Chapter 8
Sunday morning,after the best sex of my entire life, I wake up earlier than I mean to to the sound of a familiar, but annoying buzzing.
It's not my alarm, but the sound of a text coming through. Over and over again.
If it was from anyone else, I would ignore it, but it's from Ian, so I drag my ass out of bed, pull on my sweat pants, grab my phone and head to the kitchen for coffee.
Because Ian is my best friend and my biggest client, I have an app that resends notifications of his texts to me until I respond. He doesn't need to get in touch with me that often, but when he does, I try to be there for him, no matter how inconvenient it is for me.
The guy has made me hundreds of millions of dollars. It's the least I can do.
Besides, he's so fucking independent that he acts like he doesn't need anyone. For as much money as he's made me, I wish he needed me more.
As I stumble across the living room toward the kitchen, I unlock my phone and open my messages. There are two from Ian that came in one right after the other.
Clear your calendar for lunch. I'm heading into town.
Make that coffee. I'll be there before ten.
Shiiiittt.
It's just after nine. And given how late Trinity and I were up, I certainly don't want to wake her.
I shoot back a text to Ian.
What the hell, dude?
A little heads up would be nice. I do have other clients, you know.
None of them pay you as much as I do.
All of them pay me as much as you do.
OK, none of them has made you as much money as I have. Do you have an hour for me or not?
Whatever the hell is going on with Ian, it's serious.
How do I know? Because he's talking about money.
Yeah, yeah. Ian Donavon created Cookie Jar, so maybe you think he talks about money all the time. He doesn't, but only because he has a wider breadth of knowledge than anyone I've ever met. He's generally pretty quiet. He's also definitely on the spectrum, even though it's not something he shares with many people.
I'm one of the few people he talks to at all. When he does start talking, it's hard to get him to shut up and he covers a lot of ground. Want to know the causes of the Barbary War of 1801? He can tell you. Curious about the origins of dark matter? He has theories. Want to talk about the global economy? He's got you.
You know what he doesn't talk about?
Money. Specifically, how much of it he has. More specifically, how much money he's made me.
Basically, everything I have—my career, my financial freedom, my condo, my security, my ability to provide for my family—I owe it all to Ian.
We were in college at roughly the same time. We were roommates who became friends. It didn't take me long to realize he was going places and that he needed someone to look out for him. I became that person. He was never going to protect himself from the people who would take advantage of him. He was too busy doing great things.
So I stepped up and did it for him. All the incorporation papers, all the patents, all the contracts … I did it all. And since he couldn't afford to pay me in money, he paid me in stock options. When Ian took the company public, it made us both rich beyond anything I'd imagined back when he first started talking about his idea for an app. We both know it. And we never talk about it.
So if he's talking about it now, then something is up with him. Something big.
I stare longingly at my bedroom door, behind which Trinity is sleeping.
I don't want her to wake up alone, but it's Ian. If he needs me, that trumps everything else.
Fine. I'll shuffle things around.
I text my assistant first and ask her to come in. I have no idea what Ian is going to need, so I want her on hand just in case. I rarely ask her to work weekends, so I don't mind doing it occasionally.
Then I go check on the hens. They're snoozing away in the darkened closet, so I grab some clothes in the dark and dress in the bathroom without waking them. By then, my coffee is ready, but Trinity is still sleeping. I write her a quick note, leave it on the counter and sneak out.
My assistant, Kendra, beats me to the office and has coffee brewing, thank god. I've already downed the coffee from home and am on my second mug by the time Ian arrives.
I'm not sure exactly why I didn't see the shit storm coming.
Maybe I'm still in a sex-induced haze. Maybe it's the lack of sleep. Maybe the caffeine just hasn't kicked in yet. Hell, maybe I'm just not as smart as I've always thought I was
Whatever the reason, I still don't recognize the epic quagmire of excrement my life is becoming until too late.
"Where the hell is everyone else? Does no one else in your office even show up anymore?"
I was piddling around in email when Ian walked in, my hands still on the keyboard at his words. Then I push my chair back and arch an eyebrow, waiting for him to figure it out. When he doesn't, I state the obvious. "It's Sunday."
"Really?"
It's all I can do not to laugh out loud. I've missed this. "Yes. Really."
Ian gets so lost in work—whatever work he's doing at the time—that days of the week blur together. Hell, sometimes months blur together.
