Underwater (3 page)

3

Proposal

M
onty banged the small computer desk hard with the side of his fist again and blew out air as he stared at his email inbox. “
Fuck
!
”

He ran his fingers through his thick hair and shook his head. What was he going to do if Candace just ignored his request for a hundred grand? That was her pattern. Whenever he asked her for anything, and especially if he threatened her, she ignored him. Perhaps he needed to follow through this time. It would be easy to do.

He looked at the clock—it was almost eight thirty. She was probably out to dinner somewhere with her scumbag-lawyer boyfriend. He dialed her number anyway.

“Hey,” he said after the beep, his tone friendly. “I’ve been wondering why you haven’t called me back after I tried you this morning. We need to discuss some specifics as to the property. I’ll be available after ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

He’d sleep on it, after a couple more drinks. Acting desperate and sorrowful worked much better than threats, he had found, and in the morning, once he had the place to himself, he’d apologize. Well, not exactly. He wouldn’t say he was sorry, but he would send her a semiregretful email. He’d attach a few photos of Adele. Better yet, he’d send a whole bunch of the latest photos of her in a separate email first. Candace was a sucker for that.

His beautiful daughter was looking more like his mother every day. He was glad she resembled his side of the family rather than Helen’s and that she looked nothing like Helen’s bitchy sister. He gazed at the framed photo on his desk of his mother, taken when he was a boy. He missed her, even after so many years. She’d been his only source of affirmation and encouragement. Assuring him that all good things would happen to him—that he deserved no less—she had treated him like a prince. She had constantly reassured him that he would never have to do menial work like his father did.

Candace probably couldn’t even have children by now, her eggs had gotten so old. Not that he was convinced that she wanted a kid. It seemed unlikely. She’d been dating—sleeping with—that asshole for a couple years now, and even though Monty hadn’t seen any indication that a legal attachment was imminent, one never knew. A newfound wish to have a baby (due to a midlife crisis?) might be the one and only reason she would consider sharing her millions with a spouse. Her boyfriend was an IPO lawyer and had helped take her company public a few years ago. He’d been extremely lucky in life so far, and so had Candace.

She thought that her obscene wealth was the result of hard work only, and that he was lazy. Ever since Monty could remember, she’d called him a slacker. But she didn’t understand that he worked very hard—with his mind. He was smarter than she was and much more intelligent than most people. Especially the schmucks who got up every single day and went to work at some nothing job for pennies. He was better than such idiots, most of whom didn’t even know how unhappy they were.

What annoyed him the most was that some of those half-wits made real money. But he was happy to have the freedom to spend his time the way he wanted. He’d go crazy if he had to live his life at the beck and call of someone else.

He stood up, stretched, and looked out the window. Let that paranoid bitch worry some more tonight about what he might do to her reputation. But he had to get that money. He owed three construction vendors about twenty grand, and he had his own plans for the other eighty. He poured himself another glass of vodka, and switching gears, sat back down at his laptop and began writing.

From: Monty Carawan

Sent: Tuesday, March 9, 2010 8:21 PM EST

To: Adam Langford

Subject: website venture

Adam:

Just wanted to touch base about your interest in personalassistant.com. As I said during our recent conversation, I have some very strong investors lined up to join you in making this a reality.

Let’s meet for drinks at the Ritz downtown when you are visiting next week. Let me know your schedule and I will be happy to meet at your convenience.

Best,

Monty Carawan

He had met Langford last month at a charity event. In a benevolent moment, Candace had invited him to it, saying it was a good opportunity to network and implying that he should mine her business contacts for a crappy position pushing paper for some middle manager. But he had finessed the situation by ingratiating himself with Langford, a hedge fund manager and a big swinging dick in the technology world. The guy lived in San Francisco and didn’t know Candace personally—they were acquainted through some women’s apparel company’s founder.

Monty had a talent for being able to read people, and right away he could tell that Langford was looking for something to invest in. So he pitched his idea for a website that would provide a subscriber with a virtual personal assistant. It would keep track of usernames and passwords, miles/points/rewards, debit and credit cards, buying and travel habits, Internet searches, and even taxes and social security.

It was a great idea—it had the potential to be even bigger than Facebook. Who wouldn’t want to use one website to manage all their personal information? Plus it would do away with spam and marketing emails by evaluating and streamlining offers from merchants. Reentering contact information each time a transaction was made would no longer be necessary. Calendar reminders, medical information, even showtimes for movies and concerts would all be in one place. It would revolutionize the Internet, and Monty was the creative genius behind it. It was his ticket to fortune, the one he had been waiting for.

He had picked up the necessary coding knowledge from some nerds he’d sucked up to, and he could figure out the rest. He had already put time into the site, starting with the spam and calendar segments. Adding other components would be simple, but he didn’t want to spend any more time on it until Langford pledged some funds and promised a customer base. Hopefully, the guy would seize the opportunity to partner with him and make a killing. When that happened, the world would begin to appreciate Monty Carawan and his talents.

