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“Where?”
“That’s for me to know and you to discover.”
He felt so tired, so heavy, he couldn’t even care. Gravity pulled on every part of him, and he wanted to lie down and let it have him.
Just give up.
Just quit.
He might have. Except if he didn’t have Sunnyvale—if he didn’t have a way to prove his worth to Heberto, to Carmen—then what did he have?
Nothing.
At eighteen, he’d been emancipated from the foster care system and kicked out of the house he’d grown up in by a man who no longer wanted to be his father.
Something wrong with you.
Never want to see you again.
He’d moved to Princeton, New Jersey, to begin an education paid for by another man. A stranger who despised his values but admired his energy. Heberto Zumbado had read Roman’s entry in an essay contest, and he’d taken Roman on as a project.
Never mind that Roman’s essay had been, essentially, a middle finger brandished at Zumbado’s anti-Castro, pro-capitalist ethos. Roman was deep in his Cuban revolutionary phase at the time, and he’d written a screed about Che Guevara and the New Man that must have made Heberto’s blood pressure spike. Still, Heberto had seen Roman’s potential, and he’d shaken his hand and voted for it in the way that counted most: with his own money.
He’d paid every cent of Roman’s tuition and board, and when he found out Roman had no home to visit, he flew him to Miami for Thanksgiving and Christmas from then on.
Heberto gave him summer jobs. Heberto molded him into the man he’d become.
Heberto had voted for Roman’s Coral Cay development with his own money, and Roman would come through. He had to. He owed it to Heberto—this offering, this proof that he’d been a worthwhile investment.
More than that, he owed it to himself, because once he had the first phase of Coral Cay done, Heberto would buy out Ojito Enterprises and make Roman a partner. Then he’d be set for life. Wealthy enough to buy a house in Coral Gables and a ring he wouldn’t be ashamed to give to Carmen.
They didn’t let people like Ashley Bowman past the gates in Coral Gables. Money would make him impermeable.
Safe.
“How long does this trip last?” he asked.
“As long as it takes.”
“No.”
Ashley leaned forward and rubbed her thumb over the chipped blue polish on her big toe. “You’re not in a position to say no.”
“Give me an upper limit.”
“Two weeks.”
Two weeks, when Carmen had said Monday.
He already knew whose timeline was going to win. Carmen had faith in him, but she hadn’t met Ashley. She didn’t know.
If Ashley wanted two weeks, she was going to get them.
“You should just drag me out into the swamp and feed me to the gators.”
“I’m going to drag you all over the country instead. And introduce you to my friends.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