"If it's Sunday, why are you in the office?"
"Because my asshole best friend who I haven't seen in two months messaged me first thing in the morning and said he wanted to meet me. That's why."
"Then why was your assistant here?"
"Because I pay her very well to come in on Sundays if I need her to. Since you have literally never demanded to see me on such short notice before, I didn't know what the hell was up."
"You could've said it was Sunday and told me to fuck off." He pauses, head tipped to the side as he pieces something together. "Do you normally work on Sundays?"
"No." Except since he moved out to the lake last year and I realized how empty my social life is. "Okay, sometimes."
"Were you working today?"
"No. I was not in the office before nine this morning."
"Then what things did you have to move around?"
The image of Trinity in my bed flashes through my mind. Of the day I had planned as I was drifting off to sleep. A day full of more sex. More of feeding her. More of watching her care for those silly birds of hers. More of whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it.
But no amount of getting laid trumps Ian if he needs me. So I'm here.
And I'm not about to give the slightest hint that I'd rather be somewhere else, so I say the most ridiculous thing I can think of.
"Well, there were three women in my bed when I woke up, so I had to move them around to get up."
"Seriously?"
I can't tell if Ian is impressed or horrified. Knowing Ian, probably horrified. "No. Not seriously. Jesus, don't be such a dumb ass."
"So it was a business meeting you had to move?"
"No. It was one woman." I hold up a hand to stave off questions I don't want to answer. "And before you go to the trouble of pretending you're interested in my love life, it was one and done, and I'm probably never going to see her again."
That part is hopefully a lie, but hopefully it will spare Ian the awkwardness of wondering if he needs to ask more questions and feign interest in my life.
But I must go too far, because he asks, "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"
"What?"
"That thing that I do. Where I'm an annoying asshole without realizing it."
I make a show of glancing at my watch. "Well, you've only been here for 10 minutes so far and you already realized it, so maybe we're making progress."
"You know," he grumbles. "You're not such a joy to be around yourself."
"Nonsense. I'm a ray of fucking sunshine." Then I ask, "You gonna tell me why you're here?"
Except Ian—who always gets straight to the point … once he's decided it's something he's going to talk about out loud—continues to stare off into space. He's got a leg propped on his knee and he's jiggling that knee like one of those toy bugs that "walks" by vibrating its way across a surface.
After living with him all through college, I'm used to observing lost-in-thought Ian. I just didn't expect him this morning.
"If you don't wanna talk about it–"
"I met Savannah."
"Oh. I see."
And just like that, I can see the shit storm on the horizon. The one I absolutely should have seen coming, but somehow missed.
Because the Savannah that Ian just met is the personal chef I hired for him. And she is also Trinity's sister.
I say nothing, but wait for Ian to continue. Sure, every internal alarm bell I have is ringing like it's noon in a clock tower, but there's a chance this conversation means nothing.
Right.
Because Ian is known for overreacting.
Still, I hold my breath and wait.
Finally, he says, "You should've told me how beautiful she is."
Okay. Wow.
That was not what I expected him to say.
"Honestly?" I lean forward to study Ian. "I didn't know you would notice she's beautiful."
"She's fucking gorgeous. Those eyes of hers…"
He trails off, unwilling or unable to finish his thought. About her eyes.
Ian fucking Donavan is lost in thought about a woman's eyes.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
About a year ago, Ian went through a bad break up that got a lot of news coverage. He had been dating an up-and-coming movie starlet named Ava Grayson. Ava's widely regarded as one of the most beautiful women in the world. They lived together for six months.
And I never once saw him at a loss for words about her.
Hell, I've never seen him at a loss for words about anything. Yeah, he regularly drifts off into thoughtful silence, but it's not this.
The dude looks like a love sick puppy.
Over Savannah Lewis. This is not good news.
Suddenly, his gaze jerks to mine. "Have you met her?"
"Yeah, I met her."
"How?"
And this is where the situation gets complicated.
"I heard about her situation from …" Shit. How do I say this?
I ran into her sister and became borderline obsessed with her. I wanted to do something, anything, to make her life easier. The easiest way I could keep them both out of abject poverty was to pay Savannah obscene piles of money to cook for you.
Jesus, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. In addition to being borderline insane.
