The Right Swipe Page 6

  And she had. Big picture wise, her mother had never tried to stifle Rhiannon’s ambitions. Sonya had wept with pride when Rhiannon had gotten into every Ivy League school she’d applied to, then wept again when she’d dropped out of Harvard and headed to California to start her empire. Not with pride, the second time, but with worry that her daughter was throwing her future aside and going so far away. Rhiannon always felt a cocktail of guilt and love when it came to her mom, but that guilt trip had been epic.

  Rhiannon hadn’t spoken to her mom for almost a month after the debacle that was her exit from Swype four years ago. She’d been so ashamed, fearful of the I-told-you-so’s. If success was the best revenge, what was failure?

  Luckily, before Sonya could come out to California and investigate her daughter’s radio silence, Katrina had swooped in with money and a plan to get Rhiannon’s career back on track.

  “So how did the conference go? Other than not getting a chance to get face time with Annabelle.”

  Rhiannon had tried to keep Katrina up-to-date on that front, at least. “Uh, great.”

  “Suzie said the activation went wonderfully, and we got some good press coverage.”

  The activation had been a walk-through interactive experience for guests, and it had been a hit. “Yup. Your shares are safe.”

  “You know I don’t care about the shares. I care about a cat.”

  “Not this again. I’ll think about it.”

  “One little kitten, that’s all I’m talking about, roomie. You’ll barely know it’s here.”

  Rhiannon grinned at the long-running joke. They both knew she’d cave on the cat eventually, even if she wasn’t an animal person.

  A rush of love ran through Rhiannon, and she had to take a sip of juice to counter the lump in her throat. Katrina actually did care more about getting a cat than her shares.

  When Rhiannon had been lost and alone, her reputation tarnished among those who might hire her, and her possibility for making it big almost nil, Katrina had pulled a last-minute Hail Mary.

  Rhiannon had come to this house. Katrina had, silently, slid a blank check across the same table they were eating breakfast at. “I want to fund your next venture. I believe in you.”

  “Do you have any idea how much a start-up costs?” she’d asked Katrina.

  Katrina’s eyes had been kind. “Do you have any idea how much my husband left me? I have money. You have the brains. Make money for both of us.”

  At the time, Rhiannon had assumed Katrina’s quiet but lush lifestyle was funded by her previous modeling career and truly hadn’t had any idea how much money a famous Indian jeweler could leave his much younger wife. It turned out, a lot.

  Katrina put her fork down, her plate cleaned. She was a fast eater. “I did happen to live-stream the audio of that interview you did. You were great, even handling that stupid question about your hiring practices. Was the football player as hot as he sounded?”

  Rhiannon took a giant gulp of orange juice, draining the glass. She wished she’d thought to make mimosas. Not because she liked mimosas, but because then there would be a champagne bottle on the table. “Yeah, so. Funny story.”

  “Oh?”

  “The football player was B.B.”

  “What?”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh my God. Hashtag BeachBastard? How could you not text me immediately?”

  “I was still . . . processing it.” She’d processed it for the rest of the day after the interview and all of yesterday too. Processing it had given her such a stress headache, she’d moved her flight so she could leave after her very last commitment yesterday.

  Rhiannon didn’t keep many secrets from Katrina. She’d told her all about Samson when she’d returned from Cayucos, pissed and hurt. Katrina had been adequately outraged on her behalf. She’d initially referred to Samson as #BeachDick, but #BeachBastard had alliteration going for it.

  “What on earth was hashtag BeachBastard doing there?”

  “From what I gathered, Annabelle’s a family friend.”

  Katrina bared her teeth. “He went from ghosting you to talking about how he’s looking for love on Matchmaker? What garbage.”

  Rhi slammed her fist down on the table. “That’s what I said! Total hot garbage.”

  “I should have asked you for his name when you came back from that trip, but I only wanted to call him a dick.”

  “Because he was a dick.” Rhiannon rested her elbows on the table. “You know of him? Would you have recognized his name?” Katrina followed sports a little better than Rhiannon did.

