More Than Water (35 page)

“Good morning, Evelyn,” she says conversationally, exuding properness and esteem. “You look very pretty today. I like your hair down like that.”

“Thank you. You look nice as well,” I compliment her.

The driver turns over the ignition and proceeds to pull away from my apartment building, taking us to our brunch destination with my father’s potential clients. Seeing how the company is family-based, it was stressed to me that a family front would go a long way in sealing the deal. This isn’t the first time I’ve helped my parents’ business like this and likely won’t be the last. Even though we might be divided on some of our views, we are still a unit, and I would never turn my back on that.

“I assume you got the email with the information about the client?” my mother asks, tucking a loose strand of hair back into place. “Your father’s assistant was supposed to forward it to you.”

“Yes,” I confirm, recalling it landing into my inbox earlier. “She sent it to me this morning, but I haven’t had a chance to look it over.” I cringe, knowing she won’t be pleased with my lack of knowledge. I try to brush over it by saying, “I was hoping you could brief me before we got there.”

“I wish you had at least perused it,” she scolds.

Just keep the conversation flowing.
“Daddy already told me it’s a family company, and they like to work with family businesses. I wasn’t really sure the rest mattered too much.”

“You should know better, Evelyn.” She glares at me. “Of course it matters. This is a huge client, and your father has personally been working to get this account for months. You know he doesn’t usually scout and cater like this for prospective clients, but this one needed some special hand-holding.”

“Yes. You’re right.” I set my eyes on the seat in front of me. “Could you please inform me, so I don’t embarrass myself or anyone else?”

“Fine,” she huffs, straightening in her seat as the driver turns onto the highway to take us downtown. “Blake Laboratories is a multibillion dollar family-run company that specializes in drug manufacturing. Deidre and Foster Blake started the business a little over fifty years ago, and it’s now run by their son, Clayton, and his wife, Susan. Their main office is here, but they also run two other labs—one in Georgia and the other in Texas, headed by two other family members.”

Blake Laboratories?

Blake Laboratories…

Blake.

“Evelyn?” my mother prods. “Are you listening?”

I gulp. “Yes, sorry. Go on. I’m just taking it all in.”

“Maybe you should have gotten a good night’s sleep, and then your attention span would have been better.”

“You’re right,” I agree, not wanting to argue. “Tell me, what else do I need to know?”

“This is the first time the company is in need of assistance with grand-scale advertising and marketing. It’s not like drug manufacturers really need advertising, but they’re launching themselves into the health and wellness market. The company is planning to release a revolutionary skincare line over the next year—combining scientific research with natural products. Your father is working on a proposal that will effectively promote the line as the perfect combination of Mother Nature and man-made beauty. It’s going to do very, very well and even better with our company’s help. This morning, your father met with Clayton and Susan along with their son, Foster.”

“Foster?” I question, quickly making the connection.

“Yes…” she drawls like I possess a low-mental capacity. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

“No. I thought you said that was the grandfather’s name,” I state, trying to cover my growing anxiety attack.

“It was. He’s passed away, but it’s the grandson’s name as well.” She pops open her purse, pulling out a compact to freshen her makeup. “Clayton and Susan are the owners now. Anyhow, they all met this morning to go over the proposal, and now, it’s our turn to cozy them up a little more and hopefully seal the deal. Their other son, Harold, will be joining us, too. He’s still in high school. Just be nice to him.”

The driver takes the downtown exit off the highway, and my brain is working on overdrive, trying to connect all the dots.

Are there dots to connect?

Blake Laboratories.

Multibillion-dollar company.

Foster Blake.

I know a Foster Blake—and his penis—but he couldn’t possibly be associated with the business the woman to my left is describing.

“This is for a huge campaign, Evelyn,” my mother stresses again as the vehicle brakes at an intersection. “And I’m confident you will help your father in any way you can.”

“Of course,” I say on autopilot. “Absolutely.”

Two more blocks down the street, our car stops in front of a historic hotel. The driver opens the door and assists us to the sidewalk. My mother then struts confidently through the revolving doors of the old building like she owns the town with me fast on her heels. We check our coats at the host station of the restaurant, and then a tall woman leads us to the back of the dining room, opening a set of mirrored doors to a private space.

Talking within the room ceases.

Everyone turns to greet us.

Time stands still—or maybe it never truly started.

Five people sit at the formal table, dressed and suited for business.

I recognize all of them, save for one—a young man. I assume he is Harold Blake.

I see Foster.

My Foster.

My Fozzie.

I’m at a loss for words. He doesn’t move, and neither do I—caught in this surreal moment of secrets, half-truths, and the mother of all coincidences.

Everyone rises from their chairs as my mother and I take the final steps to join my father and the Blake family. My gaze never wanders from Foster’s, like a child glaring at the sun during an eclipse, mesmerized.

My father takes my mother’s hand, kisses her on the cheek, and then introduces her to Susan, Clayton, Foster, and finally, Harold.

The Blake family.

The owners of Blake Laboratories.

A motherfucking drug-manufacturing empire.

“And this is our Evelyn,” my father announces. “She actually attends college nearby.”

“We’ve met before,” Foster’s mother says warmly, genuinely happy to see me.

“Is that so?” My mother speculatively peers at me.

“Yes. Foster introduced us about a month ago at a family friend’s wedding.”

“Oh.” My mother smiles, taking noted interest in Foster on the other side of the table. “I had no idea.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” I say to Mr. and Mrs. Blake. Then, I peek at Foster. “And quite a coincidence.”

