At Dani’s Friday night, I update her on recent disasters as she puts together the salad to accompany the lasagna finishing up in the oven. Her husband, Ryan, tries to keep their screaming two-year-old daughter, Mia, occupied with toys on the living room floor while their dog, a rescue terrier with hyperactivity issues, tears around the house barking at invisible squirrels, and Ryan’s partially deaf father watches Jeopardy with the volume cranked. At regular intervals, he shouts out incorrect trivia answers, then hollers, “Bullshit!” when he’s proven wrong.
I love this family, but after a week living here, all my hair would fall out from stress.
Which makes my current situation even more terrifying. If I can’t afford rent anymore and wind up couch surfing at Casa Chaos, I might never recover my wits.
Or my hearing.
“I can’t believe someone’s suing you. It’s not like you have any money they can get,” Dani says, calmly tossing dressing into a bowl of salad greens like her home is an oasis of tranquility instead of the circus it actually is.
“Pretty sure they don’t know that, or they wouldn’t have bothered. Everybody seems to think business owners are rolling in dough.”
“Did you hire an attorney?”
“And pay him with what? Tears?”
“I don’t know, but you better get someone soon. If you don’t answer the summons, the other guy gets an automatic judgment, and you’re screwed.”
Dejected, I mutter, “I can’t imagine being any more screwed than I already am.”
I set the table while Dani takes the lasagna out of the oven. As we sit down to eat, Mia starts banging her fork on the table and the dog jumps up, knocking over a glass of water. Ryan’s father, who has now switched over to Wheel of Fortune, yells out a guess, then cackles when it turns out to be right.
“Dad, it’s time to eat!” Ryan shouts from the table. “Dad!”
I can already feel the headache starting to pulse at my temples.
“So I spent some time stalking your future husband all over the internet. Want to hear what I found?”
I give Dani a stern look. “No. And he’s not my future husband.”
Ryan chuckles. “I’ll marry him if you’re not interested.”
Smiling, Dani says, “Excuse me, pal, but you already have a spouse.”
“Yeah, but think about it. I’d get the ten mil, file for a quickie divorce, then move you, me, and our terrorist spawn out to that little ranch in Montana that we saw on Zillow that had the guest cottage for Dad and the horse stalls.”
Mia bounces in her high chair and shrieks, “Horsie! Horsie!”
“You guys aren’t allowed to move away from here,” I say, helping myself to a big chunk of lasagna from the casserole dish in the middle of the table. “We’re all gonna grow old together and throw ragers at the nursing home, remember?”
When Ryan and Dani share a quick look, I get nervous. “Oh God. What is it? What’s wrong? Is someone sick? Who’s dying? Hurry up and tell me before I pass out.”
Dani hands me the salad bowl. “Nobody’s sick or dying, maniac. It’s not always the end of the world. Hurry up and eat something before your blood sugar crashes and you turn into a gremlin.”
I say drily, “If you’d had the month I’ve had, trust me, you’d assume every little thing was the end of the world.”
Serving Ryan a piece of lasagna, Dani says, “We actually might need to move, though. We’ve started looking at places out of state.”
Shocked, I set the salad bowl down with a clatter and look back and forth between her and Ryan. “Why?”
“I got laid off,” admits Ryan quietly, staring at his daughter.
“No! Oh, you guys, I’m so sorry. I thought the job was going well?”
Dani sighs. “Yeah. It was a complete surprise. Apparently, the company can do without middle managers.”
Ryan conducts appraisals on commercial properties for large corporations investing in real estate. Business had been booming until the economy took a downturn, but I had no idea things had gotten so bad.
He says, “We’ve got equity in the house. Since home prices are so much higher here than in other parts of the country, if we sell, we’d be able to afford to pay cash for a place. Which would be necessary, since I couldn’t qualify for another mortgage if I’m out of work.”
“But can’t you look for work here? I’m sure something else will come up. Someone with your skills is bound to find another position quickly!”
Ryan shakes his head. “I’ll be forty this year, Em. I’m competing with recent college grads for jobs now, and they’ll work for practically nothing. Nobody wants to pay my salary.”
When Dani glances guiltily at Mia, I decide it’s time to change the subject. “Don’t give up just yet. I have faith in you. And now let’s talk about something cheerful. Who has good news?”
The three of us look at each other while the dog races around the table, barking at nothing, and Ryan’s dad throws the remote control across the room at the television.
I sigh heavily. “Okay, fine. Tell me what you found out about Callum McCord.”
Instantly, Dani perks up. “Lots. He’s thirty-five, never been married, and lives in this gigantic mansion in Bel Air that used to belong to Jennifer Lopez. He’s the oldest of three brothers who all work for the company. You have to check out this family photo.”
She jumps up, grabs her laptop from the kitchen counter, and returns to set it on the table next to me. Opening a browser, she clicks on a saved link. A photo appears on the screen.
Impressed, I say, “Wow. Talk about good genetics. Those people all look like they were created by AI.”
It’s a formal picture, the posed kind where everyone’s gathered stiffly together in front of a hearth wearing their best smiles. Except for the dark-haired man standing next to Callum. He’s scowling as if someone just told him his dog had been shot.