  “Yeah. I mean, he hasn’t played in years, but he’s more famous for his family than his career anyway. His dad and uncle were both Hall of Famers.” She screwed her face up. “There was some drama when Samson retired, but I don’t remember what, exactly.”

  “I don’t care about his past.” When it came to Samson, she knew quite enough, thank you.

  “I can’t imagine how awkward that interview must have been for you, and now I’m more impressed at how well you kept your shit together.” Katrina gasped. “Ah God, all the double meanings now. Was he talking about you? How he didn’t intend to—” Katrina paused and Rhiannon waited patiently for her to voice her outrage over how stupid it was to claim one wasn’t intending to throw someone aside.

  I didn’t intend to ghost you was fast becoming the mealymouthed I didn’t intend to hurt you of the dating world, and Rhiannon was sick of it.

  “Wait a minute.”

  “What?”

  “He said he had a personal emergency. That was why he ghosted you.”

  Rhiannon snorted. “A hypothetical.”

  A frown creased Katrina’s otherwise smooth brow. She often got skin care tips and products from Lakshmi. “Or real.”

  “If that’s his excuse, it could mean anything. Or, yanno, he’s lying.”

  “Oh yikes.”

  “What? Do you know something?”

  “He may not have been lying. The timing would fit with . . .” Katrina hopped up from the table and retrieved her phone from the counter. She typed something in, scrolled for a minute or two, and then grimaced before sitting down again and placing the phone faceup on the table.

  “What’s this?” Rhiannon peered at the ESPN article.

  “I remember hearing about Big Joe Lima’s death a few months ago. That’s his uncle, Rhi.”

  Rhiannon skimmed the article, each word increasing her sense of foreboding. Long battle . . . ALS and Parkinson’s . . . chronic illness . . . brain donated to the Concussion Research Alliance . . . survived by his nephew . . .

  The short bio ended with the date of death. Rhiannon compared it to her mental calendar. “His uncle died a few days after we were supposed to meet.”

  “That would probably be what he was talking about.”

  A sick feeling descended on Rhiannon, and she put her phone down. Underneath that sickness, there was another feeling, one she couldn’t quite identify. “Probably.”

  Katrina’s smile was pained. “Rhi.”

  “Don’t say it.” She could see it, the slight hopeful look in her friend’s eyes, and she didn’t want that hope to infect her.

  “What do you think I’m going to say?”

  Unlike Rhiannon, Katrina was a soft romantic, though she hadn’t dated anyone in years. She couldn’t go out to too many public places where she didn’t fear a panic attack. “That he had a valid reason for not showing up that night.”

  “I don’t know if I’d call it a valid reason, but it seems like extenuating circumstances.”

  Rhiannon pulled her sleeves down so she could stick her thumbs through the thumbholes. These were her favorite kinds of sweatshirts, the ones with the long sleeves so she could cover her palms. They hugged her best.

  Katrina cocked her head. “Could he have reasonably gotten ahold of you to explain he’d had an emergency sometime between standing you up and the conference?”

  She’d unmatched him on the a
pp, she never gave anyone her real number. Plus, the fake name and all. “No,” she said grudgingly, that sick feeling growing.

  “Did he try to talk to you at the conference? I mean, when you weren’t being recorded.”

  He’d chased her in that ballroom. “Kinda.”

  Katrina tapped her fingers on the counter. The silence stretched between them and Rhiannon finally made a frustrated noise. “Say what you want to say.”

  “I was only thinking . . . ninety-nine percent of the time, immediate block for ghosting, right? This might be the .01 percent time when a ghoster wasn’t being a total cowardly dog.”

  Rhiannon folded her arms, then unfolded them. She thought of how tender Samson’s hands had been on her skin. When he’d pushed inside her, he’d leaned down and whispered in her ear. It’s been so long since I’ve done this. Tell me if it’s good for you. “So? So what?”

  “So he hurt you when he ghosted you. Doesn’t it bring you some closure to know it wasn’t about you at all?”

  “He didn’t hurt me,” Rhiannon snapped, even though she knew the snap was unfair.

  Katrina’s eyes softened. “Of course.”

