The Right Swipe (Modern Love, #1)(69)
It was a good answer and sounded sincere. Annabelle smiled approvingly and turned to the only man left. “And you, sir?”
“I’m Peter Roberts. I created Swype, the first swipe-based app—”
“In America,” Chris quietly interjected, and Samson wondered how often he had to step in with that correction. He’d read up on Chris. The man had many companies under his belt, and his apps were number one in multiple Asian and European markets.
Peter flashed a brilliant smile. He was a good-looking man with a face some people might call trustworthy, but Samson wasn’t impressed.
This was Rhi’s former boss, the head of the company that had spread rumors about her. He’d be watching the man.
“Yes, I was going to say that. The first swipe-based app in America. I suppose one of my greatest fears is the dark.” His brow wrinkled. “I’d rather not talk about why, but I can’t stand to be in dark rooms now.”
Samson ate a bite of his chicken and considered Peter. That sounded sincere, but there was something odd about the too-innocent look in Peter’s eyes, the earnestness in his face, like it was a mask constructed by someone who understood those concepts but had never actually practiced them. Samson might be a little biased in Rhi’s favor, but he didn’t think this man was on the up-and-up.
“Of course you don’t have to discuss that, Peter.” Annabelle dabbed the corner of her lips. “It’s an honor to have such distinguished guests here. The best and brightest in the industry.”
“You would top that list, Annabelle.” Chris beamed at Annabelle. Samson added him to the list of people to watch. Samson would not have the guy try to influence Belle with flirtation.
His aunt tittered. “Why, thank you.”
“You’re not going to, like, use our fears against us or something, are you?” Martin looked around. “Is this one of those sick horror movies where the doors all lock and the windows shutter now?”
“My, no.” Annabelle daintily ate a bite of mashed potatoes. “I don’t have the energy for that. I’ve found you can really get to the heart of a person when you catch them off guard with an unexpected question.”
“What did you learn about me? I didn’t answer your question.”
“It told me you’re a nonconformist, who perhaps cannot stand having a probing question aimed at you.” Annabelle cocked her head. “Am I wrong?”
Martin shrugged.
They occupied themselves with food and small talk for a little bit. Samson noted Rhi was still on the quiet side, though she conversed fine with Chris next to her and Annabelle when spoken to. Samson grimly ate and went through the motions of talking football with Martin, conscious of his aunt’s eagle eyes. He didn’t want Annabelle to notice his mood had deteriorated since he’d come to her office and wonder why.
The waiters took away the remnants of their dinner entrées and placed lemon syllabub in front of them.
Ah. He almost pressed his hand over his heart for a second to dull the ache that threatened to pierce through the fog. Joe had loved lemon anything.
His aunt took a single bite of the syllabub and closed her eyes. The lines between her eyebrows deepened. He wished he was close enough to reach over and touch her hand.
But he wasn’t, and they weren’t alone, so instead he cleared his throat. Aunt Belle put her spoon down and straightened her shoulders. “Why don’t you all check under your seats? I’ve left a present for you there.”
“Under our seats?” Martin repeated.
Samson didn’t entirely blame him for his confusion. Rhi might be the only one here with a more intimate idea of Aunt Belle’s theatrics, and having them grope under their chairs like they were on a daytime talk show and about to win a car was pretty much peak theatrics. Samson reached under his seat.
He straightened with an envelope in hand and opened it, the others doing the same. When he reached inside for the cardstock, a bunch of glitter fell into his hands and lap.
“Oh, look,” Rhi said with no inflection. “More glitter.”
If Samson could feel anything, it would have been amusement.
Annabelle cleared her throat. “This is an itinerary for tonight and tomorrow.”
“Eight p.m. until question mark, exam. Saturday, ten to four, feats of strength. Five, rose garden ceremony. Exam? What is this exam?” Chris asked.
“When you go back to your room, you’ll find tablets so you can complete your Matchmaker questionnaire.”
Chris crossed his arms over his chest, then uncrossed them to pick glitter off his well-tailored suit jacket. “Are we here to find love interests or to submit a bid for your business, Annabelle?”
“The quiz is nothing more than a personality test,” Belle explained. “I want to know who you are, in your heart of hearts.”
Martin scowled at Annabelle. “What the hell are feats of strength?”
Annabelle smiled thinly at him. “Please don’t swear,” said his aunt, who could swear like a sailor. “To answer your question, you will all be pitching me and my CEO, William, when he arrives tomorrow. When you aren’t doing your individual presentations, you may make use of the property as you see fit. I have boogie boards if you’d like to see how cold the water is, an exercise room, a well-stocked library, and multiple places to stretch out and relax. Feats of strength implies physical strength, but I am quite aware there are all kinds of strength. I wanted to accommodate everyone, even those who may have issues with activity.”