“A good one though,” my mother offers.

“Yes,” Susan agrees. “Definitely.”

“Shall we all have a seat?” Clayton suggests.

My father pulls out a chair for my mother and then takes a seat across from Foster’s father. This is a tactic I’ve seen my dad use for years, never taking the head of the table to keep everyone feeling equal in these settings. Before I sink down into the chair next to my mother, Foster circles around the table and sidles up next to me.

“Allow me,” he insists, scooting the seat back.

I lower myself onto the cushion. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He leans down, whispering into my ear, “You look very beautiful…and not yourself.”

“You look different, too,” I comment, equally as quiet.

“Did you know about this?”

“The meeting?”

“You know what I’m asking.” His breath brushes softly at the shell of my ear. “My family.”

“No.” My disillusioned eyes meet his own, free of their glasses. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The corners of his mouth turn downward. “Maybe I should ask the same of you.”

“Foster,” his father says, “why don’t you have a seat, so we can order? We don’t have much time before our flight.”

“Right. Of course.” Foster pushes my seat inward and then rounds the rectangular table, taking a place across from me, next to his mother and brother.

“Evelyn,” my mother says secretly into my ear, “you never mentioned that you went to a wedding.”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“Well, it is when it’s with someone like Foster Blake. How do you two know one another?”

“We work together at the library.”

“Is that all?”

“What are you asking me?”

She measures Foster, who is sitting across from us. “He’s a very handsome man.” She pauses. “And comes from a good upbringing.”

I groan. “He’s nice, Mother,” I state, giving her zero satisfaction.

As the server fills the water glasses, my mother leans forward, addressing Foster, “So, you and my daughter know one another?”

“We do.” Foster narrows his brows. “We know each other pretty well actually.”

“She tells me that you work together?”

“Yes. I’ve had the enjoyment of working with EJ since early fall quarter.”

“EJ?”

“I thought that was how she liked to be addressed?” he challenges, unfolding the napkin and placing it on his lap.

“Oh, that’s right,” my mother politely plays off, lightly dabbing her brow. “I forgot. I’ve always called her Evelyn.”

I give Foster an angered look, begging him not to prod the cow next to me any further.

“Maybe it’s time for a change?” he suggests, ignoring my silent cue.

My mother stiffens. “I’m always open to new ideas.”

“That’s very…proactive of you.”

Resisting the urge to kick him under the table, I turn my focus toward the polite conversation happening between my father and Susan. Always the charismatic man, my dad is attentive during the discussion. My mother finds the appropriate places to comment as well, keeping everyone engaged. She executes social grace with effortless perfection.

Foster partakes in idle conversation with his brother, sporadically peeking in my direction.

For possibly the first time in my life, I’m at a loss for how to behave in a situation. I’ve been groomed and trained for these occasions, but the man across the table has pulled the wool over my eyes, leaving me in a stupor. Foster continues to surprise me—first, with what he is, and now, with who he is.

When the first course is delivered, the table falls silent to enjoy the meal. Foster and I share many wordless looks, both of us playing the polite counterparts in order to get through this awkward and somewhat revealing ordeal. We definitely need to talk once we have a private moment—to clear the air, if nothing else.

He’s kept his wealth hidden, as have I. There are many reasons to do so—privacy, judgment, and protection, to name a few. Mine is to protect the fantasy that I can lead a typical life.

I wonder about his reasons.

“Evelyn,” Susan addresses me when she finishes a bite of her salad, “your mother mentioned that you’ll be heading to graduate school come this fall. That must be very exciting for you.”

Foster audibly drops the fork to his plate.

“I’m weighing my options,” I politely tell her. “There’s still time.”

“Oh, yes, of course. You wouldn’t want to make a hasty decision.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Foster adds loud enough for everyone to hear.

“How about yourself?” my father questions the man across the table from me. “What are your plans for the fall?”

“I’ll be heading to the Knight Management Center.”

“Stanford Business School,” my mother states, her tone laced with respect. “That is quite impressive.”

“Foster is very adamant about his studies,” his mother comments. “He’s quite determined.”

“Diligence and a strong work ethic will always get you far.”

“We tend to agree.”

Foster glares at me across the table, like he’s urging me to say something.

“Have you ever seen Evelyn’s work?” Foster asks my father.

My mother perks up, giving Foster her full attention.

“Yes,” my father states, wiping his mouth. “Evelyn has been creating beautiful things since she was a child.”

“She’s very talented. Wouldn’t you agree?” he says, insistent.

“Yes. I’ve always enjoyed seeing her pieces.”

“Her pieces?” Susan questions.

“Evelyn is an artist, and she has quite a unique way of seeing things. I’ve never seen anything like it. She takes some of the simplest subjects and puts a new twist and perspective on them, telling an unseen story. I’ve been helping her with a project over the past few months.” He turns his focus to me. “She’s even inspired me.”

Susan shifts her eyes between Foster and me, expressing affection.

The server returns, clears our plates, and refills our drinks. My father begins a new conversation at the table, engaging everyone on the casual topic of their favorite vacation places.

“Foster is enamored with you,” my mother echoes softly, only for my ears. “You really should consider getting to know him better.”

I close my eyes, stifling out her constant meddling. There’s no doubt in my mind that she wouldn’t even give Foster a second thought in regard to us
courting
, if it weren’t for the fact that his billionaire family has…well, billions.

“And he even likes your artwork,” she adds. “Not that it has as much value as an MBA, but I’m happy it was able to grab his attention. I might have underestimated its draw.”