At 4 PM, she's at a bookstore in Santa Monica.
At 6 PM, she's heading back south. Back to Malibu. Back to me.
My phone rings. It's her.
"Hi," she says when I answer. "I borrowed your car. I hope that's okay."
"Of course. Did you have a good time?"
"Yeah. I just needed to think."
"About?"
She's quiet for a moment. "About this. About you. About what I'm doing here."
"And what are you doing here, Jade?"
"I don't know yet."
The honesty in her voice makes something in my chest tighten.
"There's a dinner Friday night," I tell her. "Business associates. Investors from Singapore. I'd like you to come with me."
Silence.
"Jade?"
"Why do you want me there?"
Because I need you there. Because this deal depends on me looking stable and settled. Because you're the only thing that makes any of this worth it.
"Because I want to show you off," I say instead. "Because I want them to meet you."
"I don't know anything about business dinners."
"You don't have to. Just be yourself."
"I don't have anything to wear to something like that."
"I'll take care of it."
"Phoenix—"
"Please, Jade. It would mean a lot to me."
I can hear her breathing on the other end of the line. Can practically hear her thinking, weighing, deciding.
"Okay," she finally says. "Sure."
Relief floods through me. "Thank you."
"But I'm not pretending to be something I'm not. I'm not playing a part."
"I'm not asking you to. I just want you there."
"Okay."
We hang up, and I lean back in my chair.
