He has a bit of a reputation for being difficult. But since he keeps himself to himself, it’s hard to be sure of the rumors. We’ve never met him, but the people on his team have all been super helpful and easy to get along with. None of them seems like the type to tolerate working for a megalomaniac ass, which a lot of people say he is.
Just in case, though, I need to be sure to make a personal connection with him. That can be crucial to closing any deal, especially with a tricky personality. I need to know what makes him tick—whatever his favorite hobby, or wine, or vacation spot is, will coincidentally be mine too. And I will, quite by accident, drop it into the conversation.
Search results on his name are topped by a row of photos of him at various black-tie events, different skinny blondes who tower over him on his arm at each one. Rumor has it he’s a bit touchy about his height—or lack of it.
Summer’s shouts get louder. My stomach clenches and the about-to-puke feeling gets worse. She’s so desperate, she’s calling a deaf dog she knows can’t hear her.
All I can do is focus on the deal. She doesn’t want me out there. And she’ll be fine. Elsa will be fine.
This article could be exactly what I’m looking for, an interview titled “Taking It To The Banks—We Check In With Global Hotel Phenomenon, Archie Banks.”
It’s in an Australian magazine, and on page five of the search results, not something everyone would pick up on.
But my mind’s wrenched back to Summer. I’m sure Elsa’s thick coat of scruffy hair will keep her warm enough out there, even without her winter jacket on. And she’ll be safe. I mean, animals don’t wander too far from where they know they have a cozy bed and food, right?
I hunker down over the article.
The helicopter ride to Archie Banks’s private island off the Florida Keys is the perfect vantage point to view the new 30-acre feather in the luxury hotel entrepreneur’s cap. Visible among the lush green foliage are an Olympic-sized swimming pool, tennis courts, golf greens, several guest cottages, and his sprawling seven thousand-square-foot waterfront vacation home.
Hugging the shoreline is a newly constructed path, designed so the self-made man can take laps of the island in his golf cart without ever losing sight of the water.
Summer calls Elsa’s name again. This time her voice cracks. It sounds like her heart is breaking. Mine aches in sympathy.I squeeze my eyes shut and try to push it out of my mind so I can concentrate on what has always been my number one priority—the business.
But it’s hopeless.
The sound of her hurt has pierced a hole in my soul.
My chin drops to my chest.
She’s in pain. And it’s my fault.
“Fuck.”
That’s it.
I slam the laptop shut and grab my jacket and shoes. Summer’s knitted hat with ear flaps is hanging by the door. I grab that too. And, for the first time in my life, I prioritize something other than work.
12
OWEN
The air is icy cold, but at least it’s stopped snowing.
Summer’s nowhere to be seen. Her broken cries of “Elsa” come from around the corner.
I slip and slide through the front yard, thanks to what she called my “inappropriate Californian footwear,” make my way out into the lane, and follow the sound of her voice.
A little way around the corner, Summer stands facing away from me. The snow drifts make it impossible to know where the path begins and ends amid the surrounding fields.
Hands deep in her coat pockets, shoulders heavy with defeat, she looks out over the white landscape that falls away into a deep valley before rising again to form hills on the other side.
“Where are you, Elsa?” Her pleading tone is like a punch to my chest.
She kicks hard at the snow, her frustration sending up an arc of white powder.
I pull up the collar of my wool jacket, which offers such little protection from the New England winter I might as well not be wearing it. My outside might be cold, but my insides burn with the dread rising deep within me.
Summer turns around, lifts a foot out of the snow to take a step, then stops when she sees me. Despite the distance between us, I can tell her eyes are as red as her tear-stained cheeks.