“Who’s the one with the pissy face?”
Dani takes her seat again, saying, “The middle brother, Cole. He looks like that in every picture. Handsome and murderous.”
“And the one with the dimples?”
“Carter, the youngest.”
“And that must be his grudge-holding dad sitting in front of them all like King Charles.”
“Isn’t his mother beautiful? Guess how old she is?”
“I dunno. Fiftyish?”
“Sixty-four.”
Callum’s mother stands directly behind her seated husband. A slender redhead wearing a blue dress with a plunging neckline, she gazes out from the photo with a serene smile, radiating the kind of tranquil confidence that comes from sleeping on piles of money every night.
“They’re all beautiful. It’s unnatural. I bet they made a pact with the devil. Pass me the Parmesan.”
Dani slides the jar across the table while Ryan wolfs down his food and I sprinkle more cheese over my plate.
“Okay, but you want to know the really interesting thing?”
Looking at her sly smile, I’m nervous all over again. “What?”
“Not only has Callum never been married, he’s never been engaged. So that rock he waved in your face never belonged to anyone before.”
“He didn’t wave it. He set it on the table. And how do you know he’s never been engaged?”
“There’s no mention of a girlfriend in any of the articles about him. No pics of him at charity functions with models on his arms. Nary a mention of anyone he’s been linked to on his Wikipedia page or in the tabloids, and those things always have the dirt. For such a rich and good-looking guy, he doesn’t seem to date.”
“He said he had to keep secrets because of his family’s position. That he couldn’t trust anyone. So it was probably a private engagement. Some people like to keep their business out of the tabloids.”
“Or maybe he bought that ring for you.”
I shake my head in amusement. “Oh, sure. He overheard my sad story at dinner one night, and the next morning, he marched directly into the nearest Harry Winston store and bought the biggest rock he could find.”
“Hey, stranger things have happened.”
I look to Ryan for support. “Please tell your wife she’s hallucinating.”
Feeding Mia a bite of pasta, he says, “I would, but she’s within swinging distance.”
Dani insists, “Just consider the possibility, Em.”
“That man could marry any girl he wanted. I know I’m a sparkly explosion of fucking awesomeness, but I’m not his type.”
Waving her hands in the air, Mia shrieks, “Fuckie!”
In the living room, Ryan’s father shouts, “Bullshit!” at Vanna White.
Dani says, “Okay, then, how about this? What if Callum’s father really did give him that ultimatum? And Callum was so pissed off about the whole thing that he decided to get back at his father by marrying someone…”
She looks me up and down, then scrunches up her nose. “Inappropriate.”
“You’re lucky you make good lasagna, lady, otherwise this fork would already be embedded in one of your eyeballs.”
“C’mon. You know what I mean. Daddy Dearest probably expected his son would run to the nearest socialite named Cordelia who owns polo ponies and wears cashmere sweater sets with her Mikimoto pearls, right? But instead, Callum decides to get a little payback and rebel against his dad’s stupid ultimatum by getting engaged to Wednesday Addams.”
I look at Ryan again. “Remind me why I like your wife?”
He smiles at her. “Because she’s beautiful and funny.”
“No, that’s why you like her. I think she’s about as funny as a suspicious rash.”
Dani says, “There’s only one way to find out if he’s serious, Em.”
I warn, “Don’t even say it, cuckoo bird.”
With a flourish of her fork, she pronounces, “Say yes.”
I sigh and look at the ceiling.
Ryan agrees, the traitor. “It’s worth a try. If somebody were offering me a boatload of money to save my whole life, I’d definitely consider it.”
That makes me laugh. “Really? You’d sleep with a total stranger for ten million bucks?”
Ryan glances at Dani, then looks at me. “Before I got married, I would’ve slept with a total stranger for nothing at all.”
Dani smacks his arm affectionately. “Slut.”
“Former slut, now happily married. Besides, from what I’m hearing, this guy never said anything about sex, right?”
Frowning, I think about it. “No…but doesn’t it go without saying that sex is expected?”
“Not if it’s a business arrangement. Maybe the dude already has his side chicks that he keeps on the downlow, and he just needs a wife for the formalities to satisfy Daddy Warbucks. Maybe all he’d expect of you would be to show up at family functions and annoy the shit out of everyone with your awkward social skills and lack of an Ivy League education.”
I stare at Ryan in outrage. “Awkward social skills?”
He grins at me. “You burped in my dad’s face at our wedding reception.”
“I’d been drinking champagne all afternoon. It makes me gassy!”
Dani says, “And let’s not forget the time you laughed at your grandma’s funeral.”
“I was eight. And corpses are funny!”
Ryan says, “Or the time the security guard at the mall wished you a Merry Christmas and you politely answered ‘No, thank you.’ And the time our neighbor Jenny put her baby in your hands and you said the same thing and set the baby on the ground.”
Indignant, I demand, “Well, what kind of a mother goes around shoving her newborn at strangers? What was I supposed to do, stick it on my boob and start to nurse?”
