Capture

His mouth was a flat, stern line, and he was glaring at me.

“I see,” I said, because I did see. As Emma had suggested, Martin had truly given up revenge. I thought about telling him I was proud of him, but couldn’t quite bring myself to do so.

Sighing, Martin glanced at his plate and shook his head. “I sold the houses—with Emma’s help. She made that happen before Denver found out. I sent half the profits offshore and I donated the rest to the foundation. The foundation invested the money in SAT Systems. Emma explained to you what the foundation does, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, Dr. Patterson currently leads a think tank in Washington called Rural Education Reform. He’s dedicated his life to trying to equalize the opportunities for children in underserved areas. I know I’m not the best person to lead the operations of this foundation if I truly want it to succeed—and I do, I need it to succeed. He is a content expert and he’s passionate about the subject. I think he might be the best guy for the job.”

“So you met him through his daughter?”

“Yes. I befriended her because I wanted to meet him.” This admission held no note of an apology.

“So, you’re friends?”

I noted that Martin’s gaze was veiled before it fell away. He studied his plate, but I knew he didn’t really see it.

Finally he said, “I used Rose to get to her father. It worked. He’s probably going to take the position.”

I felt my heart sink. I thought about asking him to clarify the extent of his relationship with Rose, but ultimately I decided against it. If he wanted to tell me, he would tell me. And he wasn’t my boyfriend; we weren’t involved. It wasn’t my place to ask.

His eyes lifted back to mine; they held a new edge, like he was bracing himself for my reaction.

I shrugged, feeling frustrated but resigned to my place. “So, the foundation. You need it to succeed?”

He sighed and I couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed I didn’t press the Rose issue.

Nevertheless, he answered my question. “Yes. Although the mission of the foundation is noble, ultimately I’m leveraging the work they do to make money for myself. Lots and lots of money.”

I nodded again. “I figured that out when Emma told me you’d purchased the broadcast and streaming rights for the next fifty years in underserved areas.”

“Good. I’m glad you understand that. Because, I’m never going to become a person who is selfless. If I see an idea to exploit, I’m going to exploit it.” His tone was harsh, like he was trying to communicate something of great importance to me, like he needed me to see that though he’d let go of his plans of revenge, he hadn’t suddenly become a philanthropist.

“Well then, I’ll cancel the application for sainthood I filed on your behalf.” I gave him a wry smile that didn’t quite meet my eyes, hoping he’d see I never expected him to be a saint.

But he didn’t.

“Kaitlyn…” He looked discontent, pushed his plate to the side, and rested his forearms on the table. His frown was pensive and severe. “I’m never going to be a person who thinks about honor before personal gain; it’s not second nature to me, like it is to you. I might do things in the future that you don’t agree with. But I hope that—”

I stopped him by covering his hand with mine. “Stop, listen for a second. I know you’re not perfect. No one is perfect. I know that how you were raised means you’re a survivor. You needed to be. I understand that. But revenge was a choice, protecting yourself is instinct.”

His eyes were solemn, yet I saw he understood my meaning. I squeezed his hand then continued, “You said to me a few weeks ago at The Bluesy Bean that you had plenty of logic, or reason, or something like that. But you also said that you wouldn’t mind having my self-sacrificing, martyring bullshit input either.”

“Did I say that?” he deadpanned, fighting a smile.

“Basically. More or less. My point is, this friendship is good for both of us. I make lots of mistakes. So do you. And maybe we can get to a place where we trust each other enough to be a mirror for the other person. I’ll let you know when you need more saintliness in your life. You let me know when I’m being a self-sacrificing martyr. How does that sound?”

His mouth crooked to the side as his gaze wandered over my face. “That sounds good.”

“Also, I’ll tell you when you’re crossing the line between hot young executive, and an uptight corporate sell-out.”

“Are we talking about my towels again?”

“You mean your monogrammed linens? If so, yes.”

He huffed a laugh. “They were a house-warming present from Emma.”

“I’m burning them.”

“That’s fine.”

“And I’m replacing them with Lord of the Rings beach towels.”

“That’s fine too. I don’t give a fuck about my towels as long as they dry me off.”

“Good to hear. Then I’ll also be adding some My Little Pony ones as well.”

We shared a small smile and I released his hand, taking the pause in conversation as an opportunity to steal a chocolate chip muffin. As I did so, I noticed Martin fingering his calluses, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the tough patches of skin.

I guessed he had more to say, so I prompted, “Anything else I should know? Did you get a tattoo over the last few months?”

“No. Did you?” His eyes shot to mine.

“Yes. It’s a centaur mounting a unicorn on a rainbow.” I took a bite of my muffin and smiled.

He looked horrified. “Really?”

“Maybe.”

His eyebrows jumped and his eyes automatically moved down my body, as though he could see the hideous hypothetical tattoo through my clothes.

Suddenly, catching himself, he closed his eyes, pressed the base of his palms against his forehead, and shook his head. “Actually, there is something else you should know. There’s another reason I set up the foundation instead of taking the profits directly, and that has to do with your mother.”

“My mom?”

He opened his eyes again, giving me a very direct and pointed look. “Yeah. The activities of SAT Systems fall under the jurisdiction of her senate committee. But my broadcast and streaming rights do not, especially since most are for international areas. The foundation is non-profit, and isn’t regulated as one would regulate a for-profit corporation. Different rules apply.”

“Okay…”

“Meaning,” he paused, watching me intently, “meaning that you and I can have this…friendship, and your mother can’t be accused—with any legitimacy—of having a conflict of interest or bias.”

***

“You don’t have to come.”

“I want to.”

“You want to spend your Christmas afternoon at a senior center in Queens?”

Martin shrugged, switching gears. His car went vroooom.

Meanwhile I was still mulling over the information he’d detonated during breakfast. I was still wondering what the exact nature of his relationship with Rose Patterson had been. Plus I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact he’d purposefully structured his involvement with the satellite project, and established the foundation so our friendship wouldn’t compromise my mother.

I didn’t want to read too much into the action, but it seemed like this meant he’d been thinking about me, and some future relationship with me, several months ago when he’d established the foundation. And this simmering thought process twisted me up into a ball of confusion.

Because I didn’t know what his actions months ago meant for us now.

In fact, I opened my mouth to ask this question when Martin broke the silence with his own question.

“Why are you leaving tonight? Stay an extra day.” He glanced at me briefly, his question and slightly demanding statement pulling me from my thoughts. He returned his attention to the road. “I’ll take the day off tomorrow, show you around the city.”

“That’s nice of you, but train tickets tomorrow are really expensive. But I did want to ask you about—”

“I’ll drive you home.”

“No.” I scrunched my face at him, shook my head. “Don’t be ridiculous. That would be four hours of driving for you. Plus I promised Sam I’d be home tonight so we can have dinner together. She’s been alone all day, and we have a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yes. We’re going to exchange gifts, drink wine from a box, and binge watch the last season of Doctor Who.”

He nodded and I noted that the corner of his mouth was curved downward into a frown. I could tell he was lost in thought. Meanwhile I was re-gathering my courage to ask him about the foundation.

Suddenly he asked, “When are you in New York next? When’s your next show?”

“Oh, well.” I cleared my throat, flexing my fingers over my knees. “Not until the end of January, as far as I know. Plus, with school starting up again next semester and all the new departmental requirements, I might have to cut back with the band.”

“You seem…happier.” Martin’s eyes flickered to me, his gaze sweeping over my face.