It’s okay. Tonight, she’d let him hold her and protect her.
And then tomorrow, she would win. All by herself.
Chapter Twenty-Four
RHIANNON WASN’T going to win Matchmaker.
She could see it in the slightly bored look in Annabelle’s eyes, in every doodle William made on his notepad. She had scrapped the PowerPoint, but she still had to give Annabelle her numbers and projections, didn’t she? Speaking from the heart sounded cute, but it couldn’t tell the woman cold hard facts about the terms of her deal.
Rhiannon crossed her legs. They were doing their pitches in the library. Unlike the rest of the house, which was light and airy and open, the library was darker, with navy walls and heavy furnishings. She’d been in more masculine, stuffy enclaves than this, but that didn’t mean she liked them.
Rhiannon sat in a wing chair facing the big windows, open to the lovely garden on the side of the home. Annabelle and William sat opposite her, behind a desk. Annabelle’s chair was larger than William’s, almost thronelike, so the man appeared smaller than his boss.
Rhiannon wondered how he felt about that. It was a power move, one Rhi might copy one day. But then again, odds were low that she’d ever hire someone like William.
“As far as employee retention goes—” Rhiannon broke off midsentence when William covered his mouth to hide his yawn. She couldn’t blame him, she was boring herself, and this was her presentation.
She rethought her entire presentation and decided to go with her gut.
This is another performance, another show. Imagine you’re up on that CREATE stage again, and kill it.
Only this time, the stakes were so high. She had to be successful. “Annabelle, may I go off script? Why don’t you ask me what you’d like to know about me? Get to know me better.”
The older woman straightened. “I love going off script.” She picked up a piece of paper in front of her and ripped it in two, tossing the scraps in the air. “Scripts are for fools.”
Ah, jeez. Rhiannon wondered what important section of her proposal the woman had just destroyed. She forced herself not to dwell on that and refocused when Annabelle spoke. “Tell me about yourself. From the beginning.”
An open-ended question Rhiannon often asked her prospective employees. “I was born and raised in western New York. My mother was a housekeeper, my father was a groundskeeper. He died when I was young.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
She softened. “Yes. A brother. Gabe. He’s perfect.”
Annabelle grinned. “I loved my sister dearly, but I never would have called her perfect.”
“Gabe’s perfect,” Rhiannon insisted. “He’s kind and sweet and everyone likes him. He’s getting married later this year.”
“You’re close to your family.”
She thought about how her mother badgered her to call and winced. “Yes. Though my mother might say I don’t call her enough.”
“I used to go weeks without contacting my loved ones when I got busy or distracted. Luckily, the people I loved, I chose wisely. When I did reach out, they were right there.” Annabelle squinted. “I regret that now, a little. Seems like I can’t remember some of the things that made me busy, but I remember most conversations I had with my family and friends.”
Rhi shifted. That didn’t sound like it needed a response, so she settled for a noncommittal “Hmm.”
Annabelle consulted the tablet in front of her. “You have an impressive educational background.”
“My parents were employed by a wealthy family. They sent my brother and me to an expensive private school.” She left out how she’d been tormented at that school, how she’d thrown herself into every activity so she could prove she was better at everything than everyone, no matter how much money her family had or didn’t have. Sure, she’d had friends, those who had had her back. In that sea of rich, privileged snobs, her skin color and working class background had still made her a prime target for the assholes.
“How kind of them.”
“Very kind,” she echoed.
“And then you went to Harvard?”
“I’m a Yale man myself,” William interjected.
“I got into Yale as well.” She’d picked Harvard because she’d had a photo of her father visiting the campus. She’d liked to imagine, when she walked across the grounds, that she was retracing steps her dad had once taken. A silly, sentimental reason to choose a school. “I didn’t graduate, though. I dropped out and moved to California.” For a while, she’d thought she’d found a home, with Swype and with Peter. With a man whose intellect seemed to match hers, who seemed so dedicated and consumed with her.
But that had turned dark so quickly and quietly, she hadn’t even realized she was lost again until she was.
“I never graduated from college either,” Annabelle confessed. “There was no matchmaker major, and I knew what I was destined for.”
Rhiannon jumped on that. “We have a lot in common, the two of us. I wish I had known you when I was starting out. I could have used your mentorship.”
Annabelle’s face softened. “I don’t know how much help I would have been. Matchmaker was created almost by accident, and it wouldn’t be what it is today without Jennifer. And the executives she hired.” She tipped her head at William, who looked smug and mollified at being credited with the growth of the company. “As far as I can tell, you did everything on your own.”
“I did. Though the seed money for Crush came from a friend. Now my silent partner.” Annabelle and Katrina could meet if the deal progressed further.
Samson and Katrina should meet too.
She mentally shook herself to get rid of that far too enticing idea. As it was, it had taken all her concentration not to think about Samson since he’d snuck her back into Annabelle’s home this morning after a blissfully deep night of sleep.
Rhiannon crossed her legs. She’d dressed in her usual casual wear today, unable to stand the thought of not being comfortable. William had definitely given a judgy sniff at her choice of jeans and T-shirt, but he wasn’t the first man to sneer at her.
“Why did you start your company, Rhiannon?”
There were easy, pat responses she could offer. Annabelle, with her unexpectedly perceptive gaze, might see through those. “I grew up in a town where everyone knew your business, or if they didn’t, they made it up. Everyone’s life was set on a certain path. People were shocked when I got into every college I applied to. They were more shocked when I made my first million.”
Annabelle rested her chin in her hands. Today she wore a loose canary yellow top and jeans, her feet clad in UGGs, and she looked more like a college student than a veteran of the industry. “You wouldn’t be the first person in the dot-com—I’m sorry, app—industry to start your own company to prove people wrong.”
“No, I started it to prove myself right,” Rhi corrected. “To prove what I already knew—that I’m right to be proud of my brain and confidence.”
Annabelle’s smile was approving. “Do you feel like you’ve proven yourself right yet?”