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asks.
Camille stares at the woman, her mind going momentarily blank.
“Water, a soda, champagne?”
“A water,” Camille manages, “with lemon if you have it.”
The stewardess gives her a smile. “Of course.” She waves her inside the spacious interior.
Camille’s immediately taken by how much room there is overhead.
“I’ll take a sparkling water,” Wade adds, walking in behind her.
Camille looks over her shoulder to see that Wade doesn’t even have to duck his head walking through the cabin. He sets his briefcase on the couch, motioning with his hand at the oversized seats closer to the back.
“The chair facing the front has the best view.”
She sits down on the edge of the seat, looking out the window to watch the plane’s steps fold in. Wade takes the chair facing hers.
She glances across the cabin and out the other windows, where the public airport hub looks miles away from them. A hanger door is pushed open by an older man wearing clothes one would wear on a golf course. The hanger opens to a blue, yellow, and white four-door plane. An older woman in a tennis skirt with matching shoes hooks up a handled contraption to the front wheel. The man switches spots with the woman, who goes around to pull out wooden blocks from the rear tires. When she’s done, he takes the handles and pulls. To Camille’s amazement, the man singlehandedly rolls the plane out of the hanger with ease.
What a life.Stepping out of the country club and right onto the tarmac. Spending the evenings flying around in your personal plane. One of them must have their pilot’s license, or both do, and they take turns flying their personal million-dollar means of transportation.
“How much does it cost to get your pilot’s license?” she asks.
Wade glances up from his cellphone. “Not sure. Ten…fifteen thousand, maybe.”
Camille nods as she watches the couple move the plane out of the hanger. That’s chump change for these kinds of people. The stewardess delivers their drinks, the lemon smelling freshly cut. Wade barely looks up from his cellphone as the jet moves onto the taxiway. No waiting for people to load the overhead bins, no elbows in your space; not even first-class can compare to this.
They are up in the air in no time.
“I’ve got to take this,” Wade mumbles across from her.
Camille glances over at him to see him putting his phone to his ear.
“This better be good news.”
She stares out of the window, her hand grasping the large, oval windowsill that’s cool to the touch, despite the evening heat. Wade leans over, reaching for a clasp on the wall between them.
“Uh-huh,” he says into the phone, unlatching the clasp.
The sleek wooden piece of the wall detaches. As he lifts the bottom edge, Camille realizes that it’s a built-in table. He clicks it in place between them, providing a shiny table for her to lean her elbow on as she stares out the window.
Seeing her satisfied grin, Wade gives her a small wink before frowning at the phone.
“I thought we had this all worked out.” He covers the phone with his hand. “Sorry,” he whispers.
Camille nods him away, waiting until he’s risen from the seat, stepping out into the aisle to watch him go.
She’s grateful for the comfortable spot to perch her elbows, but she’s even more grateful for the view, the one out the window and the one inside. She’s forced to peel her eyes from him when he turns, not wanting him to see her staring. The distant view of the city from above doesn’t quite have the same intimate feel as the view from Leah’s backyard, but it’s a close second. It’s the sun slowly meeting the horizon that has her memorized.
“No,” Wade says, his voice growing louder, “you told me it was in Delaware,” he catches himself, glancing back at Camille. He lowers his voice, turning his back to her. “What do you mean that was last time? You’re telling me it’s happened again?” He shakes his head in frustration. “Look, neither my assistant nor I contacted them. There’s no reason to. The only logical explanation to stop production is if the sales fell through, which also isn’t possible because the sales have all been finalized.” He runs his hand through his hair. “You need to straighten this out, and while you’re at it, call the rest of our manufacturing plants and make sure every last one of them is good to go.” He nods at the phone. “That’s what I want to hear.”
When they land less than an hour later, the horizon is wrapping the sun into itself, casting shades of pinks, oranges, and purples across the sky.
“That was a short flight,” Camille says, watching the jet taxi past the commercial planes, imagining what the passengers must think as they see this beauty roll past them.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glances at Wade sitting across from her. He barely nods, scrolling through his phone, still looking annoyed.
“Trouble in paradise?” she asks, raising her brow.
He looks up at her, rolling his shoulders back as the stress melts from his face. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Good,” she grins, “because I’m not letting you back out of that contract.”
“Not a chance,” Wade agrees, glancing out the window. “What do you think of your jet-setting experience so far?”
Camille turns to her window and smiles. “It’s definitely better than flying commercial.
“Right.” A smile breaks out across his face.
She does her best to keep her gaze out the window as the plane taxis to another private section of the airport. “How much time did we save getting here?” she asks.
“I’d say this time of day; it would have easily taken us six hours to drive to Sacramento.”
“Wow,” Camille gapes, taking one last swig of her water. “I should take a jet more often.”
Wade shoves his phone in the front pocket of his khakis. “You come up with a few more inventions like your last one, and you could buy your own.”
“Ah, come on. There isn’t like a time-share program for jets?”
Wade laughs. “That sounds like something my penny-pinching grandfather would have asked. I’m sure there is,” he says to her, “but if not, you should look into it as your next big venture.”
Camille giggles at the idea before offering him a serious look. “I just might.”
Camille’s seriousness breaks, and they both chuckle. A moment later, their laughter drifts off as they hold each other’s gaze. Camille’s stomach tightens. There’s that heat again.
“Your car is ready for you,” the stewardess announces.
Camille jumps in surprise. The stewardess grins politely as they walk up from the back, but her eyes dart between the two of them. Camille is watching her. She can tell that stewardess knows she’s interrupting something. The thought of what she could have interrupted if she would have made her announcement a couple of minutes later causes Camille to blush.
“Thank you,” Wade clears his throat, straightening the front of his shirt before standing; his hips eye level to Camille. “Will my briefcase fit in the safe?” he asks as Camille diverts her eyes.
The stewardess looks at the briefcase, still sitting on the couch where he left it. “Of course, Mr. Bloom. You have the code?”
“I do,” he confirms, watching the stewardess walk over to the couch.
Camille stands, wondering if all jets have safes. Wade glances back at her.
“You ready?”
She runs her palms over the back of her berry-colored blazer, hoping she hadn’t wrinkled it too badly during the flight. “Yup,” she says, feeling only minor creases at the small of her back.
He waits for Camille to catch up. “I hope you’re ready for the best cooking in California.”
She smiles up at him. “I can’t wait.”