The butler held Annabelle’s chair out for her, and they all took their seats. “Did everyone have good travels?” she asked, in a deceptively sweet tone that didn’t give away the fact that the games had begun. She flicked her hand, and servers appeared with silver domed trays of food.
This was elaborate. The last time he’d come over to Aunt Belle’s, they’d grilled hamburgers and ate corn on the cob on her porch.
Martin leaned back for the server to place his plate in front of him and remove the dome with a flourish. “It was fine, thank you.”
“Coach always gets a little crowded on these transatlantic flights,” Chris said smoothly.
Annabelle smiled at the distinguished older man approvingly. She might be lavish at times, but she generally appreciated frugality in the rich. Chris had done his homework.
“And you, Rhiannon?” Annabelle picked up her fork and knife.
“The drive was fine.”
Samson cut into the chicken he didn’t want. Annabelle didn’t believe in a salad course. An entrée and dessert were the only two meals a person needed to survive, she’d once told him.
“Oh, my, I have been remiss. Does everyone know everyone else?” Annabelle surveyed the table like a queen with her subjects. “Why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves? Let’s do . . .”
Samson eyed his aunt. Whenever she’d come over, she’d done exactly this. Gone around the table and had them all answer a question she posed. It had driven his father crazy. Aleki had always just wanted to eat, had barely been able to wait long enough for grace.
But he’d indulged Annabelle, because as he’d explained to Samson, the woman allowed me to meet your mother. If she wants us to talk about our favorite memory or whatever before we carve the turkey, then that’s what we’ll do, damn it.
Before the Switch. Of course.
Don’t think about the Switch, don’t think about your father or your uncle or CTE or the future. You’re here. Focus on the here.
“Name and a bit about yourself and one of your greatest fears. Here, I’ll do me. I’m Annabelle—hopefully you all already know that since you’re here to put in a bid for my company. My greatest fear is . . . dogs.” She shivered. “I was bitten by a large dog as a child.”
When the guests appeared varying degrees of perplexed, Samson roused himself. “I’m Samson, I’m a close friend of Annabelle’s, as well as Matchmaker’s current spokesman and a minority shareholder. And, uh, my greatest fear is . . .” He stalled. He wasn’t about to tell this room of strangers and Rhi his actual fear. “Clowns. Hate ’em.”
Martin introduced himself and skipped talking about his fears entirely, and Chris chose something as generic as Samson’s.
Rhi commanded his attention. Her voice started out thready and rocky, but it strengthened as she spoke. “I’m Rhiannon Hunter. I created Crush. And my greatest fear is . . .” She hesitated. “Not having options, I suppose.”
It was a good answer and sounded sincere. Annabelle smiled approvingly and turned to the only man left. “And you, sir?”
“I’m Peter Roberts. I created Swype, the first swipe-based app—”
“In America,” Chris quietly interjected, and Samson wondered how often he had to step in with that correction. He’d read up on Chris. The man had many companies under his belt, and his apps were number one in multiple Asian and European markets.
Peter flashed a brilliant smile. He was a good-looking man with a face some people might call trustworthy, but Samson wasn’t impressed.
This was Rhi’s former boss, the head of the company that had spread rumors about her. He’d be watching the man.
“Yes, I was going to say that. The first swipe-based app in America. I suppose one of my greatest fears is the dark.” His brow wrinkled. “I’d rather not talk about why, but I can’t stand to be in dark rooms now.”
Samson ate a bite of his chicken and considered Peter. That sounded sincere, but there was something odd about the too-innocent look in Peter’s eyes, the earnestness in his face, like it was a mask constructed by someone who understood those concepts but had never actually practiced them. Samson might be a little biased in Rhi’s favor, but he didn’t think this man was on the up-and-up.
“Of course you don’t have to discuss that, Peter.” Annabelle dabbed the corner of her lips. “It’s an honor to have such distinguished guests here. The best and brightest in the industry.”
“You would top that list, Annabelle.” Chris beamed at Annabelle. Samson added him to the list of people to watch. Samson would not have the guy try to influence Belle with flirtation.
His aunt tittered. “Why, thank you.”
“You’re not going to, like, use our fears against us or something, are you?” Martin looked around. “Is this one of those sick horror movies where the doors all lock and the windows shutter now?”
“My, no.” Annabelle daintily ate a bite of mashed potatoes. “I don’t have the energy for that. I’ve found you can really get to the heart of a person when you catch them off guard with an unexpected question.”
“What did you learn about me? I didn’t answer your question.”
“It told me you’re a nonconformist, who perhaps cannot stand having a probing question aimed at you.” Annabelle cocked her head. “Am I wrong?”
Martin shrugged.
They occupied themselves with food and small talk for a little bit. Samson noted Rhi was still on the quiet side, though she conversed fine with Chris next to her and Annabelle when spoken to. Samson grimly ate and went through the motions of talking football with Martin, conscious of his aunt’s eagle eyes. He didn’t want Annabelle to notice his mood had deteriorated since he’d come to her office and wonder why.
The waiters took away the remnants of their dinner entrées and placed lemon syllabub in front of them.
Ah. He almost pressed his hand over his heart for a second to dull the ache that threatened to pierce through the fog. Joe had loved lemon anything.
His aunt took a single bite of the syllabub and closed her eyes. The lines between her eyebrows deepened. He wished he was close enough to reach over and touch her hand.
But he wasn’t, and they weren’t alone, so instead he cleared his throat. Aunt Belle put her spoon down and straightened her shoulders. “Why don’t you all check under your seats? I’ve left a present for you there.”
“Under our seats?” Martin repeated.
Samson didn’t entirely blame him for his confusion. Rhi might be the only one here with a more intimate idea of Aunt Belle’s theatrics, and having them grope under their chairs like they were on a daytime talk show and about to win a car was pretty much peak theatrics. Samson reached under his seat.
He straightened with an envelope in hand and opened it, the others doing the same. When he reached inside for the cardstock, a bunch of glitter fell into his hands and lap.
“Oh, look,” Rhi said with no inflection. “More glitter.”
If Samson could feel anything, it would have been amusement.
Annabelle cleared her throat. “This is an itinerary for tonight and tomorrow.”