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‘Thank you, darling.’
One of the hardest things about growing up is realising your parents aren’t perfect. God knows my dad is no saint—far from it—but it’s when I look at my mum that my heart both breaks and grows hard. She is beautiful, intelligent, funny and yet she’s let a man diminish her to the point I know she doesn’t see those traits within herself. I feel a vulnerable, aching love for her, a desire to wake her up to the woman she is, but I know enough to know that kind of change has to come from within. I can’t force it on her, but that doesn’t make it any easier to see the way her confidence is battered on a daily basis. All I can do is firm my own resolve to never let a man disempower me.
‘Who’s interested?’ Simon isn’t going to let the conversation drop. That reminds me of Zach too. Of the easy way he took my cues and let conversations go when I wanted it. The contrast between them is one of many.
‘I’ve had dozens of offers,’ I say truthfully. My sister shoots me a look. Maybe she’s afraid my success emasculates her husband. For my part, I think his behaviour does a good enough job of that all on its own.
‘From anyone reputable?’
I fight an urge to roll my eyes. ‘Yes, Simon. From the big guys. Obviously. She-Shakes is one of the top one hundred apps globally. It’s prime to be snapped up. I’m aware of the commercial sense of that. But I’m also weighing up the future of the service. I don’t want it to become something that’s exploited purely for financial gain. This is a community, and I’m a part of it. If I were to sell—and that’s a big “if”—it would need to be completely on my terms.’
‘And what are your terms?’ my father asks, leaning forward a little.
‘I’d need to retain majority share,’ I say matter-of-factly.
Simon snorts again. ‘Jessica, that’s naïve and foolish. None of the tech giants are going to agree.’
‘Then I won’t sell,’ I say with a shrug.
‘And they’ll come up with a rival app.’
‘Maybe.’ I sip my champagne. ‘And if it does everything I do, then I guess I’ll have to put up with that. But for now my intention is to do it best, be the biggest, and to be a part of the c
ommunity I’ve built—a community I would never betray by hastily selling out to the wrong corporate partner.’ I put my cutlery down a little louder than intended. Perceiving the mood and the possibility that it might be about to sour, Mum smiles too brightly and scrapes her chair back. ‘Jessica, why don’t you help me with something in the kitchen?’
* * *
Three hours later, I feel as if I could weep. How can my mum stay married to him? My dad’s affair is now an open secret in our family. We know when he checks his phone at night that it’s highly likely to be from her. We know that the business meetings he ‘travels’ to once a fortnight are actually when he spends time with Ashwarya. We know he’s cheating, as he has done for all of their marriage, and yet none of us confronts him. I would. I’d do that any day, but love for Mum keeps me silent. She’s too proud, too old-fashioned, to want the hint of scandal, even within the family. The image she’s created of a perfect family is very important to her and she deserves better than for me to tear down that façade so cruelly. Before Patrick, I might have followed my instincts and done what I wanted but my instincts would be wrong. Just because I think Mum should leave Dad, it doesn’t mean it’s best for her.
Just as Jemima stays with Simon even when he’s clearly an arrogant, emotionally abusive prick who’s undoubtedly sleeping around behind her back—after all, if he’s willing to hit on her sister, what isn’t he doing? I ache to help Jemima but she claims to love him. My experience with She-Shakes has shown me, time and again, that a woman can only ever truly extricate herself from a bad relationship if it’s what she wants. I can’t want it enough for her. The only power I have to effect change for Jemima—and Mum—is to show unwavering love and support, so that they know I’ll have their backs when they need that.
My gaze is drawn to the hotel bar as I pass. I can’t help it. My eyes sweep the elegant space, as though looking for Zach. My heart rate increases exponentially and I hold my breath. But the bar is empty except for an older couple sitting at one of the lower-set tables, and the barman from last night behind the counter. He looks up as I pass and our eyes meet. He taps his forehead in a silent greeting and I smile before looking away, ignoring the festering of disappointment in the pit of my stomach.
Even the elevator reminds me of Zach. I stand in the corner we made out in, remembering the way he surrendered to me, the way he seemed to be on edge as we made out. The way he felt in my hand, the thrill of power that came from knowing his arousal was all for me...
I make a muted groaning noise as I step out of the elevator, reaching for my phone as I make my way down the long corridor. I have a dozen or so emails to deal with once I’ve showered the night off me.
I wasn’t exaggerating. I feel as if looking at potential purchase contracts is a huge part of my life now. I get legal advice too, but the control freak in me refuses to risk getting misinformation. I flag the three negotiation emails for later use and focus on the usual work emails. In order to provide the services we do, I have to have an array of professionals engaged in several countries. We have a network of legal teams who offer pro forma advice for free and more tailored advice for a massive discount, which is covered out of the subscription fees—that’s the model of my business, and why it works so well. One flat fee covers a whole raft of services. Some you’ll use, some you won’t, but, just like insurance, they’re there if and when you require them. The firms I use have a huge pro bono budget and they get a heap of advertising and extensive publicity in exchange. Keeping those networks in place and functioning means I can’t ever get complacent. I also make sure my team of customer support agents is constantly running surveys with our clients to ensure their needs are being met and I pride myself on being responsive to suggestions.
I don’t think my success is an accident.
I don’t think I got lucky.
I think I had a great idea and I gave myself over to it completely for at least two years, leaving nothing to chance, micromanaging every single aspect. I criss-crossed the globe to meet with lawyers, accountants, therapists, personal trainers and dieticians, all to make sure we were putting the best offering possible out into the ether.
I wish my mum or sister would try the goddamned app. I can only imagine what advice the community would give them.
With a grimace, I push the door to my suite open then press my back against it, allowing myself a minute to remember. I’ve been resisting these memories all day but now I let them seep into me, running a hand over the silky finish of my dress.
I move towards the orangery. Zach and my ghosts are on the sofa, where we sat and talked a bit like old friends. Strange that I felt so comfortable with him when I’m usually slow to relax my guard.
Twenty minutes later I’m showered and dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a singlet top. I have a large glass of pinot noir and a list of emails to respond to. I click my laptop open just as the bell peals into the apartment.
Frowning, I take a sip of the red wine as I stand, placing the glass on the dining table before crossing the suite towards the door. I lean forward so I can see through the peephole, then step back again immediately, as though there’s a raging fire on the other side.
Oh, my God.
It’s Zach.