I'm pretty sure even Ian would notice how crazy that would sound, so I pan out to give him the mile-high view. I clear my throat. "I heard about her from an acquaintance."
"What's her situation?"
"You know I can't talk about my clients."
"Is she your client?"
I was hoping he wouldn't ask, but since he did, I just shrug. "She was involved in a nasty lawsuit. It should've been an open and shut probate case. Her representation fucked thing up. By the time she figured it out and fired the guy, she had a shit ton of legal bills. I figured hiring her as your personal chef would kill several birds with one stone."
"That's uncharacteristically altruistic of you."
Yeah. It is.
"What can I say? No one can be an asshole 100% of the time."
And at the time, I told myself I was just doing a good deed. Helping someone who'd been screwed over by a bad actor.
Do I still believe that? Now that I've slept with Trinity?
I have no fucking idea what I was thinking.
"I think some people would argue with you on that point," Ian says.
Based on his sour expression, I'm guessing he's thinking about Ava and the public things she said about him.
I know there are two sides to every story. And while I had a ring-side seat to their relationship, I wasn't in it. I'm sure Ian was exactly as emotionally absent as she claims. And if that was the worst of what she'd said about him, I'd let it go. But it is far from the worst.
Ian is as flawed as the next person, but he's also a genuinely good person who's trying to do his best for other people. And he would never hurt a fly.
So for that bitch to go on the record, with wide teary eyes and a quaver in her voice, that he hurt her and that only her NDA is protecting her? I call bullshit.
Before I can say anything else about Ava, Ian asks, "Can you tell me anything more about the case?"
"Not much. If you're curious, ask her yourself."
He snorts. "Yeah. Because that's something I'm going to do."
"It could be. You're a curious guy and you don't like unanswered questions."
"Right. Because I have such a long history of starting conversations with beautiful women."
"Do you realize that's the second time you've called her beautiful?"
"Is it?"
He looks baffled. And a little star struck.
Fifteen years of friendship and I've never seen him like this.
I don't know if I should congratulate him or gouge my eyes out as penance.
All I do know is that it fucking sucks to see him like this. If it were anyone else, I'd be thrilled for him. I'd be cautious. I'd be hiring a company to do a background search so thorough she could work for the CIA after. But I'd be thrilled.
But since it's Savannah? The woman I manipulated him into hiring?
The woman who is the sister of the woman I just fucked?
Jesus, this situation just got way too complicated.
But at the end of the day, my loyalty lies with Ian. So, I tell him, "You know, it is okay to find a woman beautiful. It's okay to notice that about her."
Ian seems to think about it for a minute before saying, "It bothers me."
"What does?"
"I didn't think about her at all until I knew what she looked like. I didn't even wonder what she looked like until I saw her in my kitchen this morning."
"Why does that bother you?"
"Because I thought I was a better person than that." He must see me trying not to laugh, because he adds, "Okay, I know I'm an ass. I just thought I was an ass who wasn't shallow. I never notice what people look like. I value ideas. Intelligence. Contributions to society." He sighs. "I guess I've been okay being a known ass, because at least I wasn't shallow. After Ava broke up with me and started talking shit in those interviews, I could justify it. Fine. I'm a jerk. I am arrogant and impossible to get along with. It didn't matter what she said or thought because I had the moral high ground."
"You know Ava is a selfish, petty bitch, right?" I remind him.
"Yes. That's what you keep telling me."
"I can't be the only one who tells you that."
"My mother has brought it up as well."
I snort. "That's ironic. Wasn't she the one who introduced you?"
"Yes. But apparently she changed her mind about her after the interview in Vanity Fair."
"There you have it. The two people you trust most in the world agree—she's a bitch."
Ian doesn't say anything.
I'm afraid I'm going to regret it, because I'm afraid I know the answer, but I ask, "So if this isn't about Ava, what is it about?"
"I don't know." He looks so uncomfortable I'm afraid he's going to launch himself out of the chair. Then he blurts, "I'm going to fire her."
"Savannah?"
He nods, looking resolved. "Yes. I'll just let her go."
"You can't," I snap. Jesus.
Here I was worried that Trinity might be annoyed if she finds out I got her sister a job. I don't even want to know how she'd feel if Ian fires her.
"What?" Ian asks, clearly surprised.
"You can't fire her." Thank god the perfect excuse comes to me. "Technically, you're not her boss. I am."
"That can't be right."
