CHAPTER FOUR
ELIZABETH
“JUST STOP.”
I LOOK UP to see Blake’s giant eyes staring at me. They seriously occupy half of her face, and she always rings them with dark liner. You’d think it’d be a bad look, but Blake is adorable. If I were a guy or a lesbian, I’d totally be into her.
She puts her hands on her lips. Her dress looks like it belongs in the junior miss department. You’d think she was sixteen. She’s my age, 25. And one of the smartest people in most rooms, though nobody sees it coming.
“What?”
Blake rolls her eyes.
“I’m not doing anything!’
“You’re thinking about that guy from the restaurant. Letting him get to you. What good is that doing you, Liz?”
“I hate it when you call me Liz.”
“Deal with it, Liz. Considering the amount I plan to charge for consulting in six months when things are set up I won’t let you waste a bunch of expensive extra syllables saying your name.”
I look up at her. She puts her hands on her hips. I know now that I shouldn’t have sat. To someone like Blake, it’s a sign of weakness.
“Stop giving him your mental energy,” she says. “I need your focus here, with me.”
“I’m not giving him anything. I’m not thinking about him at all.”
“Bullshit you’re not.”
I give up. I stand, but I also throw my hands in the air.
“Okay. Fine. I’m pissed. I had a pretty good day, before meeting with that asshole.”
“It’s over. Let it go.”
“I told you; I let it go!”
“I can see it on your face, Liz! He’s just some douchebag your father works with. Not your problem. You told him off, and your dad won’t sell without your okay — not if you’ll tell him what you have in mind. So, it’s settled. Done.”
“I don’t want to tell him, Blake. Dad’s never understood this kind of thing. He’ll think I’m just on to some new thing.”
“Probably because you usually are flighty, and on to some new thing. But how much money have you made for him, just tweaking his business?” Blake claps me on the back of the neck, then shakes me a little. “Don’t worry about it. If you don’t want to tell him until it’s farther along, then don’t. God knows it’ll take you a long-ass time to raise the capital. Any leads on where you’re planning to get that much money?”
I shake my head. One frustrating problem at a time, please.
“I don’t know.”
Blake lets me go. “Well, there’s no rush. He knows what that land means to you. Hell, what it means to him. If you sold, would he … you know … have her moved?”
Ugh. That, I don’t want to think about. When Mom told us she wanted to be buried on the mountain, I’ll be honest; I did think of this. Dad’s always said he didn’t want to own it forever.
What if the new owners want to stick a ski lift on top of your grave, Mom?
It seemed like an inappropriate thing to say at the time, but now I wish I had. Deep down, it always felt like the problem would go away if I pretended the day would never come.
Blake seems to sense this was a poor question to ask. I go to the windows and look up at the peaks. We’re far from my mountain, but we can see it from here. “Do you think I’m spoiled?”
“Definitely.”
I turn around. “You’re supposed to say no.”
“School told me I had a 178 IQ when I was twelve years old. Knowing that has warped my sense of modesty. If you want fake answers I suggest you talk to Rueben. I don’t know how to behave around people less awesome than me.”
“Seriously,” I say.
She sighs. “Yes, Liz. You’re spoiled. Because your dad got rich before you had to take the usual lumps. I worked at a Burger King. Do you know what they make you wear at Burger King?” She shudders. “Where did you work?”
“I worked for my dad.”
“Did you hate it?”
“No. It was great.”
“Then you’re spoiled, sweetheart. But so what? You can’t help it. You’re still awesome. Still super kind.”
“Mateo said I was a monster, the way I treated people.”
“Wait. Mateo?”
“Yes, that’s his name.”
“Mateo Saint? Is Mateo Fucking Saint the rich investor who wants to buy your dad’s mountain?”
“Yes. So?”
Blake is tapping her chin. Pacing, the way she does when she is at the edge of an idea.
“What?”
“He’s hot, is all. You've seen the videos of that guy rock climbing?” She makes a cat-clawing gesture, then a rowr.
“What else, Blake?”
“Nothing.”
But it’s not nothing. This is the way Blake works, and the last time she had a big idea, the telecommunications world took a leap forward. It’ll take time for her seed of an idea to fully bloom, but in a few years mobile web browsers might just skip a generation or two.
“Look,” Blake says. “Don’t worry about him. Or about the funding for the school. We’ll figure out a way to get it. Have you ever seen what it looks like when all your pet geniuses stare at the same problem, intent on finding a solution? It’s going to be like the X-Men and shit, like superpowers unleashed. You’ve got quite a group of friends, honey.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
“So why the hell are you so preoccupied by this thing with Mateo Saint?”
“I’m not preoccupied.”
“You can keep denying it and pretend that I’m stupid enough not to know when you’re lying to me, or you can save us both some time and tell me now. It’s not about the mountain; we both know Damon won’t sell if you’re not cool with it. It can’t be because he was rude to you, considering how feisty I’ve seen you get when people mess with you. Rude is nothing to you. You eat that shit for breakfast.”
“It’s not that he was rude. It’s that he was so …” But I can’t articulate the feeling, so I utter a loud, frustrated groan.
“What? Tell me.”
“I can’t explain it.”
“He said you were a monster.”
“Well, not in those words. But yes.”
“And that’s what’s bothering you? Okay, look. You’re stone cold. Like a killer. You’re a bratty little rich girl. That’s what I love about you. But you love your dad, and you volunteer with those autistic kids, and I swear your bitchy tirades and schemes have saved half the sheltered animals in this state. So some bag of dicks thinks it’s uncool that you snapped at a waitress. If that’s seriously what’s bothering you, call him up and tell him the size of the tip you went back and left her. But Liz, come on, that’s not what it is. You have two choices. You can either tell me why this guy is stuck in your head — for real this time — or you can let it go. But chop-chop. My time is valuable. I hate working with clients who ask for advice, and then get all stubborn about meeting me halfway.”
“I’m not your client, Blake. I’m your friend.”
“Would be, anyway, if you weren’t so damn spoiled.”
I finally smile. It comes hard, but at least it’s honest. The truth is, Blake’s assessment is spot on. I’ve felt like shit ever since leaving the restaurant. Not yelled at, per se — more like beaten up.
Something he said got to me in a way I’m not used to being gotten to. Or maybe it was something he did, or a way he looked at me, or something in the air. I wish I could pin it down, but I can’t.
I keep re-experiencing that moment after he laid into me when we matched eyes, when my armor crumbled, and I was standing there naked.
There was something unusual at that moment. Things seemed to turn upside down. I was a little dizzy. A lot gobsmacked. And whatever happened then, it’s stayed beneath my skin like a splinter since.
I keep seeing his gaze. The way it bore into me like he could see everything.
“Time’s up,” Blake says. “Tell me. Are you going to keep wasting my time whining, or are we going to get to work sending invites and booking this mastermind?”
I close my eyes. Behind my eyelids, I see Mateo Saint hating me.
I open them, and he’s gone.
“I guess we can start planning.”
“Good,” Blake says. “Whatever the hell is bothering you, it’s over.”