Page 34 of All Signs Point to Malibu

“Wonderful.”

She leads the way through the restaurant’s interior, past dark mahogany furniture, plush velvet booths, and bar-height tables. A grand piano is in the corner and the bar features a champagne waterfall and only top-shelf liquor bottles. The smell of their award-winning (and astronomically priced) seafood dishes wafts from the kitchen.

Growing up, I never liked fish, but my mother insisted I learn to eat it.

Rich people eat fish. Classy people eat fish.

I never knew where she got that from other than the fact that we could never really afford the nice fish at the seafood counter and always bought cheaper breaded filets or imitation crab meat. While I can afford to buy any variety I want now, I still don’t like it.

Outside, near a koi pond I spot Alisha sitting at a table for two. A water jug with lemons and limes sits on the table in front of her. She’s been here a while as it’s half empty and condensation covers the exterior of the jug and the wineglass in front of her.

Being late is on purpose this time.

Once a person reaches a certain level of success, being early or even on time is often viewed as a weakness. Not my rules—I didn’t make this up. People view lateness in the highly successful as a power move. I’d personally rather respect my clients’ time, but I can’t give any hint that I’m not part of that elite class who think they’re superior.

“Right over there,” the hostess says.

“Thank you.”

I make my way toward the table and Alisha looks up and smiles nervously in greeting. “Hi...”

I smile, bend to kiss her cheek, then sit across from her. No apologies for keeping her waiting. “Great to see you. How fantastic is this hotel?”

“I wasn’t sure they’d let me in,” she says and my adoration of her increases.

“Me neither,” I say a hundred percent honestly with a wink.

She laughs as though anyone would ever turn me away, then looks completely overwhelmed as she scans the restaurant. “You really know how to treat your clients,” she says.

“About that,” I say, reaching into my bag to pull out my official life coaching contract. I’d been so preoccupied after the VIP party, I’d forgotten to formally seal the deal. This recon mission is serving a dual purpose.

I slide it across the table and Alisha looks slightly nervous as she scans the first few pages. “Should I have a lawyer look this over?”

“You can,” I say, “but you will notice the terms are six months only—much shorter commitment than most.” My gift allows me to jump ahead a few steps. “And clause eight guarantees my services. If things don’t work out the way I promise, you get a full refund.” It’s a fairly safe bet on my part. I’ve only had to return money once and it was by choice, because the man died and his family needed the funds for his funeral expenses. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been attending our weekly meetings or perhaps I’d have seen the skydiving incident.

Alisha flips through the pages and reads. “I guess that’s really all one can ask.” She picks up the pen and signs the contract. With an eager smile, she slides it back. “So, what do we do first?” she asks.

From the corner of my eye, I see Sonia and her father, William Banks, enter the patio area. I recognize him from the online photos, but he’s even taller and has a more commanding presence in real life. A silver fox who obviously takes care of his health, he’s a great-looking man, dressed in expensive, but business casual attire. Next to him, Sonia wears tailored slacks and a crop top, strappy sandals, and gold bangles around her wrist. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail and her makeup-free face is perfection. Side by side, they are easily identifiable as father and daughter with the same bone structure and complexion.

My heart flutters slightly as I pick up the menu and cover my face from their view as they are shown to a table just feet away from us. “We should order first, then talk business,” I say quietly to Alisha.

“Okay,” Alisha says, picking up her menu.

I peek around mine to see that luckily, Sonia has been seated with her back to me. This might be easier than I expected. I’d been prepared to snoop around the hotel, talk to the staff and eavesdrop on boardroom meetings, using my lunch meeting with Alisha as cover, but maybe the intel has just come to me.

I’m desperate to learn more about the Bankses and their plans. The family has been in the public eye for years, but the coverage has always been favorable, and I struggle to believe anyone this wealthy with such a successful, profitable company doesn’t have a few skeletons in the closet.

Better for me to discover them than Liam.

William reaches into a briefcase and places documents on the table between them.

A business luncheon? Odd that Liam wasn’t invited.

“What do you recommend?” Alisha asks from across the table.

I blink. “Huh?”

“From the menu. You’ve eaten here before?”

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