Ryan laughs at that. “Don’t forget the time we were at that Halloween party and that guy in the wolf mask came up to you and asked who you were, and you stuck your hand on your hip and said, ‘I’m the one your mother warned you about, that’s who.’”
“I was in a mood, okay?”
They keep going, the heartless jerks, telling each other my greatest hits until they’re crying with laughter. I say without heat, “You guys suck.”
Wiping at her watering eyes, Dani says, “Let’s face it, girl, you march to the beat of your own drum.”
“I’m glad I’m such a source of amusement. Now be quiet until I finish my dinner, or I might accidentally stab one of you.”
Feeding Mia another bite of pasta, Ryan says, “Not that you’ll take my advice, but I’m gonna give it anyway. Ask this rich guy what the conditions of his offer are. Even if you don’t believe he’s for real, call his bluff. See what he has to say. And if it turns out he’s serious…”
He wipes Mia’s mouth with a napkin, then turns back to me. “Negotiate.”
“Pardon me, but I’m not livestock. I’m not about to haggle over my purchase price.”
“You don’t have to. He’s already named the price. What you haggle over are the terms.”
Leaning in, Dani says excitedly, “Ooo, yeah, I love that idea. Tell him he has to buy you at least ten carats of diamonds a year.”
Ryan says, “No, I meant like how long you have to stay married before you can keep all the money, stuff like that.” He pauses to think. “Actually, what you should do is tell him the money gets put into a trust in your name first or you don’t walk down the aisle at all.”
“Listen to you. What a mercenary.”
“Hey, it’s business, not love. The rules are different. You have to make sure you get everything you want up front and in writing or no deal.”
What I want. Now there’s a concept. I can’t remember the last time someone asked what I want. In fact, now that I think about it, I’m not sure anyone ever has.
My parents always taught me to be grateful for what I have, to not ask for more. But what if Callum was serious about his offer? What if, like Dani said, he wanted to choose someone who wouldn’t fit in with his family, just to spite his father?
And what if, just once, I was in a position to get anything I dreamed of?
As I sit there, I seriously consider the possibilities for the first time. Ten million dollars is a fortune. The things I could do with that kind of money…
Not only could I keep the store open, everyone would keep their jobs.
I could hire an attorney to fight that ridiculous lawsuit.
I could pay off the stupid tax bill from the CDTFA.
I could go back to school and get that degree I never had the time or money for.
I could figure out what I really wanted to do with my life. Who I actually wanted to be, aside from the person I was always expected to be. The good girl. The dutiful daughter. The person who took on the identity her parents wanted for her. The hardworking, self-sacrificing, loyal-to-the-family-before-all-else child.
The heir to her father’s dreams.
It hits me with a shock that Callum and I have that in common. We’re both products of our fathers’ making, of their inflexible ideas about how things should be. Callum with his dad’s insistence on marriage or disinheritance, me with my dad’s insistence that a literary life is the only one worth living.
“And how strange that we both work for the family business,” I murmur aloud, eyes glazed over as my mind works in a frenzy.
“Earth to Emery. Come back from Mars, girl, your lasagna’s getting cold.”
When I look at Ryan, he grimaces. “That face you’re making is scary.”
I shake my head slowly, feeling wobbly and disoriented, like the room has started to spin. “This isn’t my scary face. This is my negotiating face.”
Dani sits bolt upright, clapping. “You’re going to do it? You’ll see if he’s for real?”
I hesitate before nodding. “Yeah. You’re right. What have I got to lose?”
I glance at Ryan. After that irrevocable trust he mentioned, I know the first thing I’ll be asking Callum for.
A billionaire whose family owns as much property as his does could most likely use a good real estate appraiser.
As soon as dinner’s over, I grab my purse off the sofa. With Ryan’s dad hollering curses at the television in the background, I send Callum a text to the number he called me from.
Hi. It’s Emery.
I send that, then stand there thinking for a moment, wondering what would be the least whorish way to tell a man you’d like to meet to discuss the terms of your own acquisition. But before I can send anything else, I get a text in return.
Tell me where you are. I’ll be there immediately.
Surprised both by the speed of his response and the brusque tone of it, I type back.
I didn’t invite you anywhere. And how about a hello?
His answer comes so fast, he must be using the microphone to dictate it.
Hello. Now tell me where you are.
When I just stand there frowning at the phone in my hand and don’t answer, another text comes through.
Emery.
That’s it. All he sends is my name. But in that single word, I feel every ounce of his impatience. He somehow managed to convey that clearly, along with supreme frustration that I’m disobeying a command.
I mutter, “Are all rich people so bossy?”
I’m at a friend’s having dinner, but I was hoping we could talk tomorrow.
I wait, but he doesn’t reply.
Unsettled by the exchange, I go back to the kitchen and help with the dishes. As Dani and Ryan continue to discuss things I should negotiate for, I think about what exactly bothers me about Callum’s text messages.
It isn’t until I pull into the driveway of my apartment building later that I stop worrying about it. Now I have something more important to focus on.
Wearing a black suit and a glower to match, Callum stands outside my front door.
