Camille returned to her perch at the mic. “Boys and girls, men and women of all ages. I need to take a break from Vanilla Ice because every now and then we must heed the advice of the one and only Ice Queen, Elsa.”
Elle cracked up over her sister’s choice. Only Camille could find inspiration in the insanely popular Disney song that blared through the rink. Maybe the verses of “Let It Go” weren’t entirely on point where Elle’s problem was concerned, but the chorus and the final few lines gave her something else she needed.
A reminder that this battle wasn’t hers to pick and choose. It wasn’t hers to fight or not fight. All she could do was stand on the sidelines.
Let the storm rage on.
Whatever was brewing in Colin’s life wasn’t Elle’s storm. It would rage on of its own power, whether or not she saw the man again.
* * *
Later that night, Alex grabbed an extra composition notebook from the school supplies aisle at Target and showed it to Elle. “For planning.”
“Always good to plan for school.”
He shook his head. “Nope. This one is for State of Decay. I came up with a new strategy today, and I want to write it down and test it out, step by step.”
She shook her head, bemused. “Look, sweetie. I’m glad you like the game, but your freshman year of high school starts in about a week, and you do need to start focusing on schoolwork. Maybe we should get you a history review book, and you can work on how World War I began instead of your zombie attack plan.”
“Don’t worry. It was the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and I’ll still bring home straight As,” he said, flashing her a toothy smile. He wasn’t exactly a straight-A student, but he earned enough of them that she didn’t stress much about his grades.
She snagged the notebook from him and dangled it like an offering. “Tell you what, mister. I won’t worry about your strategy plans, if you agree to review history facts like that one every day for the next week—before you spend any time on your new project.”
He held out his hand to shake. “Deal.”
She dropped the notebook into the cart. “And now, we are off to find a history review book.”
He shot her a look like she was crazy.
“What? You just said you’d study up on history facts?”
“I will. But seriously, Mom. A book? Maybe an app with history quizzes or something instead?”
She held up a hand, but gave in. “Fine. But track it down by tomorrow, and show it to me.”
He pumped a fist in victory. “Awesome. And listen, I came up with a whole new approach to State of Decay,” he said, his voice rising in excitement as she rolled the cart to the highlighters. “That guy at the center, Colin, told me to.”
She stopped immediately and tilted her head. “He did?” she asked, unsure what to make of Colin’s chat with her son. True, the two had talked before. But still, she was damn curious what they had chatted about.
“He said you just devise a strategy and follow it,” he said, sweeping one hand across the other and pointing forward, like a general launching into battle. “But don’t be afraid to change if it’s not working.”
As he dropped a yellow highlighter onto their pile of supplies, she had her answer. Funny that it came from Colin through her son.
Time for her to change her approach.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
From the twenty-ninth floor of his office building, the icons of the Strip looked like Monopoly hotels. Up here, they became little Lego structures with playful shapes and Lilliputian charm—the pyramid of the Luxor, the miniature Eiffel Tower, the rollercoaster that wrapped around the New York-New York hotel…
The view from miles away was akin to how an idea took shape for Colin. It started small, but as he zoomed in closer it had the potential to become a glittering star on the skyline. That was what he was looking for today from his team of venture capitalists as they presented the startups they were considering funding.
When Larsen, one of the youngest and brightest staffers at Redwood Mountain Ventures, finished his presentation, Colin leaned forward in his chair, ready with questions.
“What is your risk analysis? Is it worth it?” Colin asked, wishing he could apply a simple mathematical formula to understanding Elle and her radio silence like he did with scrappy little startups. But as Larsen shared both the potential of the advertising tech firm under consideration as well as the risk, Colin was reminded once again that even black-and-white business decisions weren’t rubber stamped through mathematical equations. There was no formula to tell if a company was the next PayPal, Google, or Uber.
It was math plus intuition. It was analysis plus gut. In business, Colin had always relied on razor-sharp instincts. He’d leaned on them, too, with Elle. But all of a sudden, they’d stopped working. She’d stopped writing, stopped talking to him, stopped engaging. And he had no clue what to do next.
“I’m not convinced consumers want this technology yet,” he said to Larsen, and the sentiment was eerily similar to how he imagined Elle felt about him.
When the meeting ended and the other team members left, Colin pulled Larsen aside. “Thank you for all your hard work. As always, your presentations are top-notch. I want you to find the next game changer. You’re close. Keep searching.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sloan,” the young man said before he scurried out.
“It’s Colin,” he shouted in a light-hearted voice. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s just Colin?”
“Probably a lot. Thank you, Colin,” Larsen said from down the hall.
As he headed to his office to dive into work, his assistant rang. “There’s someone here to see you. She has a delivery of flowers.”
* * *
The big bouquet of orange lilies and purple asters hid her face. Clutching the blue glass vase tightly, Elle walked into Colin’s office, nerves bouncing across her skin.
She had no clue if he was pissed at her.
She had no clue if he even wanted an in-person delivery.
But this was the least she could do.
She’d never been to his office before, and from her spot behind the vase, the first thing she noticed was the burgundy carpet, then a soft beige couch and a shiny oak coffee table arranged in front of his desk. Slowly, like in a game of peekaboo, she moved the vase and revealed her face.
Holy shit.
She nearly dropped the flowers.
The view from the window was stunning, but it had nothing on Colin.
He stood, resting casually against the edge of his desk, wearing the hottest two pieces of a three-piece suit. He didn’t have a jacket on; he wore tailored pants, a white shirt, and a vest, and she had to force her lips together so she wouldn’t start panting, drooling, or just gaping at him. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up twice, revealing a hint of the infinity symbol on his forearm.
She wanted to lick it. She wanted to lick him. If ever there were a more perfect image for edgy businessmen than this one—Colin, with his dark eyes, sexy scruff, rolled-up sleeves, and that vest, that fucking vest that was killing her with hotness—she wouldn’t believe it. Nope. The evidence was in front of her, and she had to have him. She had to somehow cordon off the secrets she couldn’t reveal from the man she couldn’t resist.
Two Elles. Plain and simple. Here and now, she declared herself cloned.
She cast her gaze to the bouquet. “They call it a carnival of color,” she said, her voice dry.
He didn’t move an inch. His arms were crossed. “It is colorful. What do you call it?”
She stepped closer. “A thank you. An in-person thank-you for your firm’s amazing generosity in supporting the community center.”
He walked to her, took the flowers, and set them on the coffee table. “You’re welcome,” he said as he sat on his couch.
Her chest tightened with nerves. “It’s also an apology.”