“Yes, it is.”
“Did your parents want you to grow up to be a porn star?”
“Penelope Star has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” I half-laughed along with him.
“Where are you from?”
“All over.”
“Did you move a lot? Is your dad military?”
“More like my parents remarried. Visitation got bounced around over the years, but no, I pretty much lived in the same Louisiana town.”
“Ah. And let’s see… Wilkesboro High, Louisiana. That’s where you went to high school?”
“Yes. You can stop looking at the application now.” The next blanks on the form held no information because I didn’t attend college. I’d asked Thad Swain about lying on that field. But he told me that my instinct had been spot on, that chances were the bank would catch me in a lie. He’d come back with this technical school out in Nevada. I could do a ton of the coursework online at my own pace. With some additional online coursework, it would provide an Associate of Arts Degree in Restaurant Management, the equivalent of a two-year college degree. The extended silence on the phone meant Gabe hadn’t stopped reading all about my loser status.
“What about you? Are you from New York?”
“Technically, no. Connecticut. Parents happily married and still live in the house I grew up in.”
“Huh. Divorce is my family motto.”
“A ton of my friends have divorced parents. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I know that.”
“Don’t get defensive.”
“Sorry. I just have more work to do today, and my mind strayed,” Somehow, him reading all my details on that application felt like showing him all my wobbly parts, something I didn’t do without proper planning, lighting, lotions, and glitter.
“Are weekends busy for you?”
“Yeah, they are.” I didn’t lie. My schedule might be flexible, but maintaining a profitable account required a ton of effort.
“Would it help you if I paid you enough to become your only client?”
“What?” I couldn’t have heard him correctly. That didn’t even make sense.
“It would free you up to pursue your restaurant.”
“Do you have any idea how much I make from my subscribers?”
“Based on your numbers of subscribers and the $2.50 monthly fee, I’d estimate around ninety thousand, but you’d have to minus out your advertising expenses and overhead like all the lingerie you buy. Name your number.”
I sucked in air and held the phone out. I wished he’d FaceTimed me so my open mouth would speak for itself. I glared at the phone in my hand then spoke into it. “I’m not for sale.”
“Well, you kind of are.” That fucker.
Rage burned my insides. The boiling, burning fury that only happened when someone touched on an ugly truth you’d rather not dissect. “I’ve got to go.”
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Nope, not buying it.”
“Look, I’m screwing this up. Poppy, I’m coming back to visit Tate. Let me make it up to you by taking you out to dinner.”
A sailboat entered the marina, and I watched as they struggled to round a corner into their slip.
“Poppy, please. I admire that you’ve created your own business. I admire your entrepreneurial spirit. You are brave and independent. I do not think you are actually for sale.”
My eyes burned. But my internal emotional boil simmered. In my lifetime, no one had ever used the word “admire” and me in the same sentence. So, I liked that bit.
“I’m not sure when I’ll make it down. But promise me. You can pick the place. Take me to the kind of restaurant you want to open up.”
“We can go as friends.” My past flared up as I said those words, and shame choked out the oxygen in the room. I pushed out onto my back porch and sucked in the salty air.
“Nope. I told you. I’m not letting you trap me in that box. We’ve already shared a kiss. One I haven’t forgotten. Don’t tell me you have…”
I remembered. But I also had experience with boys like Gabe. Even if Gabe didn’t want to label me as his friend, or his best gal pal, he didn’t want to date me. I might not be the brightest, but I was a smart enough girl to know that much. I wasn’t the kind of girl he’d date. Oh, sure, he might offer up to be my only…what was his word? Client, but no. I had a Gabe in my past. One not as wealthy, not as good looking, and not near as polite, and he nearly destroyed me.
“I’ve got to run. Let me know when you’re in town. Maybe we can meet up.” Or maybe not.
Chapter 9
Gabe
“Close the door.”
I assessed Nigel, our managing director, and technically my boss. He sat behind his desk, stoic, lips in a straight line, eyes emotionless. The last time I had been in the same room with the man, he’d declared open bar for everyone and had had a supermodel wearing only a sequin G-string on his arm. That had been months ago. In his office, gravity clouded his expression, and his deathly serious tone told me shit had gone down.
I inhaled deeply as the latch clicked. We’d weathered severe storms in my time at Belman. Whatever this was, we’d get through it. I checked the time. Markets opened in thirty. I trusted Nigel to be efficient in his message.
“I’m going to be taking a leave of absence.”
“What?” Cold air circulated through my open mouth, and I closed it. I sat down and leaned forward. “Why?” Cancer? I took quick stock and observed no signs of a health issue. He still had hair. His suit fit. The shirt collar around his neck didn’t gape open, like I’d seen in the case of the deathly sick.
“Our lawyers believe that the civil investigation into Cyr Martin and the CROW5 fallout is going to transition to a criminal one. They believe, or Belman’s lawyers believe, I’d
