like this. Once upon a time, she and Joe had often hosted weekend soirees for their closest friends. “Please, everyone! Have a seat, have a seat. No need to make such a fuss over me. Rhiannon, Martin, Chris, Peter. Lovely to meet all of you.”
The ice on his soul melted, at least in one corner. He’d considered ignoring Tina’s text earlier and running forever, but that would have been an impossible option. Today wasn’t about him. He was here for Aunt Belle. He had a job to do too.
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