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In truth, that was exactly where my mind had gone.
I reddened. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I can live with one hundred thousand getting wiped off the books, but this is one present I won’t accept.”
Okay, so Plan A was off the table. What was my Plan B?
A thought occurred to me. It was pretty bold, but hey, I was feeling bold lately.
“This is crazy, but how would you feel about coming with me out to California? We could start our new lives, together. One new life, for the both of us.”
Her lips twisted, and my heart thudded. Had I pushed too hard?
“That sounds intriguing,” she admitted. “But I don’t have many skills besides, like, food service. I never even went to college. What if I can’t find a job out there?”
“First of all, any employer would be lucky to have you.”
“Because I sleep with my boss?”
I snorted, laughter filling my chest. “Very funny. Because you’re a damned hard worker. But it’d be my honor to take care of you while you find a job, if you decide you want one at all. Supporting you would finally be a good use of all my fucking money. Consider it… reparations… for how Dazzlers impacted your family, and your life. Seriously, I’m asking for the privilege of watching out for you.”
Kiki was so stubborn, there was no way this was gonna work. She was gonna insist on supporting herself, and say that my offer was an insult. I braced myself for the let-down, the fight, the end of it all. At least I’d shot for the moon, right?
To my utter shock, she replied, “Yes. Yes, okay. It’s scary to be dependent on somebody else, but — and I can’t believe I’m saying this — I trust you.”
A sound of pure joy emerged from my throat, and I pulled Kiki in close to me, hugging her so tightly to make sure this was real, that it wasn’t a figment of my imagination.
“I love you,” I repeated for what felt like the millionth time.
We kissed once more. Each kiss was more perfect than the last. In a week’s time, we’d be experts at kissing. After a lifetime? We’d be veritable gods.
I slipped my hand behind my back without breaking the kiss and rolled down the driver’s window.
I turned my head away from Kiki’s lips just enough to call out to the driver, “Take us straight to Palo Alto.”
EPILOGUE
Kiki
One Year Later
I STRODE ACROSS the white acrylic floor, my simple sneakers pounding the ground. There wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t thank my lucky stars that my job no longer required me to wear pinching heels or lingerie. Nobody in Silicon Valley, as it turned out, dressed in anything but sweatshirts and jeans. And for my part, I loved the new unspoken uniform.
Veronica, my assistant, ran up to me with an iPad, tapping furiously on the screen.
“You have a meeting with Tim at ten, then a focus group for the new updates at eleven. After that, it’s lunch with Giovanni.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Veronica.”
The girl bobbed and trotted back off.
As I passed the main engineer room, another employee — a coder, Amy — flagged me down, and I went to her sleek white desk covered in empty Coke cans.
“Amy?”
“We’re set for the update rollout. Demos all work, haven’t caught any bugs yet, all scans completed.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
“Thanks, boss,” she smiled.
I moved away from her table and back to my office.
For the first time in my life, I loved my job.
With Tate’s help, I’d created a new app all of my own. It wasn’t something I’d ever dreamed of doing, but the moment he suggested I find a way to utilize our place in Silicon Valley, the idea had dawned on me — an app for event staff, like bussers, bartenders, and yes, waitresses, to accept gigs. My fantasy had always been the little cabin in Washington, but as soon as I’d started pulling a team together for the app, I realized that this is what I was meant to do — lead, innovate, and actually help people.
The app — Giggr — was actually a huge hit in the service industry. We got messages from folks every day telling our team that we’d changed the way they got jobs. And we only charged the employers — not the service workers — for the use of our app, so the people making less money weren’t the ones paying our bills. As a former waitress, I knew that you couldn’t afford to lose any cash in overhead to get a job. In fact, I was able to bring loads of other knowledge to the table when starting the app. It made me different from the other Ivy Leaguers in the Valley, but also perhaps more effective.
And Tate hadn’t even really given me the money to start Giggr. I’d used the cash I’d won at our sexy little poker game. Okay, sure, he’d orchestrated that whole thing just to help me out, but still. My reasoning was I had to sit down and know how to play to get the money — it wasn’t totally a gift. All right, maybe it was, but I’m still working on my pridefulness, and this was how I avoided feeling guilty for taking his cash. At least I’d gotten to the point where I could accept his assistance when it was offered. That was progress.
