“What do you mean?” He picked up a letter. It was addressed to him via the Good Morning, USA show.
“After you appeared on that morning talk show, all these women flooded the network phones asking for your email address, but they wouldn’t give it out,” explained Becks. “So I guess some of them wrote letters instead and sent them to the network, who then forwarded them on to the house. The postman delivered these to the ranch this morning just after you left.”
“This has got to be like two hundred letters. What am I supposed to with all this?”
“Two hundred and fourteen,” Becks clarified. “Don’t look at me like that. If you hadn’t been all charmy-charm on national TV, you wouldn’t have inspired all this devotion.” She deepened her voice to imitate him. “I want to feel the zing.”
“So now this is my fault.”
“All this time I thought you were just a player. I had no idea my big brother was a romantic in disguise,” she teased.
“A what?”
“All that stuff you said on TV. Where did it come from?”
“It’s called heat stroke. Do you know how hot it was inside that mansion?”
Becks smiled knowingly. “I’ll tell you where it came from. It was your subconscious clawing its way to the surface and demanding to be heard. The reason you haven’t found The One is because deep down inside, your soul is yearning for its perfect mate. You said it yourself. You want someone to spend the rest of your life with. A marriage that will last until death do us part and even after that. Bro, do you know how deep that is?”
He groaned. “Please tell me you don’t plan to be a psych major.”
Becks ignored the dig. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to read all these. Mom and I have already vetted them for you.”
“You opened my letters?”
“Believe me, we’ve done you a big favor. There’s some scary stuff in there. At least half these women want to have your baby and the other half want … well, I’d say, but you’re my brother and it’s just gross. But guess what? We found you the perfect girl!”
“I thought Hannah was supposed to be the perfect girl. Remember her? Single Gal? Didn’t give me a rose?”
“Obviously we were mistaken. No worries, though. This,” she said, handing Sam a badly crinkled sheet of paper, “is your perfect match. Annie from Florida. She’s awesome.”
“What? Did you feed this to the dog or something?”
“It came that way. Here’s what I think happened. I think she wrote it, then changed her mind and tossed it. Then changed her mind again and mailed it.”
“If you say so.” Sam skimmed the top of the letter. “Florida, huh? We live in Texas, remember? Now scat back home. I’ve got work to catch up on. So unless you’re here to tell me you’ve been admitted to Harvard, I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Not Harvard,” Becks said. “I didn’t apply there. But I’ve gotten into Georgia Tech. And Tulane.”
Finally. Here was some news worth listening to. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? You’re not messing with me, are you?”
“Nope. But we’re not talking about me; we’re talking about you. Read Annie’s letter. Pretty please. If you read it, then we’ll talk about Georgia Tech and Tulane.” She propped her sneakered feet up next to his computer.
“Get your feet off my desk.”
She kept her feet exactly where they were. “You do want me to go to college, right? Sam, you have to read the letter. She’s breaking up with her boyfriend because of you.”
He grudgingly read the letter. “She sounds unhinged. It’s not my responsibility that she’s breaking up with her boyfriend.”
Becks jumped from her chair and came over to his side of the desk. “She’s not unhinged. May I?” she asked, but she was already typing away on his computer keyboard. She clicked on the website to a used car dealership. “Here’s where she works. Esposito’s Used Automotive. She’s the finance person. See, here’s her picture.” Becks pointed to a photo of a woman in her late twenties. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Freckles. Big smile.
“You’ve stalked her?”
“It’s not stalking if it’s public information. Like she says in her letter, she’s perfectly normal, plus her favorite TV show was The Office. Just like you. And she’s smart! She does the New York Times crossword puzzle. And she knows who Lemony Snicket is. Remember when you used to read those books to me? She’s funny, Sam. Read her letter again. Please.”
If he didn’t do it, Becks would just keep hounding him until he did, so he picked up the paper and read it once more. Let’s face it, people who do the daily crossword in pencil aren’t taking any real risks, you know? He fought back a smile. Yeah, it was a good letter. “Not my type.”
“You won’t know whether or not she’s your type unless you meet her in person,” Becks said. “Chemistry is everything.”
“Is Mom putting you up to this?”
“No, but Mom loves her letter too. You know, you’re not getting any younger. And if I do go away to college, not that I’m saying I’m going to college, but if I do, it will be just you and Mom. All alone in that big house. Don’t you want to have kids? Your biological clock is ticking.”
“I’m a guy. That’s not how it works.”
“Sure, you’re decent-looking now, but what happens when your hairline starts receding or you get a dad bod?”
“I’m the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. I’m pretty sure nothing else matters.”
Becks flopped back in her chair. “Have you always been so cynical?”
“Let’s talk about Georgia Tech. It’s a great school. So is Tulane.”
“I couldn’t think of going to either place without a school visit,” she said.
“Not a problem. Stella can make all the arrangements—flights, hotels, whatever.”
“I guess I could get Mom to go with me.”
“Now you’re talking,” Sam said cautiously. Somehow, this seemed too easy.
“On one condition.” Her green eyes went steely. “I’ll go to the college visits if you go to Old Explorer’s Bay to meet Annie.”
And there it was.
“Who’s Annie?” Sam asked, playing dumb.
“You know perfectly well who Annie is,” she shot back.
“Yeah. Not happening.”
“But you have to meet her. Even if it’s just to talk her out of breaking up with her boyfriend. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”
“My conscience and I sleep like a baby every night. This Abby person isn’t my problem.”
“It’s Annie, not Abby,” she said.
“There is absolutely no way I’m going to Florida to meet some crazy woman who’s written a letter to a complete stranger.”
Before Becks could lob back a response, they were interrupted by a rap on the door. Stella marched into the office and slapped a sheet of paper on top of the letters strewn over his desk. “Here you go, Lover Boy. These are the names of some PR companies you might think of hiring to handle that mess down in the lobby. Maybe they can field your calls. By the way, I’m taking an extra-long lunch tomorrow. And I’m charging it to the company account.”