  “I am not easy to hurt. I am a stone cold bitch when it comes to men. No rose-colored glasses here.”

  Katrina toyed with her phone. “Rhiannon . . . you’re not that much of a cynic. I think you’re actually kind of a romantic.”

  Rhiannon gasped, like her best friend had stabbed her. “You shut your beautiful perfect mouth.”

  Katrina did not shut her delightful mouth. Oh no, she kept going. “You watch holiday movies every year. You try to hide it, but I see you crying.”

  “Find me the empty soul who doesn’t get emotional over While You Were Sleeping.”

  Katrina rolled her eyes. “You send gifts to everyone who sends their success story in to Crush. Wedding and engagement and civil union and housewarming and baby gifts.”

  “I send branded gifts. I want that kid to be sucking on their Crush rattle from birth, damn it, so it knows from whence it came. That’s business. It’s almost automated.”

  Anyone else might be intimidated by her rising voice, but Katrina wasn’t anyone else. She cleared her throat. “Is it business to send a personalized note of congratulations with the gift?”

  “You’re not allowed to talk to Lakshmi anymore.”

  “You were more upset than I’ve seen you over a guy when you came back from Cayucos. You may have had one night with him, but you liked him, and he betrayed you, extenuating circumstances or not. It’s normal to have been hurt. It’s normal to want to know what happened, and to be relieved when you find out it wasn’t about you.”

  The sympathy in Katrina’s demeanor should have warmed Rhiannon, but it made her want to claw her skin off. There was nobody in the world who knew as much about her life as Katrina did, and most days, that was fine. She needed one confidante who could be there for her 100 percent.

  But being vulnerable wasn’t easy for her. Her sense of vulnerability was compounded by the layer of shame she felt over bolting from the party. And again from the interview.

  Weakness. Weakness on top of weakness. “I was fine. I’m fine now.” Rhiannon picked up their plates and utensils and carried them to the sink. She rinsed them off and put them in the dishwasher.

  “I know your rules when it comes to guys, and I know why you have those rules in place. Sometimes rules don’t apply to every situation.”

  After a couple of moments of silence, Katrina blew out a breath. “Okay. I’ll be in my office if you want to talk.”

  Rhiannon finished putting away the dishes and carefully washed her hands. A romantic? Hurt? Her? No.

  So why did you run away from him?

  Because she’d wanted to. She didn’t have to explain herself to anyone! No one would blame her for running away from a zombie, five-time orgasm deliverer or not.

  Rhiannon had about a million other things to do, but she found herself wandering down the hallway to Katrina’s office. She hovered in the doorway. The light bounced off Katrina’s shiny light brown hair when she lifted her head from the gold wire spread out over her desk. “Fine. I was hurt.”

  Katrina sat back in her chair. Her workroom was in another corner of the house, but she tinkered with metal and stones wherever inspiration struck her. “I know.”

  “You would have talked to him? Given him a chance to explain?” Rhiannon asked. Her throat felt rough, the words pulled out of her.

  “Probably.” Katrina tipped her head at the armchair opposite her.

  Rhiannon came in and perched on the edge of it. “Why? You know the stats, as well as I do.”

  Katrina squinted at her. “Imagine I went out with a date one night. It was really good. We made plans for a second date. And then, before I could go on that date, I had a panic attack, one of my incapacitating ones, and I stood him up. For whatever reason, I couldn’t immediately contact him, but I managed to track him down after a few months. Should he hear me out? Should he give me the benefit of the doubt?”

  Rhiannon ran her tongue over her teeth. Katrina knew very well what Rhiannon would say to that, but then again, she was always on Katrina’s side. “Okay. I see where you’re going with this.”

  “Sometimes, good people make mistakes. It costs you nothing to hear someone out.”

  “No. It does cost you something.” Because if you believed that person when you heard them out, and then they betrayed you, you ended up doubly hurt. Easier to give people one shot.

  Katrina rose from her chair, walked around the desk, and sat in the seat next to Rhiannon’s. “I misspoke. You’re right, no one is entitled to your time and energy and forgiveness.” She grasped Rhiannon’s hands and pressed them tight, well aware of how much Rhiannon liked pressure against her skin. “You’d never believe someone blindly, and I’m not telling you to. But you can believe with evidence.”

