Page 1 of Romanced By the Silver Fox

CHAPTER1

GENIE

The secondI get off the plane, I stretch the kinks out of my neck, throw my carryon on my back, and check voicemail.

“Genie!” My big sister’s voice warms my heart, even though it’s a recording. “Dad and I got held up at the restaurant. Mrs. Kambara’s mother-in-law is coming from Japan, and she requested a rush order of char siu bao, and you know how Mom doesn’t like to say no… anyway: Long story short, the three of us are making six dozen of the things and we had to send someone else to pick you up. They’ll meet you in baggage claim.”

“I’m sorry, I gotta go help them until Mom’s assistant shows up. Love you, can’t wait to see you, bye!”

Finola’s message doesn’t surprise me. Our mother has always been committed to her customers, especially ones from the neighborhood. And with Mrs. Kambara being one of Mom’s dearest friends, there’s no way my mother wouldn’t drop everything to help her out.

My sister is the same way. Despite having a business of her own that needs her attention — what with it being the holidays and all — Fin’s jumped in to help our mom. I would have, too. Mom’s request for help is more like an order.

I can already picture the dozens of perfect, pillowy bao, each filled with steaming mounds of spiced pork and vegetables. My stomach growls just thinking about them. On the other hand, Fin gets to eat some of those delicious morsels. My pity for her only goes so far. I’m already scheming to bring as many as I can when I return to New York.

I take in a deep breath of the West Coast. I know the air isn’t really different, since I’m still inside the airport, but there’s something about it that soothes me. It’s good to be home. Even though this trip is completely last minute, and even if it’s for a job I’m not one hundred percent sure exists.

I got a call from a headhunter a few days ago. They didn’t say much, just that some fancy startup needed a project manager and someone recommended me. While the details of the project were vague, two things were crystal clear: One, if I took the job, it would involve a move back to Portland, and two, they required a meeting in person before the New Year. If those conditions were acceptable, the company was more than happy to fly me out and put me up at their expense for this meeting.

So I called up my sister and parents and invited myself home for Christmas. They said they’d be thrilled to see me, of course, but I got the feeling that I was interrupting their plans. No one’s said anything specific. However, less than forty-eight hours ago, I was planning to stay in New York and do the classic Chinese food and a movie with a few friends from work. I hope I’m not putting my family to too much trouble.

Who did they send to get me? I wonder. The company I’m interviewing with —FLB Trust, LLC— offered to send a car for pickup, but I refused. My Dad would’ve been terminally offended if I had dared accept a ride from anyone else. Although, as it turns out, taking the car would’ve been just fine.

I hop on the escalator and head down to baggage claim, scanning the crowd for familiar faces.

Faint instrumental music drifts toward me from somewhere nearby. It takes a moment to pick it out of the crowd, but the young man in front of me with the giant headphones is rocking out to a metal version of “Santa Baby.” I pinch my lips together, trying to hold back a smile. Guess the holidays make us all sentimental — even rock & rollers.

Down at the bottom, I scan the crowd again. Maybe Finola sent one of her business partners, Jade or Lane? Unlikely, I’m sure they’d be too busy. Maybe Leo, her significant other, is on the way? I know she didn’t forget about me, but a knot forms in my stomach. I take a deep breath and try to relax.

“Excuse me. Are you Genie Carter?” A young blonde woman with a vaguely familiar face and the curliest hair I’ve ever seen approaches me with her phone out. She holds the screen toward me; it displays my firm headshot. Self-consciously, I smooth my hair, though it’s already pinned into a bun. After six hours on a plane, I’m nowhere near as polished as my picture.

“I am,” I admit. The girl’s face lights up in relief. Now that she’s smiling, I recognize her face from her email signature. A tiny stud in her nose sparkles in the light.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Marin Cox, with FLB Trust.” We shake hands, and she passes me a business card printed on the lushest paper I’ve ever held. I might frame it.

“I recognize your name from our correspondence. But I thought —”

“We understood that your ground transportation arrangements were in flux, so made ourselves available.”

Wow. That was convenient. But my sister Finola knows all kinds of people. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that she’s friends with someone at the company that’s trying to hire me.

“Thank you,” I say. Once she confirms that I don’t have any more luggage to pick up, Marin escorts me through the massive revolving doors.

Outside, discreet swaths of garland are draped around the posts, ending in bright red bows. I take a deep breath. In my head, I knew I’d flown all this way, but the smell of freshly rained-on earth confirms it. It’s the smell of home.

Marin smiles when she notices.

“I miss it when I’m away, too,” she admits. “There’s something about this rainy little town, isn’t there?”

“It’s a wonderful place,” I say. I want to sound neutral. I think she’s right, but I need to keep my head. I don’t want to come across as too eager to return to Portland. This is part of the interview, too. I don’t want to indicate that I’ll commit before I know the scope of the job.

In the parking structure, Marin steers me toward a row of long, sleek limousines and sedans. My eyebrows shoot up. This seems like overkill, with me in my yoga pants and casual cable-knit sweater. Still, it’s their dime. If they want to pull out all the stops for me, who am I to tell them no?

Marin lets herself into the front passenger seat of a black Mercedes, smiling at the driver standing beside the car. He acknowledges me with a nod.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Carter. May I take your bag?”

“Thank you.” I hand it over, and he stows it in the trunk. The driver holds open the door and helps me into the back.

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