So where to begin this story…the day I was adopted into a family that I was raised to believe was my own, the day when my family was tragically lost, or maybe the day I learned that they weren’t my family at all? Or perhaps that was history, and I should start with more recent events…
Chapter Three
Earlier in the evening
Tourists sipped colorful drinks and swayed to the sound of jazz as white lights twinkled above the courtyard. This wasn’t my scene. I was only here because of the man across the table from me. He wasn’t my date or even my friend but my business partner. There was a time we may have been friends, but that was before. Ross Underwood and I met our junior year at the University of Pittsburgh, both majoring in English literature. We believed in the promise for our future.
Handsome and determined, Ross was the kind of guy who caught every woman’s eye. In our department, the two of us were constantly at odds, both vying for valedictorian. Ross was going to be a famous editor, sought after by a big New York publisher. Me, my plans included writing. I walked into libraries and bookstores, inhaling the scent of paper and books, imagining my name upon the covers. I didn’t want to be just present on a shelf near the back of the store but front and center on the round table near the entry, showcased for the world to see.
It seemed that as much as Ross and I claimed our differences, we shared the same dream—New York. We weren’t alone; it was also the goal of every other literature major in the country.
Finally graduated and still living in Pittsburgh, Ross and I came to the conclusion that success could be best met if we combined our strengths.
It should be said that at no time were either of us romantically interested in one another. It wasn’t that Ross wasn’t handsome—he was—or that I wasn’t what some consider pretty, I was. It was that Ross had a problem. There were other women I knew who made the mistake of dating him. Ross was many things when it came to business—determined, intelligent, and resourceful.
As a boyfriend, he was shit.
Perhaps due to his infidelity in relationships, I shouldn’t have trusted him as a business partner. Then again, he was honest about his lack of monogamy, truthful not only with me but also with each woman he dated.
His honesty didn’t matter. Each woman went into the relationship with stars in her eyes, determined to be the one to change his ways.
Ross wasn’t going to change.
He would conquer the world and reach incredible heights in business, not in a personal relationship. The only thing he was true to was attaining success. In that I believed.
Sipping a Hurricane cocktail as Ross rambled on about the possibility of our newest creation, my mind was on anyone and anything except him. The air was sweltering as more bodies made their way into the courtyard. The tall walls surrounding us on all sides obstructed any possibility of a breeze as the live band played their New Orleans sound.
It wasn’t that I didn’t care about what Ross was saying. I did. It was that we’d picked over this subject to death. Over and over we’d worked. For months at home, hours on the airplane…I was done.
The premise we’d created brought our knowledge and skills to the common writer for a cost. The world of big publishing houses was on life support, the ice caps melting and forests burning. Even some of the biggest names in fiction were turning their backs on the very publishers who years and decades ago had made them into household names. The news outlets were bubbling with stories as renowned authors secured multimillion-dollar deals, working directly with the biggest online distributor of—well, everything. Self-publishing was on the rise in exponential terms, and Ross and I were poised to break into that market.
Our editing program would revolutionize self-publishing. It was unlike any other available…
I swirled the straw in the last few sips of the peach-colored liquid. The ice cubes rattled as Ross’s monologue reached its crescendo, and my body swayed to the alluring sound of jazz.
“…this could be it, our answer.” Ross reached across the table. “Emma, are you even listening?”
“Yes, and I’ve heard it all…”a million times. I didn’t say the last part. “Save it for this mysterious Mr. Ramses.” I shivered as the name left my lips—Everett Ramses. Maybe it wasn’t his name that caused my reaction but just being in New Orleans where ghost stories abounded, or perhaps it was the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream minus food I should have eaten.
“Em,” Ross said, “the man has more capital than you or I could ever imagine.”
“I looked him up—researched him,” I said, voicing a concern I’d been harboring. “There’s nothing—no Wikipedia, LinkedIn, or website. Christ” —my voice rose over the low trumpet solo— “...he doesn’t even have a Twitter account.”
“He’s private.”
“Is he old? Ramses was an Egyptian king…right?”
Ross shrugged. “We’re not in Egypt and they called them pharaohs. Besides, he’s not that old.”
My head shook. “Then why is he so secretive? Is he a criminal?”
Ross sat back and stretched his arms over the small table. “I don’t give a rat’s ass where his money comes from. He reached out to me.”
The whole thing gave me the creeps. I looked at my watch, seeing that it was after nine p.m. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know, but when someone like Mr. Ramses makes an appointment, we’re damn well waiting.”
“Fine,” I said, standing, my balance a bit off. “I need to order something to eat, or I won’t make this meeting.”