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A black SUV is waiting at the curb with a big-ass dude waiting by the back door. His outfit, build, and blank expression all scream he’s a bodyguard and isn’t trying to hide it in the least. He nods stoically at us as soon as we cross the threshold and opens the back door for us. So he knew what we looked like.
We climb in silently and I notice a woman—I’d say she’s in her late twenties—is in the passenger seat. When the door closes behind me, she turns and with an incredibly wide—and more astonishingly,genuine—smile, introduces herself.
“Hi, I’m Paula, Mr. Crawford’s assistant. Thank you guysso muchfor taking the time to meet with him.” The car starts to move as she continues. “I told him this morning after he sent the email,”he sent it himself?“he was being mean by giving you such short notice, but this is kind of an emergency. Which you guys will find out more about it in a few minutes. Aaaaanyway, slight change of plans, instead of going to his office, I’m taking you guys to Mr. Crawford’s residence. Because of… well life, I guess—his life I mean,” God this girl cantalk,“I’ll ask you to leave your phones and any other devices you may have with you in the car. You will be checked before entering the residence for any listening devices and then asked to sign an NDA.” She finally takes a deep breath—I was getting worried. Also, how can someone say the words ‘listening devices’ and ‘NDA’ while maintaining such a happy and open expression?
“That’s fine,” I answer, and Zoe nods but stays quiet. We both take out our phones and tablets and after turning them all off, place them in the compartments behind the front seats.
I try to discreetly look at Zoe, and although I can see she has some suspicions, I can also see the glint of a challenge in her eyes. No one else would know what she’s thinking like I do, so I don’t worry about it.
I think it’s perfectly normal for a man of Crawford’s stature to go to such lengths to assure his privacy. I find the change of location way more intriguing than the NDA or security check, though.
The SUV stops next to a wide building on Fifth Avenue—only about four stories tall—that has a…is that a garage gate?
Who the fuck has a garage in Manhattan?
I guess the guy who owns most of it…
The gate opens and the car passes through a tunnel that’s about as long as the car. Then we’re back in the sunlight and I realize the building is a hollowed-out square… at least I think it is. I can see a front-yard filled with naked Christmas trees and Santa decorations. The whole façade is lined with lights though they’re off right now.
Jesus fucking Christ this is probably the most impressive thing I’ve seen in my life. A house on Fifth Avenue with a front yard and parking space. It's a driveway that circles the yard, and the car stops right in front of a big dark wood door.
My door opens as I keep mentally gawking at the set-up, looking back at where we came from, I can see an open hallway divided by arches—which are also decorated with garland—underneath the structure surrounding the courtyard. That’s what it is, a courtyard, like a fucking castle. In Manhattan.
I mean… this is insane. From the outside, and I guess from the neighboring buildings you’d think this was just one more five-story building on Fifth Avenue. Close to Washington Square Park, all the buildings start to be that high. No one can see the garden and driveway in the center. Maybe not right in the center, as the main house seems to be deeper than the rooms surrounding the courtyard’s side and front.
I nod and mutter a quiet thanks to the bodyguard when he opens my door. I’m trying really hard not to let my thoughts show on my face. Paula stops in a foyer where, like she promised, we’re checked for listening devices then we sign two NDAs. Finally, she leads us to a heavily decorated family room, another surprise. I thought we’d meet Mr. Crawford at an office. And alone. This one has only one Christmas tree and it doesn’t look professionally decorated, but more like children did it. The messiness doesn’t take away from the cheerful display, and I can even see some homemade ornaments.
His children, mother, and Mike McKinnley are all present, comfortably sitting on a huge couch and watching some sports talk show. They all get up as we enter and Paula leaves discreetly. Mike is the one my eyes naturally gravitate toward first. He’s the tallest, obviously, but he also has crumbs on his beard and also on his shirt which he’s dusting off with a sheepish look on his face.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, and walk to the person closest to me, Crawford’s daughter, Iris. “I’m Tristan Jones.” I offer her my hand. I think I’m doing an okay job of not showing my astonishment. The house looks lit up from the inside, with all-white walls but lots of color in the decor and furniture. All the garland and twinkling lights surrounding the room help. It looks light, airy, and homey. How in the fuck can a mansion feel homey?
“Iris,” she says with an approving smile.
I hear Zoe introduce herself as well as I make my way to the other Iris—Crawford’s mother—his son, and Mike. I have to control my inner fanboy from coming out when I greet the gentle giant, and I manage it, barely. I repeat the words,again,when I get to the man himself, and the presence and power he exudes is undeniable.
A tall man, six feet at the very least, with wide shoulders, wearing a perfectly pressed and tailored shirt that shows off nicely toned arms, piercing blue eyes, and a perfect jaw. I give myself a second to appreciate how handsome he is, then I activate my work mode and try to look at him as an unappealing blob of flesh.
Once the introductions are done, we all sit and Crawford smiles, blindingly perfect, it makes my brain go fuzzy. Fuck, this man could make even more billions being a model.
“Thank you for coming here, and I’m sorry for all the theatrics but we always have to be very careful with who we let into our home.” He does look apologetic, which I don’t get. I’m about to say so, but Zoe gets there first.
“We understand, and no need to apologize. We’re assuming you asked for a consult from us because this is a personal matter and meeting us with your family present and in your home only reinforces that. So tell us, what can we help with?”
Like always, I’m amazed at my sister’s poise and calming presence once more as she crosses her legs and places both hands on her knee. Her words seemed to have been the right ones because every person in the room smiles at us.
“They’re perfect for this, Dad. I’m telling you,” Iris says as she turns to look at him.
“We’ll see.” He smiles briefly at her then looks back at us and clears his throat. “My board of directors is demanding I find a partner. It’s how they phrased it at least. They want me to appear as more of a ‘family man’ to the world to ‘calm investors’.” The eye roll is very endearing, but the way he quotes with his fingers while looking petulant makes me think he doesn’t take himself too seriously. Who would’ve thought?
“My son,” he waves his hand in Theo’s direction, “suggested I try to stick it to them by dating a man. And well… I haven’t dated in a longtime.” Mike snickers and gets a halfhearted slap on the arm from his boyfriend—who’s fighting a smile. “Shut up, Mike,” Crawford gripes without looking his way. “I want to find someone to date myself,” he grimaces, “eventually.” The way this explanation is going is only confusing me further and I’m sure Zoe’s on the same boat until she speaks.
“You want us to help you find a fake boyfriend,” she says matter-of-factly, proving me wrong. She’s not in the same boat as me. I’m a little mad at myself for not seeing where this was going. “Someone who’s up to the task for a few months, someone who maybe needs good press, too, and someone who’s also in the spotlight.Hmm,” she finishes with her thoughtful hum. The one that tells me she’s already going through the appropriate candidates in existence in her head.
“Yes,” Crawford and both his children answer at the same time. His mother, wearing a very festive Christmas sweater, harrumphs and looks away.
My sister gets up and starts to pace.
“She does that when she’s thinking,” I explain.
