“But something does.”
I nodded. “His wealth and power. I don’t want people to think he gave me my position because we’re together.”
“And if they do think that?” Mom asked.
“I…”
She leaned forward, folding the pillow in half. “Zaila, that’s your worst-case scenario: what other people might think. So, what happens to you—to your relationship with Gunnar—if people talk about how you slept your way to your job?”
I wrinkled my nose, though not because my mother had stated my concern so bluntly, but because she was making the point I should have foreseen.
“Let them,” I said with a shrug.
She snagged a handful of popcorn, tossing a couple of pieces into her mouth. “Let them what?” she asked after she swallowed.
“Let them say what they will about me. They will no matter how I met Gunnar or what field I’m in. They’re going to talk because they’re jealous or petty or because they like to gossip.” I raised my glass to salute her. “Thanks, Mom. That helps put it in perspective.”
She gave me her stern look. “I’ll go tomorrow because this is prepaid and a kind gesture from a man who can afford to spoil you like you deserve to be. But I insist Gunnar join us for dinner next week so I can thank him in person.”
Mom likely meant so she could decide if he was really good enough for her daughter. But I just nodded and sipped my wine so I wouldn’t blurt out that I was much, much more concerned about her daughter being worthy of the man.
Chapter 18
Gunnar
After dinner on Saturday night with my executive team, in town for the weekend to review financial reports for my oil and gas company, I arrived home exhausted but pleased. Things were going well, and I needed to schedule my return to Sweden to check in with my staff there and tour our facilities, something I did at least twice a year. Those trips helped me understand the changes in the business and speak to my staff about the challenges they were navigating.
Our diversification into cleaner energy had progressed faster than expected, and the cost of inputs had dropped sufficiently enough to allow for a significant increase in production. That would eliminate a substantial volume of pollution over the next decade. I remained a man who’d made the bulk of his wealth from petroleum products, but I wanted to leave the world in as healthy a place as possible.
I flipped my phone over in my hands, debating whether I should text Zaila to ensure the spa experience for her and her mother had been satisfactory. Okay, I was going to message Zaila, but I needed to decide how to start the text.
Casual? Flirty?
The indecision irritated me, so I typed, Hey, how was the spa day? Did they pamper you enough? I hit send before I could change my mind.
Her reply took several nerve-wracking minutes to arrive. It was amazing! I feel like a new woman. Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it meant to both Mom and me.
I grinned at the screen. A new woman, huh? Do I need to reintroduce myself to this upgraded version of Zaila? Will she still tolerate my hockey obsession?
Her response came more quickly this time. Hmm, she might. But she’s definitely expecting you to step up your game now, goalie. ??
I chuckled, imagining her smirking as she typed that. Step up my game? I’m already in playoff form.
Her response was quick: We’ll see about that. My mom would like you to come to dinner this week. We can make any night work.
Dinner with the parent. I chuckled as I dragged my palm across the nape of my neck. I hadn’t ever met a woman’s parent before. Though with Zaila, I wanted to. Thursday?
Zaila: That’s great! I’ll let Mom know. She’ll ask about food allergies, your favorite dish, everything, so if you have any goodies to share, now’s the time.
I eat anything, I wrote. While I detested shellfish, I wouldn’t tell Zaila that, because there was no need to stress out her sick mother.
Zaila: Hmm…that’s not true. You dislike shrimp.
Ah. Right. The team nutritionist, Phoebe, had mentioned that in one of the interviews she did for Zaila’s social media campaign.
Gunnar: Caught me. But I would have eaten them for you and your mom.
Zaila: No need. I’ll tell her you might be Scandinavian by birth, but you’re a meat-and-potato guy like my dad. She knows what that means.
