“Better,” Claire approved. “It says: I’m young, brilliant, and you can’t afford me yet.”
“Ha. That’s funny becauseIcan’t afford me, either, since I’m renting the outfit.”
Monthly rental boxes of luxury brands was part of the survival kit. She tossed the clothes onto her bed and reached for a handful of bobby pins, piled next to her makeup bag and a jar of multivitamins she never remembered to take.
“Anyway,” she said, turning her head sideways in the mirror as she thought about what to do with her hair, “Umma called. Guess who’s coming for my birthday?”
Claire blinked. “Wait.Wait. She told you?”
“Told me what?”
“That we’re coming for your birthday.”
Bea’s head snapped back to the laptop. “Claire!”
“I wasn’t gonna say anything! Gage wanted it to be a surprise. He called me, full-CEO voice, and wanted your dad’s number. I thought he was going to ask for your hand in marriage or something. Thankfully it was just a holiday.”
Bea chose not to touch that, because it wasn’t entirely off. And that was a thought she was not emotionally equipped for on half-done hair.
“He got my dad’s number fromyou?”
“Obviously. He didn’t even explain at first. Just said, ‘I need her father’s number,’ and I said, ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’”
Bea dissolved into laughter. “You’ve been holding this in all week?”
“I wastryingto be a vault,” Claire said theatrically. “But thenImogoes and cracks the surprise, so the vault is open and now there’s confetti everywhere.”
Bea bent to swipe mascara on one eye. “Are you coming, then?”
“Try and stop me. Also I’ve begged your papa to let Gage book the flights. I mean, Beya Slaya. When else am I ever flyingfirst class?” Claire collapsed onto her bed. “Never. The answer is never. I still bring snacks in a Ziploc because I don’t trust airplane food.”
Bea’s heart did that warm, fizzy thing it did when Claire was exactly herself. “I can’t wait.”
“I can only stay a week,” Claire added regretfully. “New job, no leave yet. But I will be there.”
“Even a day, Claire Bear. I’d take a day.”
Claire checked the time. “You’re late. Go finish getting ready.”
“Wait! How’s it going with Marco?”
“He’s pretty and understands the jokes I make about foundations. So far, so good.”
“That’s it? That’s the whole update?”
“Beya Slaya, you aren’t appreciating emotional intimacy in engineering terms.”
“Sorry. Sounds uh…hot.”
“Go network, nerd.”
RAFAEL
Rafael stood near the stone balustrade on the upper terrace, just inside the shadows cast by a marble arch. The networking event unfolding below was tasteful: oyster canapés, understated name badges, a Q&A session with someone respected in the industry. Polished enough for hedge-fund directors, casual enough that a few St. Ives students had dared statement heels.
He wasn’t on the guest list, but it didn’t matter. Not when the Montenegro Fund was the co-sponsor.
He’d found her the second he walked in. Bea stood near a tall table, laughing at something Lillian said. A circle of men stood around them, supposedly networking. She nodded politely, smiling, not flirtatious, but open enough that a man would misread it if he wanted to.
