Page 41 of Better Luck Next Time

“Good, good,” his dad said dismissively. “She sends her love.”

“What are you up here for, anyway?”

“A client likes the golf courses. Has a thing for the mountains.”

They made idle chitchat about the weather—the weather!—until the waiter came by to take their orders.

“You know, Son,” his father said, finally ready to get down to brass tacks. “Your mother and I would like to see you move a little closer to home. I know you’re not interested in investment banking, so I won’t ask, but a friend of mine is funding a little start-up in Charlotte that might be of interest to you. Something to do with artificial intelligence and robotics. They have the talent, but they’re looking for someone to see them through to market. I told him about what you did with Big Catch, despite knowing nothing about beer in the beginning, and he was impressed. I thought I’d at least pass on the information.”

“What applications?” Finn asked. Because damn it, he hadn’t expected him to drop something sointeresting.

“They’re going to improve upon those little robots people buy to clean the floors. Put together models to help out at home and whatnot. But it sounds like there’ll be applications to other fields down the line. Healthcare. Transportation.”

Before Finn knew it, their dinners had arrived, and he’d agreed to at least talk to the team. Not that it would go anywhere. Even if it was the opportunity of a lifetime, he wasn’t interested in moving back to Charlotte. Nor did he want to accept yet another boost from his dad.

His thoughts drifted back to Adalia again, and it occurred to him that she wouldn’t sit here, across from her father, and fail to mention the whole Duke thing. She probably would have started with that, thrown a bread roll at him like that guy on the street the other day, and taken off. The thought made him smile a little, and he felt the boost he needed to speak frankly.

“You know, Dad,” he said, “you don’t need to find me a job. And you didn’t need to make that contribution to Duke either.”

His father cocked his head. “I’m surprised that bothered you, Finn. It was a libelous article in a two-bit newspaper. And whywouldn’twe have made a contribution? It was your top-choice business school.”

Finn let his fork clatter down. “Yeah, I know. And now I’ll never know if I got in because I deserved it or if you paved the way.”

“What’s gotten into you? This isn’t like you.”

“Well, maybe it should be. I’m going to be doing things a little differently from now on.” With the show. With the Big Catch project. With whatever happened afterward.

An ache filled him at the thought, because the future was still so uncertain. Because he didn’t know what was supposed to come next. These other things he’d found to cling to were just stopgap measures, weren’t they? He needed a plan, damn it.

But Adalia flashed through his head again. Her bravery. Her spunk. And he felt a surge of confidence. He would figure it out, but this wasn’t the answer. No more handouts. No more boosts.

Something flashed in his father’s eyes. “This is about a woman, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it kind of is,” Finn said, grinning.

Finn got to the coffee shop before Adalia, and by the time she came in, he was sitting at a table in the corner with drinks for both of them.

She smiled when she saw him, and something soared in his chest. Her curls had been inadequately contained in a bun, and she was wearing a green shirt that brought out the green flecks in her eyes, along with a boho skirt that kept giving him little glimpses of her legs.

“That for me?” she asked as she got close.

“Yup. A caramel latte, what you got last time.”

“The presumption!” she scoffed. “What if today’s more of a salted marshmallow, double-foam macchiato kind of day?”

“You made that up on the spot,” he accused.

She shrugged and took a sip of the latte, settling in the chair next to him rather than the one across from him. “Despite your endless optimism for my prospects, art usually doesn’t pay the bills. I’ve worked as a barista, among other things. You’d be shocked by what people order.”

“Among other things? Is this where you tell me that you wore one of those giant hot dog suits?”

“Mind in the gutter?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He flushed, just a little, and she flashed a victorious grin.

“Point to you,” he said. He nodded down at his notebook. “Want to get started?”

“Sure…” She paused. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know much about the management side of things, so I figured I could mostly help you choose the artists and what to display.”

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