“I told you, I need a West Coast base of operations.”
“That’s bullshit, Trip. You could have an office anywhere. You may be tired of doing it, but you can work out of hotel business centers. Your hotel room. You haven’t spent more than a few hours at your new office. I mean, what’s going on?”
Trip stared at her, then rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. “You sound suspicious.”
“I’m not suspicious, I’m confused.”
He rubbed his face and breathed in deeply. Exhaled.
“What’s going on is you,” he said.
“That doesn’t help, Trip,” she said, although the fact that he’d stated it so plainly literally made her heart flutter.
“I want to be with you. I want to be here, with you,” he added.
“Is it the sex?”
“The sex is fucking awesome,” he admitted, turning his head and grinning.
“Is it my game?”
“I think it’s going to be a big success. I’ll be happy if I can play a part in that.”
Lark sat up, folded her legs, and pulled the sheet over her shoulders.
“It’s more than any of that,” he continued. “But I’m doing my best not to rush things. Especially after your experience with Dylan. I know what it’s like to be in that place, Lark. I remember giving up on the idea of love, even hoping I’d find it. And I want you to trust what we have.”
Love. That word again. It made her feel off-balance.
“If you want me to trust you, I need to know you,” she said. “I really know nothing about you. I fucking googled you, and there’s hardly anything. And let’s face it, your Instagram isn’t exactly a personal record.”
Trip laughed, turning fully toward her. “I admit I’m not good at that. What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Then everything it is.”
“Really?”
“Shoot.”
She shot, firing off questions as fast as she could think of them. Where was he born? Dayton, Ohio. Did he grow up there? Mostly. Did he have any siblings? A brother. Where did he go to college? Indiana University. What did he study? Biology and economics. What extracurriculars did he do in college? At this question he just laughed and said, “Tell you later.” What was his first job out of college? Associate broker trainee. When did he meet his ex-wife? At a meat-market bar in Manhattan. What was she like? Successful, driven, already wealthy. What went wrong? Pretty much everything. (“I could tell you what went right in ten seconds,” Trip said ruefully.) How long had they been divorced? Officially, five years; unofficially, longer. Had he had other serious relationships since then? Seriously underwhelming, mostly. Mostly? He’d dated some wonderful women, but none of them were the right fit—until now.
It was intense, getting so much information so quickly, but also exciting. Far from eliciting jealousy, hearing about his exes gave him depth and made him seem three-dimensional. Though what had initially attracted her to him was that he was a blank slate, Lark realized that simplistic view was the very thing that would have kept them from forming something meaningful and real.
At the same time, she noticed that his answers about his family were by far the shortest. He almost seemed to be avoiding the topic.
“Why don’t you want to talk about your family, Trip?”
“I don’t talk about them with anyone.”
“Why not?”
He sat up slowly, folding his legs and mirroring her position except not bothering with a blanket or sheet. When he finally started talking, it seemed like he had come to a decision. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t look her in the eye.
“My parents were killed in a freak accident when I was fifteen,” he said. “A semi turned right from the left lane, crushing the front half of the car. I was in the back seat.”
“Oh my god,” Lark said, feeling sick.
“My brother, Mike, was already out of the house, and we lost touch,” he continued. “I spent my high school years in Muncie, Indiana, living with an uncle who didn’t particularly want the job of being my parent, and I had a hard time making friends.”
Glancing at her, he added, “I feel like I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“Of course you should,” she said, feeling a surge of empathy. “I’m so sorry.”
His brown eyes shimmered.
“It was what it was, and I don’t dwell on it, because the bad things also bring the good things, you know? It all helped make me who I am. I had a high school counselor who saw something in me, and he became a mentor, helping me get my grades up and apply for colleges. I was such a bad student that I couldn’t believe it when I got into Indiana University. I moved to Bloomington and worked two jobs to cover what my financial aid didn’t. That’s why I laughed when you asked about extracurriculars.”
“I can relate,” she told him. “I had to work through college, too, even though I forced myself to make time for rec volleyball and a Spanish conversation club, just to meet people.”
“I wish I’d been that well rounded,” he chuckled.
She reached out and took his hand, thinking it was the first time she’d ever seen him vulnerable. It was remarkable given the depth of his pain.
“I got a summer internship at a tiny brokerage in Bloomington, where I caught another break . . .” he continued. “Jesus, listen to me. I’m giving you my résumé.”
“Exactly what I wanted,” Lark told him, wanting to be as good a listener to Trip as he was to her. And it was interesting to learn he hadn’t been born with a trust fund.
“The short version is that I got another lucky break. The guy who ran the place was named Joe King, and he became another mentor to me. He convinced me to get my MBA instead of taking