He migrated to the worn camel-colored sofa and turned on the big-screen HD TV on the dresser against the opposite wall. Thank God he’d disconnected it and carried it out to the guesthouse when the basement flooded two years ago. Sipping his cocktail, he settled in and stretched out. He slept on this sofa about half the time now, which suited him fine. Sleeping in the bedroom with his daughter nestled on a toddler mattress next to the bed wasn’t ideal. This way he could get eight hours and not be awakened when they stirred in the morning. Tomorrow, he’d go for a run around nine o’clock or so, if the weather was decent.

A few hours later, naked and exhausted, Candace lay on her side next to Rob under the duvet, her head resting on his broad shoulder.

“How are you, darling?” he asked.

“Lovely.” She let out a deep breath.

“My very thought.”

Candace smiled and looked into his deep blue eyes. “Are you happy?”

“Ecstatic.” He nudged a strand of hair away from her face. “However, I could be happier.”

“How? I couldn’t.” She looked up at the ceiling.

“Couldn’t you?”

She turned back toward him and looked in his eyes again. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we make this relationship legal. ‘Marriage’ is the term, I believe.”

“You’re such a lawyer, Rob. Are you proposing? Because if so, that wasn’t very romantic.”

“Love,
you’re
not very romantic.”

She raised up on her elbow and gave him a look.

“I’m just being honest,” said Rob. “I’m not saying you don’t have feelings, or that you’re not feminine. I’m just saying that you’re not sappy or needy. You’re strong, successful, and confident.”

She smiled. “Go on.”

“And, you’re sexy, smart, and charming. Look at all that you’ve achieved.”

Candace raised her eyebrows. “But is that
all
I am? The head of a successful company?”

“No, you’re much more than that, and you know it. However, I dare say you’ve got more testosterone than most men.”

“Testosterone? What are you saying?”

“Darling, I mean that as a huge compliment. Of course I don’t mean it literally. Everything about you attracts me, and it’s been two years. How long do we go on this way? I’m convinced that you’re the woman I’ve been waiting for. And I want to know whether you feel the same.”

Candace looked directly into his eyes and traced her finger from his neck down.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, reaching lower. Finding what she was looking for, she added, “Let’s seal the deal.”

At seven thirty the next morning, Rob lay between Candace’s fifteen-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton linens, his long frame stretched out and his head propped on a goose down pillow. Dressed in designer workout attire, Candace emerged from the cavernous mirrored closet. She leaned over, ran her fingers through Rob’s dark hair, and tenderly brushed the back of her hand against the stubble on his cheek. This wonderful man wanted to wake up with her for the rest of his life. She smiled to herself, thinking of future mornings when she wouldn’t be in a rush and might slumber in his arms.

He caught hold of her hand and drew her toward him.

“No time,” she said, pulling away. “I’m going to the gym. Don’t pout.”

“Love, your body’s already perfect.”

“Well, I need to keep it that way. Then I’m going to the office. I have to get caught up if I’m to go to New York this Sunday.”

Naked, Rob ambled in the direction of the bathroom. “Is that definite?”

“I haven’t decided. It depends on whether Jess has lined up a meeting with the swimwear people for Monday morning up there.” Candace unplugged her phone from the charger and scanned through the missed calls. “
Damn it.
”

“What is it?”

“Monty called. And left me a voicemail. Which I don’t want to hear.”

Rob opened the glass shower door and turned on the water. “Then don’t listen. Erase it.”

“But here’s something I do want to see. David copied me on an email he sent to Monty, and sent me another separate email.”

Rob stepped under the jets of hot water as steam began to fill the room. “The saga continues.”

“Mmm,” Candace murmured. She closed the door to the bath, sat down on a leopard-print Italian chair, and clicked on David’s email.

From: David Shepherd

Sent: Wednesday, March 10, 2010 7:21 AM EST

To: Monty Carawan

cc: Candace Morgan

Subject: Internet job

Monty:

Hope this finds you well. Candace has asked me to follow up with you about the Internet job you referred to in your email of last Thursday. Specifically, she would like to know the name of the company, the principals’ names, and what date you are to start.

Best,

David K. Shepherd

Elite Financial Planning

From: David Shepherd

Sent: Wednesday, March 10, 2010 7:23 AM EST

To: Candace Morgan

Subject: Monty

Candace:

Anticipating your questions, I took the liberty of asking for his start date as well as principals’ names. Per your instructions, I have not answered his request for any additional funds, nor have I responded to any of his questions.

I will be in the office until Friday at noon, if you would like to meet while you are in town; I believe you said you’d be out next week?

David K. Shepherd

Elite Financial Planning