“Sometimes the way to win a battle isn’t with a full-frontal assault,” said Jack, laughing.
“You mean a charm offensive.”
“Charm is never offensive, but once that fails, it’s time for a strategic retreat. The fact that I acted like I don’t need their money is the very thing that will make him insist I take it. You know, if I had realized I’d have to spend so much time in places like Buffalo, Scranton, and Phoenix, I might never have set out to cure cancer.”
Which was a joke he’d made dozens of times before.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t have to go to Phoenix every month anymore.”
“No, that’s right. I’m bringing some of that business in-house,” he said.
“The kids will enjoy having you around more often,” she said, idly wondering whether it was a business relationship that had ended or the other kind.
“And I’ll enjoy that, too. But it’s not like I’m suddenly off the road. I’m considering partnering with a West Coast lab to run some of our testing, and I’m going to spend some time at their facilities.”
Remembering a previous West Coast project, Holly recalled the longer flights and hotel nights that had kept Jack away for additional weeks every year.
“So it’s a wash,” she said.
“It’s an attractive proposition, but we’re still in the courtship phase,” he told her. “I have no idea if this one’s going to work out or not.”
Chapter Four
LARK
If you want something badly enough, you have to be in control of the process.
—“How I Lied about My Name and Discovered My Truth,” a TED Talk by Jon M. Wright
Back home in LA, Lark knew she should have been over the moon to receive an offer from Hunter-Cash. And had that offer arrived before her encounter with Trip, she probably would have answered with an enthusiastic yes and signed the contract the same day—succumbing to the pressure of rent, credit card bills, student loans, and Callie. Especially Callie.
Callie had been completely on board and supportive of Lark’s fling with the handsome older man. After all, she’d practically been pushing Lark into hot guys’ laps ever since Lark broke things off with Dylan. But Callie stopped cold when Lark admitted she’d told Hunter-Cash she needed time to decide—hoping Trip would come through in the meantime and allow her to keep Activate! for herself.
“You spent money you don’t even have to fly out there, they offered you money on the spot, and you told them you’d think about it?” groaned Callie as she drove Lark home from the airport that day. “Thirty thousand bucks goes a long way when you’re living on credit.”
“But thirty thousand bucks is all I’d ever get. Hunter-Cash wants to own the game, but Trip said he’d invest in me. What if it’s my million-dollar idea?” countered Lark, ignoring a sick feeling and the scary thought: What if I’m wrong?
“I love you, Lark, but it just seems crazy to be talking about a million-dollar idea when you owe six figures in student loans, five figures in credit card debt, and four figures in rent and utilities.”
Neither of them said anything as Callie gave her full attention to a lane change on the 405; Nebraska born and bred, Callie was as cautious a driver as she was fiscally responsible.
Lark couldn’t blame her roommate for looking out for her. She had already been questioning her relationship with Dylan and planning to live with Callie when Dylan got fired from his entry-level job at a big consulting firm. In a moment of weakness, Lark had allowed him to move in, regretting the decision after Dylan said losing his job was “probably for the best, so I can focus on screenwriting.” Callie had been forced to make other living arrangements until Lark had finally gotten Dylan out the door.
If anyone wanted to shoot holes in Lark’s ability to make good decisions, nobody had more ammunition than Callie.
Moreover, while Lark told Callie almost everything, she couldn’t admit that part of the excitement of being with Trip was his aura of effortless wealth. That he could so casually offer to invest ten or twenty thousand in her ideas suggested that he knew how these things worked and he knew how to help her make more. She had no intention of milking him for cash—the words sugar daddy made her want to vomit—but she thought she could learn a lot from him. Possibly including how to be a part of that high-stakes, moneyed world. So.
“There’s nothing wrong with waiting a week or two,” she said, once Callie had successfully merged onto Venice Boulevard. “For all Hunter-Cash knows, I could have a lawyer reading the fine print. I could have other offers.”
“Do you know how much every week costs you in interest?” asked Callie. “Because I do.”
“And do you know how much more money I could make if my game takes off, if my company takes off?” countered Lark.
“You have no idea if Trip’s offer is real,” said Callie, whose five-foot-nothing height forced her to peer over the steering wheel like a grandma. “You have no idea if he’s real. You didn’t even get his last name.”
“He’s real,” insisted Lark, still able to summon the feeling of his stubble on her cheek, the soreness of her thighs.
Hoping desperately she was right.
That had been a week and a half ago. Since then, her contact at Hunter-Cash, a friendly but pushy guy named Zachary, had emailed her twice, asking whether she’d come to a decision and not too subtly hinting they were ready to move on.
Lark and Trip had texted just infrequently enough and just vaguely enough that Lark was starting to wonder if Callie was right about everything.
She had pored over his Instagram feed a half dozen times, looking for clues, but there wasn’t much to see.
