Page 19 of Say You Hate Me
We leave a few minutes later, headed to our lunch meeting. I volunteer to sit in the very back again, but only so I can Google. I can’t seem to shake the feeling of Luca being taken advantage of. We’ve been each other’s person since we were teenagers. We don’t have any other siblings, and our parents died when we were nineteen, so we are alone in this big world together. If anyone screws with him, they screw with me, and vice versa. It’s been like that since preschool. We are the Rossi twins. Luca is my best friend, but he’s also more than that. The connection we have is unbreakable. Impenetrable. And no one can fuck with him without getting me involved. I am a whole two minutes older, after all.
We take a winding road through a rural part of town, following the path of the beach. My stomach grumbles, and I fight the nausea beginning to work its way up. I don’t do well on twisty roads.
I send myself an article to read later. It’s from some financial magazine, and it references Anderson’s tax evasion case. According to the excerpt I read, he used a well-known loophole when he did his taxes. He got a different accountant, paid the fine, and has been paying taxes ever since.
Groaning, I lean forward, resting my forehead on the seat in front of me as the car jerks from side to side. I debate saying something to the driver, but instead I continue to Google, ignoring Anderson and my brother, who are chatting away in the middle row. I find information on his ex next.
Rosalina Gomez is an urban artist famous for her abstract, modern paintings and her successful and lucrative gallery in West Hollywood. She currently lives in Los Feliz with her husband and two kids.
The pictures of her show a brunette with short, spiky hair, plain features, tattoos, and leather jackets.Notthe kind of woman I expected Anderson to marry. What did they talk about? Was Anderson capable of enjoying art? How did an uptight suit like him end up with someone who seemed so edgy and cool?
There also isn’t much information on Anderson himself, though there are a few page-six “blind items” where his name comes up in the comments from seven years ago. There is one showing him at a yoga retreat in India with a woman up against the wall of an ashram. I click on the article.
Which infamous Swedish businessman, recently divorced, seems to be licking his wounds at a yoga retreat in India? Looks like he’s over his famous ex already. Let’s hope it wasn’t a silent retreat—this woman looks like she was anything but silent.
Groaning, I roll my eyes. I didn’t realize he was Swedish, but I suppose that makes sense with the blond hair and light eyes. I enlarge the picture of him at the ashram. It’s blurry, but I notice a few things of interest. One, he’s wearing multiple beaded bracelets—five or six on each wrist. Second, he seems to have long hair that’s pulled back into a messy low bun. He’s also wearing baggy yoga pants, which is so strange to see, considering all I’ve seen him wear are suits. Granted, the article is nearly seven years old. And then it hits me—the bastard does yoga, hence the interrogation earlier.
I lock my phone and groan again.
“You okay?” Luca asks, touching my arm.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I say quickly, the vomit working its way up slowly. My stomach is rolling, and I start to climb out.
“What are you doing?” Luca yells, trying to shove me back.
“Stop the car,” Anderson orders, and I fall between the two of them into the middle row. When I sit up, I don’t have a chance to warn Anderson before I vomit all over his lap.
11
Natalia
I endup taking a nap back in the hotel room while Luca and Anderson go to their lunch meeting. Anderson was not pleased when I threw up all over his nice suit, but at least he didn’t say anything insulting when I was down for the count. Instead, he jumped out and cleaned himself off silently while Luca held my hair back. I used to get carsick all the time as a kid, and the heavy breakfast mixed with jetlag and the winding road created the perfect environment to hurl my guts everywhere. I should’ve known better.
I feel a lot better after my quick nap, so I take things into my own hands and ask the concierge where the go-to restaurants are, cross-referencing it with my list of hotspots. I take a taxi to a few of them, getting an appetizer or drink undercover, checking out the décor and atmosphere. Most of the places I hit are super casual, laid back with major beach vibes. I make notes of every individual place, and then I start a list of higher-end places to check out tomorrow. Gather is more on brand with the higher-end places, but I think it’s important for it to feel welcoming and approachable to all. We want to pull from some of the casual places, too, so by the time I get back to the hotel at half-past five, I’m feeling very inspired.
We have another dinner meeting at a restaurant a few miles away—one of the nicer places I’ve been meaning to check out—so I change into a form-fitting, black cocktail dress. Once I straighten my hair and slip into the black heels, it’s nearly six, and I quickly exit my room, heading to the black car parked outside.
Luca and Anderson are waiting for me, chatting animatedly in black suits, and they both stop talking when they see me. Luca slowly claps, and Anderson’s eyes rove slowly from my shoes to my face, his expression neutral. Just once, I want to have some kind of effect on him, but nada. Nothing.
“There’s the Natalia I know and love,” Luca admonishes, grinning.
Irritation runs through me. “Idoknow how to dress myself.”
I look over at Anderson, and his jaw ticks. He doesn’t say anything as I climb into the very back of the Escalade with Luca.
Luca leans in, whispering into my ear as we drive off. “Nathan is meeting us for dinner.”
I smile. “Good. I like him.” Realization hits me. “Wait, you flew him all the way to Hawaii?” Luca grins and shrugs. I shake my head. “You’re so in love with him.”
“I don’t know about love, but I really like him.”
“Mmm hmm,” I mutter, pulling up my notes. “By the way, I used my free time to scour the local hangouts. Maui seems to have a lot of casual places, and then fine dining. I think we can marry the two if we’re careful about wording and decor, so when we begin the social media campaign, we can target both audiences. How does that sound?”
Luca grins. “That sounds perfect. I knew you’d fit right in.”
I glance up at Anderson, and he’s looking straight ahead with a giant scowl on his face.
The drive is easy, the air still sunny and warm for being after six. The driver has one of the windows open a crack, and I smile as the salty air fills the car. When we get to the restaurant—a white building with lots of luxurious wood paneling—Luca takes my arm as we walk to our table, where a younger, attractive woman is sitting alone at the six top.
