The truth was, her husband was always the most important guest at the Hay Bale Ball. Not only was he good at guilting big-name, big-money donors into attending, but he had a knack for getting them to commit to gifting more than planned. The latter skill was, after all, how he’d managed to turn Cancura into a buzzy and extremely well-capitalized start-up in only seven years. But Brian’s seemingly offhand statement was freighted with meaning: last year, for the first time ever, Jack had missed the gala, and follow-up donations were weaker than the previous year.
“It’s on his calendar,” said Holly. “Last year was unavoidable. He had to be in Phoenix for work.”
Brian drained his bottle, caught the waitress’s eye, and signaled for another. “If you’re not worried, I’m not worried.”
Holly forced down some of the wine. Not allowing herself to dwell on Jack and his absence.
“What’s Jack’s secret?” Brian asked abruptly.
Holly coughed, thinking she had misheard. “For . . . fundraising?”
“I don’t mean that.” Not looking at her.
She waited, not wanting to speculate about what he did mean.
His second beer arrived, and he took a healthy drink. “Obviously the guy has something special if he has you.” He exhaled hard. “I just don’t know how people do this, to be honest.”
“Do what?”
Still not looking up: “I love my wife—I do. But we don’t spend much time together anymore. And I really like spending time with you. I just . . .”
Now that she knew where he was going, she didn’t move or speak, not sure she wanted to encourage him. Not sure she didn’t.
“. . . wish things were different. That we could be more to each other than we are now.” Finally, he looked at her. “I just wanted you to know.”
“What am I supposed to do with that, Brian?” she asked.
Thinking, Run around and have an affair? Do to my husband what he’s done to me?
“I didn’t mean . . . or maybe I do. I don’t know.” He looked away. He started to say something else and then stopped.
“I have to go,” she said, her heart pounding, fumbling in her purse for money and leaving too much on the table.
Chapter Seven
LARK
Don’t be afraid to step into something new. Or break ties to the past.
—“How I Lied about My Name and Discovered My Truth,” a TED Talk by Jon M. Wright
Lark had never allowed herself to be blindfolded before. Even as a girl playing pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, the idea that everyone else could see what she wasn’t seeing had just been too much for her. Or maybe it was a lack of trust, knowing that people were watching her go the wrong direction and laughing about it instead of helping. How could they do that to each other?
And yet here she was, wearing a blindfold for the first time in her life, surrendering to Trip, hypersensitive to his gentle touches as he guided her down the sidewalk. He’d returned to town that morning promising another big surprise. She’d had her eyes covered for the half-hour drive in the car, too, and despite a general feeling they were headed downtown, with each turn she lost more sense of direction until, for all she knew, they were on their way to the Valley or nearing Long Beach.
“I still can’t imagine a surprise big enough to make it worth all this,” she told him, trying to feel her way forward as if her feet were fingers. From the way he was tugging on her, she could sense his impatience, but there was a limit to how fast she could go. Completely blind, she couldn’t shake the sensation that her next step was going to land her in a deep, dark hole.
“It’ll be worth it,” he promised, guiding her forward. “And trust me: not only are there no obstacles in front of you, there’s nobody else around.”
He gave her a quick kiss on the back of her neck. She shivered pleasantly and moved forward just a little bit more quickly.
“Okay, we’re going inside,” he told her. “Lift your feet.”
Cool air flooded out as a door opened and they went through. He led her into an elevator, and a rising sensation—and a single beep—told her they’d gone up one floor.
“Out and to your left,” he said, now with his hands on her waist.
They walked a little way down a carpeted hallway.
“Now stop.”
She did, then complied as he rotated her body ninety degrees to the right.
“Ready?”
Lark laughed. “Are you kidding? Let’s get this over with already!”
Trip lifted the blindfold, and she stood blinking in front of an office door. With her name on a little plastic placard beside it.
LARKSPUR GAMES, LLC
LARK ROBINSON, PRESIDENT & CEO
“Larkspur?” she asked.
“It’s a flower,” he explained. “If you don’t like it, we can change it to whatever you want before we get the actual paperwork done.”
Paperwork? she wanted to say. She had so many questions.
“Your keys, Madam President,” he said, offering them with a mock sense of ceremony, as if his open palm were a silver platter.
She stared at the keys, then at the plaque, then at Trip, at a loss for words.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, looking suddenly worried.
“I can’t pay for this,” she managed to say.
He shook his head. “I did not think that would be the first thing out of your mouth. I’ll explain in a minute, I promise.”
Lark put thoughts of her ballooning debt on hold as Trip explained which key was for the front door of the building, which was for the back door, which was for the bathroom down the hall, and which one unlocked their office suite.
“Where are we, by the way?” she asked.
“Culver City,” Trip said. “Fifteen minutes from your place with traffic. I drove around a little bit to mess with you.”
“It definitely worked.”
All her reactions were a few beats behind,
