“Figure of speech.” She waves it off with the confidence of a woman who knows exactly what she’s worth. “I’m nottrying to pry into your personal life, but there’s a reason you have me run background checks on people you get close to.”
I do, but this time I didn’t. “Avah’s different.”
“Is she, though?”
The question lodges between my ribs. I know she’s asking because Raina’s watched me get played. Not specifically by women I’ve dated, but by people who presented themselves as one thing and turned out to be another. Protecting me from this kind of exposure is half of why I pay her an exorbitant salary.
I bite back the urge to tell her about how Avah defended me to Mariel Johnson when she could have just as easily stayed silent. That she showed up to dinner and the NorthStar retreat without asking for anything in return—even when I was willing to go legitPretty Womanon her. I want to explain how, when she looks at me, she sees the man behind the bank account, and makes me believe he’s the one I’m meant to become.
But I don’t, because Raina would think I’ve lost my mind. And more importantly, there’s a thread I can’t ignore tangled up in all of this. What if she’s been using me this whole time?
The thought makes me sick. I know she isn’t a con artist, but her father’s the kind of man who preys on proximity to wealth. And the fact that Avah never told me about him pummels against my insides in a way I’m not ready to unpack.
“The camp closing celebration is this weekend.” My voice is flat, which Raina will undoubtedly recognize as dangerous. “Avah and I are going up for the day with my sister.”
She nods, but doesn’t say anything else. Having planted the seed, we both know what comes next is up to me. She’s too good at her job to overplay her hand.
“If you’re sure about relocating, I’ll get the listing process started for this place.” She pivots as if we’ve been discussing real estate all along. “And I’ll pull together a shortlist of smaller properties in the area if you want to keep a Bay Area footprint.”
“I’m sure.” Liar. I’m not sure about anything right now.
She turns to go, but pauses at the edge of the kitchen. “For what it’s worth, I hope she is different.”
The door sensor chimes again, and I’m alone in this museum of a house, my brain swirling with questions I can’t answer. And don’t get me started on my heart.
I wanted to tell Avah I loved her this weekend at camp. Practiced it in my head on the flight from Colorado three days ago. On the drive from the airport to this bright, sterile house. In the shower this morning, with my forehead pressed against the tile like a man in prayer.
The plan was simple: tell her the truth. She changed the trajectory of my life in ways I’m still trying to wrap my head around. And somehow, this thing between us stopped being a complication, and she became the center of everything. I don’t want any version of success—or life—that doesn’t include her.
Now I’m standing in twelve million dollars’ worth of proof that I might know how to acquire things, but don’t understand shit about what really matters. I can’t shake the humiliation that if I truly am a mark in all this, I never saw it coming.
Pulling out my phone, I study the photo Sloane sent. Is it possible to suss out Avah’s intentions in those blue eyes staring back at me? All that comes is more confusion, followed quickly by white-hot fury. At her, but mostly at myself for letting her past every one of my hard-earned defenses.
I hurl the phone across the room, and when it cracks against the white wall, it’s the loneliest sound I’ve ever heard.
29
JEREMY
I approach the Johnsons’house in Denver for the second time in my life, and just like before, I have no idea what I’m going to say when the door opens. Only this time, I don’t have Avah at my side to make it all better.
Instead of sleeping, I spent most of last night wide awake on my thousand-plus thread count sheets, replaying every conversation I’ve had with the woman I love. Somehow, the dark made it easier to see all the moments she tried to tell me who she was, but I was too wrapped up in my own wounds to hear it.
I called her last night as I poured a bowl of Cheerios for dinner, but she didn’t pick up. Two hours later, my phone pinged with an incoming text.
Avah: Long day. Going to bed. Good luck with your meeting.
Every single one of those ten words felt wrong. Good luck with your meeting is what you text a colleague. Avah tells me not to screw things up. She pokes and jabs and dares me to be better because she refuses to coddle me. It’s one of the reasons I fell forher so hard that I can’t remember what it feels like to stand upright.
I skipped the board meeting, leaving Raina to explain to the chair that I have a personal emergency. It’s technically true if you consider the fact that I can’t breathe properly. I had my pilot file a flight plan first thing this morning and drove straight to the Johnsons’ house from the municipal airport. Now I’m standing on this porch, my hand raised to knock, overcaffeinated but also certain that I can’t fix this situation from three states away.
The door swings open before my knuckles connect with the wood. Mariel stands in the doorway, her reading glasses pushed up on her head, looking at me with an expression that falls somewhere between shocked and amused.
“Jeremy Winslow on my doorstep.” She leans against the frame. “It’s a day for drop-ins.”
I massage a hand over the back of my neck. “My assistant told me you were down from camp for a few days, but I should have called first.”
“Probably.” She steps back and waves me inside. “You look like a man who would have come regardless.”