"Unfortunately for you, it is. A year ago, you decided you didn't want to be burdened with inconsequential activities, like paying your property taxes and your electric bills. You asked me to draw up paperwork putting me in charge of managing your properties. Which I did. It's part of why you keep me on retainer. It's how I hired Savannah for you. Ergo, you are not her boss. I am. Ergo, you can't fire her."
"Fine. Then you fire her."
"I'm not going to." Because Jesus. Firing Savannah is the only thing that might make this situation worse. "Regardless of how you feel about her personally, she's done nothing to justify letting her go. She's an excellent chef. She's doing her job. The job that she needs. And I'm not going to fire someone without cause just because you think she's pretty." I lean forward, trying to convey exactly how serious I am. "And if you can't see why it's wrong that you"re even asking me to, then I might need to suggest some sexual-harassment training for you. As your friend. Not as your lawyer." Then I shrug and add, "Both, actually."
Ian frowns, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. "If you wanted to, you could come up with some reason to fire her."
"Yeah, maybe. But I don't want to."
Clearly annoyed, he stands. "Fine. I'll just have to figure out how to tolerate it."
He's almost out the door, when I ask, "You know Ava was full of shit, right?"
He pauses to look back at me. "We covered this already. She was a petty bitch, etc. etc."
"Yes, but she was also lying. She was never with you out of pity. She was with you because she wanted to be. It just pissed her off that you didn't care."
He seems to be rolling the words around, trying to make their meaning fit into whatever paradigm he has in his head. "So you're saying the problem wasn't with her, it was with me? The problem was that I was a bad boyfriend?"
Well, fuck, I wouldn't have put it that way.
I hate how she used him. How she manipulated him. When they first met—even though he was rich, successful, and over thirty—Ian was relatively inexperienced. He'd spent so much time focusing on his company, he hadn't had time for a relationship. He'd had one girlfriend (that I know of) in college and she was only around for a few weeks. Then nothing serious until Ava.
I'm pretty sure his lack of experience thrilled her. She thought she'd be able to train him into the perfect lap dog, but he had no patience for her theatrics. When he wouldn't come to heel, she threatened to leave. He never understood the performance, let alone his role in it.
I don't think there's any point in explaining that she wanted him to fight for her.
If he had shown even a fraction of the interest in Ava as he was showing in Savannah, I would have stepped in and explained it to him.
Which is why, I now tell him, as gently as I know how, "You probably were a bad boyfriend. I won't argue with you about that. It's not in your nature. Ava knew that going in. She just thought she could change you. She thought she could make you care about her. When she couldn't, it pissed her off. That's on her, not you."
"I guess it's a good thing you're my lawyer and not my therapist, because as far as pep talks go, this one is total shit."
"You're not paying me to give you pep talks. But if you were, consider this: just because you never cared enough about Ava to put in the effort, that doesn't mean you won't ever care about anyone else. You're a smart guy. Beyond smart. If you wanted to be a good boyfriend, you could learn how."
Ian leaves without saying anything else and I have no idea if I helped him or not.
I sure as fuck didn't help myself.
I don't know how Trinity is going to react when she finds out how much I meddled behind the scenes in her sister's life. I don't even know if I can explain why I did it.
Sure, there are logical, no-nonsense reasons that I pull out to justify my actions.
It is true that Ian needed someone to cook for him. Someone to put in a modicum of effort to make sure he's eating on a regular basis. Actual, real food and not garbage pizza.
And it is also true that Savannah needed a job.
Correction, she didn't just need a job. She needed a financial miracle. The kind of debt she was in would have ended in bankruptcy. She never would have gotten a business loan to start her own restaurant after that. As for Trinity, yeah, I dug around in her finances as well. Most people who get their PhD leave school with college debt. That's not an insurmountable problem. But I could tell how much worse things had gotten for her since her father died. Their mom too for that matter.
And no one's future and security should be at risk just because their parent didn't update their will.
I could argue that what I did for their family is what anyone in my position would do.
If helping one woman get a job can impact so many people, it's justifiable, right?
But will Trinity see it that way?
Especially now that it's obvious that Ian is attracted to Savannah?
There are so many ways this could go wrong, I don't even know how to unpack it all.
All I can do is hope that Trinity will understand when I get back to my condo and try to explain it.
Unfortunately, when I get home, she's gone.