  Rhiannon lifted one shoulder. “Okay. Fine. I do feel relieved I didn’t totally misjudge him. And I feel . . . kinda bad for him. So what? What does any of this mean or change? Do I go see him now and let him explain himself?” As soon as she uttered the words, a terrifying sense of rightness settled over her.

  “Would that make you feel better? If he wants to apologize, if there’s an excuse he can give you that would lessen your hurt, you can let him. You don’t need to take him back or date him—”

  “I don’t date anyway,” Rhiannon reminded Katrina hastily.

  “Right.” But there was still a hopeful light in her friend’s eyes that made Rhiannon nervous. “I’m just saying, do whatever will make you feel better. And if that’s never talking to this dude again, fine, I will not say another word. I only want you to be happy and healthy.”

  Rhiannon swallowed. She momentarily shoved aside her defenses and let her vulnerability peek through. “I think I want to see him again, but not for an apology, necessarily.”

  “Then why?”

  She whispered the words, like she was confessing a deep dark secret. “I ran away from him.”

  “What?”

  Rhiannon exhaled. “I ran away from him. I freaked out when I saw him at the conference and I ran away. Twice.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. That’s his final sight of me, me running away. So maybe . . .” She sighed, working through it in her head. “I should see him. I can redeem myself.”

  “There’s nothing to redeem.”

  Rhiannon shrugged. “My brain doesn’t understand that. Okay. Fine. Closure, I guess?”

  “I am a big fan of closure.”

  Decision made, Rhiannon raised her voice. “Sienna, call Lakshmi.”

  A pleasant woman’s mildly robotic voice spilled from the speakers in the room. “Calling Lakshmi.”

  Lakshmi answered immediately. “Hey, boss.”

  “Hi. Katrina’s here.” Not everyone at Crush knew Katrina. Katrina had created a Fortress of Solitude up here, and she had her reasons for wanting
to keep her identity as quiet as possible.

  Katrina spoke. “Hello, Lakshmi.”

  “Hello, bosses.”

  “Can you get me info on Samson Lima?”

  “Sure. He gave me his card after your interview. He wrote his personal cell on it.”

  Genuinely startled, Rhiannon exchanged a glance with Katrina. “You didn’t tell me that.” She and Lakshmi had been almost joined at the hip yesterday.

  Lakshmi’s voice turned dry. “You’ve told me, and I quote, If a guy gives you his card to give to me, shred it.”

  Oh right. She had told Lakshmi that, but only because it was weird when people tried to pick her up or get at her through her assistant.

  “I actually don’t shred them, by the way. Or at least, I take a photo of them before I toss them. Want his cell?”

  Rhiannon wrinkled her nose. Did she? Not really. She didn’t like talking to people on the phone for non-awkward conversations. Awkward ones really should be in person. “Can you find out his social calendar? If he’s going to any parties, events, engagements in L.A. anytime soon?”

  “No problem. He’s their face, his schedule will be easy enough to get. What are you gonna do, ask him to talk to Annabelle for you?”

  Rhiannon opened her mouth, then closed it again.

  Wait a minute.

  Wait. A. Damn. Minute.

  Had her brain turned to jelly? Why hadn’t she thought of that? All this agonizing over whether she should ever see Samson again, and she’d forgotten the number one practical reason to get back in front of him.

  The night she’d slept with Samson, he’d said he’d grown up in Cayucos and moved back as an adult. Annabelle had a fucking beach house there. She’d introduced his parents! They were tighter than tight.

  Lakshmi continued speaking when Rhiannon was silent. “Is tomorrow soon enough? I have to get the rest of our stuff squared away here in Austin.”

  “Take a few days,” Katrina interjected and gave Rhiannon a warning look that shut her mouth. “Rhiannon needs to relax from her trip.”

  Rhiannon didn’t know what relaxation was, but she couldn’t admit that. It would prove Katrina and her mom right. “Yeah, what she said,” she confirmed grudgingly.