Martin shrugged.
They occupied themselves with food and small talk for a little bit. Samson noted Rhi was still on the quiet side, though she conversed fine with Chris next to her and Annabelle when spoken to. Samson grimly ate and went through the motions of talking football with Martin, conscious of his aunt’s eagle eyes. He didn’t want Annabelle to notice his mood had deteriorated since he’d come to her office and wonder why.
The waiters took away the remnants of their dinner entrées and placed lemon syllabub in front of them.
Ah. He almost pressed his hand over his heart for a second to dull the ache that threatened to pierce through the fog. Joe had loved lemon anything.
His aunt took a single bite of the syllabub and closedher eyes. The lines between her eyebrows deepened. He wished he was close enough to reach over and touch her hand.
But he wasn’t, and they weren’t alone, so instead he cleared his throat. Aunt Belle put her spoon down and straightened her shoulders. “Why don’t you all check under your seats? I’ve left a present for you there.”
“Under our seats?” Martin repeated.
Samson didn’t entirely blame him for his confusion. Rhi might be the only one here with a more intimate idea of Aunt Belle’s theatrics, and having them grope under their chairs like they were on a daytime talk show and about to win a car was pretty much peak theatrics. Samson reached under his seat.
He straightened with an envelope in hand and opened it, the others doing the same. When he reached inside for the cardstock, a bunch of glitter fell into his hands and lap.
“Oh, look,” Rhi said with no inflection. “More glitter.”
If Samson could feel anything, it would have been amusement.
Annabelle cleared her throat. “This is an itinerary for tonight and tomorrow.”
“Eight p.m. until question mark, exam. Saturday, ten to four, feats of strength. Five, rose garden ceremony. Exam? What is this exam?” Chris asked.
“When you go back to your room, you’ll find tablets so you can complete your Matchmaker questionnaire.”
Chris crossed his arms over his chest, then uncrossedthem to pick glitter off his well-tailored suit jacket. “Are we here to find love interests or to submit a bid for your business, Annabelle?”
“The quiz is nothing more than a personality test,” Belle explained. “I want to know who you are, in your heart of hearts.”
Martin scowled at Annabelle. “What the hell are feats of strength?”
Annabelle smiled thinly at him. “Please don’t swear,” said his aunt, who could swear like a sailor. “To answer your question, you will all be pitching me and my CEO, William, when he arrives tomorrow. When you aren’t doing your individual presentations, you may make use of the property as you see fit. I have boogie boards if you’d like to see how cold the water is, an exercise room, a well-stocked library, and multiple places to stretch out and relax. Feats of strength implies physical strength, but I am quite aware there are all kinds of strength. I wanted to accommodate everyone, even those who may have issues with activity.”
“I have no issues with it,” Peter said, his smirk annoying. “I’m very fit.”
Samson stirred. “As am I. But I also tweaked my back last week, so I’ll probably be taking a rest tomorrow, if anyone wants to join me on a lounge chair on the deck out back.” His gaze flitted over Rhi’s bowed head.
Aunt Belle beamed approvingly at him. “Yes, son, listen to your body. Anyway, before you leave tomorrow, you’ll know whether I wish to pursue a business relationship with you.”
“Is that the... rose garden ceremony?” Rhi asked.
“Yes. Correct.” Aunt Belle’s curls bobbled when she nodded. “It’s a lovely environment and will make bad news easier to digest.”
Rhi tucked the card back into the envelope and brushed the glitter on the table into a neat pile. “This is quite an experience.”
“This is bullshit,” Martin said flatly and came to his feet. He tossed his napkin on top of his uneaten syllabub. “I don’t need to play games to scoop up a slowly dying company. I’ll snag Matchmaker for pennies when it goes under. The rest of you can’t possibly want to put up with this either, right?”
No one else moved, and Martin rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. See you all at the next conference, suckers.” He stomped more than walked out, and Samson half rose from his seat. He didn’t quite trust the man-child to not tip over a vase or something on his way out the door in his annoyance, but Annabelle waved him back down.
Probably for the best. He wasn’t the type to needlessly fight, but in his current void of an emotional state, he wasn’t fully in control of how he might respond to a spoiled rich guy.
“Well,” his aunt said with a secret smile. “That makes my decision easier, eh?”
Peter tossed his longish hair. “Martin has always been impatient. Good things come to those who wait.”
“Oh, certainly.” Belle steepled her fingers under her chin. “So now, I suppose... there were three. May the games begin.”
